Thirty-five

Sophia made herself stop speaking. She wanted to keep going, clarifying and explaining, yet she knew that would in truth only be babbling. For the space of every word she said, she’d not be waiting on Cathal’s answer. If he was going to deny her, he’d be less likely to interrupt her to do it, and so as long as she talked, yes was still a possibility even if no was in his mind.

You can’t keep talking forever, said her common sense, and besides, if you didn’t want to give him the choice, you shouldn’t have made the offer, nor be standing here undressed.

The time for second thoughts was past.

Sophia closed her mouth and looked up at Cathal, past where his soaked tunic outlined his muscular chest and into his eyes. The bright green of them was a thin ring, the dark pupil large with surprise. She hoped for more than that, but didn’t dare count on it. His neck was warm beneath her hand, the skin smooth and the pulse rapid. She thought about drawing back, but couldn’t make herself move.

A gust of wind outside blew rain against the shutters, a hard percussive spatter.

Despite the speed Sophia knew he could manage, Cathal took her hand slowly, his calloused fingers light on her own. As he bent, brushing his lips across her knuckles, the moment felt dreamlike—but no, her dreams of late had been more active, and more horrible, even if this was to be only a polite refusal.

There was that. Whatever he said or did would be better than being devoured by shadow-men or turned to mist by Valerius. There were many worse fates than the worst that could happen here. Sophia wished she could make her gut know that, or her heart.

When he raised his head and smiled at her, she felt her heart throwing itself against her ribs like a wild bird in a cage. The smile, like his eyes, was surprised and uncertain. It was also gentle, and she fought back trepidation when she saw that. Gentle could mean How do I say no without upsetting you?

“Is it truly your wish?” he asked. “I expect nothing. You owe me nothing…and I owe you a great deal.”

“No,” she said, and even as she was shaking her head, she went on quickly. “Not this. You don’t owe me…” She couldn’t think of a term that wasn’t medical, so she waved a hand, indicating her naked form. “And I wouldn’t have it as a debt, but if you want to, then…then yes, it is. Very much so. I…”

While she was trying to work up the nerve to say I desire you greatly, which might have been even more embarrassing than standing before him naked and making the offer, Cathal’s eyes flashed and his smile shifted, uncertainty fading and hunger taking its place. Sophia saw that much before he pulled her into his arms. After that, she wasn’t in a position to examine his face, and she didn’t need to.

The first kiss was light, teasing, a brush of his lips against hers and then a momentary retreat, only to return longer, and firmer, Cathal’s tongue slipping against hers and back. One of his hands cupped the side of her face, while the other splayed across the back of her waist, easily spanning it, and his fingers moved in slow, almost reverent patterns against her bare skin. He used none of his strength; it was Sophia who wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in to his body, pulled by the growing need in her own.

She knew that he was still dressed, yet had forgotten for the moment the condition his clothing was in. The chilly dampness against her bare skin was sudden, but not pleasant. She flinched and squeaked a little, and Cathal lifted his mouth from hers. “I’ll not hurt you…” he began, sounding surprised and concerned.

“No, that is, maybe, probably, but that doesn’t matter.” Stories from her married friends and anatomical studies alike suggested there was likely some pain in the future, but that was the case for most worthwhile things. It had no bearing on the issue at hand anyhow. She plucked at the fabric of his tunic. “This is the problem, and I think you’ll want to remove it in any case, so…perhaps now?”

“Ah, aye,” he said, relieved and yet not entirely so. Sophia couldn’t analyze that for long. He kissed her lightly again and then stepped back. “Sorry. I’m not used to—”

“You must be,” she said, eyes going wide. Almost two centuries, and a man, and a soldier—and if neither of them knew what they were doing, this was suddenly much more intimidating.

Cathal blinked at her, then laughed, shaking his head. “No’ used to rain, lass,” he said, his accent stronger now than it usually was. “No’ with women, or at least not when it was a problem.”

“Oh,” she said. Another time, that would be a fascinating discussion: what the east was like, what the women were like, how damp clothing on a hot day might actually add to an embrace, all manner of interesting facets. That curiosity would have to wait, because Cathal had been undressing while he spoke, and when he stood naked before her, she actually lost the use of words.

He was magnificent, like a statue from the ancient world, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist and the lines of his muscles firm on his arms. His skin was winter white. A thick mat of blond hair covered his chest and narrowed almost to nothingness on his flat stomach, before widening again between his legs. His membrum virile rose up out of it, swollen long and thick against his stomach. Art didn’t show that, and texts could only portray so much. Sophia realized she was staring, and her blush felt like fire in her skin, but she couldn’t look away.

“Although…” Cathal said quietly, and Sophia snapped her gaze back up to his face. He didn’t reach for her again, but sat down on the edge of the bed and motioned to the space next to him. “I’m not used to virgins. Unless—”

She shook her head. When she sat down, the fabric of the coverlet beneath her was rough against her skin, but not in an unpleasant way. She shifted her weight, testing, and tried to keep looking into Cathal’s eyes. They were beautiful eyes, but just then the urge to look…elsewhere…was hard to resist. “I am.”

“Ah. But you know how it is? Between men and women?”

At that, there was such hidden dread in his voice that Sophia had to laugh. “Yes,” she said, and giggled again at the relief on his face. “I don’t make offers in ignorance,” she said and then leaned over, kissing him this time.

Cathal drew her close, warm against her now as they both fell back onto the bed. His hands slid down Sophia’s sides, stroking her hips, her thighs, the sides of her breasts. Every contact was a pulse of sensation that lingered, spread, and joined the others, making a net of feelings and urges that spread all across her skin.

“Didn’t want to scare you,” he said, half muttering the words against the side of her neck.

She shivered at the movement of his lips, at the heat of his breath. He lay on his side above her, their bodies still barely touching save for his hands and lips on her. “I wasn’t,” Sophia said and reached up to trace along his chest. “I’m not.” The hair beneath her fingers was crisp, curlier than that on his head, and his skin smooth around it, the muscles tense beneath. “Only I know what happens, but I don’t entirely know what happens, to speak in, um, in terms of experience, which I suppose is obvious, and I’ve never seen…oh. Oh.”

Bending his head, Cathal had taken one of her nipples into his mouth. All the sensation flooded over Sophia then, so strongly that she had to close her eyes. She knew that she was writhing on the bed and making noises in the back of her throat, but otherwise she wasn’t entirely sure of anything other than wanting, the feel of Cathal’s tongue flicking over her nipple and the moisture flooding her sex.

“Aye?” he asked huskily, hands warm on her thighs.

At first Sophia could only whimper at the loss of contact, but the sight of her hands on his shoulders reminded her of what she’d been saying. “I…mmm…” His lips were on the other breast now, and she struggled for thought. Her legs opened under his gentle pressure, hips thrusting upward in such a blatant invitation that she’d have been embarrassed if she’d been able to think. “Never seen a man like you. In your state. Both. I wanted…ahh…wanted. To touch you.”

“Ah.” It was half a word and half a groan, and he’d obviously worked out that she didn’t just mean her hands on his chest, because his hands were still for a second and he shook his head against her breast. “Not now.”

“No?” The organ in question pulsed against her leg, hot and hard. Sophia shifted her weight slightly and felt Cathal catch his breath.

“No,” he said, and stopped any more argument by kissing her again. She might have been inclined to continue the argument, but one of his hands found its way between her legs, gentle and insistent at the same time, and Sophia could only moan into Cathal’s mouth.

His fingers circled her sex, found the bit that had swelled and stiffened at their first kiss, and rubbed, while his other hand stroked her open. All the aching need in her body centered on his touch, then on the strange but very welcome presence of his fingers inside her, moving slowly in a rhythm that was just a bit shy of what she needed, though she didn’t know how she knew that. He kept on that way, playing with her while she squirmed on the bed, tossing her head from side to side, unable to think or hold still or do anything except make desperate noises and seek more of his touch.

“Please,” she said eventually, and hoped he wouldn’t make her elaborate. “Oh, please…I need…”

“God knows I do,” he muttered, low in his throat, and swung his body over hers. The tip of him pressed against her sex, just where she was wet and aching, and it felt right, so she opened her legs more and pushed, taking him into herself for the first time as he groaned and thrust forward.

To Sophia’s dim surprise, there was no real pain. At first, she felt stretched in a way that wasn’t precisely comfortable, but the sting she’d heard about never happened, nor the tearing that some of the less pleasant stories had featured. She was merely…full in a new way, and one that was feeling better and better.

Cathal, she realized, was holding very still and watching her with great concern—expecting tears, perhaps, or reluctance, or demands to stop. She smiled and wished he weren’t quite so tall. Kissing him in this position would have been impossible. “I think,” she said, “perhaps I’m too old to be a proper sort of maiden.”

“Thank God,” he said, breathing hard.

“What do I do now?”

He showed her, rocking his hips slowly back and forth until Sophia found her body meeting his of its own accord. This was the pace she’d wanted earlier, she realized; this, with his member filling her and his body rubbing against hers with every thrust, building desire in a steady rhythm that got faster and faster as she jerked her hips upward, clutching him to her with arms and legs and sex alike. The desperation she’d felt before came back doubly strong, and she gave herself to it, crying out into his shoulder as she sought more and more sensation, more urgency, and then reached a point where every particle of wanting joined and crested in one moment of unthinking delight.

Above her, Cathal groaned and cursed, the tone of his voice holding pleasure that made a sharp contrast to two languages of blasphemy. He arched his back, driving himself even further inside her, and his whole body went still for a moment; then, with a flood of warmth, he sank down on top of her.

Even then, he kept his full weight off her, and his size was actually rather comforting, an anchor in the midst of storms and after new experiences. Sophia traced her fingers upward along his spine, into the hair at the back of his head and back down, only to repeat the process again, idle and, she realized, content. For the first time in a long time, she felt perfectly happy to stay right where she was.