I lift my knuckles to my mouth and press my tongue there, in the same spot where he touched me, but it doesn't feel the same. It's so much better when he does it…and I think about the times that I've furtively touched myself between my thighs. If that feels good when I do it, how much better will it be when Agakor touches me?
With an excited shiver, I return to my pallet and lie down. I don't sleep, though. Instead, I stare at the ceiling and try to think of things that need to be done around the keep, dishes for tomorrow night's dinner, and I rub my knuckles the entire time.
CHAPTER 9
AGAKOR
I am a fool for insisting on the three days of the wedding in Cyclopae tradition.
If I had married her in the Adassian fashion, I could have simply bribed a priestess of Belara to show up at my keep. Throw a few coins at the townspeople to display my wealth, put on a feast for any that arrive, and have my pretty, blushing bride under me before the night is up. Instead, I must wait three full days, and pray that she doesn't change her mind.
Three days of a rock-hard cock and too-sensitive skin. Three days of forcing myself to stay busy because the sight of her fills me with lust. Three days in which I regret over and over again that I did not simply marry her quickly and efficiently in the Adassian way. If I had, she'd be under me even now, my face buried between her thighs as I teach her all the things that a married couple can do in bed together.
I am absolutely a fool.
When my scouts come back and tell me that Lord Purnav has been using my funds to buy the allegiance of every shield for sale in this end of the realm, I again, think that I am a fool. I should have just taken the girl for myself, kidnapped her from her father's keep and stolen her in the custom of my father's people. Orc men take the bride they want and then pay a penalty to the tribe if the union causes problems with peace. Given that orcs love to war, there's usually problems.
But I'd wanted to do this the human way. Make sure that everyone is pleased and all palms are appropriately greased.
"You think he's coming to war against me?" I ask Tindal and Jofeth, my master-at-arms. "Steal his fine daughter back?"
Jofeth snorts. "He doesn't want her back. He just wants your gold. It's more likely that he's figured out you're rich and wants to see what he can get away with."
I suspect they're right, but it bothers me. My inquisitive, brave Iolanthe deserves better than a father who's more interested in his horses and lording about the countryside than his family. Still, she's mine now.
Or she will be tomorrow night, when this ridiculous wedding I've insisted upon is finally completed.
Jofeth lifts his chin as he looks at me. "You look like you need to stab something. Want to spar until your wedding feast?"
"Lots of feasting tonight," Tindal adds slyly.
I just grin. I can't even deny it. I'm hungry to taste my bride. I want to see how Iolanthe reacts to my mouth upon her. If she'll make those same fascinated, slightly shocked gasps she made last night when I deliberately tongued her hand. I can't wait. But until then… "Get your swords. I could use a good workout to take my mind off of things."
I sweat all afternoon. My men are well trained already, so the swordplay is skilled and intense. By the time the sun begins to set and the big, red moon comes out, I've soaked through my tunic. Tindal ushers me inside and I take a quick bath by the fireplace in his quarters, since the women have mine. I dress in my finery I've had put aside for this day…and I'm still sweating.
Gods, I should have known better than to give it my all this afternoon. Now I'm going to show up to taste my bride with a sweaty demeanor? Bad enough that I look more orc than human. My body seems determined to chase her away. I mop my brow again and again, but by the time I go out for the feast, I still feel sweaty and disheveled, and I worry she's going to take one look at me and bolt.
But when I sit down next to her, she gives me a shy smile and fusses with her clothing. She looks as delectable as ever, her hair piled atop her head and showing off a lovely neck and all of the freckles that dance across her skin. The dress she wears is tightly laced across the bodice, her magnificent breasts hidden underneath cinched layers. I think about those mouthwatering handfuls from yesterday, though, and know this is deceptive…and oddly enough, I like it. It's like a secret only for me.