Pleasure rushed through Wren's body in a searing wave, born from the feeling of fullness and connectedness, from feeling replete and at the same time as if enveloped in him, perhaps from the arms wrapped around her body, or perhaps from her name slipping from his lips in a raspy reverential moan. She started moving, her fingers sunk in the heavy silken strands at the back of his head, her motions smooth and deep, in a faultless forceful precision she had not known she was capable of, and he groaned, pressing her into him more and more, and then climax burst inside her, sudden and overwhelming. One thought, one sensation seemed to exist in her world, she closed her eyes and allowed it to devour her. Nothing was left in her mind, her heart, and her body but the clear and certain understanding of how right it was, to die and live again in his arms, and she sobbed, dropping her head back, her body strained like a string on a harp and then after a few instants limp and soft.

She made a strange mewling sound, she had never heard such whimper from herself before, and then her forehead fell on his shoulder. She was taking sharp breaths in, each exhale accompanied by a soft noise, and then she realised he was frozen. She could feel his tense gaze on her, and she measured her breath, it was a rather difficult task, and after a few more moments she clearly required, she lifted her face and met his eyes. The brows were once again hiked up in some sort of merry astonishment, and she blushed.

"That was… I have reached… The peak of pleasure..." She mumbled, and he suddenly guffawed.

"I gathered that much, ushkatul," he gave her an impish look, "Quite hasty, was it not?" She blushed even more furiously, and he leaned in and pressed a light kiss on her cheek. "I am starting to think all this is a flattery to reassure me of my prowess." One of the black brows jumped up, and she saw a very conceited smirk on his lips. He was quite obviously enjoying the fact that he had not shown himself… hasty in their intimacy, and perhaps she could have pointed out to him that she was the one doing all the hard work here and showing prowess, but she was feeling so very fulfilled and at the same time craving more that she decided to take his arrogant statement as advice.

"But it is nothing but exactly the proof of your prowess, my King," Wren aimed for her most sensual murmur, though she had never even known she had one. Judging by the pleased glimmer in his eyes and almost unnoticeably squared shoulders she was succeeding. "I have never in my life… been rewarded in such pursuits."

"Well, perhaps if you are capable, you could move to gain more of the same reward," he leaned in and placed a row of small kisses along her jaw. Wren decided that a King should not be forced to ask twice.

She pressed her knees into the bed more firmly and started moving. Still sensitive after her release, she quickly started feeling another wave of pleasure building up in her, and judging by the ragged breathing and by the hands fisted on her shoulder blades the King would follow her suit rather soon. His member grew even larger inside her, and she vaguely remembered the signs of impending climax in a man.

Some sort of greedy frenzy woke up in her, she had all but forgotten of her own release now, and she opened her eyes, watching his face radiant with passion and awe, his eyes shut tight, lips twisted, and she was rising on him and plummeting down, in sharp demanding plunges, bringing him over the edge, and she saw that very moment what the pleasure took him, the blue eyes flew open, wide, bright, and he cried out, crushed her body into his, and she felt the spurt of his hot seed on her inner walls.

She climaxed again, feeling victorious, feeling in love, feeling alive. Her body arched, quaking in excruciating pleasure, uncontrollable, terrifying, exhilarating, and she screamed, unashamed of her unrestricted rapture.

He was speaking, she could not hear, but even if she could, she would not understand, some coarse words in his native tongue were pouring out of him, he was pressing her into him, sobbing and mumbling, perhaps swearing, perhaps expressing gratitude, and she wrapped her arms around his head, rubbing her temple to his, sobbing and moaning herself.

Wren opened her eyes, her arms slowly slid down, suddenly limp and shaky, and she sighed deeply. He shifted, with an almost inaudible groan, and she slightly moved away, still in the ring of his arms and studied his face.

He looked utterly and undeniably appeased. A small smile was twitching the corners of his lips, and the eyes were still unfocused and squinted in warm content. Wren brushed her thumb between his brows, marvelling in the smoothness of it, his customary grumpy crinkle gone, and then she giggled.

"You look rather satiated, my lord, was it what you expected after all?" Her tone was flirty, and suddenly he gently but rather loudly smacked her right buttock.

"Firstly, are you fishing for praise, zunshel? I am obviously satiated. And secondly, I was not expecting anything, I do not have a habit of walking around musing what bedding a woman would feel like." He was speaking in an haughty tone, quite in contrast to the twinkling eyes and the fact that now his palm was possessively petting the aforementioned buttock. Wren laughed and caught his mouth.

After a few minutes of unhurried languished busses, he shifted and looked at her.

"It seems you are still here, ushkatul," his hands were tenderly stroking her shoulder blades, and she had never in her life had felt as warm and as comfortable.

"I am indeed," she chuckled, "My mind perhaps thinks that was not a completion."

"Your mind seems rather lascivious then," he kissed her neck, and then again, and she wondered whether she was imagining that his member, still inside her, was waking up to life. And then she mentally confirmed that, no, she was not imagining.

"Ushkatul, could we…?" He murmured into her neck, and she did not let him finish.

"Yes," she felt she was being too eager, but she was feeling her lust rising as well, and then he embraced her firmly and in a swift fluid motion he rolled her on the bed and under him. Her legs as if without her will went around him, she shortly mused that for an unexperienced lover the King surely was showing wonderful skill, when he steadied himself on his elbows and rolled his hips into her. Wren cried out, she had always been fond of the position they had taken previously, being in control seemed to have suit her best, but now suddenly she understood what other women appreciated in having a man where the King Under the Mountain was at the moment. The angle was splendid, her inner walls convulsed, she could not even tell whether she had reached the peak of her pleasure already or it was just feeling his hot body on hers and his length sliding into her that felt that exhilarating, when he suddenly moved slightly away and looked at her.

"Have I hurt you, ushaktul?"

Wren laughed, loudly and happily. And then she grabbed his large Dwarven ears and pulled him to her mouth. He complied, and she kissed him deeply and ardently.

"Quite the opposite, Thorin," she murmured in his lips, "I am in ecstasy." He smiled to her, quickly kissed her mouth and tentatively rolled his hips into her.

His hesitation and uncertainty passed after the first two thrusts, perhaps he was encouraged by her lustful moans that she seemed to be completely unable to control, perhaps he had guessed that she was enjoying by her lifting her hips off the bed to meet him, but soon enough Wren found herself being enthusiastically bedded by a very vigorously moving Dwarf. He was holding the perfect rhythm, not too forceful, but purposeful, each thrust deep and measured, and Wren squeezed him with her thighs, her hands roaming his back, feeling the hard scorching muscles under her palms, and then his rhythm stuttered, he growled through his teeth, but stopped, breathing laboured. She looked at him in confusion, half conscious by then, from the pleasure, intoxicating, mind-numbing, and he sneered through gritted teeth, "Again… I want you to do it again…"

Wren mewled, she had no strength to demand an explanation from him or to order him to go on, her body was as if submerged in the boiling, magnificent, overwhelming liquid fire that Wren had seen once pouring out of a fire mountain, she was melting and losing herself and feeling whole, and he had stopped!

"Please.. Thorin, more..."

"Again," he kept on demanding something, and she whimpered, "Do it again..."

"What?"

"Reach the peak..." Maiar help her, she surely could not concentrate enough to think of such nuisance at the moment!

"Move, and I will," she would have promised him the Moon at that moment to make him continue, and he finally did, picking up speed, rolling his hips into her, making her pelvis tear off the sheets, and she could not suppress lustful throaty screams anymore, and he shattered in his release, snarling and growling, and taking her with him over the edge. Tears burst out of her eyes, from the feeling of complete surrender and complete victory, and he fell on her, crushing her, and she squeaked and then, when he tried to move away, she sank her nails in his shoulders and squeezed him with her legs not allowing him an inch of freedom.

'Mine, mine, only mine...' She kept on repeating in her mind, and then she froze in shock from such proprietal thoughts. Never before had she thought in such way of anything or anyone, but had anyone tried to deprive her of the King at the moment, she probably would not hesitate to fight for him till the last drop of her blood. He was hers as she was his, and she tenderly stroked his shoulders.

"Forgive me," she whispered, and he mumbled something into her shoulder his nose was pressed into. "Pardon?"

"I asked what you are apologising for," the King had to clear his throat to choke out these words.

"I scratched your shoulders," she guiltily rubbed the pulps of her fingers to his skin, "And your back." Her voice was laced with guilt, and then he snorted.

"You could have buried a dagger into my back just now, I would not have noticed." He groaned then and rose on his elbows. She smiled to him and ran the tip of her index finger down the bridge of the long nose. The King gave her a squinted-eyed, sated smile, that looked very much like an expression on a cat's muzzle after a nice bowl of cream.

He rolled on his side, pulling her after him, and for the first time in her life Wren found out what it was like to curl into a body of a man in what was commonly known as the afterglow of physical love. Wren had to concede nothing could compare to it.

His fingers absentmindedly were playing with her curls, she had her head on his chest, her hand splayed on it as well, her digits threaded through the black hair, and she nuzzled him.

"What does 'ushaktul' mean, Thorin?"

A/N: And now I made a post-coital cliffie :D How's that? ;)