Advent Calendar For Reverse Harem Readers
HOLD (An Iron Age Fantasy, Book 5) by J C Bryer
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Hold, Chapter 11
When he came in from hanging the last bit of wash, Bree had sorted the hearth and stoked up the fire and she was putting the last of the burned bread from Eyan’s pocket into the pot, with the lid firmly on top.
“The pot is the only place the rats can’t get to it– as long as ye mind the cap,” she chirped, with her voice sweet… and Eyan’s throat seized up on him, because he did not want to tell her that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen– and she should not have to fend rats off her supper, or scrub the stained laundry of filthy strangers.
“Um– I suppose I should go…” Eyan muttered, fumbling to unroll his sleeves as he turned away, to get his things. “Yer not going to wait for Pond?” Bree asked, with her voice tilted, the same way her head did when she caught his eye and smiled, and while Eyan was scrabbling desperately at the walls of his own skull for the words to say that it did not seem proper for him to stay any longer– or to be there at all, let alone looking at her tits and watching her eat his bread while her husband was away… Bree stepped up and kissed him.
As their lips came together Eyan could not help the way he groaned– knowing, as surely as the hell was burning in his bones, that when her husband put his hands on Eyan’s skull and yanked it loose from his shoulders, it was going to be nothing like the gentle, loving treatment Pond had from him.
“Gods help me,” Eyan prayed, but he was not stupid enough to waste his breath praying for the strength to step away– Eyan prayed that he would have the stones to face his death as a man, when it came… and it certainly would come, because Bree did not stop at simply kissing him; she twisted her fingers in the linen of his shirt and dragged the hem of it out from his pants, before she caught the end of his belt and popped it loose quicker than Eyan ever got the latch undone for himself.
“Bree…” Eyan breathed, with his voice settling somewhere between a sigh and a moan, as his soul was caught somewhere between terror and rapture– he might have been a moth caught in the spider’s web, because each time his panic came close to wrenching him free, she bound him tighter; with a touch of silk, and her warm breath on his throat.
“Shut up, or yer going to wake the beast,” she giggled, in his ear– and Eyan nearly bit his tongue off, he wanted to mind her so badly.
“We can’t–,” Eyan whispered, stupidly– because that was the only form of courting he knew the steps to; the sort which came all the way to the burning agony of skin brushing skin, before someone lost their nerve.
Eyan never expected it to be him who lost his nerve… but he had never courted a mother before; the demands on her time did not leave Bree the luxury of choosing an agonized, protracted courtship for herself. She slipped his belt loose from his pants and left it coiled on the table, before she fell on him– pushing Eyan back, so he stumbled into the chair.
“Bree,” Eyan begged, because it was the only word which would come to his lips– her name pulsing across his skin until he thought he might die simply because his lungs could not recall how to draw air, and his heart was tolling a dire warning from behind his brittle ribs.
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