They all had one goal in common, apparently. To claim the grand prize of the tournament.
May the best man win.
~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~
He was holding her.
Well, he wasn’t.
One of his hands was on the reins, so it wound around her side, but he wasn’t actually touching her much, just casual grazes that came with the motion of their ride. The other hand he must have kept on his thigh, though it would have been much more comfortable (for him) if he’d circled it around her waist.
Nevertheless, it felt like he was holding her. Like a comfortable human armchair.
His chest was particularly nice to lean against, though she tried initially to maintain appropriate distance. He didn’t give her much choice, sitting so close on the saddle behind her.
Rui supposed he didn’t have much choice either. If he sat any farther back, he’d have to straddle the cantle, which would make for a very uncomfortable ride.
Whatever the case, her back was fully flush against his front. And despite the chilly, dreary weather, Rui feared she was starting to sweat through her tunic.
He was so very cozy and warm, and she fit so well against him, being much smaller than his wide, muscular frame. If she slouched a little, she could fit her head directly beneath his chin. Or she could loll her head back against his shoulder.
Armchair with neck support.
He beat any modern human Lazy-Boy, even though she didn’t have a lot of experience with such land-bound luxuries.
Her rear end and upper legs were cushioned by his groin and thighs. That generated even more heat. She’d never been this close to a human male before. She was practically sitting in his lap. It made her feel…
Rui didn’t really know what it made her feel. But she knew she rather enjoyed the feeling.
And then there was his scent.
By logic, his days-old smell should have nauseated her. Dragons, like all animal spirits, loved to be clean. Water dragons, in particular, loved to bathe. As such, they adored the scents that came with being clean from a bath, with all the dirt and foul odors of the day washed away.
But either Rui had become desensitized to the deplorable hygiene and associated smells of this time period, or this man’s particular aroma was particularly pleasing toher.
There was a word for it: pheromones.
Objectively, he smelled like horse, leather, humid wool and human sweat. Not the most appealing combination.
But Rui also detected the unique scent of male skin,Wolfe’s skin, beneath the top, possibly grimy, layer. It was salty and tumultuous, like the sea in storm. Brought to the fore by his sweat and the dampness in the air.
Most people smelled worse when wet. But this male smelled somehow better.
Rui would wager that he was a good swimmer. He might even be the sea-faring sort. His skin would smell downright delicious in the sun, like every pristine, sandy beach she’d visited, stroked affectionately by a bracing ocean breeze.
She was so lost in her own sensorial feast that she didn’t hear his words until his lips and the bristles of his beard lightly brushed her ear as he asked, “All right?”
She jolted forward awkwardly, taking the horse out of his stride.
The stallion snorted and sidestepped, obviously displeased.
Wolfe brought him back into a smooth walk with a slight nudge of his knees, the muscles of his hard thighs flexing against Rui’s.
Heaven help her, she might have melted a little at that.
She cleared her throat before speaking, not trusting her voice.
“Certainly. I was just wool gathering.”