Page 33 of Tusk Love

Only this time, he was kissing her neck. His right hand palmed her left breast, his other hand tracing heated patterns on the plane of her stomach. She eagerly surrendered to the delicious sensations, arching into his touch as he played with her nipple, lolling her head against his shoulder to give his lips unfettered access to her throat. At the corner of her eye, a flash of pink was being borne away by the turquoise waves, and she grinned despite herself. Despite what he was doing to her.

“That was, ah, my only bar of soap, Oskar,” Guinevere admonished in between hitched breaths.

“I’ll buy you another in Zadash,” he rasped into her skin. The hand that was on her stomach drifted lower, into the soft curls that shielded her wetness. “I’ll buy you anything you want, just,gods,Guinevere, let me in.”

She parted her thighs, and his hand slid between them. He cupped her in his palm, which was warm despite the coolness of the water, and she whimpered and strained, torn between shock at a man’s hand beingthereand the primal insistence that it wasn’t enough. He needed to move his fingers. He needed to put themin.Hadn’t he asked her to let him in?

So impatient.Teinidh’s voice was wisps of smoke blowing over a high prairie.Did you get that from me?

It sounded like a taunt and a secret all at once.

Shut up,Guinevere seethed. She rolled her hips, rubbing herself all over Oskar’s palm. Just once. Just to see what it felt like. She bit back a cry at the exquisite friction of it. He pinched her nipple lightly, and she jerked.

“I can cover you with one hand, princess.” The words came out slightly strangled, yet still at that low, low pitch that echoed through her like a pulse. “Sure you’ll be able to take me?”

“Oh!” Her eyes widened. “Don’t say”—his fingers began stroking her under the water, and her thoughts scattered to the winds—“things like—like that,” she finished weakly, panting.

“Things like what?” Deep voice like rough velvet, darkly amused. Hot fingers sliding and caressing between her legs, strumming at her breasts. “Like how soft you are? Like how I’ve wanted to do this from the moment you first looked at me with those sweet eyes? Like how I think about your tits all the damn time? I want to suck them until youcry out,Gwen. Do you think you’ll ever let me?”

“I’m…I…”

She was blushing furiously, the ghostlike spray from the falls doing little to cool her heated face. She’d heard about love-talk, of course, but the ladies of Rexxentrum had said it mostly involved their partners telling them what fine women they were. Nothing this meltingly crude. Then again, nothing else in the world was like Oskar. He nuzzled at her jaw, the curve of one ivory tusk grazing the edge of her cheekbone, and under the water his fingers found it—what the other ladies called thepearl,less laughingly and more coyly, as though imparting a great secret. Guinevere’s knees went weak, and she reached back to clutch at Oskar’s nape for support, and he rumbled his approval while he slicked the calloused pad of one finger against that sensitive bundle of nerves.

“That’s right, my lovely adventurer,” he said. “Hold on to me while I’m making you come.”

“You certainly think highly of yourself,” she moaned into his shoulder, writhing against him. “I haven’t comeyet.”

He muffled a scrape of laughter against the side of her face. “Is that a challenge?” he asked, pressing a quick kiss to her temple.

And he sank a finger inside her.

It slid in easily at first, thanks to the water, thanks to her own frenzied wetness. But the moment it started to sting, she winced, and he went no further.

“Gods, you’re tight,” he gritted out, and something about those words made her clamp down on him, as though to prove it. “Fuck, Gwen. So tight, so beautiful—”

And then he was giving her these shallow, careful thrusts, the angle allowing him to rub against her swollen little bud as he did so, and she was looking at the waterfalls and thinking about flowers and pearls until he picked up the pace and she saw only stars and thought about nothing except chasing the pleasure, the pressure, rolling her hips against his marvelous hand, arching closer to his marvelous chest, dotting that stern, clean-shaven jaw with kisses, breathing in the scent of him.

Before long he added another finger, and she took it with a gasp, with his gravelly curse resounding in her ear. “I’m almost there,” shewhined,because there was no other word for it, for the spirals of aching need, for a life spent so long without loving touch. Her peak was so close she could nearly taste it, but what if it never happened, what if some vagary of fate were to snatch it back—

Guinevere panicked even as her world poised on the brink of sublime shattering. She thrashed in Oskar’s embrace, clawing at his arms and nape, distressed noises spilling from her lips.

“It’s all right.” He slanted his mouth over hers in a soothing kiss, swallowing up her cries. “You’ll get there. I’ll take you. Just trust me.”

And, wonder of wonders, she did—because his heart at her spine was strong and steady in its beating, because Oskar had never let her down. Not once since the night they met. She stopped fighting for it, she surrendered, and soon the tangled paths of pleasure that his clever fingers wove caught on fire, and Guinevere was crashing headlong into climax. Screaming with the waterfalls, her toes curling over thelake bed, her body seizing within the strong embrace that was the only thing keeping her from floating away.

Oskar didn’t give her any chance to recover. While she was still reeling from sheer bliss, he eased his fingers out of her and grabbed her by the hips. “Sorry,” he muttered, sounding barely tethered to the last thread of his sanity, “sorry, I have to—”

And he hunched over her, settling his chin in the crook where her shoulder met her neck, and his erection slid between her thighs, rubbing along her wetness, his hips snapping against her buttocks.

Oh,Guinevere thought hazily,oh, my.

Somehow she knew to shift her stance to give him easier access. Somehow she knew to rake her fingers down his scalp and encourage him with nonsensical, keening exclamations. Somehow she knew to arch so he could paw at her breasts while at the same time moving back against him, thrust for thrust, dragging herself all over the throbbing length and girth of him.

They rocked together in this strange and exhilarating imitation of sex, lake water sloshing all around them, and if the Shimmer Ward ladies and her parents could see her now—sheltered, prim, proper Guinevere, stark naked, used by a man in the great outdoors—a man mindlessly seeking his own pleasure, huffing and panting against her neck, his thick fingers rubbing her nipples raw—

Her second orgasm took her by surprise. It was hauled out of her on the crest of her aftershocks, and she cried out and fluttered, Oskar’s name rolling off her tongue like a hymnal as she fell off the edge of the world once more.

And, this time, he joined her there. With one last squeeze to her left breast, with a few more haphazard thrusts and then a stilling of his hips, he spilled into the water between her legs. She saw it fleetingly—a burst of milky white—before the turquoise currents melted it away.

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