"It is fastened so it lies smoothly," he said.
"Fastened?" I made the word a question.
"I would have to take the pants off to get the shirt off." He was blushing, a wonderful pale red rose color.
"What's wrong, Frost?"
The bathwater stopped running. Kitto said, "The water is ready, Mistress."
"Thank you, Kitto." I looked at Frost. "Answer the question, Frost. What's wrong?"
He looked down, all that shining hair acting like a curtain. He turned away from me to face the far wall, so even the goblin couldn't see his face.
"Frost, please don't make me hop down from the counter to make you look at me. I don't need to twist another ankle."
He spoke without turning around. "I do not trust myself with you."
"In what way?" I asked.
"In the way of a man with a woman."
I still wasn't understanding him. "I still don't understand, Frost."
He turned suddenly to face me, eyes a dark storm grey with anger. "I want to fall on you like
some ravening beast. I don't want to be gentle. I just want."
"Are you saying you don't trust yourself not to..." I searched for a word, but had to settle for, "rape me?"
He nodded.
I laughed, I couldn't help it. I knew he wouldn't like the laughter, but I just couldn't help it.
His face grew arrogant, distant, eyes cold but still angry. "What do you want of me, Meredith?"
"Frost, forgive me, but you can't rape the willing."
He frowned at that, as if he didn't understand the phrasing.
"I want to have sex with you tonight. That's the plan. How can that be rape?"
He shook his head, sending the hair sliding around him, sparkling in the light. "You do not understand. I do not trust that I can control myself."
"In what way?"
"In every way!" He turned away again, hugging himself.
I finally began to get an inkling of what he was trying to say. "Are you concerned that you won't last long enough for my pleasure?"
"That and..."
"What, Frost, what?"
"He wants to f**k you," Kitto said.
We both looked at the goblin still kneeling by the bathtub. "I know that," I said.
Kitto shook his head. "Not sex, just f**king. He's been so long without, he just wants to do it."
I looked at Frost. He was avoiding my eyes. "Is that what you want?"
He hung his head, hiding behind all that hair. "I want to strip off your panties, put you up
against the sink, and just be inside you. I don't feel gentle tonight, Meredith. I feel half-crazed."
"Then do it," I said.
He turned and stared at me. "What did you say?"
"Do it, just the way you want it. Eight hundred years, you're entitled to a little fantasy."
He frowned. "But it won't be enjoyable for you."
"Let me worry about that. You forget that I'm descended from fertility gods. As many times as you go inside me, I can bring you back to need with a touch of my hand, a tiny use of power. Just because we begin the night here, doesn't mean we have to end it here."
"You would let me do that?"
I looked at him, standing there with his broad shoulders, the swell of his chest peeking through that glorious hair, the narrow waist, the tight h*ps encased in those so-tight pants. I thought about him dropping those pants, of seeing him nude for the first time, of having him push himself inside me, urgent, so full of need that he would touch nothing, do nothing but shove himself inside me. I had to let my breath go in a sigh before I could speak. "Yes."
He crossed the room in two strides, lifting me off the counter, setting me on the floor. I had to balance on the bad ankle, but he didn't give me time to protest. He pulled the dress off my arms in one abrupt movement. I had to grab the edge of the counter to keep from falling. He jerked the dress down, letting it pool on the floor around my feet. He grabbed the black satin of the panties and pulled them down, too.
I could see Kitto in the foggy mirror. He watched everything with eager eyes, utterly silent, as if he didn't want to break the spell.
Frost had to unlace the pants, and it took time. He was making a small noise low in his throat by the time he had gotten them unfastened and peeled down his body. The shirt was fastened over his groin, and he ripped the material away. He was long and hard and more than ready. I had a glimpse of him over my shoulder, then his hands were on my waist, turning me to face the fogged mirror.
I had a moment of feeling him sliding against me, then he was inside me. He shoved against the tightness of my body, forcing himself into me. I'd given him permission, wanted him, but with almost no foreplay it was still pain with the pleasure. A bruising, almost tearing pressure brought my breath in a gasp that was both pain and desire. When he was sheathed inside me as far as he could go, he whispered, "You're tight- not ready for me-but you are wet."
My voice came out breathy. "I know."
He drew himself out, part way, then in, and after that there was nothing but his body inside mine. His need was large and fierce and so was he. He thrust into me as hard and as fast as he could. The sound of flesh hitting flesh punctuated every thrust of his body. It forced sounds from my throat, from the sheer force of it, and from the sensations as he moved inside me, over me, through me. My body opened to him, no longer tight, just wet.
He used his hands to force my body down on the counter, then lifted me so that most of my body was on the counter. My feet were no longer touching the ground. He pounded himself into me, as if he were trying to force his way not just into my body but through and out the other side. A tightness began to grow low in my body, my breath coming faster. Flesh into flesh, so hard and fast with such strength that it danced that thin line between pleasure and pain. I kept expecting him to finish his need in one long glorious burst, but he didn't. He hesitated, using large strong hands to move my h*ps along the counter, a small adjustment as if he were looking for just the right spot, then he thrust inside me again in one long hard movement, and I cried out. Frost had found that spot inside my body, and was running himself over it, and over it, and over it, as hard and as fast as before, but now he drew small sounds from me. The tightness began to grow, swell, like a warm thing growing inside me. It grew large and larger, flowing outward along my skin as if a thousand feathers were being drawn down my skin to send me shivering, twitching, drawing noises from my mouth that were wordless, thoughtless, formless. It was the song of flesh, not love, not even desire, but something more primitive, more primal.