Trust to Hope Book 2
Chapter Three
Rating - R
Warnings - Adult situations, sensuality. (For those of you who don't know, this means SEX)
You guys know the rest. If you don't, it's posted on every chapter of TTH.
All my thoughts just seem to settle on the breeze
When I'm lying wrapped up in your arms
The whole world just fades away
The only thing I hear
Is the beating of your heart
I can feel you breathe
It's washing over me
And suddenly I'm melting into you
There's nothing left to prove
Baby, all we need is just to be
Caught up in the touch
A slow and steady rush
Baby, isn't that the way that love's supposed to be?
I can feel you breathe...
Breathe
Faith Hill
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Meduseld
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"I am beginning to think this is some kind of conspiracy," Éomer commented, pulling Anhuil into a corner and into his arms "How many times have you danced with your brothers?"
"Several times. Not to mention Faramir, Master Brandybuck, Éothain, Haleth and my father!"
"I think every man here has danced with you. Twice."
The queen grinned. "I think they are trying to get to you."
"It is working." The king pulled her closer, inhaling the lavender scent of her hair as she leaned against him. She tilted her face up, her eyes meeting his. He watched her face as her expression changed from amusement at the men, to slight surprise at his boldness, to something else entirely.
Éomer's hand on her back tightened as he felt her skin heat beneath the silk fabric of her dress. Her smile faded slowly, her mouth softening. If he did not taste those lips soon he would go stark raving mad.
He looked around at the crowded, smoky room. The huge Golden Hall suddenly seemed entirely too small.
"We have waited long enough," he said quietly.
Sweeping her along as discreetly as possible, he pulled her by the hand around a corner, exiting the main hall through a side door into a deserted hallway. Before Anhuil could protest, his body was pressing her back against the cool stone of the wall, his mouth ravishing hers. The scent of her, the taste of her, the sheer need for her overwhelmed him nearly to the point of insanity.
Not that she wanted to protest. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him closer, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Leaning her head back, she giggled. "This is starting to become a habit."
He raised his eyes to hers momentarily, curious. "You backing me up against stone. Seems I recall this happening before."
Éomer chuckled, dropping his mouth to her throat again. "I thought I would lose my mind if I did not get you alone," he whispered against her skin, his lips pressed against her rapidly rising and falling chest.
Anhuil gasped slightly as his tongue traced the neckline of her dress. Closing her eyes tightly, she clung to him. "Do you not think they will notice we are gone?"
"Ani, there are more kegs of ale out there than there are guests." His lips traveled back up her neck, kissing her cheeks. He cupped her face in his hands. "Trust me, no one will notice. At least, not for quite some time."
Taking her hand, he led her toward the bedchamber that they would now share as king and queen, as husband and wife.
Outside the door, Anhuil hesitated slightly. Éomer stopped, turning to look at her.
Her deep green eyes met his, widening slightly. A slight crease appeared between his brows as she averted her gaze to the door, then raised it back to his. "Éomer..."
Silently cursing himself, he shook his head. "I am sorry, Ani," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He ran the fingers through his hair and dropped his hand. "This is not how I planned this. I did not want to drag you off like some...tavern wench. I wanted our first night in Edoras as king and queen, as husband and wife to be--"
The rest of his sentence was lost as her small form slammed against his body, backing him against the door. Her hands gripped the front of his tunic, pulling him down to her. His wife molded herself against him, her lips claiming his. Éomer stumbled back, managing to keep his feet if not a good grip on his sanity.
"Open the door."
He grinned. "Your first royal decree. Far be it for me to deny a command from my queen." Sweeping her up into his arms, he kicked the door open and stepped inside.
The door closed behind them with a quiet thud. Anhuil, still in his arms, took in his surprised expression as he surveyed the room. Turning her head, she followed his gaze.
A warm fire had been lit in the hearth, crackling softly, the light of the flames flickering on the furs that covered the stone floor. On a table near the hearth sat a bottle of wine, two goblets, and a cloth-covered basket. Lit candles decorated every flat surface in the room, bathing it in a warm golden glow. The huge bed had been turned down. A pale silk robe lay across the foot of the bed.
Anhuil turned back to Éomer. Laying a hand on his cheek, she kissed him lightly. "This is beautiful, Éomer."
"I had nothing to do with it," he admitted, gently lowering her to her feet.
"What?"
He surveyed the room, walking to the table. Picking up the wine, he studied the bottle. "I did not do this."
"Who did?" She followed him to the table and took the bottle from him. Éomer lifted the cloth on the basket, revealing his favorite sweet bread and cheese. The familiar blue glass of the wine bottle made Anhuil laugh out loud.
"Cam."
"Éowyn."
They spoke at the same time, then laughed softly. "It is very sweet, nevertheless," she said, crossing the room to the bed. Standing at the foot, she ran a hand over the silk robe.
"That," he informed her, sliding up behind her, "I did have something to do with."
She lifted it slowly from the bed, the fabric soft and cool in her fingers. "It is beautiful."
Éomer slid his arms around her waist, kissing the side of her neck. "The robe is nice. You are beautiful."
Anhuil felt the heat rise in her cheeks, and swallowed. His lips were warm against her shoulder, his hands gripping her waist. Fighting to slow the frantic flipping of her stomach, she took a deep breath. "Shall I go put it on?"
"Let me help." Pushing her hair gently to one side, Éomer slowly began unlacing the back of the gown. His fingers deftly pulled at the silken cord as his lips strayed across the back of her neck and down her bared shoulder, sending heated currents shooting through her that seemed to ricochet until they settled somewhere near her toes. The heat that radiated from his hands drew her insides into a knot. He stepped back, the cool rush of air against her skin startling her. "I will wait here," he said softly, indicating the bathing chamber to one side of the room.
With a slight nod, Anhuil clutched the robe to her chest, picked up a candle and walked through the door to the adjoining dressing room. Setting the candle down on a small table, she hung the robe on a wooden peg, kicked off her slippers and began tugging impatiently at the sleeve of her gown. How could a man she had kissed more times than she could count suddenly make her so nervous she felt like...well...a maiden on her wedding night?
Because, she thought, you ARE a maiden on your wedding night.
The revelation did nothing to ease her frazzled nerves.
She yanked off the dress and hung it next to the robe. Catching sight of herself in the mirror that hung on the wall, she stopped. Wearing nothing but her shift, she frowned at her reflection. The undergarment was not particularly fetching, she decided. Practical, but not very alluring. With a deep breath, she pulled it off, tossed it on the floor, and reached for the robe.
The silk felt incredible against her bare skin. Cool and soft, it slid over her like a lover's touch. His touch, she thought with a delicious shiver, caressing the delicate embroidery that edged the sleeve of the soft fabric. Tugging the sash around her waist, she turned back to the mirror, somewhat surprised at how sheer the robe actually was.
It crossed her mind to put the shift back on beneath it before she caught herself and giggled out loud. This was her wedding night, and here she was concerned about propriety! With a deep breath, she smiled weakly at herself in the mirror, blew out the candle and slipped back into the bedchamber.
Éomer stood by the fire, watching the flames, his back to her. Anhuil stopped in the doorway, watching him. The soft waves of his hair fell loosely over his shoulders, tinged amber in the firelight. She wanted her fingers in that hair. Now.
Her fists curled involuntarily at her sides, nails biting into her sweaty palms as she tried to slow her breathing. "Somehow this does not seem fair," she commented with a boldness she really didn't feel, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. "Here I am practically naked and you are still fully dressed."
He turned, saw, and struggled for breath. Anhuil stood, weight on one foot, leaning casually against the wooden beam.
He wasn't sure what he had expected. He vaguely wondered if he was dreaming again. He wasn't sure any more what day it was, or night...or...? He wasn't even sure if he was still breathing.
The sudden lightheadedness answered the last question. Definitely not breathing.
He sucked in deep breath, steadying himself, and drank in the sight of her. The sheer silk robe clung to her curves, the pale color accentuating the exotic shade of her copper skin. Obsidian curls fell loosely over her shoulders. Her bare toes peeked out from under the hem as she slowly walked toward him, an occasional glimpse of her bare calf showing through a slit in one side of the robe.
His hand tightened on the stem of the silver chalice in his hand. Grip something, he thought, anything...anything to anchor himself. As she walked toward him, a small frown pulled at her mouth.
"Éomer?"
He did not try to hide it. He couldn't have if he had wanted to. He could not take his eyes off of her. His insides were coiled so tightly he was afraid to move, afraid he would explode.
The reflection of the flames flickering in the deep pools of his dark eyes brought back a sudden flash of memory, the first time he had touched his lips to hers. Anhuil's breath caught in her throat, remembering how his lips had claimed hers that night. And with her lips, her heart. Boldly, even roughly, but with a thoroughness that could not be denied. So thoroughly, in fact, that although neither of them had admitted it, they had belonged to each other from that moment.
Words. She struggled for them in a desperate attempt to cover up the fact that she was trembling.
"Thank you for the robe," she said, the tremor in her voice more apparent than she would have wished. "It is exquisite." She ran a finger over the flowered embroidery on the cuff of the sleeve, needing to do something with her hands.
He shook his head slowly. "You are exquisite."
Anhuil smiled, folding her arms across her chest self-consciously. "You flatter me."
"Do you want me to stop?" He stood, riveted, still gripping the goblet of wine.
The deep breath she inhaled slowly did nothing to slow the hammering of her heart. She stepped closer to him, reaching to take the chalice from his hand. Taking a sip, she peered at him over the rim. "No."
The warmth of the fire seemed to intensify her lavender scent, soft, exotic...and more intoxicating than the wine. As she lowered the goblet, her tongue slipped over her lower lip, an entirely innocent gesture that tensed every muscle in his body.
Anhuil offered the cup back to him with a slightly shaky smile. "Cam must have brought the wine from Dol Amroth. It is from my father's wine cellar. An old joke between us. Whenever one of us had something to talk about, we'd get a bottle of Ada's wine and go sit on the beach at night." Gods, she was rambling. She was rambling and she knew it.
Éomer forcibly stamped down the desire to grab her by the sash of the robe and rip it from her body. Despite her brazenness at the door and her attempt to cloak her apprehension now, the trembling of her hand as he took the cup from her did not go unnoticed.
The innocence she offered him would not be a gift he took lightly.
She pulled her hand back quickly, licking her lips again. "It really is very good. Did you taste it?"
"Not yet," he said, setting the cup aside. "I would rather taste it on you." Taking her into his arms, he touched his lips to hers, savoring the lingering flavor of the wine. His hands slid up the back of the robe, the silk smooth beneath his hands, and caught in the mass of dark curls behind her head.
His fingers gripped her hair, tangled there, and drew her head back slightly, giving him easier access to the soft curve where her neck met her shoulder. Her skin was soft, scented, and so incredibly warm under his lips that he had to check himself to keep from devouring her then and there. He had waited so long, made her wait so long, that he was not about to rush now.
He brought his mouth back to hers, his lips teasing, tasting. He slowed his hands, gentled their touch. He had made her a promise, and he intended to keep it.
She was warm and pliant, returning his kiss as she worked the fastenings of his tunic. He drew back, watching her as her fingers fumbled with the small closures, the tip of her tongue sticking out slightly between her lips in concentration.
As she undid the last one, she glanced up, offering a hesitant smile. The trepidation he saw in her eyes made his heart skipped a beat. He would not rush her, he reminded himself. He would not rush either of them.
Allowing her to push the tunic from his shoulders, he could not stop his breath from catching as she skimmed her small hands over his chest and down his arms. The shirt dropped to the floor, and before he could think again, her mouth was against his. He held her there, small fingers digging into his shoulders, his hands spread across her back, kissing her as if he intended to do so all night.
Anhuil sighed against his lips, letting her hands roam freely over his skin as he kissed her. The feel of him under her hands was warm and strong. His scent, so familiar to her, enveloped her and drew her in. The gentleness of his lips on hers overwhelmed her, filling her senses until she felt herself floating, swept from the floor into strong arms.
Carrying her to the bed, Éomer sat on the edge, cradling her in his arms. He drew back, his eyes meeting hers. Emotions raged through him like a stampede of Mearas. No other woman had ever stopped his heart with simply a look, or a smile, or for that matter, even with a thought. His mind raced for the right words. Could he possibly make her understand what this meant to him, what she meant to him?
"Ani," he whispered, "I am afraid I am not terribly poetic. I have no cache of sweet words from which to draw the right thing to say." He laid two fingers against her lips when she tried to respond. "I will simply be honest." He drew in a breath and let it out slowly, the unsteady sound of it surprising her. "I never thought much about settling down, about marriage. I dedicated my life to the service of the Mark. I never had time, never made time, for love."
"Éomer--"
His fingers were on her lips again, gently. "Let me finish." She nodded, leaning against his shoulder. "I never even considered it until you stormed into my life, flinging daggers and insults with about the same intensity." She chuckled softly as he cupped one hand against her cheek and lifted her gaze to his. "I never thought I would share my life. I never thought I would give my heart. And now, I have found that you ARE my life. You ARE my heart." He wiped a tear that slid down her cheek with his thumb. "That you love me is a miracle I am still trying to fathom."
Éomer's dark eyes deepened, almost black, as Anhuil stared into them. The knot that tightened in her chest made her breathing ragged as her own emotions threatened to choke her. Turning her head slightly, she pressed her lips to his palm, then leaned against it, her own hand covering his. Before she could speak, he pulled her closer, his mouth covering hers gently. "I love you," he whispered against her lips.
"Éomer..."
"Shh. Let me show you, Ani."
Melting against him, Anhuil sighed. His mouth on hers was warm, soft, patient, but insistent. His hands held her firmly but gently as her arms slid around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. The hand on her cheek slid down to the sash of her robe, his eyes once again meeting hers, his gaze questioning.
This time there was no hesitation in her eyes as she turned on his lap, allowing him to slip the robe from her shoulders. It fell in a silken pool at his feet. Gathering her in his arms, he lowered her back on to the bed. Ridding himself of the last barrier between them, his leggings dropped to the fur-strewn floor beside the silken robe.
Sliding a hand across her cheek and into her hair, he lifted a silky lock of it to his lips, breathing in the scent. Her small hands clasped around his neck, pulling him to her. Mouths met, melded, teased and tasted. She offered, he took, and gave back again.
His hands explored, slowly. Torturously slow. Éomer held back, allowing her to set the pace, groaning into the side of her neck as her fingers traced over his shoulders, his back, his waist, up the flat expanse of his belly, coming to rest on his chest.
Anhuil gasped at the feel of his heart slamming against her palm. "That is what you do to me, Ani," he murmured against her shoulder. The deep rumbling of his voice flowed over her like velvet, and her own pulse skittered wildly in response. The sensations of his hands, his mouth, the warmth of him, surrounded her, enveloping her until all she knew, all she felt, all that mattered was this man.
He took his time, lingering over her, reveling in her, discovering her, delighting in each soft moan and gasp, nearly chuckling out loud at her incomprehensible murmured words.
Arching beneath him, against him, into him, Anhuil forgot any semblance of propriety, allowing him to carry her wherever he would. Warm hands, soft lips, his hard, masculine form over hers blocked out awareness of all else. The tenderness with which he touched her nearly drove them both mad. His hands were busier, his lips more insistent. The rising tide of her desire was both frightening and exhilarant.
Her soft pleas threatened to undo him as he took her up, sent her over the first edge, and swept her back again before she could catch her breath. Delicate fingers traced over muscle, nails dug into flesh, warm breath rasped against his shoulder. Her eyes met his, dark and dazed, the invitation unspoken.
He didn't want to hurt her. He moved slowly, almost cautiously. Biting back an oath, he sucked in his breath as she arched impatiently beneath him, completing what he started with a gasp. The sharp twist of pain she'd known to expect slowly gave way to waves of pleasure she had never imagined.
It was more than she'd been told. Far more than she had imagined. This union of man and woman, of husband and wife, of bodies, hearts, and souls, was more than she could even have dreamed. He was a part of her, and she of him, destined from their creation to find one another and complete the whole.
Éomer froze. He had thought making love to her would be sweet, but he was nowhere near prepared for the exquisiteness of her surrender. Slowly, languidly, gently as his own rasping need would allow, he brought her back again, edging both of them closer with each touch.
Fiery sensations rippled through her. She thought she heard the sound of his name escaping her lips but she couldn't be certain over the rush of her own pulse in her ears.
He heard his name again, whispered breathlessly this time. Control left him, the sound of his own pulse drowning out all but the feel of her beneath him, around him. Clasping her hands beside her head, he interlaced his fingers with hers and tumbled with her over the edge. Blinding white light exploded into shards of vivid color, plunging them both into oblivion.
"Nan Belian, elei Elbereth...nai!" It startled her to realize that the stream of jumbled Sindarin she heard was her own voice.
The waves crashed over her, one after the other, until she was certain she would never breathe again. Every sensation was heightened; she could feel the soft bedding under her back, his lips against her neck, his weight over her, the warmth of his skin against hers.
He was whispering softly to her, but her mind could not comprehend the words. His arms slid beneath her, wrapping around her, molding her against him.
For a long time he simply laid there, holding her tightly. "If I die right now, I will die the most content man in the history of Middle Earth," he said, his voice muffled by her hair. "I do not ever want to move."
She wanted to say something. To express somehow the depth of what she felt. No words would come.
He could feel her gasping for breath, and lifted himself slightly to look down at her. "Breathe, Ani," she finally heard him say softly. Anhuil obeyed, the sudden surge of oxygen doing very little to clear her pleasure-fogged brain. She opened her eyes, blinking, staring but not seeing the wooden-beamed ceiling above her.
"Hello, love," he whispered.
Anhuil's eyes met his, surprisingly unembarrassed by the knowing grin he flashed her. She blew out a slow breath.
He kissed her gently, smiling at her dazed expression. "Remember me?"
She blinked again, her brows furrowing. "You look vaguely familiar," she teased. "What was your name again?"
His tone was humorously indignant. "Is that any way to speak to a man with whom you have just shared indescribable pleasure?"
"Rather sure of yourself, aren't you, Your Majesty?" She reached up to trail a finger across the soft beard on his cheek.
"You calling out my name gave me a hint," he said, dropping his mouth to kiss her lightly again. "But it was the ranting in Sindarin and beseeching Elvish deities that gave you away." He captured her lips with his again, rolling over to pull her on top of him. Her hair tumbled across his chest and shoulders as she laid her head against him, his heart still hammering beneath her cheek.
Toying with a strand of her hair, his other hand splayed across her back, Éomer smiled down at her. "Princess?"
"I am the queen now, thank you," she reminded him.
"Old habits die hard, Your Majesty," he teased, tugging her hair gently.
Raising herself up to look down at him, she crossed her forearms over his chest and rested her chin on them. "You had a question?"
"What does "nai" mean?"
Biting her bottom lip, Anhuil felt the color rushing to her cheeks. "It means yes."
"What about 'saes'?"
"I said that?" He nodded. She giggled. "Umm...it means 'please'."
"Most of the rest I figured out," he told her, "but tell me, how does one say 'no'?"
His wife smiled widely at him. "You need not worry about that, meleth nín. You will not be hearing it from me."
Éomer laughed out loud.
"There is one word you should know," she finally said, raising her head to look down at him.
"What is that?" he asked.
"Ata."
"What does that mean?"
Anhuil shifted to the side, rolling him over on top of her. "Again," she whispered, fusing her mouth to his.
Nan Belian, elei Elbereth...nai! Valar forbid....Sweet Elbereth...Yes!
