back of Wensel Redhead’s cottage.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WENSEL HAD A cart, and two stalls for horses, and above that, a dark and fragrant hayloft. Maythorn scrambled up the ladder. Ren followed, muttered something and climbed back down, and returned a moment later. “Here.” He pushed something at her, a blanket, smelling faintly of horse.
Maythorn spread the blanket on the hay and reached for Ren, pulling him closer. She kissed him—missed his mouth and found his smooth-shaven cheek instead—fumbled at his tunic and kissed him again—found his mouth this time and lost herself for a moment in the texture of his lips, the taste of him—roughly unlaced the tunic and yanked it over his head.
His torso was bared to her, but her eyes were blind in this darkness. Touch would have to suffice. Touch. Taste. Smell. She leaned into Ren and pressed her face against his shoulder and inhaled his scent, opened her mouth and nipped him lightly, tasted the salt on his skin with her tongue, felt the flex of muscle as he pulled away from her.
Maythorn made a noise of protest—and swallowed it as Ren began stripping her. She helped him as best she could, twisting this way and that. Scant seconds passed—and then she was naked, the kirtle and smock tossed away in the darkness.
Ren reached for her, one hand sliding down her arm, clasping her wrist, pulling her close.
“No.” Maythorn slipped free, and groped for his ankle. She yanked first one soft leather boot off, then the other, peeled his hose swiftly and roughly down his legs, and then his braies. She flung the garments away and made a wordless sound of satisfaction. Now they were both naked.
She heard Ren’s breathing in the darkness—harsh, ragged—and heard her own panted breaths.
“Maythorn . . .” he whispered, and his hand found hers.
This time she didn’t slip free, but let Ren pull her to him. His hand slid up her arm, cupped the nape of her neck, drew her closer for a deep, fierce kiss. His other hand found her waist—those long, strong fingers burned against her skin—caressed her hip, slid up her ribcage to one breast.
Pleasure ignited inside her, like a smoldering ember abruptly bursting into flame. So long since she’d been touched like this. Too long. Maythorn pressed herself eagerly closer. Ren’s erection prodded her belly, so hot it should brand her skin, making arousal jolt through her, making her gasp into his mouth. One large, callused hand slid down her back to cup her buttocks and pull her even closer. Another jolt of arousal scorched through her. Maythorn clutched his arms, her fingers digging in to the slabs of muscle, and kissed him more fiercely, her tongue clashing with his.
Urgency built between them until she was almost mad with it. Maythorn tore her mouth from Ren’s, begged, “Now, please,” and pulled him down with her.
Ren settled himself between her thighs. Maythorn arched her back, pressing as close to him as she could. She was on fire, frantic with need. Ren’s cock burned at the entrance to her body—and then he slid into her in a long, vigorous thrust that made her cry out with pleasure.
Ren froze, buried deeply inside her. “Am I hurting you?” His voice was hoarse, strained, dismayed. She felt him trembling, felt the immense control it took him to hold still.
“No,” Maythorn gasped. “Don’t stop. Merciful gods, don’t stop!”
Ren obeyed, withdrawing, thrusting even deeper. Their coupling became urgent, almost frenzied. Heat grew between them, a conflagration, an inferno. The pleasure, when it came, was so intense that Maythorn nearly fainted from it. It rocked through her like a thunderclap. She heard Ren cry out, felt his huge body spasm, felt his cock surge inside her as he spilled his seed.
Ren’s weight came close to crushing her, before he groaned and rolled to one side. For a long moment, they lay panting, then Ren pulled her close, tucking her into his body, holding her.
Gradually their breathing
CHAPTER EIGHT
WENSEL HAD A cart, and two stalls for horses, and above that, a dark and fragrant hayloft. Maythorn scrambled up the ladder. Ren followed, muttered something and climbed back down, and returned a moment later. “Here.” He pushed something at her, a blanket, smelling faintly of horse.
Maythorn spread the blanket on the hay and reached for Ren, pulling him closer. She kissed him—missed his mouth and found his smooth-shaven cheek instead—fumbled at his tunic and kissed him again—found his mouth this time and lost herself for a moment in the texture of his lips, the taste of him—roughly unlaced the tunic and yanked it over his head.
His torso was bared to her, but her eyes were blind in this darkness. Touch would have to suffice. Touch. Taste. Smell. She leaned into Ren and pressed her face against his shoulder and inhaled his scent, opened her mouth and nipped him lightly, tasted the salt on his skin with her tongue, felt the flex of muscle as he pulled away from her.
Maythorn made a noise of protest—and swallowed it as Ren began stripping her. She helped him as best she could, twisting this way and that. Scant seconds passed—and then she was naked, the kirtle and smock tossed away in the darkness.
Ren reached for her, one hand sliding down her arm, clasping her wrist, pulling her close.
“No.” Maythorn slipped free, and groped for his ankle. She yanked first one soft leather boot off, then the other, peeled his hose swiftly and roughly down his legs, and then his braies. She flung the garments away and made a wordless sound of satisfaction. Now they were both naked.
She heard Ren’s breathing in the darkness—harsh, ragged—and heard her own panted breaths.
“Maythorn . . .” he whispered, and his hand found hers.
This time she didn’t slip free, but let Ren pull her to him. His hand slid up her arm, cupped the nape of her neck, drew her closer for a deep, fierce kiss. His other hand found her waist—those long, strong fingers burned against her skin—caressed her hip, slid up her ribcage to one breast.
Pleasure ignited inside her, like a smoldering ember abruptly bursting into flame. So long since she’d been touched like this. Too long. Maythorn pressed herself eagerly closer. Ren’s erection prodded her belly, so hot it should brand her skin, making arousal jolt through her, making her gasp into his mouth. One large, callused hand slid down her back to cup her buttocks and pull her even closer. Another jolt of arousal scorched through her. Maythorn clutched his arms, her fingers digging in to the slabs of muscle, and kissed him more fiercely, her tongue clashing with his.
Urgency built between them until she was almost mad with it. Maythorn tore her mouth from Ren’s, begged, “Now, please,” and pulled him down with her.
Ren settled himself between her thighs. Maythorn arched her back, pressing as close to him as she could. She was on fire, frantic with need. Ren’s cock burned at the entrance to her body—and then he slid into her in a long, vigorous thrust that made her cry out with pleasure.
Ren froze, buried deeply inside her. “Am I hurting you?” His voice was hoarse, strained, dismayed. She felt him trembling, felt the immense control it took him to hold still.
“No,” Maythorn gasped. “Don’t stop. Merciful gods, don’t stop!”
Ren obeyed, withdrawing, thrusting even deeper. Their coupling became urgent, almost frenzied. Heat grew between them, a conflagration, an inferno. The pleasure, when it came, was so intense that Maythorn nearly fainted from it. It rocked through her like a thunderclap. She heard Ren cry out, felt his huge body spasm, felt his cock surge inside her as he spilled his seed.
Ren’s weight came close to crushing her, before he groaned and rolled to one side. For a long moment, they lay panting, then Ren pulled her close, tucking her into his body, holding her.
Gradually their breathing
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