“So,” Lyssa said, her voice trembling slightly in the silent room.
Kian, seated stiffly beside her on the edge of the plush bed, didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He only stared at his hands, broad and calloused from years of tending horses, resting awkwardly on his knees.
Just an hour ago, he hadn’t even been in this wing of the manor. He’d been mucking out a stall, the familiar smell of hay and manure his world. Then Lyssa had appeared, her fine silk skirts brushing the stable’s dusty floor. She’d looked at him with those wide, desperate eyes, grabbed his arm, and dragged. He’d tried to pull back, shaking his head, making pleading gestures with his hands
But she was insistent, her grip surprisingly strong.
And now here they were. In her room. A space of soft light, floral perfume, and a terrifying, overwhelming intimacy. Her initial plan, a desperate, noble girl’s scheme to ruin her own virginity to escape a betrothal to some old, fat lord who demanded purity.
The silence stretched. Lyssa’s nervousness was a live thing, fluttering in her chest. She looked at him, at his strong, silent form, so different from the polished boys of her circle. He was beautiful in a raw, unspoken way. And she had brought him here. The responsibility was hers.
She swallowed. Her plan required action. She had to initiate.
Slowly, she shifted on the bed, turning to face him. She reached out, her fingers trembling, and placed her hand over his. His skin was warm, rough. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. His dark eyes lifted, meeting hers.
“It’s alright,” she whispered, closing the small distance between them.
Her lips brushed his cheek first, a soft, tentative touch. He remained frozen. She moved to his mouth, her own lips parting slightly. She kissed him. It was clumsy, inexperienced. Just pressure and the slight taste of the outdoors on him.
For a moment, nothing. Then, a shudder ran through him. His hands, which had been inert, suddenly came to life. One cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin. The kiss deepened. He wasn’t leading, but he was responding. His mouth opened against hers, and the kiss became wet, exploratory. Lyssa’s nervousness melted into a sharp, thrilling heat. She moaned softly into his mouth.
She pushed further, her body pressing against his solid frame. Her hands roamed over his shoulders, down the coarse fabric of his simple shirt. She tugged at it, wanting it gone. He understood, breaking the kiss to help her. He pulled the shirt over his head, revealing a torso sculpted by labor. Broad shoulders, a flat stomach, the muscles of his arms defined. Lyssa’s breath caught.
Her own dress was a complicated barrier. She stood up, her legs unsteady, and began to undo the fastenings. Kian watched, his eyes dark and hungry. When the dress pooled at her feet, she stood before him in only her thin shift. She saw his gaze drop, taking in the shape of her breasts, the curve of her hips beneath the linen.
She came back to the bed, kneeling before him. She took his hand again and guided it to her breast, over the shift. His fingers curled, his touch hesitant at first, then firmer. He kneaded the soft flesh, and Lyssa arched, a gasp escaping her. The sensation was immediate, electric. She pulled her shift off, tossing it aside, now completely bare to his view.
His eyes widened. A low, soundless groan seemed to vibrate in his chest. He leaned forward, his mouth leaving hers to trail down her neck, to her collarbone, and finally to her breast. He took her nipple into his mouth, sucking, licking. Lyssa cried out, her hands clutching his hair. The sensation was overwhelming. The wet heat, the slight scrape of his teeth, the pull of his suction. Pleasure, sharp and sweet, radiated from that point, making her thighs clench.
She was lost in it, her head falling back, when she felt his other hand slide down her stomach. His fingers traced a path through the soft curls between her legs, and then, with a blunt, gentle pressure, he touched her there. At her core. Lyssa jolted, her eyes flying open. His finger explored her folds, finding the slick heat that had gathered. He stroked her, a slow, circular motion that made her hips jerk.
Oh. Oh, that.
It was better than she’d imagined in her secret, guilty thoughts. A building tension, a coiling need.
She was panting now, her own hands fumbling with the buckle of his trousers. She got them open, pushed them down. He sprang free, thick and erect, and Lyssa stared, a mix of awe and terror gripping her. She’d never…
But she didn’t have to decide. Something shifted in Kian’s demeanor. The shyness, the caution, evaporated like mist in a hot sun. The intensity in his eyes solidified into something predatory.
Without warning, his hands gripped her hips. He lifted her, turned her, and flipped her onto her stomach on the bed. The move was so sudden, so dominant, it stole her breath. Her heart hammered against the mattress.
Then came the detail that ignited her most. He leaned over her, his body covering hers, and he pinned both of her wrists together above her head with one of his large, powerful hands. The restraint was complete, effortless. She was trapped, vulnerable, and utterly aroused by his sheer strength. She couldn’t move her arms. She could only feel the weight of him, the heat of his skin against her back, and the insistent pressure of his hardness against the cleft of her buttocks.
He used his free hand to part her legs, to position himself. Lyssa felt the blunt head of his cock press against her entrance, still slick from his fingers. He didn’t ask. He didn’t hesitate. He pushed.
The invasion was a shock A stretching, burning fullness that made her cry out into the bedding. It was pain, but intertwined with a shocking, immediate pleasure. He filled her completely, a sensation so profound it blurred all thought. He held still for a moment, buried deep, his one hand still masterfully clamping her wrists. Then he moved.
He pulled back and thrust in again, a slow, deliberate stroke that dragged against every sensitive nerve inside her. Lyssa moaned, her body arching against his hold. The rhythm established itself. Deep, pounding thrusts that shook the bed. Each drive sent a wave of pleasure crashing through her, building on the last. The friction, the fullness, the heat of his skin sliding against hers, the sound of his labored breathing near her ear, it all coalesced into a white-hot point of focus.
His thrusts became faster, harder. The shy stable boy was gone, replaced by a relentless force. Lyssa felt herself climbing, the coil inside her winding tighter and tighter with every impact. His hand on her wrists never faltered, a constant reminder of his dominance. She was nearing a peak, her cries becoming continuous, wordless sounds of ecstasy.