Page 49 of Veiled Flames
I drape one of my legs over hers and cup her neck with my hand, stroking her throat and loving how her eyes show how much she enjoys the caress, how much she trusts me.
“What you almost saw in the woods falls into a different category of sex. Something that ought to be a crime.”
“Acrime?” Her eyes blink, her rampant curiosity clearly wanting further explanation. “Is it a crime to drill a woman from behind?”
“No. No, ma chérie.” I struggle not to laugh. I don’t want her to think I’m mocking her ignorance. “Entering from behind can be…it can beveryexciting and pleasurable for both parties. But if the woman does notwelcomethe act.” I fight to find the right words. “If she’s penetrated byforce…”
I think of the many times I’ve pulled scoundrels off wenches. And worse, the times I couldn’t be bothered to… “Being taken by force is highly painful and unpleasant for a female. When perpetrated against a wedded noble woman, by a man who is not her husband, it’s a crime called rape.”
Her body tenses, and her eyes spark with empathetic pain. “Oh, yes. I can only imagine.”
“Don’t imagine it, ma chérie.” I stroke her face. “No man of honor ever takes a woman against her will.” I wish that were true, even more than I wish I hadn’t spoiled our mood.
“I’m very glad you are honorable.” She kisses my cheek and then settles back down against the mattress. “And now I’m doubly, notriplygrateful that I fled the fate my father chose for me. If that old man had tried to drill me…”
A shiver traces through her, but then her expression is replaced by steely resolve, and she shakes her head. “Had he tried to drill me, I’d be dead now. Dead because I’d have been hung for killing a king.”
My heart swells in my chest as my admiration for this young woman grows yet again. I have little doubt she would have killed King Vyktor, had he raped her. Although as her husband, he would have had every right to.
“So…” Her eyes fill with questions again. “I still don’t understand something you said earlier. How could sex—how could it ever bebland?” Her hand traces over my back, her fingers exploring the shape of my shoulder blades. “I can’t begin to even imagine that.”
She shifts, and my cock falls against her, turning rock hard on contact.
“The act can become routine,” I tell her. “If the man or woman—or both—are…disinterested.”
Her nose wrinkles, shifting her tiny pink freckles. “Disinterested, but still willing.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t imagine that.” Her hand traces my abdomen, and her gaze flicks down as if seeking my rod.
“Would you like to touch it?” I ask her.
Her eyes open wider. “Very much.” Her tiny pink tongue escapes her lush lips. “May I?”
I nod, and my cock pounds, even before her fingers make contact.
She shifts slightly to make more room between us, and I wrap one arm around her back, so she won’t fall off the cot. She looks down to study my stiff member, and then tentatively touches its tip.
I nearly buck us both off the cot.
“Oh.” She looks up at me. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I shake my head. “It’s very sensitive, that’s all. Especially at the tip. Especially after drilling so long in your luscious depths. The head of my rod is sensitive, much as you are very sensitive, here.” I flick her button and her pelvis twitches.
I press the hard nub, but then pull my hand away so she won’t get distracted. Her fingers slide lightly down my shaft, and I groan.
“My hand feels good,” she says without question in her voice. And then her small fingers continue to explore, tracing my veins and ridges, and driving me wild with desire.
“It’s softer than I expected,” she says, looking down at my hardness, still stroking me. “So soft for something that’s also so hard—so solid. And it’s warm. Almost hot.”
And it’s getting hotter by the second.
My life juices refill my stones, making me fear they’ll soon burst, and blood rushes into my cock. My cock’s harder than seems possible after being so well used already tonight. Sweat beads on my forehead as she continues to stroke me, and I struggle to contain my raging need.
Her touch becomes less tentative. Her hand glides up and down, the remnants of her juices and my own, acting as lubrication. My head snaps back, my teeth clenching so hard they’ll surely break.
“Too much,” I cry out. Then I shift my head to face her again.
