Strongjaw & The Dish

2

Trisha stepped away, and a second later, a light flared. The lantern opened to spill the light across the room and he blinked a moment before he could get a good look around. 

It was part stable, part seamstress shop, it seemed. There were baskets of cloth, long strips of fabric with various scissors in pockets down the length, a box where he could see a few long threads sticking out, and a large table. 

There was also a large manger of a sort. A huge square filled with hay that had a short front. He doubted though that any animals ever ate it. Further investigation, and a few seconds more of mulling over the clues and he figured out where he was. This must be the place where they made dummies for combat training.

Wordlessly, she began walking back toward him, her hands lifting to her head, undoing the restraints that held her hair in check, the waves tumbling down around her face, a mussed caress of sweat-damp waves brushing her shoulders. 

He felt another pang of conflicted sensation. Oh, the familiar ache in his loins, yes, but there was another feeling that he didn't know what to call. He didn't have time to think about it though as her palms hit him in the chest and her fingers wound into his beard, pulling him to bend down enough that she could press her mouth to his again.

All thought fled, and he snatched her up, the strong arms about her waist pulling her against him as her own arms encircled his neck. The taste of her, slightly salty and warm, her moans heady against his tongue. 

THUMP... THUMP... he barely registered that the sound was her boots hitting the floor as her feet hovered above it. The kiss broke, breathing soft and quick as she grinned.

"Clothes. Off." Fingers tugged at the leather strap across his chest. "Though you have a head start." Leaning in, quick as a snake, her teeth nipping at the curve of his lip in the framing of dark hair, though she made no actual contact.

He needed no further invitation, loosening his grip to let her slide down over the length of his body until her now stocking feet touched the ground again. The next few moments were busied by a hasty working to get out of the clothes that, despite being far less in number than her own, were more difficult to get off. Leather was not as light as padded linen and his haste was slowed when he glanced up and caught her bent in half, pushing her pants down her legs, her back to him.

Tary had mentioned softness in women after she'd drug him off, and he'd dreamt, but the reality hit him hard like a fist into his gut. There was no excess fat, but her body was undeniably female, hips and buttocks rounded, long legs well-muscled and thick. 

Her skin was marked with small stripes of injuries long healed, scars that he wanted to feel, to taste. He wanted to name them all, know their history, her story. She turned and set her palms on her hips, his eyes raking over her naked body and she didn't flinch or demur. Instead, her hands moved across her belly, a tickling pet of fingers along the plane of her waist, gliding up over the fullness of her breasts overflowing her cupping hands but he knew they would fit perfectly in his.

"If you don't hurry up, I'm going to start without you." Her cocky grin flashing in the low lantern light, and he obeyed, hastily removing his boots and pants. 

He glanced up, looking for the surprised gasp and shock that he got from people when his giant lineage's gift was revealed. She didn't look shocked at all. She just looked ... hungry. "I thought maybe it was an exaggeration, but mmm... no. " 

Moving toward him, her eyes on his own. When she was near enough, he twitched at the touch of her hand along his shaft, like the railing of a staircase traced as she stepped up to him. "Question is, do you know how to use it?" Her head bent, her lips trailing gentle kisses over the tattooed lines of his chest, her fingers firm in their petting strokes.