But still he was not done with her. When she panted breathlessly and tried to close her legs to hide the oversensitized bud, Thork inserted a long, callused finger inside her body, then two. Her eyes widened with the shock of his entry, so quickly after the other orgasm. He didn’t give her time to protest. By the time his abrasive fingers had thrust in her three times, he could see by her glazed eyes and panting breaths that she was starting on another erotic journey. He held the fingers in place, letting her ride him, setting her own pace, meanwhile using his other hand to finger-flutter her bud once again. She bucked. She wailed. She begged him for satisfaction until her inner body convulsed over and over around his plummeting fingers.
She lay flat across the bed, arms and legs outspread, totally sated. “Oh, Thork,” was all she said in a softly wondrous voice.
Ruby’s uninhibited response to his touch inflamed Thork to the breaking point. “Oh, no, you do not rest yet,” he warned softly, pulling her back up with a laugh. ” ‘Tis your turn, cat, to clean my plate.”
By the time she did just that, with greedy relish, Thork was the one moaning for release, especially when she ended with his rigid, honey-coated manhood. When he could stand no more, he pulled her under him. With one long, hard stroke, he entered her, filling her with his flesh. Her slick folds grasped him spasmodically. He closed his eyes on the pure perfection of the moment. Lord, her woman’s heat enveloped him like a warm glove.
He reared back and gazed at his wife. Wife! Thork marveled at the oddly wonderful-sounding word. Ruby’s face was dazed with mindless passion. Unfocused, her eyes begged him for release from this monumental, searing buildup of sexual arousal that had them both in its clutch. Never had he experienced anything like this fever of building tension.
“Ruby,” he entreated in a savage whisper.
“Now,” she answered shakily, trying to move her hips against his, but he was still buried deep, immobile in her.
“Come with me now, sweetling. Together,” he urged.
She nodded. The time for gentle loving had passed, and Thork pummeled her with long, hard strokes that caused explosions of red lights behind his eyes. Ruby was keening loudly, or was it him? On and on, he thrust into her until wild eruptions of exquisite pleasure rocked him, careening into Ruby’s body, then ricocheting back through his manhood.
They lay panting, side by side, for a long time afterward. Thork felt as if he had died and come back to life. He hugged her close, unable to speak, not sure he could explain what had just happened if he tried. When he finally felt he could utter a word without sounding like a eunuch, Thork rubbed her shoulder in the crook of his arm and chuckled softly.
“Do you know what I love most about you, wife?”
“What?” she whispered, nibbling his neck.
“You make me laugh.”
Ruby punched him in the stomach. “That’s not a compliment.”
“Yea, ’tis, sweetling,” Thork said, holding his stomach in feigned injury. ” ‘Tis a gift you give every time you make me smile.”
By the time morning arrived, Thork swore to himself, he would make her smile a time or two, as well. And he did.
The serving women who brought a tub and fresh water the next morning were aghast when they saw the bed linens.
“I spilled a pot of honey on the bed,” Ruby explained with a blood-red face.
One elderly thrall darted a wry glance her way. “Oh? And what bee spilled it in yer hair and on yer toenails?”
Thork laughed heartily from the chair in the corner where he sat with legs outstretched, wearing only a pair of braies, waiting for his bath.
The woman cast a disgusted look his way. “And you, young master, I suppose those red marks all over yer body are bee stings.”
It was Ruby’s turn to laugh.
When they were both dressed, much later, Thork handed Ruby his two dragon brooches. “I did not have time to purchase you a morgen-gifu. Will you accept these for your morning gift?”