Instead of giving her question a verbal answer, Aidan stood and grasped one of Lyn’s breasts, squeezing it with enough force that she felt it even through her leather jerkin. “How about that?” he asked, with a smirk evident on his frustratingly handsome face.

Lyn’s eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed a red that rivaled the color of her hair. “O-oh. I see,” she stammered. “I’ll do my best to work with you on this, my Lor—er, Erik.” She certainly hadn’t been expecting him to do anything of the sort, and wasn’t sure how to respond as Aidan’s hand lingered on her body. 

She knew everything there was to know about proper swordplay and battle tactics and shieldwork, but Lyn had no experience in the field of intimacy; not to mention that Aidan’s general demeanor made her feel more flustered and uncomfortable than she had ever felt around anyone else. When she’d been taunted by men like Orenel or called to on the street, a sharp right hook usually shut them up, if they ever went past inappropriate words and had the gall to try and touch her. But what could she do to Aidan except follow his orders?