Page 73 of Blood of Wolves

Perhaps because it did.

His tongue flexed behind her teeth, and then withdrew. Panting a little, he said, “Do you know how armor works?”

She shook her head, the heat still spreading through her, bursting in her cheeks, now. “No. But I’m a fast learner.”

His soft smile radiated fondness, rather than wicked delight, and that had her melting just a little more.

“Here.” He lifted his arms, and started working on the buckles of his gauntlet.

She reached for it instead. “Let me.”

There were awealthof buckles. On his gauntlets, and greaves, and the heavy, tiered leather pauldrons he wore over his mail. Then came the ties of the surcoat…the belt. All of this she unfastened, unlaced, the soft chime of buckles and the whisper of satin the only sounds in the room, save the soft, sometimes-unsteady rush of their breathing. Standing close like this, with the fire built back up, the air grew warm between them – warm enough that sweat tickled at her back.

Or maybe that was just proximity to Rune, and the slow, oddly-erotic act of stripping his armor away, piece by piece.

When he was down to his mail hauberk, too heavy for her to lift, he stepped back to draw it off himself. It landed on the rug with a chink of metal rings, and then he stood before her in padded doublet, shirt, and trousers.

She’d seen him wearing less – had seen him in nothing but a nightshirt while he lay abed, wracked with fever – but like with removing her cloak, this was undressing with a purpose, and the sight of him standing there, strong and pink-cheeked and rumpled, had her belly squirming pleasantly.

“Will you turn around?” he asked.

She did so, a little confused – until he swept her hair over her shoulder and started on the fastenings at the back of her collar. His turn to undo her armor, she realized with a thrill, breath catching.

His fingers paused. “Tessa?”

“I’m fine. Go on. Please.”

Revna had done up the leather collar, corset, and apron with brisk efficiency. Rune worked it loose with careful slowness, fingers working the laces of the corset with endearing, clumsy movements. Slowly, the garment gapped away from her, sagged at her waist. His hands slid around, smoothing over fine-grained leather, to unfasten her belt, and draw the whole of it away.

She was still laced tightly into her dress, high-necked, warm and modest, but when he touched her over the wool, she burned.

He started slow. His breath fanned hot on the back of her neck, and his fingertips settled at her waist, tentative, testing.

Tessa shifted backward the barest fraction, hoping to encourage him with her body, when words failed her. She didn’t know what to ask for; thoughttouch me more, and found she was too nervous to give voice to such an idea.

He understood. His hands settled more firmly. Swept down, so that he cupped the points of her hips, the sheer size of them against midnight wool shocking to her. And then they shifted up, over the fretwork of her stays, and closed over her breasts.

“Oh.”

“Is this all right?”

“Yes. But would you kiss me again?”

“Gladly.” He pressed a slow, thorough kiss to her nape, and then turned her back around, gathered her close, and kissed her mouth again.

That was her favorite. The heat, and slide, and intimacy of it; the way everything else fell away save the press of lips and tongue, and the heat of his hands bleeding through her dress. She hadn’t realized she was shaking until they were kissing again, and then it all melted away, and she was nothing but a hungry, wanting creature again. It made her bold, kissing him. Urged her hands to action. She pushed the doublet off his shoulders, and unlaced his shirt down to his sternum, his skin hot velvet beneath.

He reached beneath her hair to tug the bow at the top of her dress loose, and as his fingers worked the laces, one by one, he pressed kisses down the side of her neck, a warm press to every exposed inch.

By the time her dress landed in a puddle around her feet, she felt feverish. Weak-limbed, light-headed, and so empty between her thighs. “Rune,” she murmured, as he kissed along her collarbone, hands tight on her waist, fingers pressed between the ribs of her stays.

“I know, I know,” he murmured back. He stepped away from her – a loss! – so he could tug his shirt roughly over his head and fling it aside.

Oh, that was a lovely view.

He kicked off his boots, shoved off his trousers–

And.Oh. That was an entirelynewview.

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