by Denise Lynn
Clad in only her chemise, she felt naked and crossed her arms against her chest.
Gregor studied her from head to toe, before waving a pointed finger at her. ‘That has to go, too.’
Beatrice wondered if her blush reached her toes. ‘But I...this...maybe...’
He reached out, grasped the hem of the garment and lifted it as he said, ‘Don’t worry, your embarrassment will be short lived.’
She squeezed her eyes closed, wishing that by doing so she would somehow become invisible.
His touch beneath her breast made her jump. ‘You are as beautiful as I knew you would be.’
She opened one eye to see if he was just saying that to be kind. But his rapt attention on her body made her think that perhaps he actually meant the words.
Gently he uncrossed her arms and took her hands in his own, brushing his thumbs across the tops before pulling them to his belt. ‘Now me.’
Beatrice froze. She couldn’t. While she was fairly certain she wouldn’t die from embarrassment, she wasn’t as certain that the heat building on her face and chest wouldn’t burn her alive.
He leaned in to drop a quick, chaste kiss on her forehead. ‘Tunic and shirt.’
She almost laughed at her sudden release of the breath she hadn’t realised she’d held. Making quick work of removing his clothes, she handed each piece to him and he simply reached back to hang them on pegs next to her gown.
Once his chest was bare, he placed his hands on her shoulders to ask, ‘Have you never bathed guests to Warehaven?’
Eyes closed, Beatrice shook her head. ‘We were only permitted to assist my mother with the older men. The ones with barrel-shaped chests and guts just as large.’
‘Ah. We have all night to take this as slow as you need. But first, you have to open your eyes.’
She blinked her eyes open, darting her gaze everywhere but towards him.
He lifted one of her hands to his lips for a kiss before placing her palm on his chest and holding it there. ‘Just flesh, hair, nipples, no horns, no strange body parts are growing from my chest.’
She burst out laughing at his nonsense. Looking at him, she shook her head. ‘You are impossibly silly.’
‘And you are impossibly innocent.’ He waved a hand before his chest. ‘Anything there unexpected?’
No, there wasn’t. She tipped her head and studied the muscles cording his chest and stomach. She’d seen the men loading and unloading the ships working bare chested. Her rapt attention was what had made her father forbid her from visiting the harbour without an escort.
But seeing them from a distance was far different from being close enough to touch. Lifting her hand slightly, prepared to stroke the hard planes, she asked, ‘May I?’
‘Oh, I wish you would.’
The hair peppering his chest was soft and dark without a trace of silver. She ran both hands across his shoulders and down the bulges of his arms. He didn’t gain these muscles from holding a shield and sword. Obviously he did more than just design ships, he helped build them.
Beatrice trailed her fingertips down his arm to stroke his forearm. When he flexed his muscles, she wondered how many men had met their end with their head and neck trapped between the muscles of his bent arm.
To turn her mind away from such dark thoughts, she placed the palms of her hands flat against the ripple of muscles on his abdomen.
His skin was surprisingly soft beneath her touch, the smoothness broken by a thin jagged scar slanting from his navel nearly up to his armpit.
This had not happened during a battle. He would have worn his armour and the force it would have taken to slice through his chainmail in this manner would have cut him in two.
She traced the scar, asking, ‘How did this happen?’
‘I let my attention wander and found myself captive in a cell.’ He stepped a little closer to her.
She could feel the warmth of his body. ‘You were tortured?’
‘No.’ Gregor raised both of her arms, so her hands rested on his shoulders, and then pulled her against him. ‘I killed a man in a fight and this is how his brother thanked me.’
She tried to focus on the conversation, but the feel of her breasts pressed against the warm hardness of his chest teased at her mind, breaking her concentration. ‘It must have hurt.’
‘A bit.’ He lightly stroked her back, chasing the shivery tingles with his fingertips. ‘But it taught me not to lower my guard at the wrong time.’
Beatrice gasped slightly when he brushed a hand across her hip, then caressed her bottom. ‘I imagine it did. He could have killed you.’
‘That had been his plan.’ The hand on her back shifted to stroke up her side. ‘But my men showed up before he could get any further along.’
He cupped a breast, teasing the nipple with his thumb. Beatrice moaned softly and leaned into his touch. ‘It would...have been a...shame if they...hadn’t.’ She was quickly losing the ability to talk.
Her attention wandered to the glide of his calloused palms. There was no doubting that a man’s hands created the subtle friction against her skin. Hands well used to employing weapons and tools. Hands capable of creating and taking.
Right now he was expertly creating a fiery anticipation that left her shaking with longing. Soon he would take, and Beatrice knew she would do nothing to try to stop him. It didn’t matter, right or wrong, she wanted him, wanted to feel his strong body over her, entering her, taking her, making her his.
Gregor reached up and traced the edge of her ear, then trailed his touch down the side of her neck. He leaned his head down to tease the soft spot below her ear, then slowly moved to the crook of her neck.
He turned his head, rubbing his stubble-covered chin across her shoulder. ‘Do you want to know how we escaped?’
What? ‘Who?’
‘Me and my men.’
What was he talking about?
His soft laugh against the side of her neck sent another shiver down her spine. She didn’t know what he found amusing, nor did she care. What attention she could muster was more focused on his mind-stealing exploration of her body.
He drew a line from the base of her neck, down her spine, over the curve of her bottom, coming to rest where the back of her thighs met. The building tension rushing through her made it impossible to stay still. She squirmed against him.
Gregor gasped and caught her hips between his hands, stopping her movements. ‘Easy, Beatrice.’
He pulled her tight against him, pressing the length of his erection against her belly. Beatrice tensed, then relaxed. Isn’t this ultimately what she wanted?
There wasn’t any part of her body or mind that feared what was going to happen. In this, she trusted him. Instinctively she knew that her warrior Wolf would do everything in his power to make her first time, their first time together, unforgettable.
She realised that he’d been correct, her embarrassment had been short-lived. She also suddenly understood that his running conversation had been an attempt to distract her, to give her time to become accustomed to his hands and body touching hers.
He’d succeeded. Except now, she wanted more.
She pushed her hand between them to rest her palm against his hard shaft. ‘How did you and your men escape?’
Groaning at her touch, Gregor paused, his face tight with concentration. He asked, ‘What?’
Beatrice laughed, not at his obvious lack of concentration, but at the knowledge that she was just as capable of making him lose his ability to think as he had been with her. Slightly tightening her grasp, she teased, ‘From the man attempting to kill you, how did you escape?’
He growled softly before lowering her to the bed. She reached up for him, whispering, ‘Gregor, please.’
After quickly stripping off the
rest of his clothes, he stretched out alongside her on the bed. His hands and fingers seemed to dance along her skin, caressing her, stroking her with his fingertips, then gently dragging the tips of his nails along the same path. Each touch bolder than the last, sending her anticipation soaring.
At times he was gentle, coaxing a sigh from her lips. Other times demanding, making her moan with need. She grasped his wrist as he stroked her belly, then cupped a breast. She wanted more than his mind-robbing touch. Beatrice gazed at him through half-closed eyes. ‘Tease me no more.’
Gregor wanted nothing more than to satisfy her plea. However, no matter how brazen she was, or how sweetly she begged, she was a virgin. He wanted her first time to be pleasurable and something she would be more than willing to repeat.
He knelt on the bed, leaned over to kiss her, claiming her lips, drawing her focus to the sweep of their tongues.
Her body was warm, her breast soft and pliable beneath his caress, the pebbled nipple hardening at his teasing fingers.
Beatrice’s belly contracted as he slid his hand down to settle it between her legs. He sighed at discovering the heat. She didn’t flinch. After an initial pause, she pressed up against his touch, moaning softly when he moved his hand back to her hip.
Her breathing quickened as he trailed the tips of his fingers down the length of her leg, pausing to stroke the back of her knee, making her laugh and try to twist away from the tickling touch. He stopped and moved his touch to her calf. Her laughter quickly turned back to sighs of pleasure.
But when he reached her ankle, and drew his fingertips along the inside, she froze. Gregor smiled and then, even though he knew there was nothing wrong, asked softly, ‘Is something wrong?’
She shook her head.
He wasn’t about to give her time to become too shy to continue, so he slipped one of his legs between hers, easily parting them enough for him to slide his hand up the inside of her leg. When he reached the soft flesh of her thigh, she tensed.
Again, he asked, ‘Is something wrong?’
This time she hesitated, but to his relief finally shook her head again.
He rose to kneel between her legs, ignoring the widening of her eyes and lifted one of her legs. He worked his way from her ankle to her knee, trailing kisses until her limb shook in his hold.
Gregor stroked his tongue along the back of her knee, drawing not a giggle, but a long sigh from her lips.
Halfway up her thigh, she tensed again and he stopped to look at her. ‘Am I hurting you?’
He knew he wasn’t, but he hoped the question would distract her even a little.
She shook her head.
‘Are you afraid?’ He knew that she had to be afraid. Not of him, but of the unknown. Fear was the last thing he wanted her to feel.
At first she shook her head, but then she drew in a breath and said, ‘A little, maybe.’
‘Trust me, Beatrice, there is nothing to fear. The only thing you are going to experience is pleasure. And I am here to fall into it with you.’
Without taking his eyes from her face, he resumed his journey up her thigh. She shook so hard and he hated it. He hated her trembling, hated knowing that he was the cause of it. She had outright defied him without a thought to the consequence, so her fear of this surprised and baffled him.
He knew that he could tell her a hundred times that nothing was going to hurt her and that there was nothing to fear, but until she saw the truth of that for herself, she wasn’t going to believe him. And making light of her senseless fear would only embarrass her more. To her, this nervousness was very real, as real as her fear of the unknown.
‘Take my hand.’ Gregor held a hand out towards her. ‘Just hold on to me.’
She entwined her fingers with his and closed her eyes. ‘Please, get it over with.’
With his lips on her thigh, Gregor stopped. Earlier she’d worried that he was going to take her by force. Now she wanted him to get it over with?
This was without a doubt going to happen, but assuredly not like she obviously expected.
He lifted his mouth from her leg. ‘Look at me.’
She opened one eye.
‘I don’t know who told you about what happens between a man and a woman, but apparently they weren’t fond of the act.’
When she didn’t reply, he said, ‘You and I are going to be wed. God willing it will be for a long time. And this...’ he stroked his tongue along the length of her thigh ‘...is one of the things we will share. Often.’
He lowered her leg and ran his hand up the soft skin to settle over the mound of soft curls. ‘So, you need to forget what you’ve heard, or what you were told, and discover the truth for yourself.’
Gregor held her one-eyed stare and dipped a finger against her warmth. When she closed both eyes, he ordered, ‘Look at me.’
It took a few heartbeats, but she opened her eyes. He stroked light gentle circles, holding her now wide-eyed gaze and said, ‘There will be days when we hate each other, perhaps more than just days, but this won’t change. The body doesn’t care what the head thinks, or the heart feels, it wants what it wants.’
Before she could sense his next move, he slipped past the now-slick folds to stroke the heat inside. ‘When all is said and done, you may wish me dead. But trust me, Beatrice, even while screaming your hatred for me, after this day and night you will cry for me to share your bed.’
The hand still holding his fell lax and she parted her legs further. He leaned down without breaking their eye contact. ‘I am going to kiss you and if it hurts, feel free to say so. The last thing I want to do is cause you pain.’
With his tongue, he traced the path his finger had just traversed and thankfully, the sounds she made had nothing to do with nervousness, or fear and most decidedly not from any pain.
Her gasp was from surprised shock, not fear. But she quickly settled into his intimate caress, sighing with pleasure and finally, when she cried out, ‘Gregor, please’, he knew without a doubt that her gasping cry wasn’t from frustration, but from a desperate need for release.
He moved over her, worried for half a second that he might have lied to her. His concern vanished the second he filled her and she fell into his rhythm without so much as a flinch.
They fitted together as if made for each other. Before long, Gregor curled his fingers into the coverlet beneath them, fighting for enough control to hold off long enough for her—
‘Oh.’ She tensed beneath him, her toes curling into his legs. ‘Oh, my.’
Beatrice’s eyes flew open. He recognised her look of surprise the second before her eyelids fluttered closed and she hung on to him as if for dear life.
He released the coverlet and wrapped his arms tightly around her, wanting to hold her close as they shared their first climax together.
Spent, he relaxed, dropping his full weight on top of her. Beatrice gasped for breath and pushed at him. ‘I can’t breathe.’
Gregor rolled over on to his side, pulling her close. He didn’t care what the next few days brought to them, he wasn’t letting her go.
She turned over, her back against his chest and hung on to his arm. She sighed weakly. ‘So much for being a warrior.’
He laughed softly. ‘I’d say you faced and conquered your fear of the unknown’, then kissed the back of her head. ‘Go to sleep for a...’
Before he completed his suggestion she’d relaxed in his arms. Her light and steady breaths let him know that she’d already fallen asleep.
* * *
Beatrice opened her eyes as she slowly woke up. The sunlight still streamed into the cottage, so she knew they hadn’t done more than take a nap.
She stretched, savouring the warmth curved around her. Gregor’s chest was against her back, one foot hooked over her ankle. The arm he’d draped
over her to pull her close was still wrapped around her. Her head rested on his other arm.
She wanted to stay right here, snuggled down into the softness of the bed and against the man keeping her warm.
He nuzzled her neck, asking, ‘Are you hungry?’
Yes, she was, but she didn’t want to move, nor did she want him to leave the bed. ‘A little.’ She wrapped her arm over his and curled her fingers around his wrist to hold him in place. ‘But food can wait a while.’
He sighed, his breath brushing across her ear. ‘I’ll not argue.’
A pounding on the cottage door drew a groan from him. He rolled on to his back and shouted, ‘Who is there?’
‘Simon, my lord. I am sorry, but I must speak to you.’
Gregor rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘Now?’
‘Yes, my lord, now.’
‘Stay here.’ He patted her hip. ‘I’ll make this brief.’ Then swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rose.
On his way to the door, he grabbed his tunic from the clothes peg and dropped it over his head. Gregor made easy work of removing the wooden beam from across the door, setting it against the wall and then opened the door a crack.
Beatrice couldn’t hear what they said, but she recognised Gregor’s tight tone of voice. Whatever news Simon shared wasn’t welcome.
Gregor glanced back at her a moment before he left the cottage, closing the door behind him.
Beatrice rolled over, snuggling deeper into the warmth of the spot he’d just vacated. She buried her nose in his pillow, breathing in his scent, hoping he’d return soon.
Her wish was granted faster than she’d expected. The door swung open and he strode inside. ‘Get up.’
Shocked by his coldly issued order, Beatrice sat up and looked at him. This was not the same man who’d so tenderly and thoroughly made love to her. The teasing, attentive lover had been replaced by the emotionless warrior.
He tossed her gown and chemise on the bed. ‘Get dressed.’
Except he wasn’t quite as emotionless as he would probably like to appear. She heard the tension in his voice. ‘What’s wrong?’