11
Juliet
Warm, wet cloths stroked over my skin. Jarl and Fenrir cleaned me with a care and thoroughness that made me flush. They rubbed balm into my sore spots, including my poor, stretched bottom.
Finally, Fenrir gathered me against him. His hand slipped between my legs.
“Oh no.” I tried to roll away, but he held me fast.
“Yes, little wife. One last time.”
“I can’t, I can’t,” I moaned.
“You must.” His thumb rubbed gently, pushing me over the edge. I shuddered and curled into him, pressing my face into the hard plane of muscle. He took his hand away and replaced it with a wet cloth, pressing down and grounding me.
Once he’d cleaned me, I curled further into myself. I felt small and fragile, completely wrung out.
Fenrir curled his big body around me. His chin rested atop my head,
