Read Online Avelynn: The Edge of Faith by Marissa Campbell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marissa Campbell
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chill crept over my skin.
“You are cold; sit.”
I slid back into the warm water, bubbles tickling, teasing as they purled around me. Desire made me feverish. The cool air had done little to douse the flame. He set the sponge aside and poured some of the oil into his hands. His attentiveness moved to my neck, his knuckles stroking the tight muscles. Gripping the tops of my shoulders, he squeezed, alternating between pressure and release as he worked his way down my arms. A moan escaped my lips. I could have lain there forever, gladly giving myself over to those capable hands.
“Do you like this?”
“Yes,” I replied breathlessly.
His palms pressed, his thumbs kneading around my shoulder blades. Hands slid down my back, rubbing and massaging their way to the tops of my hips. My body churned to butter.
“I missed a few spots.” He reclaimed the sponge and lathered more soap on my skin. He smoothed the bubbles over my breasts, and his fingers brushed the tightened buds. I sucked in a breath.
“And this? Do you like this too?”
“Yes.” I bit my lower lip, arching into him. After so long a wait, sensation flooded through me.
His focus remained meticulous until nary a grain of dust or smudge of dirt tarnished either nipple. My stomach coiled in tension. Each touch found its echo throbbing lower.
“Open your legs for me.”
I didn’t think I could take much more of his teasing. I parted my knees, and he dipped the sponge into the water, swirling lower until it rested against me. He held painfully still. My heart pounded in my ears. My body pleaded. I placed my hand on his, urging him to press a little harder and groaned in frustration as he resisted. I might explode just imagining him moving it.
“What do you want, Avelynn?”
I thought that perfectly obvious. I glared at him.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Gods, no.”
“Then tell me. What do you want?”
“Alrik, I beg you,” I pushed out through gritted teeth.
“Beg me to what?”
I growled. “Move. Your. Hand.”
“Like this?” He set a tortuous pace, slow and light.
Most certainly not. “Harder.”
He scrubbed every nook and cranny and then slid a finger inside me. I cried out, my center clenching hard around the penetration. That’s what I needed.
His free hand sought my breast. His efforts kept a delirious rhythm, each tug, each brush, each thrust in time with the other. I gripped the sides of the tub, my hips rising and kneading to meet him.
Cool air nipped exposed skin, alternating with the warmth of the water as it lapped my body. Sensation swelled, crested. He held me at the precipice.
“Alrik.” My voice cracked, strangled with urgency.
“Let go, hjartað,” he whispered.
I shattered before him. Wave after wave of pleasure rippled through me, until I collapsed in the tub, panting.
He held up a blanket. “Enjoy yourself, did you?”
I mumbled something incoherent and noncommittal.
He laughed. “The feast will be finishing. We should leave within the hour.”
I didn’t want to go traipsing about the countryside. I wanted a nap. He offered me his hand and I took it, letting him wrap me in the soft wool. He rubbed and patted, leaving no valley or mound damp, save one. His hand lingered over the damp curls between my legs, and passion, so quick to light around this man, smoldered, the embers of desire, hot and white, sparking to life at the merest hint of his touch.
“You are all fire, Seiðkana.” His eyes held a look of awe and wonder. His gaze darkened and razed my body. He suckled my neck and earned an unabashed moan in recompense. He whispered in my ear, his lips teasing. “Later.” It was as much threat as promise.
After that wonderful bath, I sat clothed and dignified at the table and opened the lid to the locked chest laid out before me. It appeared a few additions had somehow made it into the crate. Muirgen’s book sat atop the heap, wrapped in red silk; I placed it on the table. Next, I scooped
“You are cold; sit.”
I slid back into the warm water, bubbles tickling, teasing as they purled around me. Desire made me feverish. The cool air had done little to douse the flame. He set the sponge aside and poured some of the oil into his hands. His attentiveness moved to my neck, his knuckles stroking the tight muscles. Gripping the tops of my shoulders, he squeezed, alternating between pressure and release as he worked his way down my arms. A moan escaped my lips. I could have lain there forever, gladly giving myself over to those capable hands.
“Do you like this?”
“Yes,” I replied breathlessly.
His palms pressed, his thumbs kneading around my shoulder blades. Hands slid down my back, rubbing and massaging their way to the tops of my hips. My body churned to butter.
“I missed a few spots.” He reclaimed the sponge and lathered more soap on my skin. He smoothed the bubbles over my breasts, and his fingers brushed the tightened buds. I sucked in a breath.
“And this? Do you like this too?”
“Yes.” I bit my lower lip, arching into him. After so long a wait, sensation flooded through me.
His focus remained meticulous until nary a grain of dust or smudge of dirt tarnished either nipple. My stomach coiled in tension. Each touch found its echo throbbing lower.
“Open your legs for me.”
I didn’t think I could take much more of his teasing. I parted my knees, and he dipped the sponge into the water, swirling lower until it rested against me. He held painfully still. My heart pounded in my ears. My body pleaded. I placed my hand on his, urging him to press a little harder and groaned in frustration as he resisted. I might explode just imagining him moving it.
“What do you want, Avelynn?”
I thought that perfectly obvious. I glared at him.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Gods, no.”
“Then tell me. What do you want?”
“Alrik, I beg you,” I pushed out through gritted teeth.
“Beg me to what?”
I growled. “Move. Your. Hand.”
“Like this?” He set a tortuous pace, slow and light.
Most certainly not. “Harder.”
He scrubbed every nook and cranny and then slid a finger inside me. I cried out, my center clenching hard around the penetration. That’s what I needed.
His free hand sought my breast. His efforts kept a delirious rhythm, each tug, each brush, each thrust in time with the other. I gripped the sides of the tub, my hips rising and kneading to meet him.
Cool air nipped exposed skin, alternating with the warmth of the water as it lapped my body. Sensation swelled, crested. He held me at the precipice.
“Alrik.” My voice cracked, strangled with urgency.
“Let go, hjartað,” he whispered.
I shattered before him. Wave after wave of pleasure rippled through me, until I collapsed in the tub, panting.
He held up a blanket. “Enjoy yourself, did you?”
I mumbled something incoherent and noncommittal.
He laughed. “The feast will be finishing. We should leave within the hour.”
I didn’t want to go traipsing about the countryside. I wanted a nap. He offered me his hand and I took it, letting him wrap me in the soft wool. He rubbed and patted, leaving no valley or mound damp, save one. His hand lingered over the damp curls between my legs, and passion, so quick to light around this man, smoldered, the embers of desire, hot and white, sparking to life at the merest hint of his touch.
“You are all fire, Seiðkana.” His eyes held a look of awe and wonder. His gaze darkened and razed my body. He suckled my neck and earned an unabashed moan in recompense. He whispered in my ear, his lips teasing. “Later.” It was as much threat as promise.
After that wonderful bath, I sat clothed and dignified at the table and opened the lid to the locked chest laid out before me. It appeared a few additions had somehow made it into the crate. Muirgen’s book sat atop the heap, wrapped in red silk; I placed it on the table. Next, I scooped
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