Cailin kissed him back. “That is very good,” he praised her. “Let us try again.”
This time his kiss was firmer, and she felt her lips give way slightly beneath his. She gasped faintly as the very tip of his tongue brushed sensuously and lightly over her mouth. The sensation caused her head to whirl dizzily. Cailin put her arms about him to steady herself, for she felt as if she were falling.
He released her lips and buried his head in her hair. “You taste delicious, lambkin, and you smell delicious. I never met a girl who smelled as good as you do. Why is that?” He now looked down into her eyes, and Cailin colored once more. “Will you always blush when I look at you?” he asked her softly. “You are so fair!”
“Your praise is extravagant, I think, sir,” she answered him, and then realizing that her arms were about him, she unwrapped herself from him, but he protested her actions.
“I like that you held on to me, lambkin. I think for all your maidenly fears, you know me to be a man who can be trusted. I am not a man who scatters compliments like raindrops. When I offer you praises, it is because you deserve them, Cailin Drusus. You are beautiful. I have never known such a beautiful woman. I will be proud to have you for my wife, and I will be jealous of any man who looks at you, lambkin. We are going to make fine, strong children together.”
“How?” she boldly asked him, surprising them both.
He grinned boyishly. “So you are curious, are you? Then we must continue with our lessons.” Reaching out, he began to draw back the fox coverlet.
Cailin cried out softly, attempting to stop him, but he would not be stayed. The look of awe upon his handsome face, however, when he gazed upon her nudity for the first time, gave Cailin a tiny glimpse of the power a woman holds over a man. He did not touch her at first. Rather, his eyes drank in her smooth, fair flesh; her small round breasts; the graceful curve of her waist; her slender, but well-fleshed thighs; the tightly bunched curls upon her Venus mont.
He smiled, almost to himself, and touched her there with a single finger. “These curls match those upon your head,” he said.
She watched him wide-eyed, silent.
Then he said, “Remove my half of the coverlet, lambkin.”
She pulled the furs back, and caught her breath at the sight. He had called her beautiful, and yet it was he who was beautiful. He had the body of a god, surely. Everything was in proportion; perfect, perfect proportion. There was nothing that surprised her but for the appendage between his legs. She stared at it curiously, touching it gingerly with a finger even as he had touched her. “What is it?” she asked him. “What use does it serve for you? I do not have one.”
Wulf Ironfist swallowed hard. Her curiosity was almost detached. “Nay, you do not have one, but your brothers did. Did you never see theirs?”
“What is it?” she repeated.
“It is called a manroot.”
“And my brothers had them, too? No, I never saw them. My parents believed in modesty. They said a great many of Rome’s problems today stemmed from a lack of morals. They did not believe we should be ashamed of our bodies, but they also did not believe that we should flaunt them lewdly. What does your manroot do?”
“It is the means through which my seed will flow into your womb, lambkin. Encouraged, my manroot will grow large, and hard. I will sheath it within you, releasing my seed. The act will give us both pleasure.”
“Where will you sheath it? Show me,” she demanded.
He bent and kissed her once more, and as he did so, he took a single finger and, pushing gently between her nether lips, touched the entry to her woman’s passage. “There,” he told her, lifting his mouth from hers.
“Ohhh!” she answered. That single light touch had not simply startled her. It was as if something had burst in her midsection. Tiny tremors of sensation pulsed throughout her entire being.
“We have a ways to go before that,” he told her, removing the invasive digit. “I will answer all your questions later, lambkin, but perhaps it would be better if we did not talk so much right now.”
“Why do you call me ‘lambkin’?” she persisted nervously.
“Because you are an innocent little lamb, with your big purple