The Inn's First Flame

Rain hammered the shutters as if the sky meant to pry the inn apart. Emmett stood dripping on the threshold, twenty-five and light-skinned, his traveling cloak heavy as wet wool, dark curls plastered to his brow. He had walked since noon and never spent a night in a place so loud with fire and voices, and the storm had driven every other traveler inside before him.

Behind the counter, Delphine looked up. She was twenty-eight, owner of the inn and clearly at home in it, and the hearthlight caught in her auburn hair until the red seemed to burn. Golden brown eyes took him in without hurry. The laced bodice of her dress strained over a full, generous bust, and when she smiled the room felt smaller.

"Last room's claimed by the weather, not by a guest," she said, voice low and easy. "You'll have a bed if you want one. And if you want something warmer than a bed before you climb those stairs, there's spiced wine by the hearth and no one left to drink it but me."

His throat went dry. He had wanted women before and never known what to do with the wanting. She was looking at him as if she already guessed that, and as if she did not mind.

"I'd like that," he managed. "The room. And the wine. If you're offering."

She came around the counter. Up close she smelled of cinnamon, clean linen, and woodsmoke. Her fingers brushed his wrist when she took the sodden cloak, and the touch lingered a heartbeat longer than courtesy required. Heat climbed his neck.

"Then sit," Delphine said. "A storm like this, no one should face it alone."

He followed her toward the hearth. The common room had emptied upstairs; boots and laughter had gone with the other guests. Logs cracked. Rain needled the glass. She poured from a clay jug into two cups, the wine dark and fragrant with clove, and set one in his hands. He sipped. It was warm, spiced, barely more than a comfort. His head stayed clear. So did hers; she drank slowly, watching him over the rim, perfectly steady.

"You're shaking," she said.

"Cold," he answered, which was half true. The other half was the way her golden eyes held him, the way the fire drew shadows along the swell of her breasts above the lacing. He had never sat this near a woman who looked at him as if she wanted to be looked at in return.

Delphine's mouth curved. "Then come closer to the fire, traveler. I don't bite unless I'm asked."

He shifted on the bench until their knees nearly touched. The heat of her reached him before the flames did. Outside, thunder rolled over the roof, and inside, something quieter and hotter began to gather between them.

They sat with the cups between their palms and the storm pressing at the walls. Delphine did not rush him. She asked where he had come from, and he told her of a long road, a cousin's farm he had left behind at summer's end, and a town he had never seen that was supposed to hold work for a steady pair of hands. His voice kept catching when she leaned in to hear him. Each time she did, a lock of auburn hair slipped forward and brushed his sleeve.

"You've got careful eyes," she said. "Most men who come through that door are already deciding what they want from me before they've dried their boots."

"I don't know how to decide that," Emmett admitted. The confession left him hot under the collar. "I've never—I mean, I've thought about it. A lot. But I've never been with a woman. Not like that."

Delphine's expression softened rather than sharpened. Her hand settled on his forearm, light, deliberate, the pad of her thumb stroking once over the inside of his wrist. "Thank you for telling me plain. Most wouldn't."

He looked at her hair where the fire turned it copper and gold, then at her eyes, warm as honey in the low light. "Your hair looks like the hearth decided to grow," he said, and immediately wished he had found better words. "And your eyes—they're gold. I noticed the moment I came in. I couldn't not."

A pleased sound escaped her, almost a laugh. "Clumsy," she teased, "and sweet. I like both." Her fingers traveled higher, tracing the seam of his sleeve, then the bare skin above his wrist again, slower this time. "You can look, Emmett. I'm not going to punish you for wanting."

"I do want," he said. The words surprised him with how steady they were. "You. If that's not too forward. I just don't know what I'm doing, and I don't want to fumble you."

"Fumbling can be fixed." She set her cup aside. "Wanting is the part that matters, and only if I want you back. I do." She shifted closer until her thigh pressed his. The contact went through him like a struck bell. "I'm not drunk, and neither are you. This wine is mostly spice and heat. If you say stop, we stop. If you say yes, I'll take you upstairs to my own chamber, not some rented bed, and I'll show you what it feels like when someone wants you carefully."

His answer was already in his face. Still he said it. "Yes. Please."

She leaned in. The first kiss was soft, a question more than a claim, her mouth warm and faintly sweet with clove. He made a helpless sound and kissed her back, eager, a little too hard at first, then gentler when she smiled against his lips and guided him with a hand at his jaw. He learned the shape of her in that kiss: the fullness of her lower lip, the way she opened for him when he grew braver, the small pleased hum she gave when his hand finally dared her waist.

When they broke apart, both of them were breathing harder. Delphine stood and offered her hand. He took it. They climbed the narrow stair with the storm loud around them and the common room left dark behind. At the top she unlocked a door with a key from her belt and drew him into a private chamber that smelled of beeswax and dried lavender. A wide bed waited under a quilt. Candles stood ready on the chest; she lit three, and gold light climbed the walls.

She turned to him, golden brown eyes clear. "Say it again, now that we're here. I want to hear that you want this. Your first time, with me, tonight."

"I want you," Emmett said. His hands opened and closed at his sides. "I want my first time to be with you. I want all of it, if you'll have me."

"I'll have you," Delphine answered. She stepped into his arms and kissed him again, deeper, until his nerves and his hunger braided into one bright thread. "And I'll have you wanting me the whole way. Come here."

Candlelight made a private weather of its own. Delphine undid the ties of his tunic with unhurried fingers, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his throat, each time she loosened something. The wet wool had already been left below; what remained was simpler, and she peeled it from him as if she had all night and intended to use it. When his chest was bare she spread her palms over him, learning the warm brown of his skin, the quick rise of his breath, the way his stomach jumped when her nails dragged lightly downward.

"Easy," she murmured. "You're beautiful like this. Let me."

He nodded, wordless, and she knelt to work his breeches down. His cock sprang free, already hard, flushed and aching, and a flush of embarrassment hit him so fast he nearly covered himself. Delphine caught his wrists gently and set them aside.

"Don't hide from me." She looked up, eyes bright. "I like that you're hard for me. I like that no one else has had this." She wrapped her hand around him, slow, and stroked once from base to tip. His knees nearly failed. "There. Breathe. That's only my hand. We'll get to the rest."

She rose and turned so he could reach her laces. "Your turn. I want your hands on me."

He fumbled the first knot and laughed, shaky, and she laughed with him, guiding his fingers until the bodice loosened. The dress slid down her arms. Beneath it her breasts were heavy and bare, pale where the sun had never reached, tipped with wide pink nipples already drawn tight. The sight punched the air from him.

"God," he whispered.

"Touch," she said. "They're yours to learn tonight."

He cupped them, awed by the weight, the impossible softness. She sighed and arched into his palms. When his thumbs brushed her nipples she made a low, approving sound that went straight to his cock. He bent, hesitant, and she threaded her fingers into his curls and drew his mouth to her.

"Suck," Delphine told him, tender and sure. "I want your mouth."

He closed his lips around one peak and sucked, clumsy at first, then deeper when she moaned and held him there. Her skin tasted clean and faintly of salt and smoke. He lavished the other breast the same way, licking, kissing, learning what made her breath break. She praised him in a rough whisper—yes, like that, a little harder, good—and the praise undid him more than any touch.

She steered him backward until his calves met the bed. "Lie down for me."

He did. The quilt was cool; she was not. Delphine shed the last of her dress and climbed over him, straddling his hips, her auburn hair falling around them like a curtain. Her sex brushed his cock, slick and hot, and he groaned. She did not take him in yet. She leaned forward so her breasts swayed against his mouth again, offering them, and he suckled eagerly while his hands roamed her waist, her ass, the soft abundance of her. She rocked, coating him, teasing them both, golden eyes half-lidded and fixed on his face.

"Still yes?" she asked.

"Yes. Please, Delphine. I need—"

"I know." She kissed him, long and sweet, then reached between them and guided him to her entrance. The head of his cock pressed into impossible heat. She sank down an inch, then another, watching him the whole time. The stretch made her lips part. "Slow. Let your body learn me."

He was inside a woman for the first time, and the feeling was so much he thought he might come at once. Tight, wet, gripping, welcoming. He clutched her hips and held still, shaking, eyes wide.

"That's it," she soothed, rolling her hips in a small circle that seated him deeper. "You're doing so well. Feel me. I'm right here."

When she had taken him to the hilt she stayed there, breathing with him, kissing his brow, his mouth, the hinge of his jaw. Then she lifted and slid down again, a long, luxurious stroke. Emmett cried out. She smiled and did it once more, then leaned close.

"I want you above me for a while," she said. "I want to see your face when you move."

They turned together, careful, never fully parting until she lay back against the pillows and drew him down between her thighs. Missionary felt enormous and simple at once. He braced on his forearms, looked into those golden brown eyes, and pushed in. The slide was easier now, soaked and sure. Delphine's legs wrapped his waist. Her breasts rose against his chest with every breath.

"Thrust," she whispered. "Don't be afraid of me. I want it."

He drew back and drove in, awkward, then again, finding a rhythm that made her moan into his mouth. Each stroke taught him something: the angle that made her clutch his shoulders, the depth that pulled a broken yes from her throat, the way her nipples dragged against him when he stayed close. Confidence gathered in his hips. He fucked her deeper, steadier, still gentle, still astonished, kissing her whenever he could reach her mouth.

"Good," Delphine gasped. "Just like that. God, Emmett, you feel—don't stop. Look at me."

He looked. Her auburn hair spilled across the pillow. Her eyes held his, bright and wet at the corners from pleasure, not pain. She met his thrusts, heels pressing his ass, urging him on. The wet sound of their bodies filled the chamber under the drum of rain. He buried his face against her breast and sucked a nipple while he moved, and she arched so hard the candle flames shivered.

"I want to ride you again," she said, voice frayed. "I want to take us there. Switch with me."

He rolled onto his back, still inside her for a dizzy moment as she followed, then she settled astride him and sank down with a shuddering sigh. This time she did not tease. She rode him in earnest, rolling and rising, breasts bouncing, hands braced on his chest. Emmett held her waist and thrust up to meet her, bolder now, watching her face, her mouth open, her golden eyes locked to his. The pleasure coiled tight at the base of his spine. He told her so, ragged.

"I'm close. I don't—I can't hold—"

"Don't hold it." She leaned down, kissing him hard, tender even in the urgency, her hair curtaining them both. "I'm with you. Come with me. Eyes open."

She ground down, inner muscles fluttering around him, and the sight of her coming—head tipped, a cry caught between her teeth, eyes never leaving his—broke him. He thrust up and spilled inside her in long, helpless pulses, groaning her name, kissing her through it, deep and shaking and grateful. She kissed him back, rocking slowly to draw every last wave from both of them, their mouths soft and messy, their gazes tangled until the peak eased into trembling aftershocks.

They stayed joined while their breathing slowed. Delphine brushed his curls off his damp forehead and kissed him once more, sweet as the first.

"That," she whispered, "was perfect."

Afterward she eased off him with care and drew the quilt over them both. Emmett gathered her in, astonished that he was allowed, that her bare breasts rested against his chest and her auburn hair tickled his throat. Rain still worried the shutters, but the room held only warmth, beeswax, and the quiet of two people who had chosen each other.

Delphine laughed softly against his shoulder. "You looked so serious when you walked in. Like the storm might scold you for wanting a bed."

"I was afraid I'd say something foolish," he admitted, tracing the line of her arm. "I still might."

"Then say it." She drew lazy patterns over his chest with one fingertip, circles and little roads, her golden brown eyes heavy and fond. "I liked being your first. I liked how you looked at me the whole time, like I was a gift and not a lesson. Stay the night. Stay in this bed. Let the storm do what it wants."

He kissed her hair. Sleep was already tugging at both of them, limbs tangled, hearts finally quiet. "I don't want to be anywhere else."

She smiled into his skin, voice drowsy and sure, and asked the only question that still mattered. "Will you still be here when the fire's only embers, and let me have you again at dawn?"