The Unseen Hand

Ch 24: The Naera's Embrace

Jarle laced his arm around her waist and rolled over, taking her with him. The motion sent a stab of pain searing through his rib cage. "Consider yourself lucky," he gasped.

Avaren kicked off her shoes. "You are certain?"

Jarle sucked in his breath. Avaren was all around him, ensorcelling his senses until he felt sure he might explode. The touch of her flesh, the sight of her breasts, her round, naked hips beckoning beneath the silk; made him feel an almost nauseous, adolescent desire. Swooping down, Jarle nipped her neck before kissing his way down to her breasts. He sucked each of her nipples with gusto, before trailing his lips over her ribs belly.

"I've never felt better," Jarle lied.

With far more gentleness than he felt, Jarle eased the dress down over Avaren's legs. He covered her hips with kisses, following the crease of her groin to the top of her smooth, glistening thighs. He'd be damned if he didn't finish what they'd started.

⁂

With the first lash of Jarle's tongue upon her skin, Avaren let out a cry. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her father's admonishments rang out. Losing her nerve, Avaren turned on her belly and clenched her thighs shut. She ran her fingers through her hair and tried in vain to compose herself. "I'm sorry," she gasped.

Jarle crawled up behind her. He shaped the curve of her buttocks in a possessive caress. "You are so beautiful"—his teeth raked against her ear—"open your legs, allow me to pleasure you."

Caught in the buzz of the raska and the ecstasy of desire, her body felt like a raging furnace. Avaren dropped her face into her hands to hide her burning cheeks and spread her legs.

Behind her, Jarle slipped his fingers between the crevice of her thighs and stroked her velvety folds. The touch was so slight, so alluring that for a moment, Avaren wasn't certain if her strangled cries were of protest or encouragement. She wasn't sure of anything except for the tempestuous pressure that was building inside her. "Oh, gods"—Avaren grasped the woolen blanket and raised her hips — "that feels so good."

Jarle stroked her with deliberate slowness. His fingers swam in her slippery heat while avoiding the swollen pearl at her center. "Avaren, look at me."

Avaren turned to face Jarle. His eyes were dark and brooding—sparkling with an intimate intensity that shook her to the core. Her breath caught. "Yes?"

"Kiss me," Jarle said, his voice low and seductive.

Avaren crushed her mouth to his as her heart beat out the inescapable truth—she didn't care about her reputation or society's judgments. If pleasure could grant her a moment's reprieve from the grief and rage that threatened to consume her, then she welcomed it with all of her being.

Still kissing her, Jarle wrapped one arm under Avaren's belly and pulled her hips roughly against his groin. Once she was on her fours, he thrust against her until the length of his erection pressed thick and threatening between her buttocks. He caressed her supple body, wound his fingers into her hair, brought her gently up so that he could whisper in her ear. "Tell me what you want."

Avaren rose to her knees and turned her head to steal another kiss. Her body didn't know the difference between a prince and a criminal. "Make me not want to care," she begged.

Jarle released her and pushed her back down onto her belly. He scuttled behind her and spread her thighs wide with his shoulders. A rough, hungry groan escaped his lips before he plunged forward, thrusting his tongue into her sweltering cleft.

Avaren cried out. The man between her legs was surely a daevil from the deepest parts of Hel with an appetite to match. Jarle drove his tongue inside her; lapped and swallowed her juices like a starved wolf. He sucked and nibbled, massaged the flanges of her sex in ways that drove her mad. Never had she been pleasured in such a wanton way.