Paul closed the door. The soft click of the latch seemed to seal their small world from the rest of the town. The room was a world apart from the luxury Hilda came from; it smelled of beeswax and clean linens, and the only light, an oil lamp, cast dancing shadows on the rough-hewn wooden walls.
She stood by the window, her back to him, her silhouette an elegant slash of dark red against the glass. The tension was so thick you could almost taste it.
"Not exactly the Royal Palace, is it?" Paul's voice, quiet and charged with a palpable electricity, broke the silence.
"No," she replied, without turning. "It's better. It's real. And there are no servants listening at the doors."
He smiled. He approached slowly, stopping just behind her. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, smell the subtle perfume of wildflowers clinging to her skin.
"Are you nervous, Hilda?"
She finally turned. The lamplight accentuated the seriousness in her eyes and the blush staining her cheeks.
"A noble never admits to nerves, Paul. It's a sign of weakness."
"Lucky for me, I'm no noble," he replied, his voice a low murmur. "And tonight, neither are you. Tonight, you're not Lady Hilda. You're just Hilda. And I'm just Paul."
His hands rose and settled on her bare shoulders. Her skin was incredibly soft. He felt her tense for an instant beneath his touch, a nearly imperceptible shudder that he felt as a victory.
"What is it you want from me, adventurer?" she whispered. Her gaze was defiant, but her breath had quickened.
He smiled, a slow, brutally honest smile that disarmed her. He leaned in, his warm breath grazing her ear.
"I want to discover if the fire I saw in your eyes burns with the same intensity across the rest of your skin."
His fingers found the small, intricate clasps on the back of her dress. A fortress of silk and metal.
"A noblewoman's dress is designed to keep men out," he said, his clumsy fingers fumbling with the first clasp.
"Or to ensure that only the men with enough patience and determination get in," she answered, her breath brushing against his lips.
"Patience and determination…" he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I have plenty of both."
The first clasp gave way. Then the second. The fabric of the dress loosened, and his lips sought hers. The kiss wasn't gentle; it was hungry, possessive. A collision. His tongue invaded her mouth, tasting her, and after a moment of surprise, she returned the kiss with unexpected ferocity, her hands clutching at his shirt.
He broke the kiss, leaving her breathless, her lips swollen and red. His hands resumed their work, undoing the rest of the dress. The heavy red fabric slithered down her body and fell to the floor with a whisper, pooling at her feet.
Now she wore only a white lace corset and a petticoat. The corset pushed her breasts upward, presenting them like an offering.
"This…" he said, his fingers tracing the edge of the lace, "is a work of art."
"It's a cage," she replied, her voice a choked whisper.
With a delicacy that contradicted the urgency in his eyes, he untied the laces. With every loosened loop, Hilda's breasts seemed to expand. When the corset finally fell away, she took a deep breath. Free at last, her breasts were magnificent: pale, heavy, swaying gently with her breathing. Her areolas were a soft pink, and her nipples, two perfect buds, had hardened.
"Gods…" was all Paul could say.
He knelt before her, and his mouth claimed one of her nipples. He kissed it, licked it, suckled it with an almost religious devotion. A sharp moan escaped Hilda's throat.
"Ah… Paul…"
Her hands tangled in his hair, her fingers tightening as her hips moved in an involuntary rhythm. He moved to the other nipple, devoting the same worship to it, gently nibbling the tip until she moaned his name again, this time with a pleading tone.
His hands descended, sliding the petticoat down her legs. She stood before him, clad only in a pair of delicate, white silk panties. He rested his cheek against her flat stomach, his hands rising to knead her ass, firm and round beneath the thin fabric.
"You're… perfect," he whispered against her skin.
His fingers hooked the elastic of her panties and slid them slowly down. Between her legs, a neat patch of red hair, the same vibrant color as the hair on her head, added a wild touch to her elegance. He bent down and kissed the soft bush, inhaling her scent. Hilda trembled, her legs nearly giving way.
He led her to the bed and laid her down gently. Before she could say a word, he picked up the silk panties and held them before her eyes.
"Let's see what secrets a noble keeps."
With a predatory smile, he used the soft fabric to rub her already-wet folds. The touch of her own underwear, now in his hands, was an exquisite humiliation. A moan escaped her lips.
"You're… shameless…" she panted.
"And you're soaked," he replied, showing her the wet spot on the silk. "For me."
The fabric slid over her clitoris. A soft, wet caress that made her arch her back. He increased the pressure, the rhythm, watching as pleasure and shame warred on her face. She bit her lip, trying not to scream.
"Don't hold back," he whispered. "I want to hear you."
That command was her undoing. A spasm wracked her body, a choked scream vibrated in her throat, and a gush of clear fluid soaked the silk.
"Ah… ah!"
He didn't stop. He kept rubbing her, stimulating her through her own orgasm, until a second, even stronger climax hit her, leaving her trembling and breathless, her legs spread in total surrender.
"Please… stop…"
He finally dropped the garment, his mouth replacing the fabric. What he found left him breathless: the wet, pink folds opened for him. His tongue slid out, tasting her. Sweet, salty, intoxicating. He brought her to the edge again and again until she was begging, her words an incoherent mess of pleas and moans.
"Paul, please… inside… I need you inside me, now!"
He stood and stripped with feverish speed. He positioned himself between her legs. He saw the fear mixed with desire in her grey eyes.
"Hilda… is this your first time?"
She nodded, biting her lower lip in a gesture of heart-wrenching vulnerability. He gave her a soft kiss, a kiss that asked for permission. Then, he entered her. Slowly. He felt the barrier of her virginity, and she let out a small cry of pain.
He stopped.
"Look at me."
She did.
"It's over now," he assured her.
With a single, smooth thrust, he broke the barrier. They stayed still for a moment. Then, he began to move, slowly at first. The wet sound of their bodies joining filled the room.
"Does it hurt?" he whispered.
"No…" she moaned. "It feels… ah… incredible."
He quickened the pace. The thrusts became stronger, deeper, the sound of his hips slapping against her thighs a primitive percussion. He lifted her, sat her on top of him. She found her own rhythm, her moans growing sharper.
"Like that… Oh, gods, like that!"
He turned her, setting her on all fours. The sight of her ass, round and pale, with him moving in and out of her, was too much. He thrust with renewed fury. The climax hit her like a lightning bolt, a violent spasm that tore a scream from her. The intensity of her orgasm was the final push for him. With a last, deep groan, he poured himself into her and collapsed onto her sweaty body.
They lay tangled together. When he could move, he pulled back slightly to look at her. A small smile of pure satisfaction was on her lips.
Yes, Paul thought. The fire burned everywhere.
He had claimed a noble's body, but in the process, he'd found a glimpse of her soul. And he knew, with a clarity that frightened him, that one night wouldn't be enough. Nor would a thousand.