A Warrior’s Right

When Marcyn awoke the next morning the persistent throbbing between her legs had dulled but was quickly reawakened by the feeling of Alren’s body pressed up against hers. He had a huge arm slung around her waist and his chest pressed against her back. His face was nestled into the crook of her neck and his hot breath on her skin had her flushing all over again. She also couldn’t help but notice that though her husband was still asleep, parts of him were quite awake and his naked spear was jabbing her thigh only inches away from her still intact maidenhood. Marcyn couldn’t recall ever being filled with such a rush of emotions so soon after waking.

In an attempt to distract herself her eyes drifted to the center of the war tent where Dallion was curled up on a bed of furs before the fire. He was still naked as she and Alren were. It hadn’t even occurred to her the night before that another man besides her husband had seen her utterly bare and her cheeks heated at the memory. Bathing old, sick men at the temple was hardly the same as two young, healthy male bodies.

Marcyn was trying to find something else to distract her when Alren began to murmur something in his sleep. He wrapped his arm tighter around her and pulled her harder against his bare chest. He sighed into her ear and seemed to settle back into sleep. Marcyn’s whole body bloomed with heat and she felt another dribble of wetness between her legs. When he tightened his grip though she experienced a far more familiar feeling in her abdomen. She needed to relieve herself. She could probably use some fresh air too considering the way her head was swimming.

Gingerly she wriggled out of his grip. At first he tightened his arms, but when she took his hand and began lifting it away from her he withdrew his arm and rolled over.

Silently, Marcyn slid out of the bed. She snatched her shift off the floor and slid it on, her attention never drifting far from her sleeping husband. He never stirred or made a sound.

Marcyn made it to the flap of fabric that served as the door when a hand wrapped around her arm. She gasped but managed not to scream as Dallion whirled her around. He put a finger to his lips with a meaningful glance toward Alren.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

She stared at him; eyes wide with shock. She hadn’t even heard him stir, hadn’t heard him stand or walk over to her. He was even wearing his robe again.

She blinked and shook off her surprise, “I need to…to…”

“Piss?”

“Attend to my needs,” she said carefully. Dallion nodded and began to walk out of the tent, gently leading her along.

“I will show you the way,” he said. He kept his arm entwined with hers as they walked, looking suspiciously around the camp. Day had barely cracked, and the encampment was mostly still asleep, but some young men and old women were wandering about preparing for the day to begin. Two young men passed in front of Dallion and Marcyn. They lugged a metal tub in the direction of the general’s tent while three young women in rose-colored robes trailed them. Marcyn knew the color marked them as Sow girls, but she didn’t recognize any of them. Another man nearby popped out of his tent and waved one of them inside. She bowed her head and followed him without question. Marcyn watched the scene playout, head cocked curiously.

“Some of the men have a proclivity to share wives,” Dallion said quietly, tracking her glance. Marcyn knew she must have looked a little pale and he squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Not to worry. Alren is not the sharing type. Best not to wander alone until you’ve been here for a while though,” he said and patted her hand.

When they arrived at the privy Dallion released her arm and turned his back as she stepped inside. She finished and came back outside to find her attendant had vanished. In the near distance she heard a terse conversation.

“Alren’s little plaything wandering around all alone at this hour,” a hoarse voice chortled. “No wonder he’s so hesitant to be generous. You are a lovely treat, aren’t you?

“Alren will be plenty generous with you Resh if you do not let me go,” Dallion said in his clear, ringing tone. The threat was clear, but she could hear cruel laughter anyway. Marcyn rounded a corner and found the source of the voices in an alley between two tents. A short, broad man with a sharp face had Dallion with his arms pinned behind his back with one hand. He held his other up to his face, dragging his fingers down his cheek.

“I’ll let you alone,” the man, Resh, said, leaning in closer, “but not yet.”

“What is going on?” Marcyn said though she was sure she knew. Resh turned his attention to her while Dallion tried and failed to wriggle free.

“Just a bit of fun, darling,” Resh said, pivoting to face her, “would you care to join?”

“Go back to the tent, Marcyn,” Dallion said. Resh’s thin brows flicked up high on his long forehead. He looked between her and Dallion.

“Can that bastard get any luckier,” he said, curling his lips in disgust, “you’re Alren’s wife?”

Marcyn nodded. The sun was still barely creeping over the horizon, but the breaking light illuminated a little twinkle in Resh’s eyes as he looked over the two of them. “If the two of you ever get bored of that big dullard–”

“Who is getting bored, Resh?” a voice rumbled from behind them. Marcyn nearly jumped out of her skin and she turned to find Alren stepping into the space between the tents. He crossed his big arms over his chest. Resh paled and quickly released Dallion.

“Captain!” Resh said, standing up a little straighter, but not bothering to wipe the sneer from his mouth or the leering twinkle in his eyes.

Alren walked toward him slowly, a glare in his eyes that kept the lecher frozen in place. Dallion strode to Marcyn’s side at the mouth of the alley. Alren leaned menacingly over Resh. “These two are under my protection and care, Resh,” he said. The early morning chill had steam rising from Alren’s nose and mouth. He looked like a beast intimidating a rat.

“It was just a bit of fun,” he said carefully. Alren bared his teeth.

“Fun would be breaking your hands for touching my campboy. Or maybe cracking your skull open for thinking about my wife.” Marcyn knew she must be turning red. Dallion started to lead her away.

“Wait,” Alren said. Dallion paused and looked curiously over his shoulder. Alren was still glowering at the underling. “Apologize,” he growled. That commanding tone made Marcyn feel like she needed to lie down.

“Apologies, captain,” Resh said with a small bow of his head. Alren narrowed his eyes.

“Not to me,” he said between gritted teeth. Resh took a breath through his nose.

“I apologize for my forwardness, madam,” he said. Marcyn tipped up her chin.

“You are forgetting someone,” she said. Resh wrinkled his nose.

“What?” he said in disgust. Now Dallion was turning pale, but Marcyn squared her shoulders and stepped toward him.

“Apologize to Dallion. You had no right to touch him.”

He looked helplessly at Alren as if expecting him to dismiss the demand, but he was watching Marcyn. The man grit his teeth and looked at Dallion who now wore the smallest smile of self-satisfaction, though it was a little uncertain.

“I am sorry,” he muttered. It was a half-hearted apology but it was enough to make the campboy grin.

“You are on stables for the rest of the week,” Alren said, and took one step closer. “You do not want to know what the punishment will be if I catch you near them again.”

“Yes, sir,” Resh said and slunk away.

Alren turned back toward Marcyn and Dallion, nodding at them to follow him back to the tent. He took up Dallion’s place at her side while the campboy followed a short distance behind them.

“So desperate to escape me already?” Alren said. Marcyn was about to start stuttering a reply or an apology when she looked and saw a small smile on his mouth. He glanced down at her. “I thought we were getting along so well.”

“Dallion was kind enough to show me the way to the privy,” she said, looking down at the muddy road, “a kindness that was hardly repaid.”

“This is a desperate place, Marcyn,” he said in a voice that once more shocked her with its gentleness, “best to keep your wits about you.” He looked over his shoulder at Dallion, “Thank you for looking after her.” Dallion bowed his head.

The camp was finally starting to wake up though it was still early morning there was enough light to move around by. Men in full or half armor emerged from tents. There were horses everywhere with young people tacking them up, men and women both rushing around to prepare the camp.

“I have to go soon,” Alren said. He led them back into the tent where Dallion began collecting Alren’s armor and layers of clothing, “I will be back after nightfall.”

Marcyn felt her heart leap high and sink low, “You are going to battle?” Of course, a warrior had to fight, but somehow she hadn’t expected him to be leaving so soon.

“Usually, men are given a short leave after they are married,” he said, rolling his shoulders and helping Dallion dress him, “but I was not supposed to be married yet. Ulric still expects me to fight.”

Marcyn nodded her understanding, watching carefully at the way Dallion secured all the pieces of Alren’s armor in place with quick, practiced fingers. He waved her closer to get a better look. She wasn’t sure if she even needed to bother learning if Dallion would always be there. He was adjusting a gorget around his neck, the other side of it still hanging open.

“Go on,” Dallion said, “no time to waste.”

Marcyn began to strap the other side of the metal neck-protector, her fingers barely brushing Alren’s warm skin beneath. She knew he was looking at her, but she didn’t dare meet his attention until she was finished. It was hard to keep her breath when she looked up and found his burning stare.

“Dallion,” he said in a low tone, his eyes never leaving her. “Breakfast.”

The campboy lifted his eyebrows and looked between them before slipping wordlessly out of the tent. Alren continued to dress without his assistance and Marcyn tried to help where she could.

“How do you feel this morning?” he asked her when they were alone. She shrugged one shoulder, kneeling to fix a piece of armor around his shin.

“I am still cold,” she admitted.

“That is not what I mean.”

She looked up at him again. Her mind drifted back to the night before. To Dallion on his knees before Alren. She thought of what he’d commanded her to do and how it made her feel. She knew her face must have been flushed, but she couldn’t look away from him.

“Is it alright if I don’t know how I feel yet?”

He watched her for a moment longer and then nodded. He reached down to touch his hand to her cheek, urging her to her feet. “Of course, it is,” he said. He brushed a hair from her face, but then paused and took it between her fingers.

“Can you braid hair?” he asked.

Marcyn had to chuckle, “I grew up in a temple with only other women and girls.”

He raised a brow, a small smile on his lips, “Is that a yes?” He took a seat on a low stool near the firepit and began to run his fingers through his hair, shaking it out.

“It is,” she said, taking up a place behind him. Even on the low stool she could barely see the top of his head, but she could make it work. She used her fingers to section out his hair and went to work weaving it into tight braids.

“Had my hair pulled once in battle,” he said, “I think I would rather be stabbed.”

She wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not, but she let herself chuckle. He sighed at the sensation of her fingers in his hair. His hair was thick and coarse with a slight curl to it. It was dark brown, only a few shades away from black. She was pleased to find it mostly free of tangles. It certainly made her job easier.

“Battle can make men very excited, Marcyn, did you know that?”

Her heart pounded, but she managed to answer. “Yes,” she said quietly.

“When I return tonight I’d like for you to help Dallion bathe me. I will be tired, but when the blood rises it can keep a man awake even when his body needs sleep.” His words were low and slow, as though he wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with what he was saying.

“I understand,” she said, though really she didn’t. She tripped over a plait and had to restart it, trying not to pull as she loosed it and began again.

“After my bath Dallion will attend to me,” he said, “and you will go have supper with the widows and children. Dallion will come fetch you when we’re finished.”

Marcyn wanted to feel relief, but she was surprised at the pang of disappointment that shot through her. She focused on the braids.

“Is that alright?” he asked after she didn’t say anything.

“Of course,” she said, tugging a little harder than necessary as she tied one of the braids. “I just thought you would want me here to attend to you.”

He felt the braids and, seeing that she was finished, stood and turned to face her. “In time,” he said carefully. She nodded. If he noticed the disappointment on her face he had nothing to say about it. “When you are ready,” he lifted his hand as though he would touch her again, but then dropped it. She tipped her chin up, ready for his rough fingers and tried to ignore another sting of rejection when he did not reach for her.

“Alren,” she began, but she stopped when the tent flap flew open and Dallion strode in. He balanced three wooden bowls of food in his hands, hunks of bread sitting partially submerged in some thick stew.

“Breakfast,” he said in a sing-song voice. Alren turned his back on Marcyn to take his bowl of food and she followed behind. She wasn’t sure what she’d wanted to say anyway.

***

After breakfast Alren left for battle. Marcyn sat before the fire and finished eating in silence. Dallion hummed to himself as he ate.

“He will be excited tonight,” he said through a bite of food, “so I would try to be ready for that if I were you.”

Marcyn looked over at him, “That is what he told me, but he wants me to join the widows and children for supper and leave you two alone.”

Dallion frowned and twisted a finger in his ear, “I am afraid I am not hearing you right, darling. Say that again?”

Marcyn knew she was blushing and she hated it, so she looked back at the flames. “He wants to wait until I am ready.” She tried not to sound bitter. She was relieved, really. She’d intended to be a virgin all her life and she’d found power in that. At the temple healing and prayer were akin to a kind of magic and the priestesses, anointed virgins, were the only bearers of that power. Not that it mattered anymore, she could do no healing here so far from the temple and her sisters.

Dallion giggled, “You seemed plenty ready last night.”

Marcyn tried to keep her mind from drifting back to the night before, but just the mention made her stomach feel tight and her core warm. She could almost feel Alren’s hands on her wrists, holding her back from the pleasure she’d almost given herself. “Well, I was not,” she said a little breathlessly.

He laughed again at the way she blushed and kept her eyes down. “You really do not know yourself, do you? I suppose that’s the reason they climbed your tower in the first place, but gods how could you resist the temptation.” He gestured at her with his spoon, “You grew into that body and never…” He held up two fingers and curled them lewdly.

“No!” she said. He just shook his head.

“I will be damned. I thought you were just being coy last night.”

“I was not,” she said, squirming at the way he was looking at her like some kind of experiment. He just put his fist under his chin and grinned at her.

“Good. He doesn’t like coy. He likes…” he looked up as if searching for the right word, “enthusiasm.”

“Enthusiasm,” she repeated. He nodded.

“A little advice to you,” he said with a wink.

***

They spent the rest of the day chatting, Marcyn trying not to let him see how nervous she was. What would become of her if Alren was injured in battle? Or killed. She didn’t let herself think about it too much but spent a good portion of the afternoon in the corner of the tent praying as she had the night before. Over the course of the day, they tidied up the tent, mended some of Alren’s garments and Dallion even took her into the camp to find warmer clothes and shoes.

“As lovely as you look in those drab rags,” he’d said at the tent where wives traded and mended garments for each other, “you’d look much prettier not frozen half to death.”

Marcyn found Dallion a little strange, but kind and pleasant to chat and spend the day with. She couldn’t bring herself to feel jealous of him even if at times she envied his familiarity with her husband. He would have to be her friend going forward and she could certainly imagine worse ones.

The two of them were seated before the fireplace when a horn sounded to announce the warriors returning. The sun hadn’t been gone for long, but their chores were finished, and they were sipping hot, spiced wine and teaching each other verses. Marcyn only knew religious epics and Dallion only knew filthy limericks, but they were enjoying themselves, nonetheless.

“I will start fetching water for the bath,” Dallion said, rising as the horn sounded again, “you wait here for him.”

Marcyn didn’t want him to go, but she didn’t argue. It wasn’t long after he left when Alren strode through the tent flaps. He was covered in muck, some brown mud and some…everything was tinged with red, and the metallic smell of blood filled her nose. The plaits in his hair were mussed, but they’d held and Marcyn felt a small twinge of pride. Despite the chill there was sweat on his brow and he had a shallow scratch across his cheek.

“You are bleeding,” she blurted, unsure what else to say. He fixed his stare on her, dragging it from her feet to her face.

“What are you wearing?” he asked, taking a few steps toward her. Despite her new attire being thicker and warmer than her robes it was also far more fashionable. Marcyn always wore supports beneath her robes, but she’d never been fitted with a proper bodice and the one they’d found held her bust high, the loose shift she wore beneath it cut low, so the tops of her breasts were just visible. Her waist was accentuated as well by the bodice and the thick, padded skirt.

“Dallion and I found some proper clothes today,” she said and pulled her shawl tighter around herself. His eyes were hooded as he took her in for longer.

“Where is Dallion?” he asked and came closer to her. She felt her breath coming quickly.

“Fetching water for your bath,” she squeaked. “Can I help you undress?”

He nodded once and they went to work removing his filthy armor and the layers of clothes beneath. Dallion came in and out with water until the bath was ready. Marcyn couldn’t look away as Alren removed his smallest layers and stepped into the bath, sighing to himself as he relaxed into the steam.

Marcyn and Dallion went to work scrubbing him, Marcyn removing the braids from his hair while Dallion washed.

The two men discussed the battle. The tide was shifting in their favor and things in this region might be finished before midsummer, though it was too soon to know for sure. There was a general, Mustav, who’d been giving them much trouble. Their enemy didn’t have the numbers, but their minds were sharp. Marcyn listened keenly to their discussion, trying to keep track of the names and events they mentioned.

When Alren was finished with his bath Marcyn was surprised to see him bother dressing. It was Dallion who was meant to bring Marcyn to the widows and children.

“I thought Dallion was taking me,” she said, but Alren was striding for the exit.

“I do not want you two wandering alone at night, not after this morning,” he explained. Marcyn paused in the middle of the tent. Alren turned back to see her.

“Is something wrong?”

She swallowed, unsure what to say. She hedged a glance at Dallion who, reading the tension between them, slipped out of the tent. “I will be outside,” he muttered.

“It is not easy for me,” Alren said quietly when they were alone, “to send you away.”

“Then why must you?” she said before she could think better of it. She knew she must have looked as desperate as she felt, but still as unsure. He closed his eyes as if he couldn’t bear the thought.

“Because I know if I did exactly what I wanted right now I would frighten you. Or hurt you,” he licked his lips and came close, so he was just before her. His eyes dragged from her face to her feet and back down again. “I know I could if I wanted to. I could take you now and,” he grit his teeth and stopped himself. Her eyes fell to the floor.

“You do not frighten me,” she said.

He scoffed, “You cannot even look at me.” She whipped her head up and he was right in front of her, staring down, his eyes dark with lust. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, gentle but forcing her to look at him. “Do not ever lie to me, Marcyn,” he said in little more than a growl. Her blood felt hot.

“Fine,” she whispered, “you frighten me.” He looked away and made to drop his hand once more, but she grabbed it, “But you excite me, too.” His attention snapped back at her, his eyes burning into hers, but she didn’t look away. Didn’t let herself. “I do not want to sup with the widows and children,” she said. Enthusiasm, she reminded herself. “I want to stay here with you.”

He raised his brows, leaning in closer so their mouths were almost touching. That space was miniscule, but it felt like miles. “And you are ready to participate?”

Her heart pounded. Yes. No. “I..” Enthusiasm, Dallion had said. Never lie to me, Alren had said. She didn’t even know what was true anymore. “I don’t want to sup with the widows and children.”

He didn’t close the distance between their mouths, but his own twitched up into a smirk. “Dallion,” he called. She heard the tent flaps open, but she couldn’t move her eyes away from her husband’s.

“Is she ready to leave?” he asked from behind.

“She’s staying,” he said. Before she even knew what was happening he had her turned, pressed against his chest and his hands pawing over her bodice, pulling the laces and dragging it down along with her skirts.

Marcyn closed her eyes, let herself enjoy the feel of his hands on her body removing piece after piece of clothing. She still couldn’t understand the mix of feelings she had. Fear and shame and excitement wove around each other inside her, as intricate as the braids she’d woven into Alren’s hair that morning.

Alren had her down to her shift and he pulled the collar wide, sliding it slowly down her shoulders. She gasped as she felt his hot breath on the side of her neck and then his mouth. She thought she’d faint at the feeling of his lips and teeth kissing and nibbling. He found her ear and nipped it.

“You’re too quiet,” he growled and nibbled a particular spot on her neck. A moan escaped her lips. Her knees went weak and she stumbled forward, but he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back against him. Once she was steady he took her by the shoulders and whirled her to face him once more.

The look in his eyes was like a kind of madness, an animal intensity. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside, that look vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared.

The cut on his cheek was stark on his handsome face and she followed the map of scars from his face down his neck, over the broad plains of his muscular chest and abdomen. Lower. She swallowed and fear rose again, she looked away. He raised her chin and leaned in so his mouth was against her ear again.

“I killed men today,” he growled, taking her hand and placing it against his chest, the mess of scars there, “I have killed many men. I have protected our country, our Gods, our people. You are my reward, Marcyn. I can have you as I like, and I will. I will have your pleasure; I will have your body.” Her heart fluttered in her chest; her legs weren’t even close to solid beneath her. He pulled her hand off of him and gently pushed her away, though she saw pain on his face and restraint. “But I will not have your uncertainty.”

She opened her mouth to object, but he silenced her with a kiss. His hands holding her face, his lips crushing, hot and unyielding. Her knees did buckle then, but he wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her, his other hand still holding her cheek. They’d kissed at the wedding, but that had been small and unsure. This took her breath, it turned her body to loose clay in his powerful hands. He moaned against her mouth in desperation, but just as she felt that heat inside her building he pulled away.

“I would have you in such filthy manners,” he said. His hand was sliding slowly down from her cheek so a few of his fingers were curled around the side of her neck. A rush that she couldn’t understand shot through her at the feeling of his callouses there. Everything was so hot, it was happening so quickly she felt the air stolen out of her lungs. The room seemed fuzzy, maybe it was even spinning a little. She had no sense of where Dallion was, she only knew her body and Alren’s pressed against her. She met his eyes to steady herself and he must have seen some remaining panic there because he pulled back again, sliding his hand down her arm and taking her gently by the wrist. He led her to the bed and sat her on the edge of it, kneeling down before her, though with his stature this put them roughly at eye level.

“It’s all–” she tried but had no words. She didn’t even know what she wanted anymore. He rested a hand on her thigh and slid it up to the hem of her shift, just dancing in the middle of her thigh, the rest of the fabric pooled around her waist. He stared hungrily at her breasts, her lips, the flush high on her cheeks. “It’s all so much.” A crooked, almost arrogant smile cracked Alren’s stony face.

“Last night,” he said slowly, giving her a moment to collect herself, to recall the evening before. It felt so far away. “You knew what you wanted, didn’t you? At least for a moment.”

Another rush of heat surged through her and absentmindedly she slid a hand down her thigh. Alren pushed it away and replaced it with his own, gently parting her legs and dragging his fingers teasingly up her inner thigh. She shivered and a whimper escaped her lips. Alren licked his in response.

“Didn’t you?”

Marcyn was in a daze again, all she could focus on was his hand between her legs. He brushed a knuckle over her, the seam of her womanhood. He nudged it between her outer lips and slipped a finger up, circling her clitoris. She was undone. It was unbelievable such a small part of her body could hold so much pleasure. Another shiver tore through her and she tried to push him away, to push away the pleasure that undid her completely. He wouldn’t budge though. His body remained utterly solid between her legs.

Alren applied more pressure and her body sang in response, but this time she let herself fall into it. Alren tipped his head to the side and kissed her knee, then the inside of her thigh. She closed her eyes and took in the new sensation. “Do you remember what you wanted, Marcyn?” he murmured against her skin.

She couldn’t speak. When she opened her mouth to try, a moan escaped instead. He nipped her skin and she gasped, her eyes fluttering open. He was watching her keenly. “I asked you a question.” He’d stopped what he was doing with his finger. She moved her hips gently to urge him onward, still unable to speak. He grabbed her by the hips and tugged her center closer to his face, still looking up at her. His eyes were almost glowing with temptation. She could feel his hot breath on her womanhood.

“W-what?” she was still dazed, still desperate. He kissed her inner thigh again, so close to that spot it made her squirm. He moved toward the middle again and then paused and did the same to the other thigh.

“Did you know what you wanted last night?” he asked slowly.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“You want that again?”

“Yes.”

“From me?”

“Yes, Alren.” It was barely a whisper, but the sound of his name on her lips seemed to shatter his self-control. He grabbed her thighs, spread them as far as she could allow, and dove in. Marcyn fell back on the bed, a mix of moans and gasps and cries of pleasure bursting out of her as he feasted on her. He was a wildman, desperate for her taste as he swirled and flicked his tongue around her clitoris. Every moment she thought it couldn’t get better, but the pleasure just built and built. She writhed under the onslaught, slid her fingers into his hair and tugged lightly just to have something to keep her grounded, something as solid and real as him.

He slung her legs over his shoulders and lifted her hips off the bed for better access. He continued to attack her clitoris with his tongue, though at one point he moved down and tasted more of her petals. Marcyn almost swore when he stuck his tongue inside of her. He returned to her clit with such fervor her toes curled.

Surely she would burst. Was it possible her body could withstand such intense pleasure without simply falling apart? That wave was rushing for her again, a familiar tight feeling building toward an unfamiliar one. It was a promise made and finally about to be kept.

She was floating in pleasure, time and place lost to her. At some point there was another new sensation; Alren’s callous finger brushing the outside of her hole. He inserted it slowly, though she was so lost in the feeling of his tongue she barely noticed the slight stretch. He slid his finger deep inside her and curled it gentle, over, and over in time with the circles he was drawing with his tongue. She writhed against his finger, shuddering at the new source of pleasure. Alren laid his free hand on her belly and pushed her back down against the bed, still licking and fingering her. With that, the wave crested.

“Alren,” she gasped once more before she was utterly enveloped by ecstasy and desire, by the way he played her body like she was no more than an instrument. How was it possible he could make her feel such rapture? And she’d almost denied herself this feeling.

Her body spasmed. She balled her fists around the furs on the bed and Alren’s hair. She moaned and whimpered in an endless stream until finally the world started to feel real and solid again. The crashing waves of pleasure turned into little more than ripples. Alren didn’t remove his mouth from her until she was completely spent. He wore a wolfish smirk as he looked up at her from between her legs, his mouth shiny with her juices. He licked his lips and tugged her forward by her hips. She shot up into a sitting position. Alren was still kneeling between her legs.

“How do you feel?” he asked, keeping his eyes on hers as he licked his fingers clean of her taste. He was so close to her now she could smell herself on his breath.

“T-tired,” she managed. He chuckled, that same rumbling sound that made her stomach flutter. Alren leaned slightly forward, and she met him in the middle, kissing him deeply. She didn’t dislike her taste on his lips. He wrapped his arms around her back and lifted her up, depositing her properly in the middle of the bed, his lips locked with hers the entire time. When at last he pulled away his face was hovering above hers and she could see the lust burning in his eyes had only intensified. Her bones felt heavy though, her heart conflicted.

“Rest,” he said and kissed her again. Surprisingly gentle considering the way he was looking at her. He pulled back and looked almost pained. He cupped her cheek, gently ran his thumb over her lips before pulling it away. He wanted more from her, she knew, but she was still so uncertain. He looked like he was about to kiss her again, but then quickly leapt off the bed.

Marcyn wanted to ask him to come back to her, though she wasn’t sure what she had to offer she knew she wanted his powerful arms around her again. All the heat he’d filled her with was suddenly extinguished as he left her.

As Alren walked away she rolled onto her side and saw Dallion watching them, slightly amused. He was sitting before the fire, reheating the wine they’d been sipping at earlier than evening. Alren stood before him and they seemed to have some unspoken conversation, because Dallion took the wine off the fire and stood up.

“You’re all finished?” he teased, already in the midst of undressing. Marcyn suddenly remembered she was little more than a stranger to them. She felt like she wasn’t quite supposed to be there, so she rolled onto her other side.

“She’s all finished,” she heard her husband say, “I’m just beginning.”

“And that means I am too,” Dallion said. His voice was suddenly husky. She’d heard Sow girls speak in that tone before and she’d always thought it sounded like a storyteller acting out a character. It didn’t when Dallion did it though, lust was a natural language for him. She wondered if she’d ever be able to speak in such a sensual tone without feeling false.

Though she’d turned away Marcyn heard the sounds of clothes shedding and items being hastily pushed off the table. Her body was still exhausted, but her heart pounded at the sound of Alren growling in pleasure, of skin against skin. She couldn’t help herself, she rolled over to see them.

They had their backs to her. Dallion was bent over the table, Alren thrusting wildly into him. Dallion moaned with each deep pump and his hands gripped the table to keep his balance. Alren held him in place with one hand in his sandy curls and another on his hip.

That’s what he’d wanted to do to her, she realized as she watched them. Those moments when his eyes were wild with desire this is what he was imagining.

“Gods Alren,” Dallion whimpered. His voice was still lusty, but strained. Alren grunted and released his grip on his hair, instead grabbing hold of both his hips and slamming himself deeper. He tipped his head forward and spit on the place they were conjoined and then picked up speed again. He rolled his head back and moaned. The sound reverberated through Marcyn and she felt her core begin to pulse, her body blooming with heat again.

Marcyn rolled back over and continued listening to the sound of their copulation. Every time Alren made a sound it ignited something in her and by the time he roared his climax she was dripping.

She was feigning sleep when Alren collapsed into bed beside her. He was panting and she could feel the heat radiating off him. He was snoring soon after, but she could not settle her spirit for many hours. There was a persistent thought that kept her awake long into the night; the taste of carnal pleasure she’d had was not nearly enough.