Into the Fire 02 - Strike by Mia West

Author:Mia West
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2014-11-07T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Marc’s proposed three or four days stretched into a week and then, as the moon became a sliver, a fortnight.

They needed to leave soon. Outside the cave, autumn was holding out a brave defense against winter but weakened every day, giving way to colder nights and frost that sometimes lingered long after sunrise. Not that Marc was in a rush to finish their journey. The thought of stopping at the sea made him restless. But they couldn’t stay here, even if it delayed their trek’s end.

The problem was that the inside of the cave was a paradise, warm and dry and full of Wolf. The smith radiated a heat nearly inhuman, as if Marc had somehow managed to lure the summer sun into the shelter of the rock and cage it there.

Oh, they had fighting lessons, twice a day at least—Marc insisted on it. And Wolf cooperated now, was becoming a formidable opponent with a sword. That he usually fought with his hammer in his free hand had Marc looking forward to the lessons as much as Wolf. More often than not, Marc ended a session having lost his weapon but gained a stiff cock. And Wolf was generally happy to relieve that as well.

Marc had inadvertently discovered another talent of his lover’s: massage, deep and thorough. After a session under Wolf’s hands, Marc could never decide whether he’d just been soothed or mauled, and he couldn’t get enough of it. Marc was fairly certain that Wolf was using it to incapacitate him. After all, if Marc was too relaxed to form coherent sentences, he couldn’t badger Wolf about leaving the safety of the cave.

As now, when Marc lay face-down on their bedding. Wolf had, before their second night, built a thick layer of dry grass and moss under the pallets. Marc had teased him, for the smith was accustomed to a mattress. Wolf had endured his jibes. But when the time had come to sleep, and Wolf had pulled Marc back against him, Marc had had to admit the entire situation—soft and dry under his side, warm and firm behind him—was damned comfortable.

Now Marc saw it for what it had been: Wolf nesting, like a broody hen. But that hen’s massive hands were currently mashing Marc’s muscles into complete submission. His will to protest the comfortable bed followed closely behind.

The smith straddled Marc’s thighs, his knuckles digging into Marc’s back on either side of his spine. He paused now and then to squeeze Marc’s shoulders, always drawing a groan along with the soreness from their fighting practice. They kept a companionable silence as Wolf worked his way down Marc’s back. He wondered what Wolf was thinking about. If they had been in one of their previous camps, the smith would have been consumed with worry about bandits. In the relative safety of the cave, what occupied him? Did he—

Ah. No more thinking. Wolf had just reached the base of Marc’s spine, and Marc wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the next several minutes.

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