Page 85 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

“I… I don’t wish to be frightened by it,” she whispered.

Finally nodding, he said, “All right, but mayhap you can do it after we’re undressed?”

Iris turned her back to Angus. “Can you undo my buttons? The few you did up this morning?” she asked. Stella had helped her undress the night before, reminding her she didn’t have to undo all of the buttons in order to remove the mourning gown.

Angus immediately did her bidding, and he helped pull the black bombazine gown over her head using his good hand. He shook it out and draped it over the chair. “May I help with your petticoat?”

She shook her head, untying the strings at her waist. A moment later, she stepped out of the pool of muslin. He was quick to pick up the garment and shake it out before resting it over the top of the gown.

“Your turn,” she said, pointing to his trousers. Sure he could see her mons through the fabric of her chemise, she moved her other hand to the apex of her thighs. Although she appreciated Stella’s gift of the newer—and nicer—underthings, they weren’t as practical as those she was used to wearing. The chemise was nearly translucent in the firelight.

He chuckled softly. “Yes, my lady,” he said, undoing the buttons of the square fly. Given the length of his shirt, only his bare legs from mid-thigh to his feet were left uncovered once he stepped out of the trousers. He tossed them over the end of his cot. “May I help with your stockings?”

She inhaled softly. “Um… if you promise you won’t snag them,” she replied. “Stella gave them to me. I don’t think they’ve ever been worn before.”

He was quick to kneel down before her and untie the garters that held up the black knit stockings. Resting the bandaged fingers of his left hand against her thigh, he slid the tips of his forefingers between the top of one stocking and the tender skin of her thigh, sending a shiver down her leg.

Iris gripped one of his shoulders as he carefully rolled the stocking over her knee and around the curve of her calf. When he had it down to her foot, she lifted her heel from the floor, and he continued to roll it until it popped off her toes.

When he suddenly leaned forward and kissed the skin on the inside of her knee, she gave a start. “That tickles,” she claimed.

He chuckled before turning his attention to the other stocking. “Would you like to sit down?” he whispered, when he noticed how her entire body seemed to be trembling. In the dim light, he could make out the bruises on the front of her legs, reminding him he would need to be extra careful with her on this night.

“I would,” she said on a breath, quickly lowering herself to her cot. He wasted no time in unrolling the rest of the stocking, setting it with the other once it was off her foot. When he glanced up, he saw how she was undoing the ties of her corset, her fingers quickly loosening the strings.

“Allow me,” he was quick to offer. “Your arm,” he added.

“And what of your hand?” she countered.

“I still have two fingers and a thumb.”

She sighed and allowed him to lift the garment from her body. Left in only her chemise, she watched as he placed the corset atop her petticoats. When he turned around, he pulled his shirt over his head and shook it out.

Iris gasped. Although she had accidentally seen her brother naked a time or two, Jacob’s lean frame was nothing like Angus’s well-developed body. With the few steps he took to return to their cots, she could see how his muscles rippled beneath his skin, how his biceps bulged when he bent his arms.

The protrusion at the top of his thighs was no different, his hardened manhood pointing directly at her. He bent to wet half of the bath linen in the water pot hanging over the fire before he joined her. “You still wish to do this?” he asked, offering her the bath linen.

She took the linen and nodded as she watched him sit on the longer cot. He turned and straightened out so he was on his back, his hands behind his head.

With the bath linen draped over one hand, she sat cross-legged on her cot as she gingerly touched it to the bobbing member.

“You can press harder,” he murmured. “Wrap the cloth around it.”

When she dared a glance at his face, she was surprised to discover his eyes were closed. His breathing had become labored, though, and she watched in fascination as his chest lifted and lowered.

Beneath her hold, she felt his manhood seem to come alive, felt his pulse on the backside where a vein had become evident. At the tip, a clear liquid formed a bead before it dribbled down to the linen.

Iris touched a finger to where the bead had been, and she felt him give a start. “Does that hurt?” she asked with worry, her gaze going to his face.

His eyes were half open, an expression of bliss apparent despite the dim firelight. “Exactly the opposite,” he whispered. “If you’re offended by the sight of them, I can wash my bollocks myself,” he offered.

She had barely noticed his ball sac given the size of the steel rod gipped in her fist. Using two fingers, she lifted his balls and carefully drew the wet linen under and around them.

“I believe I shall wash myself,” she said, the space at the top of her thighs suddenly throbbing. She felt dampness there, too, understanding after a moment it was because she was aroused. The tips of her nipples had pebbled, and despite the fine fabric of the chemise she still wore, they seemed to chafe with her every movement.

She was off the cot and grabbing a bath linen from her trunk before Angus could put voice to a protest. She quickly dunked it in the warm water, and after moving toward the back of the room where she thought she would be safe from his gaze, she began cleaning her nether region.

Rolling onto his side, his arousal still apparent, Angus watched in wonder. Iris had spread her legs and lifted the heel of one foot, exposing her quim to the bath linen. He groaned, wishing he was the one holding the linen.