It felt... somehow... powerful? He was a man that stood fierce on the battlefield. She had been told every fearsome story on the way to her wedding of his deeds. He would wield sword and spear with equal pride, rode horses like the wind.
Yet her touches made him look starved, somehow, his eyes burning down on her like he could comprehend nothing but her. It made her swallow down, and remember his reaction the night before. His hands grasp her, and she listened to instinct.
Her hands went back to soaping him up again, running it across his hips and stomach, and then gently braced around the base of his cock. Not unlike this morning as she did her best to replicate what he taught her as she stroked his cock down - before she leans her head close.
And lays a line of kisses down the length, a little more sure this time that he'd like it. A lot in fact. But then she lifts up, letting him go free as she continues, now finally straightening up to begin cleaning his chest.
She doesn't shy away or pull back at his touch, so Sweeney just leaves his hand where it is. Truth be told, he's a little nervous to move it, lest he end up urging her towards him, instead of releasing her as he should. He does his best to stand still and take it, enjoying the act while trying not to be consumed with the desire to fuck her.
But then she wraps her fingers around his cock, and a small gasp escapes as he tries not to choke on his tongue. His eyes flicker wide for a moment while the wheels spin. Is this really part of the ritual?
Then she starts to stroke him.
Fucking hell.
At her vantage, she can see the muscles in his thighs tremble as he bites back a whimper, and she can feel the flesh throb in her hand, imploring. Sweeney had thought it a true test; at least, until she starts her path of kisses. Now it's time for him to cough, and his hand falls to her shoulder to catch himself. But he doesn't push her away. Sweeney'd made his comment the night prior; if she still wants to put her mouth on his prick, who is he to deny her?
When she abandons it to wash further up, it's left flexing, begging for more attention.
Compared to that brief touch, the rest is rather mundane, in so far as she roams over him. Her hands brushing over his body with the soap. Over his hips, his stomach, up to his chest. Give him time to breath and ease off that immediate contact. Until she is reach up to his shoulders. Carding away his red locks back so she can map across his clavicals to the base of his neck with even swipes. Cleaning him from top to bottom, and all the places her fingers could dance curiously between. In comparison to the rush of the night before, she can do as she fondly imagined she would - learn him, see all of him, begin to appreciate this man she has been thrust into marriage with.
Then, she finally stops, and short as her breathe feels, nervous and yet eager she brings up the soap to offer him.
"Now.. you.. me?" And she gestures down her body to indicate he was to do the same for her.
It may be mundane, but that doesn't mean Sweeney isn't awash with more than soap and water. His skin is alive, anticipating every touch, and yet, he does his very best to be patient.
All that waiting only makes the moment when she stops stand stark. It takes Sweeney a second more to follow along, but with a tight nod, he bends to chase the bowl. At his height, it's awkward at best, so he takes another approach. While it's uncomfortable to fill the bowl from standing, doing so from kneeling is much easier.
So he drops down on both, filling the bowl before he looks up at her, savoring the opportunity to do so at this angle. Then he follows suit; wetting her skin, even though there's no need, and starting the soaped washing at her legs. Sweeney does his best to make it meaningful, hoping he's doing it mostly right, at least. When he glides his hand over the swell of one hip, his eyes lift again in soft question.
Her breathe catches as he kneels in front of her. Sticking in her lungs at the sight of him that way, something so without guile between them, all her day dreams made true for a moment.
And Spirits, he was so tall, even like this.
"Good, yes." Gilia answers with a shakey nod of her head. Her skin felt alive all over again, warm under his touch in a way different to the steam of hot water.
"Am... am glad to do, with you. Like... like imagined... when... when girl. Handsome husband to... to share with." She encourages, letting her fingers drift to brush his red hair back over his shoulder as he moved.
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no subject
Yet her touches made him look starved, somehow, his eyes burning down on her like he could comprehend nothing but her. It made her swallow down, and remember his reaction the night before. His hands grasp her, and she listened to instinct.
Her hands went back to soaping him up again, running it across his hips and stomach, and then gently braced around the base of his cock. Not unlike this morning as she did her best to replicate what he taught her as she stroked his cock down - before she leans her head close.
And lays a line of kisses down the length, a little more sure this time that he'd like it. A lot in fact. But then she lifts up, letting him go free as she continues, now finally straightening up to begin cleaning his chest.
no subject
But then she wraps her fingers around his cock, and a small gasp escapes as he tries not to choke on his tongue. His eyes flicker wide for a moment while the wheels spin. Is this really part of the ritual?
Then she starts to stroke him.
Fucking hell.
At her vantage, she can see the muscles in his thighs tremble as he bites back a whimper, and she can feel the flesh throb in her hand, imploring. Sweeney had thought it a true test; at least, until she starts her path of kisses. Now it's time for him to cough, and his hand falls to her shoulder to catch himself. But he doesn't push her away. Sweeney'd made his comment the night prior; if she still wants to put her mouth on his prick, who is he to deny her?
When she abandons it to wash further up, it's left flexing, begging for more attention.
no subject
Then, she finally stops, and short as her breathe feels, nervous and yet eager she brings up the soap to offer him.
"Now.. you.. me?" And she gestures down her body to indicate he was to do the same for her.
no subject
All that waiting only makes the moment when she stops stand stark. It takes Sweeney a second more to follow along, but with a tight nod, he bends to chase the bowl. At his height, it's awkward at best, so he takes another approach. While it's uncomfortable to fill the bowl from standing, doing so from kneeling is much easier.
So he drops down on both, filling the bowl before he looks up at her, savoring the opportunity to do so at this angle. Then he follows suit; wetting her skin, even though there's no need, and starting the soaped washing at her legs. Sweeney does his best to make it meaningful, hoping he's doing it mostly right, at least. When he glides his hand over the swell of one hip, his eyes lift again in soft question.
"Good?" He's cautiously optimistic.
"Correct?"
no subject
And Spirits, he was so tall, even like this.
"Good, yes." Gilia answers with a shakey nod of her head. Her skin felt alive all over again, warm under his touch in a way different to the steam of hot water.
"Am... am glad to do, with you. Like... like imagined... when... when girl. Handsome husband to... to share with." She encourages, letting her fingers drift to brush his red hair back over his shoulder as he moved.