Outside, the wind died down, leaving the hollow silent except for Roslin's heavy, uneven breathing. Alaric felt her trembling against him—a mix of shock and a heat she didn't understand. He didn't offer any comforts. Instead, with a silent mental command, he signaled the two wolves.
Livy and Rivy stood immediately. Their dark shapes vanished into the tree line as they moved to the edge of the clearing to keep watch. They were alone.
Alaric shifted, his weight pressing Roslin back into the thick wolf furs. His hand moved from her waist, sliding slowly over her hip and up to the damp silk of her bodice. He could feel her body heat radiating through the torn fabric.
Roslin stared up at him, her eyes wide and glassy in the moonlight. She felt paralyzed. Her upbringing had prepared her to be a wife to some distant lord, but no one had warned her about this—the feeling of her blood turning to fire.
"I—I'm sorry, My Lord," she stammered, her voice shaking. "I don't know... I'm sorry."
Alaric's expression remained hard. "I told you to stop apologizing," he growled. "I don't want your words."
He leaned down and kissed her again, cutting off any further sound. It was deeper and more forceful than before. Roslin's head sank into the fur as his frame pinned her down. Her hands, which had been hovering uncertainly, finally gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his leather jerkin. She wasn't pushing him away; she was holding on.
Alaric pulled back just an inch, his eyes locked onto hers. He reached down and found the laces of her dress. He didn't ask; he simply began to undo them with steady, efficient movements.
"Don't look away," he commanded.
Roslin bit her lip, her face flushing, but she obeyed. She felt the cool air hit her skin as the silk fell away, but the cold didn't matter with him over her.
"I... I've never..." she started, her voice breaking.
"I know," Alaric muttered.
He lowered his head to the curve of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin with a light pressure that made Roslin's breath hitch. She arched slightly off the fur, her heart hammering against her ribs. She felt a deep, confusing tug in her chest—part of her wanted to pull away, to stop this before it went further, but her limbs felt heavy and useless.
Alaric slowed his pace, his hand sliding under the silk to cup her breast. When his thumb brushed her nipple, Roslin let out a soft, broken moan, her eyes fluttering shut. The sensation sent a jolt through her that she wasn't prepared for.
"You like that?" he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.
Roslin couldn't find her voice. She let out a shaky, high-pitched "Ah..." as she nodded, her breathing turning into short, shallow pants. She felt a strange, pulsing weight building between her legs, a dampness that made her feel exposed.
His hand moved lower, slipping beneath her skirts. When he touched her, Roslin's eyes flew open and she let out a small, startled cry—"N-no, I..."—but the protest died in her throat as he began to move. She bit her lip to keep from crying out louder, her fingers clutching blindly at the sleeves of his jerkin.
"You're so tense," Alaric muttered, his voice dropping to a low vibration.
He moved with more care now, his thumb circling her while his fingers found a slow, steady rhythm. Roslin's hips shifted reflexively, a soft, rhythmic whimpering escaping her with every touch.
She felt like she was losing control of her own body, caught between the urge to bolt and the desperate need to sink further into the fur.
"My Lord... wait..." she whispered, her voice cracking. Her legs fell open, though she felt a flush of shame at how easily she gave way.
He didn't pull away completely, but he paused to shift his weight, readying himself. Roslin watched him with wide, trembling eyes, her hands shaking against his chest.
She knew she should speak up, should tell him she wasn't ready, but the heat between them was too thick, leaving her dazed and silent as he moved back toward her.
Alaric moved between her legs, his knees forcing her thighs wider. He didn't bother being gentle with the fabric; he shoved her skirts up to her waist, baring her completely. In the pale moonlight, he took a moment to stare at her—pale, trembling, and slick with the evidence of her own arousal.
Roslin tried to cover herself, her hands moving instinctively to hide her lap, but Alaric pinned her wrists to the fur above her head. A small, panicked "Ah... no..." escaped her, her chest heaving as she watched him unbuckle his trousers.
When he finally freed his cock. He leaned over her, his heavy frame casting a dark shadow that swallowed her whole.
He tried to position himself, but the dampness between her legs made it difficult. As he pressed forward, the head of his cock slipped, sliding uselessly against her outer folds. The friction sent a sudden, sharp jolt through Roslin's nerves.
"Mmmn... ah!" she whimpered, her head tossing back. Even the accidental contact was too much.
Alaric growled in frustration. He gripped himself, trying to guide the tip to her opening, but the smooth, wet skin made him slide off again, rubbing hard against her clit. Roslin let out a high-pitched, broken moan—"H-haaa... lord..."—her hips bucking upward despite her fear.
The friction was intense, a hot, searing sensation that made her toes curl into the wolf fur.
He adjusted his grip on her hips, anchoring her down. He pressed the head of his cock firmly against her wet slit, feeling her body trembling in small, violent waves. Roslin was making a low, rhythmic sound in the back of her throat, a mix of a sob and a needy hum.
"Ah... ah... please..."
Alaric looked down at her, watching how her thighs wouldn't stop shaking. her body a delicate map of pale skin and frantic nerves. As he pressed the head of his cock against her, the resistance was immediate. she was a wall of unyielding, virgin muscle.
She's even tighter than Sansa was, he thought, He ground his teeth until his jaw ached.
He knew that if he forced himself in now, even with her natural dampness, he would Couse her unbearable pain for her first time. The friction alone would make the entry a struggle, and he didn't want to slow down or deal with her screaming in pure agony. He needed her open, and he needed it to be smooth.