Welcome to my blog, and to another crop of WIP It Up Wednesday snippets. This is the blog hop where authors share excerpts from their works in progress. Please feel free to comment – we love feedback, and it’s great to know if we’re on the right track.
My featured WIP this week still doesn’t have a title although it’s almost finished now. It’s a medieval menage story, with a little twist toward the end which sort of turns the HEA on its head. Anyway, nuff said. On with the excerpt – completely unedited so please be gentle. In this excerpt Linnet is helping her men to bathe.
This is my first proper view of the male anatomy, and I find it to be quite wondrous. My fascination must be writ plain across my face, because Piers laughs out loud from his vantage point lounging on the bed.
“I do believe our little maid approves. Tis just as well she is made of stern stuff, else that cockstand you are sporting brother would send her running for her life.”
“A bride should admire her husband. I believe Linnet has the makings of a fine wife.”
I can only stare from one to the other. I find their casual acceptance of my presence here baffling, equally so the fact that Piers makes no move to allow his brother privacy. Not does Ralf appear to expect it. I must assume they do most things together, including their ablutions. Quite where I fit remains to be seen.
“If you’ve done ogling my cock, could you find a flannel and the soap please, Linnet. In that chest, over there.” Ralf’s command brings me back to the matter at hand.
“Of course, my lord.” I am accustomed to fetching and carrying so scurry off at once to do as I am bid. I return with the required items and kneel behind the tub. “Shall I wash your back, my lord?”
“Aye, you can start there.” Ralf leans forward to grant me access. I moisten the flannel, and set to.
I work in silence for a few minutes, massaging soap into his shoulders and back. He has a fine body, this man I pretend married. As my hands sink below the water I have an opportunity to admire the taut, hard buttocks, the firm muscles which ripple beneath his skin. He is tanned, as though he spends much time in the sun. Or maybe this is his natural colouring.
I steal a glance at Piers. He is blessed with the same sun-kissed complexion, so I surmise it is a feature common to both. They are so similar, almost identical.
Piers watches my progress with undisguised interest as I move around to the front, still on my knees beside the tub. Ralf’s head is tilted back, resting on the rim behind him. His eyes are closed. I commence lathering his chest, taking care not to press on the wound.
“I will not break, Linnet. Nor will you hurt me,” he mutters.
“No, my lord.” I continue my efforts with renewed confidence and not inconsiderable vigour.
As I reach his waist I hesitate. Should I halt here? Or start my task again, this time at his toes and work up?
“Only if you wish to, little one. It is your choice.”