The Huntsman and the Lady by Sulriel

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Chapter 3

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With those simple words, he went much too far in issuing challenge to her.  He all but called her a liar.  He implied she was nothing but talk and dreams without substance.  He expressed doubt as to her courage, her strength of will and her worthiness to step forward to rule her own land.  She would show him.  She would show him all her courage and glory and let his great hard length bobble up against his belly and do her homage with its aching need of her until the spring water of his pond shriveled it to a dangle.  And when he was good and ready to escort her home, without the kiss he claimed he hadn't brought her here for, she would be done with him and his arrogance.

 

She fumbled with her laces before she remembered this gown required a maid to undo the intricate ties in the back.  But Celeborn was already there with his strong fingers tickling as they brushed the bare skin of her back and his warm wine-scented breath tingling over her cheek.  She caught the gown before it fell and turned to face him. 

 

A mistake.

 

"The ladies of my mother's people braid their hair before they swim."

 

She nodded.  Another mistake.  He stood so close before her that with every breath she breathed him in, his scent of the rich earth, green woods and the heat of the brilliant new sun.  His arms flexed and corded around her as he combed her hair back with his fingers to gather it in three thick bundles and braid it by feel down her back.  He had to step closer to her; close enough she tasted the tension in him.  When she turned her head her lips brushed his chest where his tunic fell open and his breath hitched when she licked her lips.  His shaft brushed the backs of her arms where she held her dress up.  Brushed and pressed lightly against her.  As light as such a hard thing could be.

 

"Celeborn."  She meant to chastise him but it came out with a pleading tone.  Her knees melted and trembled and when she pulled away, she stumbled back and her gown slipped down.  The evening's air tickled on her bare skin, chill and heated at the same time.

 

He caught her as she tugged her gown up, and he steadied her on her feet, a pained, amused look on his face.

 

"Do your people swim with their gowns on?"

 

He'd shamed and embarrassed her again.  How?  When he stood fully clothed before her. 

 

"Do yours?"  Her worse mistake yet.

 

She backed a step when he pulled his tunic off over his head.  Flexed and corded, hard lean muscle.  This was no lord of leisure who played at sculpting his body or hunted for sport.  This was no lean survivor of the ice.  This was a body that lived off the land, worked hard and scarred.  The arms and back of a bowman, a swordsman, the legs of a hunter who chased his prey through the woods.  Her chest ached and she gasped a breath. 

 

He'd finally found his manners; he politely pretended not to notice her distress as he unlaced his leggings and stepped out of them.

 

No, no.  Oh no.  He hadn't brought that to try to steal a kiss from her.  She wrenched her gaze away, to glare into the woods.  She was not so innocent.  What was wrong with her?  She struggled to remember the lords who she'd allowed to press their cause.  Their dry, hesitant lips; their pathetic show of apology for brushing against her in their excitement.  Their fugitive glances at her father and brothers.

 

There was no apology in Celeborn.  No shame, no hesitance.  No sense of propriety in that broad tip with its glistening wet bead.  Moisture filled her and ran down from the curls at her thighs before she could dismiss the thoughts.

 

The water splashed behind her.  The pond.  The fresh spring would chill his ardor.  They could swim and return refreshed to the caves.  Galadriel tossed back her heavy braid, stepped out of her gown and folded it neatly before she walked, proudly, shoulders back, down to the edge of the water.  Her nipples ached from his unabashed stare, it seemed she could feel his thoughts cup her heavy breasts and hold them.  Her curls tingled with the thought of his fingers stroking through them the way they'd brushed through her long hair before he finished her braid.  It was all she could do not to cup her own breasts to comfort them for the lack of his touch. 

 

His arm moved; his hand played slowly beneath the water, clear enough she could see he stroked himself.

 

Shameless!  Yet her cousins did the same, on the bank in the sunshine after an exhausting swim.  She'd never thought ill of them.  Yet, at the time, it had only seemed casual and absentminded play.  She'd seen none of this single-minded intensity Celeborn displayed.

 

Cousins.  Kinsmen.  Celeborn was her kinsman as well, her cousin, as Elwe introduced him.  Distant, but the relation was there.  She was only being silly … why?  Elwe had deemed him a safe escort.  Celeborn hadn't actually been rude, he'd only unsettled her with his strange, foreign ways when certainly he only tried to comfort her by introducing her to the ways of his own people.  There had been no courting, no fancy words, no mention of vows or the exchange of gifts.  He'd certainly shown no violence toward her – such things were unheard of.  She'd misjudged him and would make amends.

 

She took a breath, prepared for the shock of the cold when she stepped into the water and exhaled it in a great gust.

 

Celeborn, the rude clout, laughed out loud at her shock.  

 

The water was as soft and warm as a baby's toddy.

 

She dove in to surface near him; when she splashed up she grabbed his shoulders and pushed him under.  He came up with his arms locked around her waist, bands of folded steel – still hot from the forge.  He gasped for air, his lips brushed her breast.  Her hands tangled in the wet silver silk of his hair; her body ached and screamed and burned and trembled as he waited there, his hot breath rasping her nipple.

 

With all of a hunter's steady patience, he suckled the edge of her breast.  Rabid heat fired through her.  His heart pounded against her belly, his thick length pressed hard up along her thigh, its broad tip teasing the curls at her lips.

Galadriel's heart pound so hard it left her mindless and dizzy.  She twisted in his arms – wanting him – wanting away – she clenched her fists in his hair and held him to her breasts.  He pulled her nipple between his teeth, with nips and nibbles. 

 

She ground her hips against his belly, her center seeking the heavy shaft that teased her entrance.  He groaned and tightened one arm around her, releasing the other one only to bring his hand up between them.  Celeborn's finger's tangled in her curls then brushed between her slick lips.  She curled her body, trying to sink down on him, seeking pressure, release – she didn't know… …only that she must fill the screaming aching emptiness he'd created in her.  Celeborn tensed and growled a foul-sounding curse and wrenched her away from him.

 

He pushed her away and turned and faced the far shore.  Tight, tense.  "Leave," he said.

 

Leave?  Leave?  Leave the water, dress and walk back down the trail?  She couldn't even stand.