Smiling, Aragorn sat as Froda leaned forward avidly and took hold of him, finding her guess correct. "If I were Pervinca I should make a joke about scepters," she said to win another one of those grins, and when he drew her close against his warm firm side she sighed with pleasure. "I would like very much to feel this."
"It seems to me," Aragorn said, more strain in his voice than when she'd heard him shout battle-orders, "that you are feeling it."
Froda laughed, and leaned forward to kiss the head of her double-and-more handful, listening to him sigh, and dared a lick along springy flesh, listening to his breath rush that much faster. "I would feel this within me," she murmured to it, her lips brushing it. "I want you to tup me." That won a shudder. Of course, she saw as she tipped her head to look up at him, he would try to say her nay, but she could feel his pulse beneath her lips, she knew his desire. "I'm not afraid."
"I am, my lady." Aragorn was trying to be stern, but Froda had seen his true sternness, and could see the smile in his eyes now. "I would not harm you."
"You're a healer." She turned round from beneath his arm -- even he forgot how swiftly she might move -- to straddle one of his thighs, pressing herself down onto solid muscle and pleasantly rough skin. "You will not harm me. Please, my King." She leaned in, pressing her breasts to his belly so his hair tingled her nipples, her chin to his keel bone to watch his eyes flutter wide. "My fellow walker. My friend. Please fill me with the pleasure I see-eek!"