To Love Again - Bertrice Small [158]
“I am not a duty to be done,” he said, offended.
Cailin heard his tone. She smiled up at him. “No, Wulf Ironfist, you are not a duty, but you are my husband unless you choose here and now to renounce the vows we made to one another in my grandfather’s hall that autumn night. Remember before you speak, however, that in denying me, you deny our lost child to us as well.”
“You are certain of what you are saying, lambkin?” he asked.
“No, I am not, Wulf Ironfist,” she told him candidly. “Aspar has been good to me. I love him, and I will hurt him when I leave him; but I love you also, it would seem, and there is our child.”
“What if we cannot find it?” he questioned.
“Then there will be others,” she said softly.
“Cailin,” he whispered, “I want to love you as we once loved.”
“It is expected of us,” she replied, “is it not? The door is barred, and they will leave us in peace until the morning, but you must take that short tunic off, Wulf Ironfist. The gods! It leaves little to the imagination, and I prefer you without it.”
Now they both stood naked in the flickering light of the lamps. Cailin filled her eyes with him. She had forgotten much, but now memory surged strongly through her. Reaching out, she touched a crescent-shaped scar on his chest, just above his left breast. “This is new,” she said.
“I got it at the school in Capua,” he told her, and then held out his right arm to her, “and this one at the spring games in Ravenna this past year. I was blocking a net man, and thinking he had me, he already had his dagger out. He died well, as I remember.”
Cailin leaned forward and kissed the scar upon his arm. “You must never go into the ring again, Wulf. I lost you once, but I will not lose you again!”
“There is no safe place,” he told her. “There is always danger lurking somewhere, my beloved.” Then his two big hands cupped her face and he pressed kisses on her lips, her eyes, her cheeks. Her skin was so soft. She murmured low, her head falling back, her white throat straining. He licked hotly at the column of perfumed flesh, his lips lingering at the base of her neck, feeling the beating pulse beneath. “I love you, lambkin,” he murmured. “I always have.”
She suddenly seemed to flame with desire. She devoured him with her kisses; her lips and her tongue kissing, touching, licking at him. She touched the scar on his breastbone with her mouth, and he groaned as if in pain. She straightened herself, and they stared deeply into each other’s eyes for what seemed an eternity. They were past words. Reaching out, she touched his manhood, stroking him gently, her fingers slipping around him to softly caress his pouch of life.
“You will unman me, sweet,” he grated.
“You are no green boy,” she reassured him, “and we may as well put to good use the things I have learned for our mutual pleasure.” Slipping to her knees before him, she kissed his belly and thighs, then taking him in her mouth, she loved him until he begged her stop, pulling her to her feet to kiss her hungrily.
He drew her over to the dais, and they lay together upon the mattress, their bodies entwined, kissing more. She was no longer the shy girl he had known. Her hands were bold and touched him knowledgeably. He didn’t know whether to be shocked or delighted, but in the end he erred on the side of delight. He had lost a sweet young wife. He had regained a passionate woman. Cradling her in the crook of his arm, he began to stroke her body, and she purred at him like a well-fed feline, encouraging him, crying out softly as her own pleasure began to build.
He cuddled the perfect globes of her breasts tenderly, leaning forward to lick at the nipples with a warm tongue, rousing the rosy tips. The taste of her was exciting, and he began to lick at her warm, silken skin, his tongue sweeping over her flesh; between her breasts, up her throat, back down again to her belly.
Cailin moaned fitfully and half sobbed, “Do you know how to