{The story takes place after Chapter 8 of Nottoofar webserial on Wattpad}
**Will’s POV**
He splayed his hands on her back, cradling her, her delicate shoulder blades on his palms; and he stroked her silky skin with his thumbs. She shivered and rubbed her temple to his. It’d been an age, but her responsiveness was working wonders for him. There was something to be said about a woman in one’s arms who greeted anything one did, with that much excitement!
He only just tasted the pale throat and was making his way to her little ear, when she sank her nails into his shoulders and moaned. Her legs tight around his waist, she squirmed on his lap.
“Will…”
She was panting, and her whole body trembled – and he remembered that she was a maiden. He’d never been with one, but he’d heard enough nightmarish tales of pain, and blood, and tears. He needed to take the reins – while he could still think somewhat clearly.
He cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling into her heavy copper curls; and he angled her face. She wasn’t looking at him, her eyes closed.
“Fiona.”
Her lashes fluttered open, her irises clouded, as if fuddled.
“Fiona,” he tried again.
She pulled herself closer to him – and then started placing hurried, open-mouthed kisses on the side of his neck. Not good, not good at all. He could hardly remember if he ever cared for this sort of thing; but she was plucking all the right strings on his lute, as the saying went. Her tongue drew a long lick on his throat, and she moaned again. She’d made the same sound when she’d bitten a tater knave for the first time, and at the time he’d considered sticking his head into a wash basin with cold water. Too late for that now. This time, even a dip into an icy river wouldn’t help.
He fell forward and to a side, awkwardly, pushing her onto her back. She eagerly opened her legs, accommodating him. It seemed that his attempt to slow her down for a serious discussion had just backfired. She’d threaded her hands into his hair, and goosebumps stampeded down his nape and along his spine.
“Oh, I’ve dreamt of this,” she murmured, smiling blissfully. “You’re so beautiful.”
Her palms slid down, caressing his jaw, her short nails scraping his beard.
Her bewildering opinion of him would have to be addressed later. Her enthusiastic ministrations had almost pushed him over the edge; and, meanwhile, the matter of preparing her still needed addressing.
And then she picked up the hem of his tunic and tugged. He didn’t help her, half preoccupied with tasting her collarbone, half trying to slow them down at least a tad. She fidgeted with the shirt, distractedly; and then she gave up – and her fingers sneaked under the waist of his breeches.
“Fiona.” He cleared his throat. “Fiona…” The naughty little fingers flitted, first, onto his hip bone, and then she twisted her wrist and pushed her hand lower. “Fiona!”
She jerked her hand back, and he immediately regretted his tone. Her eyes roamed his face, her expression sober and anxious now.
“Let’s– Let’s take care of you first, aye?” he muttered.
How does one talk to an untouched woman about these things?
He rose above her on his knees, clumsily dragging his wounded leg, and looked her over. The bottoms of her white underpants were sticking out from under her chemise.
“The maid brought them,” she said, guessing what he was staring at. “You didn’t ask for them, just for a shirt for me; but I reckon she assumed that you just hadn’t thought of it. I doubt it had been your ploy to keep my backside naked,” she joked.
“It wasn’t,” he answered and slid his hands over her thighs, hiking up the shift. “But now that I think of it–” he murmured, hiking up one eyebrow.
She giggled. She was such a delightful one. All he needed to do was to make sure not to ruin her mood.
“Bum up, please,” he said – and her hips jumped up on the bed.
Eager little thing, innit?
He dragged her drawers off her.
“Can I touch you?” he asked, his gaze on the auburn curls between her legs.
“Aye, of course,” she answered lightly.
He stretched on the bed, supporting himself on his elbows. When he glanced up to make sure she was still keen on it, he saw her biting her bottom lip, her eyes burning, watching his every movement.
He drew a gentle, feather-light circle with his thumb on the hood over her bud – and she gasped, her body jolting. She didn’t move away, so he leaned and mimicked the caress with his tongue.
“Oh Spirits and–”
He repeated the manoeuvre, and she continued muttering.
“Green– Mother! And all Spirits! And– Oh Will…”
The more he moved – tasted, touched, and lapped – the more she answered, writhing, sighing, mewling, begging for more. He added a finger, then two; mostly because she asked – if he understood her chanting ‘more, more’ correctly – but also since he needed her willing.
She cried out, arching her back on the bed, his name coarse in her throat – again, and again, and again – and she slumped, sobbing, grabbing handfuls of her fiery hair.
“It’s so much better when it’s you,” she commented into the ceiling a few minutes later. “Then when I–” She weakly wiggled her fingers.
He hummed in agreement. It was definitely good. He’d settled his cheek onto her hip, and he could feel her heartbeat drumming in her groin.
She shifted, and her fingers once again tangled into his hair.
“Will?” She tickled him behind his ear. “Will…”
He chuckled.
“Aye?”
“Please?”
He slightly turned his head so he could peek at her from the corner of his eye.
“Wi-i-ill,” she drew out. What a vixen.
He rolled onto his stomach again and quickly kissed her stomach.
“I don’t want to hurt–” he started, but she interrupted him right away.
“I want you,” she said firmly. “I want you to do it. Us to do it. I want to know what it feels like. With you. I want it so much! Please?”
How is a man supposed to say ‘no’ to this?
“It might hurt, but I don’t think it will,” she continued. “It’s aching right now, I just–” She grabbed his shoulders, and then her palms ran over his skin, over and over again, cajoling him to move on top of her. “Please, Will… I can’t wait anymore… Please…”
He covered her with his body. He’d never be able to refuse her from now on, even in the smallest of things, would he? You’re done for, mate.
He met her eyes – widened, pupils black and bottomless – and she drew him closer, frantically clawing at him.
“Just– Please…”
He crashed his lips into hers, opening them. How is this possible – for it to be that simple? That easy.
Just Fiona. So small, warm; all his. Strong slender arms. Delicious – so delicious – perfect little breasts. Skin like milk with honey. Stiff, pink teats, hardening under his lips and tongue. Soft stomach, as if dusted with gold.
He dipped his tongue into her again, just because he craved more of the flavour; and she thrashed on the bed.
“No– No!”
He lifted his face and saw her glare at him. Her little grouchy grimace made him guffaw.
“What?” he asked – although he knew, of course.
“You know what,” she grumbled. “Stop stalling. Come!”
She opened her arms, and he burst into more laughter. Just because it was that simple.
Making love to his Fiona.
When the tip of his cock pressed into her curls, she opened her eyes and tenderly kissed the corner of his mouth.
“Will you be able to stop?” she asked. “You know, so there’s no babe. It should be safe today, I’ve just had my courses, but– Oh I didn’t think of it, but do you know what I’m talking about?”
“I’m not a boy.” He shook his head in amusement and pecked her lips. “And aye, I will be able to stop. And tomorrow we’ll go to an apothecary and get us both the prophylactic herbs.”
“Oh will we be doing it again?” she asked. “I’m so glad!”
“You are yet to endure tonight,” he teased.
“If it still hurts tomorrow, we can always just do it with our mouths.” She shrugged, and her tone was so reasonable and mundane that he roared with laughter. “Why are you–” she started asking.
He kissed her, because clearly, she’d just go on talking – and because he wanted to; and because kissing her felt marvellous; and because he too couldn’t wait anymore.
When he slid inside, she groaned but didn’t seem in distress – and he started thrusting in deep, smooth strokes. Her arms tight around his neck; she, at first, just held on, making soft little noises, clenching around him; but soon enough, she was rocking with him, in tune with him.
He fancied her legs, strong, slender. Smooth thighs and hips. Taut calves. He picked up her leg, under the knee, and hiked it up, reaching deeper into her, opening her more.
The sensations layered on top of each other. Like waves of the Big Sea. Like battle horns and drums. Like drowning and dying. And finding his way home.
Fiona…
His rhythm stuttered; and then he plunged into her roughly – and again and again – and she cried out. He wondered if she reached her peak – and he immediately forgot about it, because he clearly was about to. So, he tore himself from her – growling, snarling, something akin to rage and disappointment ripping through him – he wanted more of her! All of her! – but he lurched and fell onto his side. It took only two strokes of his hand, and he spilled onto the bed.
Everything grew still and silent.
Or maybe he just went deaf. Or died. Or was reborn.
He keeled over, making sure not to squash her, but on the other hand, to have her as close as possible – and he wrapped around her, nuzzling her soft fluffy hair, and squeezing her in a bear hug.
***
“I didn’t know it was like this,” she spoke first. Of course she would, he thought. Delightful creature.
“What ‘it’ and like what?”
His mouth and tongue felt disobedient. He sighed in complete and utter content.
“So overwhelming. And so much fun. And pleasurable, so very pleasurable,” she continued her evaluation. “Oh, am I not supposed to talk about it?”
“Doesn’t bother me,” he murmured and rubbed his nose to her nape.
“You must be very good at it,” she said pensively. “The way some of my kin spoke of it didn’t make it sound particularly enjoyable. If we’re going to do it again, could you please show me how I can pleasure you too?”
He chortled. “I’ve had plenty, Fiona.”
“But I think I had more,” she said, with sincere worry in her voice. “That’s not fair.”
He scooped her, nosing and kissing and squishing her – and she burst into happy giggles and snorts.
“Alright,” he said finally, when she was out of breath – and he needed to stop or he’d get ‘excited’ again. “Do you want a bath or a nap?”
She gave it a thought and snuggled into him.
“A nap, please,” she said and immediately yawned. “I’m so happy that you are embracing me. I’ve been craving to sleep with you, as a man – and this close. You’re just as warm as when you’re a bear.” She placed four tiny kisses on his chest. “But this is so much better… And my body feels so good when I’m with you.”
The things the woman says!
“Let me know what I can do–” Another yawn made her pause. “What I can do for you when we wake up.”
“Sleep, Fiona.”
