The Bride Who Rode in with the Storm by Kitty Lydia Dye

Author:Kitty Lydia Dye [Dye, Kitty-Lydia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Melange Books, LLC

Rosa’s other hand trailed appreciatively over the hardened expanse of Grimulf’s chest, every raised ridge of his scars knitting itself in the tapestry of her memory. All she needed to do was shut her eyes and she could weave the life’s work that was his flesh.

Her flushed face turned scarlet, mouth suddenly dry. She was remembering all the times she had seen him naked. The surprising size of him. Her thoughts turned to whether he would even fit.

She had wanted this, yet was it not the man’s pleasure that mattered? Women weren’t meant to enjoy this. She would have to grit her teeth and endure, for there was only one way for a man to trust a woman. To bind him to her.

She found it difficult to believe there was no pleasure. There must be something luring women to men besides protection, titles, riches and a handsome face. The curious stirring sensation in the pit of her stomach promised more.

Perhaps there was a reason why the church railed against a wanton woman. They could be keeping a melting pot of pleasure out of reach, fearful of what women would be transformed into.

He dragged her skirt up, thick fingers carding over her legs. She willingly lifted her arms for her dress and shift to be tossed aside. The moment she was laid bare, his rasping breaths travelled down her lurching throat, tongue flicking out to mark the places where her skin was freckled.

There was the thumping of clothes being thrown, the crash of boots hitting the side. When he drew her to him again, the heat flaring from him near scalded her. The heaviness of him dragged against her stomach and the doubts returned. It jutted as mightily as any weapon and she thought—it is being wielded against me.

Sensing her unease, Grimulf kissed her forehead. “I’ll do nothing to harm you. Both of us will enjoy this.”

Rosa nodded jerkily, spreading her legs to allow him admittance. Rather than diving into her, he continued his caresses. Every kiss, whether it was her navel or the inner flesh of her elbow, was ticklish from the bristles of his beard. His thumb circled her breast, nail lightly scraping the delicate flesh.

Even while she burned she shivered, biting into her cheek to stop the embarrassing noises she wanted to let out. Grimulf gazed at her with eyes dark with mirth, as if he knew the sound of her pleasure already. He suckled at the tiny rivers of veins cupping her breast and she arched as he traced the curve of her spine, resting at the base to support her. She braced herself.

Now? she wondered and tilted her hips. An ember burned there, needing something. Needing him.

She must have spoken, for he smirked.

“Impatient vixen.”

He kissed her and she thought even with his teasing he would finally claim her. There came a pressure against that part of her she knew so little of. She held her breath.

Something thinner and gentler grazed her within. Confused, she saw his finger had taken the place of his member.

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