Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Heath

“ I ’ve finally tracked down the bastard,” Anders, a fellow member of the rebellion and city guard, tells me.

We are standing together at the back of The Green Man, to the side of the stables, where the wall to the neighboring workshop provides some relief from the biting wind.

“Good,” I say. “Happen we can make a move soon.”

Anders nods. “I’ll let the lads know. There’s a caravan that leaves every month bound for the mines. As good as a death sentence. And let’s say, nobody questions if there’s an extra body in there… Be seeing you, Heath. Best I get back.”

He slips into the shadows and out the back into the alleyway.

The barman comes out the back to get another barrel of ale. I remain in the shadows, not wanting to advertise the meeting I just had. I promised Betsy I’d deal with the father who sold Ada for coin, and I intend to keep my word. My son will probably want in. He is sweet on the lass, and it is getting serious between them. I can see them getting married.

Damn, doesn’t that make me feel old?

Gareth is quick about it, his boots crunching in the light dusting of snow as he returns to the tavern with a barrel over his right shoulder.

I stare at the fluttering of snow as it settles on the cobblestones, lost in the shadows and thoughts. It’s fucking freezing out here. The cheery glow of the tavern visible through the back windows calls to me, yet I don’t move just yet.

I’m thinking about her lips against my cheek. Soft . Her eyes, brimming with emotions, fierce yet resilient.

Fine, I’m also thinking about her tits as she leaned over to the table to put a pint of Pilkington before me with a smile.

Betsy is saucy and forward, a handful for sure… In more ways than one, pun intended.

I scrub my hands against my cheeks, reminding myself of all the reasons why I shouldn’t be thinking about a tavern wench with pretty blue eyes.

I’m about to head back in when the door opens. Betsy walks out.

Damn it.

She cuts across the courtyard, heading straight toward me.

Frowning, I step back deeper into the shadows while keeping her in my line of sight. What is she doing out here?

A sense of dread slams into me. Is a man or men about to follow her out? If it’s a fucking sailor, I will put a beating on him.

I swipe a hand down my face. It’s not my place to put a beating on anybody. She’s a grown woman. She can do whatever she wants to with whomever she chooses. It is none of my fucking business. And yet I’m seeing red. And green. And why am I so hot?

My dick is very confused between wanting to see her pretty face scrunch up as she comes and killing the person touching her.

I’m convinced they will be substandard to anything I offer. Because I would fucking worship her in ways these boys never could.

My dick finally goes down because she’s not coming out here for me… only she is still heading straight toward me with a determined look on her face.

I glance around. There is fucking nowhere to go.

“I know you’re hiding there,” she says, planting her hands on her hips as she stands at the opening of the small alleyway.

“What are you doing out here, lass?” I step out of the shadows.

Her grin spreads across her face. She comes closer, her hips swaying. “Gareth said you were skulking around back here with one of the city guards.”

“Well, Gareth shouldn’t be gossiping,” I say, folding my arms.

Her eyes lower to track the movement… Is she checking me out?

Lips pursed, she sidles closer.

“It’s freezing out here, lass,” I say gruffly, wondering how I can be sweating buckets when it is this fucking cold. “Why don’t you go inside?”

“You are not inside,” she says, stepping right up to me. She strokes her hand over my right shoulder and all the way down my arm. She pauses to squeeze my biceps. “Gods, your arms are a test… and your hands. You’re a very compelling male. I’m a bit obsessed.”

I remember to shut my mouth and glance over my shoulder like there might be somebody else standing there she is talking about.

No, only me.

Then my head snaps around as I feel her hand sliding back up my chest until she finds the V in my shirt. Her delicate fingers slide through the hair on my chest. My hands drop to my sides lest I put them on her, and my fists clench.

“I dream about inspecting this manly chest,” she says, running her fingers down the buttons one at a time.

My cock springs to attention from her light caress through my clothes. My eyes bounce between watching her face as she trails her hand lower and staring at her cleavage. Her tits win. I swear she has the biggest tits I’ve ever seen. I just want to bury my face between them and suffocate there. I’d die a happy man.

I snatch her finger away when they reach the buckle of my pants.

“The fuck are you doing?” I keep her wrist shackled in my big, meaty fist, careful of my strength and not trusting her not to have another go.

“Well, nothing now, clearly,” she says, pouting prettily at me.

Quick as a sprite, she takes her hand back, wraps her fingers around my wrist, and plants my palm on her breast.

“Go on. You look at them often enough. You can touch them. I don’t mind. I encourage it.”

It’s like someone just hit me up the side of the head with a plank of wood. I swear there are no wits left in my brain. I should be taking my hand away. But I don’t. I leave it there, touching her under her direction. There is not a drop of resistance in me when she takes my other hand and squeezes both hands together around her tits… and moans.

My eyes flash to meet hers.

“There, doesn’t that feel better?”

Fucking hell. I squeeze. I don’t mean to squeeze, but it happens anyway. My dick is so hard it’s flexing and leaking pre-cum while trying to bust a hole through my pants. My balls are already drawing tight.

“Fuck,” I mutter gruffly.

She bites coquettishly on her lower lip and peers up at me under her lashes. “I knew these big hands would be the right size.”

I’m lost in a lust coma as I watch her tits quiver and bounce as I squeeze and pet. I swallow thickly—they are not just the right size, though, are they? My fingers have spread wide, and they still don’t quite do the job. But damn, they do look good. Before I can coach myself better on it. I brush my thumbs across her nipples, feeling them bud hard.

She moans and arches up into me. “Goddess, yes, Heath. Please, more of that.”

I’m mesmerized and not paying attention to what she’s doing with her hands. It comes as a shock when my belt loosens, and my pants sag. Her small hand delves into the slack.

“Can I touch your cock?”

“Fuck! What? No!” She already has her fingers wrapped around me, so her question comes too late… unlike me, who is in danger of coming early. I huff out of breath, trying to peel her fingers off. She squeezes over me, and what little blood there is left in my brain surges into my dick.

“Goodness. This is a lot. You’re a lot of man, so it stands to reason. But, damn, you would injure a lass with this. It is definitely going to be a challenge.”

I think she has forgotten I am attached to the cock she is handling. Her other hand goes to the buttons on my pants like she is seeking greater access.

It’s like she has ten sets of hands; every time I capture one, the other is up to some mischief. The necessity of attempting to peel her off before I embarrass myself seems to amplify the sensations. The feel of her breasts is imprinted on the palms of my hand. Her riveted expression and her warm fingers wrapped around my length all conspire against my limited control.

I come.

I come in my fucking pants and all over her hand.

“Oh,” she says, grinning. “My cleavage game is on point.”

I choke back my laughter, still pulsing cum. I could point out that it is the whole of her that is on point, and not only her tits, but I don’t want to further encourage her. This has already taken a wild turn. She is not even upset. It’s like my complete lack of control is a source of personal pride for her.

“No!” I grab her wrist too late as she shoves my cum-soaked fingers into her mouth. “Fuck! What the fuck is wrong with you, lass?! Spit it out!”

She stares me in the eyes and swallows with a smirk.

I sigh heavily, trying to revive my post-climax wits. Now I have taken her sticky hand away, I don’t know what the fuck to do with it.

“It’s only cum,” she says. “But I agree. Next time, I will take you in my mouth so I don’t miss a drop.”

My dick, hanging half out of my pants, flexes with savage interest.

Her eyes drop. “Which might be sooner rather than later.”

I scowl at her, snag the rag she uses to wipe the tables from where it is tucked in her apron and clean up her hand. “Bad girl. You do not go around sucking men’s cocks… or putting your hand on them. What were you thinking? I’m old enough to be your father!”

“So if you were younger, it would be fine for me to suck your cock?” she goads.

“What? Yes. No!” I shove my cock back into my pants… Try to. It is hard as stone and having none of it…. And there is a fucking wet patch.

“Fine. I will only suck younger cocks.” She turns and flounces off.

The fuck!

I stare after her, pissed and aroused in equal measure, wondering if I lost or won that argument.

Nope, I lost—no point in deluding myself.

The snow is coming down heavier, settling on my clothes. As I watch her slip inside the tavern, my greatest source of disappointment is that I didn’t even get her off.

Betsy

I can’t believe he came that quickly. All I did was put my hand on his cock. I barely stroked it more than a couple of times.

He is weakening. He must be.

And he is delusional if he thinks I will walk away. Not a chance. I know when I see a good thing, and Heath is the best of men.

“You look a bit flushed,” Ada says as I slip into the tavern.

“I just bumped into a certain blacksmith,” I say, smirking.

Her lips form a little ‘O’.

“Nothing happened,” I lie, still buzzing from the encounter. I’m definitely not going to mention that Heath came in his pants. I don’t doubt he’s sneaking out the back and high-tailing it home. He was hard again, struggling to put his cock back in his pants… “I need to pop and get something from my room.”

“No problem,” she says, smiling. It’s quiet tonight, and only a few patrons are supping beer or eating supper, so I don’t feel bad as I take the stairs two at a time and rush into my room.

The door rattles into the jamb, and I lean back against the wooden surface. My fingers are still a little sticky. I groan, cupping my breasts, putting my hands right where his were , and squeezing together. He barely brushed his thumbs over my nipples, and they still tingle from that light touch. Goddess, the look on his face when he touched me…

It’s no use. I need to come. I need to come on the fingers that were wrapped around his cock.

I’ve never done anything like this before, touched a man and then touched myself. It feels a little wild and depraved. It is definitely naughty.

I ruck up my skirts, shove my hand into my panties, and find myself soaking wet.

I groan, pop my head back against the door, and close my eyes. I thrust two fingers in and out. I’m so wet it’s soon trickling over my knuckles. In my mind, I’m back in the alley where Heath sinks to his knees.

“What a filthy lass,” he says as he sees just how wet I am for him. “I just need a little taste.”

The dream version of my blacksmith pushes my busy fingers aside and closes his lips around my clit.

I brush my fingertips over it and go off like a firecracker.

“Yes, Heath!”

My climax is still ripping through me when I plunge my fingers back inside myself and imagine it is his big, thick cock.

I have never given myself fully to a beta male who could get at me with a child—only an alpha whom I loved more as a friend. Everyone knows an alpha cannot get a lass pregnant unless he knots her, and he never did.

Always, I have been waiting for my Heath.

As my breathing evens out and I return to myself, I pray my waiting will not be in vain.