MATED TO THE WARRIOR BEAST - Chapter 165 - 165 Hot & Cold – Part 1*

165 Hot & Cold – Part 1*

If you like music while you read, try “Forever and Always” by Written by Wolves and Beck. It’s what I listened to while writing this scene!

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~ TARKYN ~

Tarkyn knew it was mischievous to shock her that way, but as he gathered her in and thrust them both into the cold spray, he half-hoped to settle his own body. He wanted her desperately, but he wanted to take his time. Even though he played calm and confident, the truth was, his bones quivered with fear.

Not fear of the battle they faced, or the potential for harm. Tarkyn knew he could withstand physical pain. No… What made his knees quiver and his heart squeeze, was knowing that he might be taken from her. That while he hadn’t given up hope, he’d seen enough war and politics to know… this might be their last chance.

He planned to make the most of it, even as he did prepare his body just as he would if he were walking into war.

And so he plunged them both into the freezing water of the waterfall. Harth shrieked and struggled, at first stunned and angry, then laughing when he held her tightly and didn’t let her escape, but buried his nose in her neck from behind and let the water buffet them both.

When he did turn and step out of the frigid stream to place her back on her feet, she was laughing and cursing and turned to slap his arm the moment she was free.

“What the hell!” she gasped, breathlessly, her eyes twinkling.

…..

“We needed to get it over with. We don’t have enough water to do the rinsing as well,” he said, chuckling and defending himself when she slapped his arm again.

“Tarkyn, that’s freezing!” she said, her teeth chattering.

He was going to offer to pull her in and warm her up, but then she moved and her breast jiggled, and her nipples… her nipples were shrunk and tight, tiny buds, hard as nails because of the cold.

And because of him, he hoped.

So he picked up the small cake of soap that he left on a ledge at the edge of the waterfall for moments when he needed to wash quickly, stepped towards her, smiling.

“I’ll make it better,” he said, his voice rough and deep.

Her eyes flashed at his tone and she smiled, but she had her head turned—not quite trusting that he wouldn’t plunge her back into the cold.

He showed her the soap in his palm. “Let me make it up to you,” he said, rubbing his own chest with it to prove that it really was to clean them.

She watched him swipe at his own chest and abdomen, her eyes following the path of his hand and the lines of suds left behind. Her gaze grew heated enough to remove his chill as she watched the soapy trails slide down his body and her tongue darted out to her lips, catching a bead of moisture there that made his cock twitch.

Despite her own cold, she didn’t move when he lifted first one leg, then the other to soap each of those efficiently—then slowed as he drew the bar up his thigh, his breath growing harsher as her eyes widened and he twitched under that gaze.

There was a moment when he debated washing himself quickly so that he could begin on her, but when he lathered up his hands then reached for himself, Harth’s jaw slackened and her heart began to pound so hard he could hear it.

“Harth…” he rasped, but then trailed off because her eyes never left his hands.

With a low, rumbling growl of pleasure he took himself in hand and pumped once to lather himself, trying to ignore the pleasure of it for the greater sweetness of watching desire flash in her eyes.

Harth’s throat bobbed and she took a single step closer.

He did it again, his breathing already harsh and quick.

Harth made a small, high whine in her throat, then staggered to him, first running her hands over his chest, then taking his hands in hers and removing them from him, then replacing his grip with her own—softer—she stroked him with both hands.

Tarkyn groaned and leaned back to press himself into her hands, but watched her touch him, his body dancing with pleasure. Her hands were slick with the soap from his skin, her eyes bright and heart pounding.

Then she slowed her stroking and reached down to cup his balls. His breath shuddered out of him as she looked up to meet his eyes, measuring him.

“The older females told me to always to be very careful there,” she whispered.

He nodded quickly, still watching her, avid, as she palmed his balls with one hand and stroked him with the other. But the pleasure of watching her touch him was so acute he worried he would burst right there.

With a desperate groan, he reached for her wrists, holding her tightly, battling with himself between letting her continue—after all, he could love her again soon, he was sure of it. But then he shook his head. “You need to stop,” he croaked.

Harth’s lips twisted, but she let him go, turning first to wash the soap from her hands in the waterfall—its spray splattering her breasts and chest so that she shivered again and her nipples, already hard, turned to rivets.

Then, with a heated glance at him, she stepped over to the big pot of water he’d warmed and reached for one of the cloths.

He hadn’t moved, so was watching her over his shoulder when she pulled the dripping cloth out of the pot, then turned, slapping it to his shoulder and wringing it out against his skin so that the warm wash of water rushed down his chest and back.

“You’re still very soapy,” she said breathlessly. But she didn’t wait for him to answer, just turned to dunk the cloth in the water again, then brought it back up to his other shoulder. He shuddered as the streams from it ran down his body and she followed one of them with her fingers, tracing the line down his back.

But then she was gone again, and he heard the grind and scrape of her pulling the pot across the stone floor.

He stood there, trembling with need, but fascinated to see what she would do.

But instead of bringing the cloth up again, or leaning into him, there was nothing but the cold space between them. And when she spoke, it was a single, uncertain syllable.

“Oh.”

Tarkyn froze. “What? What’s wrong?”

He started to turn, but she caught his shoulders with a giggle. “I just realized… I’m not soapy yet,” she murmured playfully.

Tarkyn groaned and broke her grip, whirling to reach for her, cupping one hand to the back of her neck and pulling her into his kiss, the other that still held the soap at the back of her hip, to hold her close, pressing himself against her, rubbing against her, sighing happily when she dropped the cloth and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

His skin was slick as an eel against hers, their bodies sliding and easy together so that every part of him was teased with every breath. Tarkyn gave a guttural groan when Harth ran her fingers from his temple, down his scalp, to his back, goosebumps chasing themselves from her touch, all the way down his spine.

“That feels amazing,” he rasped.

“You feel amazing,” she countered, rolling her hips so that he slid against her belly and his breath shuddered out of him.

For a long moment they pressed together, rolling, their bodies slick and prickled with goosebumps. Tarkyn trembled, his free hand clawing over her, barely able to contain himself, kissing her neck, her jaw, letting his teeth play along the cord of her neck, rubbing himself against her, his breath thundering from him to flutter in her damp hair.

Harth’s breathing was quick and shallow, her body quivering. If he didn’t do something quickly, he was going to take her like this and that wasn’t in the plan. He was determined to make this last, to draw out every last second of their joining—to worship at the altar of her. So even though taking his mouth from her was tearing off his own skin, he forced himself to straighten, one hand flattered at her back between her shoulder blades to take her weight. Then, using the soap, he began to slowly, very slowly, paint her skin in its slick suds, starting at her collarbones.

“Fuck, Harth,” he graveled when she dropped her head back and to the side to give him more room, her chest rising and falling quickly with his touch. But then he reached her breasts and she arched as he soaped up that soft skin.

When his knuckles brushed her nipples she shivered. “I love it when you touch me,” she whispered, lifting one leg to hook it around his waist so she could arch back further.

Tarkyn growled. “That makes two of us.”

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DO NOT FEAR! There will be a double-release tomorrow so you get the whole scene in one go. Enjoy!