I don't own anything and am very sorry for my defiling of all characters from Tolkien's and Peter Jackson' respective works. I also apologise for my cliche-ridden, purple prose.
Proof read but not beta read. All mistakes are mine.
Based on an imagine from imaginexhobbit - Imagine being in an arranged marriage with Thorin
"If you have no army to support you, how will you secure your position?"
"What Balin says is true, Thorin," Gandalf paused to draw on his pipe, puffing the smoke out from between his lips, "However, if the armies of the Dwarves will not aid you, then perhaps a different army can."
Thorin stared at the party before him. Three men, all in their finest robes and between them a woman.
To look at them one would clearly know they were from the South. The men wore coverings wrapped high around their heads, their skin brown and leathered. Beards that lacked in length, but were wider than many a dwarf, they didn't embellish them either.
They wore weapons beneath their black outer robes, a scimitar each on one hip and a curved dagger on the other, all clearly ceremonial. Though he didn't doubt each man knew how to use them with fatal effect.
When he had met Balin and Gandalf at The Prancing Pony to discuss the news of his meeting at Ered Luin with the envoys from the other Dwarf kingdoms, he hadn't expected this development.
Balin seemed all for it once Thorin had given over the news that not even Dain of the Iron Mountains would support their quest. They needed that army, and to be told there was an army awaiting his order if he so chose, had given him hope. He truly believed that with this wizard on this quest he would succeed in reclaiming his home and his birthright, especially if Gandalf could provide an army.
When he'd asked why this army would support him, Gandalf had cagily looked at him, muttered something under his breath that he couldn't hear. The flare of hope fizzled out like a wet firework.
Wanting to strangle the wizard Thorin waited for the truth and when he got it, Balin was clearly on side with the wizard and Thorin was shuffled along to the private room at the back of the pub.
The men and woman before him were as much Southrons in that they lived in that part of Middle Earth. They were known as the Habai, they were a nomadic tribe that were under daily attack from the Harads and Corsairs.
Before too long the tribe would be enslaved and their ailing king knew the Habai needed a place of safety. They wanted to rebuild the city of Dale and live there under the rule of their king. Or rather their new king, once he'd married of course.
Which is where Thorin came into it.
And as he was told more of this union, his eyebrows rose higher and higher. All he had to do, literally, was come – inside their princess – and his job was done.
When Balin mentioned the Princess would be marrying the King of the Dwarves, the Habai chieftains had laughed and informed them, in very good Westron that Thorin was still free to take another wife, such was their ways.
It's as they were freely discussing this that Thorin looked at the young woman. Really she was a child, if he hadn't been told her age already he could've guessed. If she were a dwarrow, she would be firmly ensconced in the bosom of her family, still being mothered, and considered a mere babe.
To learn she was well over the age of marrying within the Habai was disconcerting. Yet as he listened to the chieftains the more he saw how much she didn't matter. She was of a royal bloodline, like him, and yet he had more respect as a king in exile than she did.
Silence descended and Thorin pulled his gaze away and levelled it on Balin. The old advisor stepped away and Thorin followed.
"Tis a strange world they live in, Thorin."
"Aye," he agreed.
"Well, the decision is yours. They are not much to look at, but they've a number of them. Fighting Corsairs and the Haradrim takes skill and no small amount of courage. They'll be no better than us at killing a dragon, I think." Balin paused to smooth a hand down his long white beard. "But, I think they could keep back those who would think to take the mountain for themselves."
Thorin nodded, "You don't like their ways, ay lad?"
Thorin met his gaze, "She is chattel, expected to breed until her body gives out on her, then tossed away for another wife."
Balin nodded, "There ways are strange, not our ways, but you would have an army, and the right to take a queen. I know your eye has wandered over Esta recently."
Thorin smirked, he'd noticed Esta years ago. She was a beautiful dwarrowdam, but not what he wanted. Besides for a long time now he'd been getting the milk for free, an amicable arrangement with a widow. Really, would this sham be any different?
"It's a win-win, Thorin. Likely," Balin leant in, "You'd be saving the lass from a terrible fate."
Thorin knew what he meant. The Habai were not tall like other men, they were not like dwarf or hobbit either. The Princess was shorter than them all, barely taller than Balin. Although dressed in coverings that left only her downturned eyes to his view, he could clearly see she was small in body.
Her body would likely not even accommodate him, let alone give birth to a dwarf-babe. Balin had the right of it, he was saving the lass. He held onto that belief tightly, knowing he would need it for the evening ahead.
He sighed, inclining his head sending a short prayer to Mahal he whispered to Balin, "Let us get this done."
When the agreement was struck and a contract, written by Balin there and then waiting to be signed, the eldest chieftain Aban had clapped his hands and two women, dressed similarly to the Princess had appeared and taken her away. She was to be prepared for him. He didn't know what that entailed. An hour later the women returned and in their language informed the Habai the Princess awaited her husband.
5 pairs of eyes looked at the King and Thorin felt the heat rise from beneath his collar inching up his throat. It had seemed distant before, knowing he'd be bedding that small woman. Now that the time was here, he felt like the prized stallion being led out the stable.
Aban moved first, leading Thorin to the room where he was expected to perform on command. It was alright for the Princess, she only had to lay there.
That thought brought him to a sharp stop. Oh, Mahal, he was going to bed a virgin. A virgin woman who had no say, not one word in what she wanted. Performance anxiety had never been an issue for him. Now, though…
He took a deep breath, remembered what he was gaining, what the Habai were gaining. He'd already promised himself he would not force a babe on this woman. All he needed to do was relieve her of her virginity, it would only ever be the once he would have to bed her.
He forced his boots onwards, a frown taking up residence on his face. He would get this over and done with and return her to her people in the order they could start the preparations for meeting them at Erebor.
The door was opened by Aban, the old chieftain walked into the room and straight over to the bed. In his own language he started barking commands. Thorin stepped in the room, over to the fireplace getting a good view of the small figure in the bed waiting for him.
Every word said by Aban had the girl jumping in fright. At this rate, Thorin would be trying to deflower a terrified bundle of nerves.
"My Lord," Thorin snapped out when the harsh words took on a tone of vitriol. Aban ceased and looked at him with a look of sheer happiness.
"My King," he performed some theatrical bow involving touching his forehead, chin and heart. "The Princess must please you. We will not stand for her not fulfilling her duty. I have informed her," he stated those words with absolute glee, "Of the punishment should you not deem her worthy."
"Out," Thorin seethed the word between clenched teeth. "Out, leave me to my wife."
He'd not meant to call her that, he didn't even see it as a real marriage. But, he could not stand there, listening to this man any longer. He didn't care if she laid there like a corpse, never would he tell this man she was unworthy.
Aban did his theatrical little bow again and left with a sharp glare at the girl. Thorin could only stare into the fire after the door click closed. He wished he had some strong alcohol. A couple of bottles of Dwalin's whisky would be very welcome right about now.
Balin sat at the table in The Prancing Pony, staring into his ale, a couple of times he'd glanced at the ceiling wondering how Thorin was getting on. There was a funny side to this, not that he'd tell Thorin that of course.
"How bad is it?" he questioned the wizard.
Gandalf pulled his pipe out of his mouth, blew smoke through pursed lips. "It's not as bad as you think."
"And what, Master Wizard, do I think?" Balin knew the old goat had manipulated this union for another reason.
"The Habai and The Dwarrow are not as different as they seem."
"Oh come now Gandalf, are not each of us too old for riddles." Balin took a sip of his ale, flicking his gaze up to the ceiling once more.
"Both the Habai and the Dwarrow need to change to secure their future. Thorin may not see it yet, but he has quite the bride."
Balin thought on this, true Dwarves held on to grudges and archaic traditions. Though arranged marriages were few and far between now. In past times, they had been common, and very unsuccessful.
Their race was not as plentiful either. They were still recovering from the heavy losses of Azanulbizar, and fewer children were being born to them. Many males chose their craft over marriage and family. Aye, Gandalf was right the Dwarrow and the Habai were both a dying race.
"Their king would see many of the old traditions changed." Gandalf added thoughtfully.
"And you think Thorin would be the one to stamp it out?"
"Hmmm, stamp. Perhaps not, but seeing a new way of life for a tribe that is proud of its crafts."
"Their crafts?"
Gandalf nodded at Balin's question. The Habai have many skills, though they are not miners or makers of fine jewellery, their tapestries and cloth are much sought after. They would bring a great trade to Dale. Bring it back to its former glory."
"So they are not without means, that's good." Balin agreed, casting another glance at the ceiling.
"Don't worry, Balin. I have faith in Thorin that he will do right by his wife."
Balin laughed, "Would it be your belief, Gandalf, that Thorin will make her our queen?"
Gandalf smiled amiably, "Balin, I have it on good authority that Thorin Oakenshield will only ever have one wife."
That cheeriness mixed with certainty told Balin all he needed to know. Gandalf would never have let Thorin refuse this union.
"Would you have refused to aid the quest?"
It was Gandalf's time to chuckle. "Of course, my dear Balin." Balin shook his head and took another swig of his ale, he adamantly refused to look at the ceiling again.
He dropped his boot to the floor. Not more than a month ago he had enjoyed the attentions of the widow. They'd both been caught up with each other, trying to remove clothes that in the end they had fallen to the floor, and he'd ridden her hard on her fine rug. Only afterwards did they finish undressing.
Now, he was in this position where removing any more clothes seemed more like a death sentence.
His bride hadn't moved, and she barely breathed. He'd had to focus on her chest at one point, to see the faint rising wondering if she'd died of fright.
It was then that he noticed how thin she was. It was like a twig lying under blankets. The ladies he was used to would have cast a formidable outline in that bed. Large, juicy breasts with plump nipples ripe for sucking. Wide hips, with him able to fit snugly between their legs sliding into them with the slightest of thrusts. He could unleash his full desire on them, knowing they could take all of him.
His passionate widow had the most amazing tongue and taking all of him in her mouth was an easy feat for her.
Thorin sighed, this was all about reclaiming Erebor. Firming his spine, he dragged the other boot off, stood up and began removing his clothes.
She didn't look at him as he slid beneath the covers and Thorin laid down next to her, thinking frantically on how to proceed.
He leant up and blew out the candle on the bedside table, leaving only the fireplace to cast light in the room. Looking over at his bride, noticing her chest moved in frenzied breaths. He flopped back onto the pillows.
"I… I am r ready, My King."
The shaky whisper had him closing his eyes in abject loathing. She was a child, nothing more, and if Erebor were not so damned important he would leave this bed, this room, this town tonight and never look back.
Instead, he was obviously expected to make the royal sceptre stand up and take notice of a female he did not find sexually attractive, to pluck her – like ripe fruit – and then go sign a damnable contract to say he'd done the deed.
He flung the cover back starting to rise and turn away. Typical in the world of men, his feet barely reached the floor and he was about to slide off the mattress when a force impacted his back.
"I'm sorry, My King. Forgive me." She was frantic as her arms came around him. Thorin turned and grabbed her up against his side.
"Calm down," he commanded. "I'm not disappointed, My Lady." He didn't even know what to call her, they'd never said her name. Did they even name their women?
He pulled her back so he could see her face. He noticed the almond shape eyes first, large, brown pupils nearly swallowed the white. Her eyes shone with tears, and one lone tear fell to her cheek, rolling down to her chin near wet lips that gasped in shallow breaths.
He watched it roll down to her neck, her throat swallowing harshly, and his gaze roamed down to her chest. One small breast concealed behind the long curtain of black hair. The other, perfectly curved and tipped with a brown nipple.
His eyes took in the flat stomach. She was on her knees and he could clearly see the smallest strip of hair on her mound that led a trail down to her centre.
He was surprised and offended that his body actually felt a stirring at her nakedness. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it up to her chest wrapping it around her and holding it closed at her back.
"My Lady," he waited for her to meet his eyes. "I propose an idea, that I believe you will find to your liking."
She nodded for him to go on.
"My Lady, would you be against me telling your chieftains that we have laid together, and you are now my wife."
"I… I don't understand." Her common speech was as good as Aban's, just the slightest hint of that exotic accent.
Thorin licked his lips, explaining to her in simple terms. "We lie, I will say I have laid with you. You are now my wife." He raised a brow hoping, like it did with his merry widow, that it would charm her.
It didn't. Instead, she moved away from him, her body quivering in absolute terror. Shaking her head, she said something in her language, backing away from him.
"I don't understand," he reached out a hand and those tears fell, she sobbed into the blanket whilst still pulling herself away from him.
He stared at her, completely confused. The idea was sound, no one would…know!
Thorin looked down at his lap. Somehow he'd heaped a mighty insult on her. He'd tried to get her to take part in a major infraction against her people. One that likely bore harsh consequences for her.
"They will want proof, yes?" She nodded at him, those tears still falling.
Thorin heaved out a sigh, pulling some of the blankets that were left him on his lap. He turned to her. "What is your name?"
The change was instant. Her tears stopped and she looked at him like he'd grown a second head.
"Do you not have a name?" he frowned at that.
"Yes," she finally spoke. "It's just…"
When she didn't continue Thorin turned fully, sliding one leg up making sure the blankets stayed in place.
"Tell me," he spoke as softly as he could, hoping that she read in his face, his voice that he truly wanted to learn about her.
"Husbands, they call their wives what they want." Her voice was so soft. There was no harshness in it, not like him, or other dwarrows.
"And what if I don't wish to name you?"
She pulled her hair back from her shoulders, giving him a view of her angular face. "You call me whatever you want." She shrugged indifferently, "Some call their wives by number."
Thorin huffed out a sardonic laugh, "I'm having problems enough with one wife, I don't think I'd be able to handle anymore."
Her eyes darted up to him, and he could see he'd caught her attention. "Tell me your name," he asked again.
She swallowed, "Hashana."
"Hashana," he tested the name on his lips.
She nodded, a slight smile curving that full bottom lip. He darted his eyes over to the far wall.
"My friend, he calls me Shana."
"Your friend," he raised an eyebrow, "You have only one?"
She nodded, eyes turning downwards. "And you say it's a male friend."
Her eyes darted up to his. "It is not improper." She explained, "He is almakhsi."
Thorin shook his head, "I don't know this word?"
Shana blushed, now he was intrigued. "He has been…" she nodded to him as though he'd know what that meant.
"You'll have to explain." Thorin shifted forward, wanting to know what was different about this man that it made it not improper.
Shana looked everywhere but at him, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.
"He does not have…" she pointed at his lap. "It was cut from him."
Thorin's eyes bugged, and he couldn't help closing his legs. "He's castrated?"
Shana shook her head, "I don't know what that is."
"It's what has been done to him, trust me on that."
Thorin couldn't believe that was voluntary. "Did he commit a crime?" he had to know, even though this conversation was wrong to any male.
"No," Shana said simply, "It's considered a high honour."
"Honour!" Thorin would deny forever that that one word came out as a squeak.
"What honour is there in having your co—" he closed his mouth. "What honour is there in being castrated?"
"He was my protector." Shana spoke as though defending the man. "Only an almakhsi can protect me. They are not tempted, they feel no desire."
"I'm not surprised." Thorin commented and he watched irritation pass over her face. "You care for him?"
Shana nodded, "He is my friend."
"Surely you've had other friends?"
Shana shook her head, "I was not allowed outside my father's tent. Only when we travelled did I leave his tent, and then I was always covered so no one could stare at me."
Thorin stared at her, really stared at her until she dropped her gaze to her lap and pulled the blanket tighter against her shoulders.
The girl had led a life he could never imagine. Now, she was handed over to a stranger, and he was to ravish her, give her a name or number, and likely have her with child within a week.
No! No, this would not be the course of her life. So, he'd have to prove to the Habai that she was not a virgin. He could do that. But, when he took her maidenhead, Shana would be begging him for release. Tonight, he would make love to this young woman, he would show her the physical love of not just any dwarf, but their king.
Before this night was through, he would show her every pleasure.
Chapter Two
Sliding back into the bed, Thorin held out his hand for Shana. He wanted her to choose to come to his side. So he sat there, hand outstretched giving her all the time she needed.
He watched her suck her bottom lip in, thinking over this puzzle that he'd become to her. Finally, her hand clasped his, and he tugged her gently towards him.
When she was beside him, blanket held to her chest by one arm, he looked into her mahogany eyes. "Shana, if you would allow me," his voice dropped to a low rumble. "I would like to make you my wife."
He watched her bafflement. This sweet lass didn't know what to do. It was clear that never had she been given a choice to decide her own destiny.
"I will not lay with you, if you do not wish it, Shana." Her eyes flicked to the door. "If need be, I will tell them that it is I who am unworthy. I who cannot…perform."
She looked into his eyes, seeking the truth. He would do it, as emasculating as it would be for him. He would do it, for this slip of a woman.
Shana stared into blue eyes. They were bluer than the sky on the clearest day, she wondered if his eyes were blue like the ocean she'd never seen. They were exotic, all her people had brown eyes. If she bore him an heir, what colour eyes would their child have?
She allowed her gaze to wander down his straight nose, to his lips, surrounded by his beard, down his throat to his chest. His chest was covered in hair that a part of her wanted to run her fingers through. His shoulders were covered by his long hair, a braid on each side hung down over his shoulders, held firm by a silver bead. Those braids led her eyes once more down to his chest. The hair fanning out, yet leaving the pale pink of his own nipples exposed.
She couldn't stop her stare dipping lower, following a thinner trail of hair down his belly disappearing under the blanket. She wondered what he would look like. Ghalib, one of the chieftains that had brought her here had brought two of his wives and they had explained what to expect.
His thing would be hard, thin and straight like an arrow though not big, he would push it into her and stab her a few times. Apart from the pain she knew would come with it, Shana knew she could do this, had to do this. Her people needed safety, and her father was weakening every day.
She had been raised to accept her duty as a good wife to always please her husband. To obey his command, and not talk unless allowed. Well, she could obey his commands, and would try to remember not to talk as much.
This dwarf-king was prepared to say it was he who could not take her maidenhead. He didn't understand what that would mean for him, for her.
A part of her would not allow him to lie. He was so different to her, wider, muscular than the men of her tribe. Powerful, yet his touch was gentle. She knew that right now she didn't want to deny herself this experience. Even if it would be painful. She wanted to lie with him as his wife.
Before she could stop herself, she pulled the blanket away. "My King," she forced her voice to be strong. "Make me your wife."
She expected him to push her down, take her virginity. Instead, his face was warmed by the barest of smiles. It was extraordinary how the smallest of movements could change him so much. Shana stared at his lips, finding pleasure in that smile.
His hand caught her chin and raised it up. His head lowered, and he moved so slowly until their lips met in the briefest slide together. Before he parted from her, his blue eyes gazing down at her. "Close your eyes," he whispered. She obeyed as his mouth came over hers, slanting his head slightly as they began to fit together like lock and key.
His tongue drifted over her lips and she couldn't help as they parted licking her lips. She could taste him. He kissed her once more and this time, her mouth opened as she found her tongue chasing the spicy taste of him.
She must have done something right as the pressure of his lips against hers increased. She followed his movements, learning from him. He pulled away slightly to nip at her bottom lip. She didn't want to mimic him too much, so instead of a little nip, she sucked his bottom lip between hers.
He groaned, pulling away, whispering something foreign before taking her mouth again. His hands ran up and down her back, the sensations causing a quiver in her spine, the resulting shudder making her arch back over his hands.
His lips moved to her throat, and she couldn't help her own cry. This excitement inside her. It couldn't be contained, it seared and simmered needing an outlet.
He arched her back over one arm and his lips trailed wetly and warmly over her breast. His tongue licked over her nipple and she froze. His breath wafted against her, the heat creating a moisture on her body. She couldn't move, if she moved she feared the loss of what was building inside her.
So she waited, her breathing shallow, energised. A part of her wanted to raise her nipple, all perked up for him, to his waiting mouth. She tried to pull herself closer. Her eyes met his, and she tried to plead with him just with her gaze. "Do it," he bit out.
Taking her hand from his shoulder, knowing she was supported by one strong arm, she moved it to the underside of her breast and lifted her nipple to his hot mouth. His tongue flicked out, the flat of it running over her nipple before swirling around it. It made it only stand up straighter, tightening the skin. She tried to pull herself away, it was too much.
"No." This time, it was his voice that was more plea than command and she could not deny him. She lifted her breast back to his mouth, higher this time. His whole mouth came down on her, sucking hard, swirling with his tongue. His free hand came up to play with her other breast. His hand engulfing it, her nipple caught between his fingers. He plucked at it, hard. The sensation flew through her body and finished between her legs. She slapped her thighs together, needing something there.
Rubbing her thighs together, she discovered helped to ease her body slightly as he played with her breasts. His mouth was now freely moving between the two. She discovered when he rubbed his beard against the underside it was as though lightning ran through her body. Rasping his beard over her nipples was more powerful. She couldn't describe it, except it was pleasure and pain mingled.
When his teeth scraped her swollen nipple, whilst his other hand pinched and teased she felt the burning. It spread through her and she cried out to him. "I'm burning!"
His reply of, "Good." Sent her mind into some kind of haze and it seemed as though she could take no more. She cried out, clinging on as her entire body flamed up. She arched back, her legs trying to kick out, her fingers clawing at him, then it ebbed away like a candle guttering out and her body lay limply in his arms.
She felt ashamed, wanted to cry, she couldn't understand what was wrong with her. Shakily she forced her head up to look at him. She wanted to apologise, but the moment she opened her mouth she burst into tears.
Thorin had seen passion before, both real and faked. Never this powerful, though. The moment she started sobbing he forced back the smile of pride, pulling Shana against him to comfort her. Never had he brought a female to climax with just touching her breasts.
A part of him wanted to do it again, to keep doing it, just because he could. Though that would not bring their night to the close that others waited on. Still he would not rush her. She would need to understand what had happened. He'd seen the red shame on her face. Likely, she was crying because she thought she'd done something wrong. He would teach her that everything she did was right and so perfect.
If the night progressed, she would be deliciously eased into womanhood, and he would experience that passion again. He wondered why he was doing this. He could just take her now, no doubt she was ready, but he knew deep down a part of him wanted to experience everything. Not just experience, he admitted. He wanted to do this again and again. Not just tonight, but other nights.
He shook his head, this was dangerous. But that same part cajoled that she would be his wife, and once she understood her passion, that what had happened was normal and pleased him. Oh aye, this lass would be welcoming him to their bed.
Balin had said earlier it was a win-win situation. Thorin agreed heartily. Even his merry widow couldn't fake Shana's climax. It was refreshing, dare he say it made him feel young, virile. It opened up possibilities for him, but also brought questions he was not prepared to think on, right now.
No, he would focus on tonight. That was all that was truly open to them really. It's not like he could take her with him.
Her breath hitched on a quiet sob and Thorin hadn't realised he'd been tenderly rubbing her back. Finally, she quietened and he pulled her back enough to see her face.
"I'm sorry," she moaned, refusing to look at him.
"Shana, you must not be sorry for what is natural."
"Natural," she bit out the word, then seemed to remember herself and clamped her mouth shut.
Oh, no. there would be none of that. Lifting her face to his, he locked gazes with her so she would know he meant every word. "You will talk to me. Never will I command you. I am your equal, as you are mine. Is this clear?"
He watched her eyes tear up. Not again, he pleaded. She pushed them back, forbade the tears to fall. It would be hard for her, he understood that more than most. He was pleased though to see her trying. She was not used to freedom like this, so, for now, he would have to handle her tears carefully.
"This is clear, My Ki—My Husband."
He smiled at her. She was proving to be a fast learner. Oh, the possibilities that ran through his mind. "Please," she began, testing her new found equality, "Make me your wife."
"Oh aye, lass." Thorin pulled her lips to his, "I fully intend to."
He started slow, setting her body to simmer with slow, moist kisses over her face, her neck. Her skin, sun-kissed and soft with a hint of sweetness from whatever had been rubbed into her skin.
His fingers laced through the thick strands of ebony hair, gently tugging her head back. He licked a path from the hollow of her throat up to her chin before sucking on her full bottom lip.
Her hands drifted over him, tangling in the hair on his chest. Her nails scraped over an old scar and he couldn't help the hiss that escaped.
Suddenly she pulled away, his fingers catching in the fine tangles of her hair. Her hands pushed at him and he sat upright, her hands settling on his shoulders as she pulled herself closer to him.
She didn't meet his eyes and he wondered what he'd done wrong to dull the desire that had been licking through her. Her face showed intrigue and he watched as one hand rose to his chest. She slid her fingers over his chest until she found it.
She mapped out every scar on his chest. Her eyes, when they came to him, were sad, "Such a tale of life, My Husband."
He wasn't ashamed of his scars, he'd earned every single one. They were his badges of honour. Settling both hands on his chest, she spread her fingers wide, pushing out, sliding up, taking in every part of him. It was he who was supposed to be seducing her, but this gentler touch had him closing his eyes, breathing ragged, as she learnt him carefully.
When he could take no more he grabbed her wrists. "Careful, Shana." He liked the way her name rolled over his tongue, and he could see it pleased her. "My control has its limits. I would not see you harmed, but your gentle touches test me."
He watched the woman flare up in her eyes. Oh, Mahal, his wife was a fast learner. She was eloquently learning the subtle art of seduction and desire and using her newly gained knowledge on him.
"Is it wrong for me to want you to lose control?"
"Tonight, yes."
She watched him closely and he held nothing back, as difficult as it was for him to be so open. Her chin came up, and keeping the smirk of pride from his lips at her small show of courage he shook his head.
"I would not hurt you this night. Allow me my control, Shana."
She backed down with an incline of her head and she pressed a kiss to a scar on his left shoulder. His hands came up once more, and he ran them over her shoulders, down her arms to her hands. Clasping them he pushed them back, moving her hands to her back as his lips came down to caress her shoulders, down to her collarbone, moving down, down until he could slip one puckered nipple between his lips and set her aflame once more.
It seemed he spent an eternity mapping her body, Shana watched every kiss, felt every lick. Her body wouldn't keep still, and when she tried to fight it, he would tell her not to.
Although she'd never had a lover, she was no stranger to her body. Bathing herself meant touching everywhere. She could never remember so many places on her body being this sensitive.
The underside of her breasts, the crease of her arm, the spot just below her belly button, the back of her knee. Places she'd scrubbed often, but had never made her wriggle, gasp, arch up in desire.
Yet, there were places she needed him to touch. Her nipples seemed to stretch out to him, and the inside of her thighs tingled in anticipation when his lips were near. It was her centre and inside of her, that thrummed.
She didn't know what to ask of him, only that his nearness caused a delicious hum inside her. She tried to focus on the sensation but was caught off guard as he sucked one toe into his mouth, nipping at its tip.
It was building again, her natural reactions to him. Her hips thrust up on their own and she pressed both hands to her belly. Emptiness pervaded and she cried out. He seemed to know, as he slid his body up hers, hair and skin sliding against her. His braids had a life of their own, the cold silver beads scraping against her heated body.
Finally, he loomed over her, clasping her hands, linking their fingers as he pushed her arms down beside her head.
She felt it then, it wasn't thin and straight like an arrow. It was hard, and wide more like the thick tent poles. It would fill her, and she didn't care if it stretched her too much. She just needed this emptiness to go away.
It parted her folds and rubbed at the small nub she knew existed but had never felt like this before. Muscles she didn't know existed clenched inside her, and her hips thrust against him, as he kept rubbing against her.
The thrumming was deeper now, so pronounced it was like she had developed a second heartbeat. It fluttered inside her waiting impatiently. Her senses sharpened, hearing his every breath, his scent surrounded her, that male spiciness making not just her mouth wet for him.
In the dimness of the room, her sight sharpened on him and everywhere they touched she burned. Only gasps and moans came from her, speech no longer possible as this need built. When he thrust against her once more she felt it flame up, consume her.
He shifted and in her ecstasy she felt him fill her, the slight pinch of pain only succeeded in throwing her back into the flames her hips rising against his.
Thorin clenched his eyes shut. It was done. He wanted to take her hard, make her know she only belonged to him. That part of him demanded he plant a babe in her belly tonight.
He could do none of that and he found it testing his control sorely. Finding himself using that calmness he had reached for many times when in the heat of battle. He slowed his breathing, tipped his head up to stare at the ornately carved headboard and began to slide out of her.
She tried to free her hands but had to settle for gripping his fingers tightly. He watched that fear in her, not of him, but of him pulling out of her body. He washed the look away as he slid back in. By Mahal! She took him, every inch and he watched her face smooth over as he settled in deep.
Slowly he inched out again, and her hips followed trying to keep him inside her. She was marvellous. Never had a lover responded so eagerly to him. He slid in once more, quicker, harder and her legs circled him.
Her soft feet slid up the back of his thighs, and the feelings inspired by that move had him pulling out and pushing back in quicker.
Her lips caressed his chest, and her mouth found one flat nipple. She sucked at it, the flat of her tongue pressing it up in her mouth scraping it against her teeth.
Current shot through him and he couldn't help the snap of his hips. His thrust had her tearing away to cry out. He stared down at her, as she brought her mouth to his other nipple, and repeated her actions. He was breaking.
He, king of the dwarven kingdoms, heir of Durin, victor of Azanulbizar, destroyer of Azog the Defiler. He who had led his people to safety, and had never given in, never given up, was breaking at the hands of an exotic sprite.
She scraped her teeth over him, sucking hard. Inside her, he felt her muscles clench down on him tightly and he broke.
Ripping his hands from hers, he grabbed her, and without losing contact with her body hauled her up the bed.
"I warned you." She smiled at his words.
Her legs clenched at him, and he raised one brow as his hand shot out to grab the headboard. "I warned you!"
Using the firm wood as leverage his other hand locked around her thigh pulling it up to his waist, and with a growl, he slammed into her.
Thrust after thrust, he pounded into her. He'd thought her first cry had been one of pain, but her fingers clutched at him as her hips began matching his frenzy. He thrust harder, deeper his own voice mingling with hers. Grunts, growls, screams and cries. It was perfect music to him.
She exploded around him, and he prolonged her release by grinding his hips against hers. Setting off a smaller climax. She began to come down and he sought his own completion, it was beating at him, starting in his lower back, first just tingles then a heavy sensation that had him panting against her chest. It was agony and ecstasy and as it loomed up on him he remembered his oath.
It was the hardest thing he'd done. Pulling out of her and fisting his cock, squeezing and pumping until he spilled over her belly and breasts.
Her life was shadow and sensation, that was all, she was sure, remained of her. She didn't even think her physical body existed anymore.
She felt heat splash over her and it seemed enough to pull her back into her body. He was above her, staring down at her. She looked at her chest, looking at the silvered rivulets decorating her body. She couldn't help reaching out a finger and touching the cooling liquid. She realised what it was, and for no reason other than because she wanted to, Shana brought her finger to her mouth and tasted him so intimately.
He groaned and collapsed on her, his lips meeting hers as they shared his taste. Ghalib's wives were wrong, or perhaps it was the males of her people that were wrong. This joining was amazing, it touched her very spirit and made her soar higher than the birds.
It was beautiful and perfect.
"I think you'll be the one to kill me."
She frowned at his comment. "I would never—"
"Shh," he placed his fingers over her lips, unable to help herself Shana flickered her tongue over the tips. "No, don't do that." He seemed drained at her action.
"I know you wouldn't hurt me, Shana. I've never made love to any female like that. I'm wondering if I'd survive it again."
She held his gaze as he slid his fingers through her hair, his face was contemplative and she let him muster his thoughts. "I never thought it could be like this." His admission was whispered. "I find myself wanting you again." Already he was hardening against her. She was sore, feeling bruised, but thinking of him touching her was too tempting. She nodded her assent, moving her legs.
He shook his head, "Not now." He pulled away, falling to his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. He laughed bitterly.
"I have no strength left, at all. I'm as weak as a new-born babe." She turned her head and smiled at him. He must have felt her eyes on him, as he lifted an arm to look at her. "My wife has undone me."
That made her freeze. "If I had the energy, Madam. I would comfort you right now, and say to you, that you heard me right."
She came to him instead, laying her head on his chest.
"How must I prove our marriage?"
Shana didn't want to talk about it. It was humiliating, but it would need to be done to satisfy the old traditions. "The sheet, it would be…" she drifted off. His arm came around her tightly and he hushed her, placing a kiss on her forehead.
"I will take care of this. For now, I want you to rest."
Shana nodded focusing on his deep breaths as it lulled her into sleep.
Almakhsi – Arabic for eunuch