Mistral's Kiss mg-5

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  He shuddered above me. "I should be touching you." His voice was strained, thick with effort, but effort for what? His arms and shoulders, and legs, were utterly still above me as if he were stone instead of flesh. It wasn't his strength that gave his voice that thick sound. At least not strength of body. Maybe strength of will.

  I squeezed gently around his shaft, and he was hard, so terribly hard. His breathing changed, and I could see his stomach fluttering with the effort to stay steady above me. "How long has it been?" I asked.

  "I don't remember," he said.

  I stroked my hand up and over the head of him. His spine bowed downward, and he almost fell on top of me, but then his arms and legs went back to their firm stance. "I thought the sidhe did not lie."

  "I do not remember exactly," he said. His voice was breathy now.

  I slid my other hand down to cup his balls and gently play with them.

  He swallowed hard enough for me to hear it, and said, "If you keep doing that, I'll go, and that's not how I want to go the first time."

  I continued to play with him, gently. He was so hard, quiveringly hard. Just holding him in my hands, I knew that the phrase aching with need wasn't merely words. He glowed and I could feel the power in him, but he did not throb with it the way the others did. It was a quieter power, this.

  "What do you want the first time?" I asked, and my voice had gone deeper, thickening with the feel of him in my hands.

  "I want to be inside you, between your legs—I want to make you come before I do. But I do not know if I still have that kind of discipline."

  "Then don't be disciplined. This time, the first time, don't worry about it."

  He shook his head, and the blue lines in his hair seemed to pulse brighter. "I want to bring you such pleasure that you will want me in your bed every night. So many men, Meredith, so many men in your bed. I don't want to wait my turn. I want you to come to me again and again, because no one brings you as much pleasure as I do."

  A sound made us both turn our heads; we found Mistral kneeling beside us. "Hurry up and finish this, Abeloec, or I will not wait to be second."

  "Would you not worry, as I do, that you pleasure the princess?" Abeloec asked.

  "Unlike you, I'll have no second chance here, Abeloec. The queen has decreed that this time is all I will ever have with the princess. So no, I am not so worried about my performance." He ran his hand through my hair, pushing deep so that his fingers brushed my scalp. It made me cuddle my head against his hand. He closed his fingers into a fist, and was suddenly jerking my hair tight in his hand. It sped my pulse in my throat, tearing a sound from my mouth that was not pain. My skin blazed to white-hot life.

  "We do not have to be gentle," Mistral said. He leaned his face near mine. "Do we, Princess?"

  I whispered, "No."

  He pulled my hair tighter, and I cried out. I felt rather than saw some of the other men move toward us. Mistral pulled my hair tight again, bending my neck to one side, moving my body a little out from under Abeloec. "I am not hurting you, am I, Princess?"

  "No." All I could do was whisper.

  "I don't think they heard you," he said. He twisted his hand tight and sudden in my hair. He put his lips against my cheek and whispered, "Scream for me." The blue lines crawled from my skin to his, and again I saw that outline of lightning on his cheek.

  I whispered, "What will you do, if I don't scream?"

  He kissed me, ever so gently against my cheek. "Hurt you."

  My breath came out in a shudder. "Please," I sighed.

  Mistral laughed, a wonderful deep laugh, with his face pressed against mine and his hand still tight in my hair. "Hurry, Abeloec, hurry, or we will have to fight to see who is first." He let go of my hair so abruptly that this motion, too, hurt a little, and forced a sound from me. Mistral turned me back over to Abeloec with my eyes unfocused, and my breath either coming too fast or nearly stopping for a moment—I couldn't quite tell. My pulse seemed uncertan if I was afraid or thrilled. But it was as if now that Mistral touched me again, he could not quite give up touching me. He kept his fingers against the side of my neck, as if he wanted to help my pulse decide.

  "I do not like to cause pain," Abeloec said. His body was not quite as happy as it had been.

  "Pain is not the only way to pleasure," I said.

  His dark eyes narrowed at me from the shine of his face. "You do not have to have pain to be pleasured?"

  I shook my head, feeling the lingering ache where Mistral's hand had been. "No."

  Doyle's deep voice came out of the dark. "Meredith likes violence, but she also likes gentleness. It depends on her mood, and yours."

  Both Abe and Mistral looked at him. "The queen cares nothing for our moods," Mistral said.

  "This one will," Doyle said.

  Abeloec looked down at me and began to slowly lower himself toward my body, for all the world like a push-up, except that I was in the way. His mouth found mine before his body pressed into me. He kissed me, and the blue was neon-bright and flared with lines of crimson and emerald. The lines of color flared down Mistral's hand, and it felt as if those lines were made of rope, drawing his mouth to mine, and drawing Abeloec down my body. He half knelt and half lay across my lower body. He spread my legs so that his body spilled between them. But it was his finger that found me first—testing the waters, I think.

  His voice was strangled as he said, "You're still wet."

  I would have answered but Mistral's mouth found mine, and I gave the only answer I could. I raised my hips toward Abeloec's searching hand. The next thing I felt was his hands moving to my hips. The tip of him of him rubbing against my opening.

  Mistral raised his mouth from mine and half whispered, half groaned, "Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her, please," and the last word was drawn out into a long sigh that ended in something close to a scream.

  Abeloec pushed himself inside me, and only then did he begin to throb with power. It was almost like some huge vibrator, except this vibrator was warm and alive, and had a mind and a body behind it.

  That mind moved the body in rhythms that no mere mechanical aid could ever have produced. I watched Abeloec push in and out of my body like some shining shaft of light, though it was undoubtedly flesh that went in and out of me. Soft, firm, vibrating flesh.

  Mistral grabbed my hair again, pulled my head back so that I could no longer watch Abeloec work his magic in my body. The look on Mistral's face would have frightened me if we'd been alone. He kissed me hard, so hard that it was bruising. I had a choice of opening my mouth to him or cutting my lips on my own teeth. I opened my mouth.

  His tongue plunged inside me, as if he were trying to do to my mouth what Abeloec was doing between my legs. It was only his tongue, but he kept pushing inside, pushing until he shoved my mouth so wide that my jaw began to ache. He shoved his tongue so far down my throat that I gagged, and he drew back. I thought he did it to let me swallow and catch my breath, but he drew back so he could laugh. He let loose a roll of masculine pleasure that spilled from his mouth and danced over my skin. There was an echo to it, that laughter—an echo like distant thunder.

  His pausing gave me a chance to concentrate on Abeloec. He had found a rhythm that plunged to the end of me, and out, in a rolling slide, a rhythm that would have brought me eventually. But even beyond that, his body pulsed inside mine. It was as if his magic throbbed with the rhythm of his body, so that each time he plunged deep inside me the magic throbbed harder, and vibrated faster.

  I took the chance Mistral had given me to say, "Abeloec, are you making your magic pulse in time to your lovemaking?"

  His voice came tight with concentration. "Yes."

  I started to say, Oh, Goddess, but Mistral's mouth found mine again, and I got only as far as, "Oh, God—"

  Mistral thrust his tongue so deep and hard into my mouth that it was like oral sex when the man is too big for comfort. If you fight it, it hurts, but if you relax, sometimes, you can do it. You can l
et the man have his way with your mouth without breaking your jaw. I'd never had anyone kiss me like this, and even as I fought to let him do it, I thought about him being this forceful with other things, and the thought made me open wider to him, wider to them both.

  They were both so skilled, but in such opposite ways that I wondered what it would be like to have their full attention one at a time. But there was no way to ask Mistral to wait, to give us room, because I could barely breathe with his tongue down my throat, let alone speak. I wanted to speak; I wanted to stop having to fight him to breathe. My jaw was aching hard enough to distract me from Abeloec's amazing fucking. Mistral had crossed that line from feels good to fucking stop.

  We hadn't arranged a sign that would let him know I wanted him to stop. When you can't speak, you usually have some prearranged way to tap out. I started pushing at his shoulders, pushing like I meant it. I wasn't as strong as a full-blooded sidhe, but I had once put my hand through a car door to scare away some would-be muggers, if that's an indication. I had bloodied my hand, but not broken it. So I pushed, and he pushed back.

  He had his mouth so far inside mine that I couldn't even bite him. I was choking, and he didn't care.

  I could feel the orgasm beginning to build. I did not want Abeloec's good work spoiled by the fact that I was choking.

  Nails could be used for pleasure, or to make a point. I set my nails in the firm flesh of Mistral's neck and dug them in. I carved bloody furrows in his skin. He jerked back from me, and seeing the rage on his face, again, I was glad we weren't alone.

  "When I say stop, you stop," I said. And I realized that I was angry, too.

  "You didn't say stop."

  "Because you made certain I couldn't."

  "You said you liked pain."

  I was having trouble controlling my breathing, because Abeloec was still vibrating and moving inside me. I was close. "I like pain to a point, but not a broken jaw. We'll need to lay some ground rules before…you…get…your turn," and the last word was a scream as I threw my head back and my body spasmed. Mistral caught my head or I would have smashed it against the hard ground.

  Abeloec's pleasure spread through me, over me, in me, in waves. Waves of pleasure, waves of power, over and over, as if here, too, he was able to control what was happening. As if he could control my release the way he'd controlled everything else. The orgasm would roll over me from my groin to every inch of my body, then it would start again, spreading from between my legs over my skin in a rush that sent my hands seeking something to hold on to, my body thrashing. My entire upper body left the ground and smashed back, over and over, while Abeloec held my hips and legs trapped against his body.

  Someone was behind me, catching me, trying to hold me down, but the pleasure was too much. I could do nothing but struggle and scream, one long ragged scream after another. My fingers found flesh to tear, and strong hands held my wrist tight. My other hand found my own body, and tore at it. Another hand found that wrist, pinned it to the floor.

  I heard voices over my screams: "Go, Abeloec, just finish it!"

  "Now, Abeloec!" urged Mistral.

  And he did, and suddenly the world was made of white light, and it was as if I could feel his release between my legs, feel it hot and thick, and him buried as deep inside me as he could go. I floated in that white light, and found starbursts of red and green and blue. Then there was nothing, nothing but white, white light.

  CHAPTER 5

  I DIDN'T PASS OUT, NOT COMPLETELY, NOT REALLY, BUT IT WAS as if I were boneless, helpless in the afterglow of Abeloec's power. My eyes fluttered open when the lap my head was resting in moved. I found Mistral above me, his hands still holding my wrists, still cuddling my head. "I want you hurt, not broken," he said, as if he saw something in my face that he had to answer.

  It took me three tries to answer. "Glad to hear it," I finally said.

  He laughed then, and began to move carefully from under me. He laid my head on the dead earth, gently. Apparently, I'd disarranged our makeshift blanket, because I could feel other patches of dry, scratchy vegetation here and there against my skin.

  I turned my head and looked for the others. Abeloec was crawling a little shakily toward my head, as if he and Mistral were going to change places. It took me a moment to focus past Abe, farther into the dark beyond.

  The darkness was shot with neon glow, blue, green, and red. The colors were everywhere, some individual burning lines and some entwined like string wound into rope—stronger, thicker for being joined. Doyle knelt closest to us, as if he'd tried to come to me. His sword was drawn as if there was something among us that metal could slay. His dark skin was covered in lines of blue and crimson.

  Rhys was just beyond him, covered in blue and red lines, too—and there were other figures in the dark covered in green and blue lines, and images of flowering plants. I caught a shine of long pale hair. Ivi was covered in dead vines and green lines of power. Brii stood near a tree, hugging it, or tied to it with green and blue lines. But it was as if the tree had bent toward him, its thin, lifeless branches embracing his naked body like arms. Adair had climbed a tree and stood on one of the thick upper branches. He was reaching up into it, as if he saw things there that I did not. I caught glimpses of other bodies on the ground, covered in dead vegetation.

  Frost and Nicca were kneeling farther away. They had lines of blue only, snaking over their bodies. They were holding someone's arms and legs. It took me a moment to realize it was Galen. He was so covered in the bright green glow that he was nearly hidden from sight. The others seemed to be enjoying the power, or at least not to be in pain, but Galen's body seemed to be convulsing, almost as I had when Abeloec brought me, but even more violently.

  Mistral's face appeared above mine, and I realized that he was holding himself above my body, much as Abeloec had earlier. But he didn't kiss me, as the other man had. He made sure that the only thing I could see was his face. "My turn," he said, and the look in his eyes was enough to make me frightened. Not in fear of Mistral, but fear of what was happening. Something powerful—and what would be the price? One thing I had learned early was that all power comes with a price.

  "Mistral," I said, but he was already moving down my body. The wind was back, a thin, seeking wind that touched my body like invisible fingers. The dead leaves rustled, and the vines seemed to sigh in the growing wind.

  I raised up enough to look down my body at Mistral. I called his name again. He looked up at the sound of his name, but there was nothing in his face that really heard me. This was his one chance in a thousand years to have a woman. When we left the gardens, his opportunity would be gone.

  If I'd known the others were safe, then I wouldn't even have tried to argue with the look in his eyes. But I wasn't sure they were. I wasn't sure any of us were. I didn't like not knowing what was happening.

  He smoothed his hands along the inside of my thighs, gentle, caressing, but that gentle movement spread my legs with him kneeling between them.

  "What's happening, Mistral?"

  "Are you afraid?" he asked, but he wasn't looking at my face when he said it.

  "Yes," I said, and my voice was soft in the growing wind.

  "Good," he said.

  Abeloec answered me, "I am the intoxicating cup like Medb for the kings of old. You have drunk deep." I turned my head back to look at him where he knelt behind me.

  I knew that medb had been a word for "mead," a sovereign goddess whom nine kings of Ireland had had to mate with before she would let them rule. But most of that was only stories; no one would speak of her among the sidhe, as if she were a real goddess, a real person. I had asked, and been told only that she was the cup that intoxicates. Which had been another way of saying that she was mead. I'd been left to believe she'd never been real.

  "I don't understand," I said.

  Abeloec smoothed his hand along my face. "I give the power of sovereignty to the queen, as Medb gave power to the kings. I was forgotten, bec
ause the world turned to chauvinism and there were no more votes for queens. I was just Accasbel. Denied my purpose. Some human literature says I am an ancient deity of wine and beer. I founded the first pub in Ireland, and was a follower of Partholon. That is all I am now to history." He leaned in close to my face, and I lay back against the ground with his hands on either side of my face. "Until today. I have new duties."

  Just then, Mistral's fingers found my opening, and I would have turned to look at him, but Abeloec's hands tightened on my face, kept me looking at him while Mistral began to explore me with his hand. Abeloec whispered, above my face, "There was a time when without me, or Medb, no one ruled in Ireland, or faerie, or anywhere in the isles. The sithen brought us here for a reason. It brought everyone here for a reason, including Mistral."

  Dried leaves rushed across my body like brittle fingers tapping my stomach and breasts. "Let us have our reason back, Meredith," Abeloec said.

  It wasn't a finger touching me down there anymore, though Mistral hadn't entered me. For someone who liked to cause pain, he was being patient, and gentle.

  I whispered, "Reason, what reason?" to Abeloec's face.

  "Reason to be, Meredith. A man without a duty is only half a man."

  Mistral shoved himself inside me in one long hard movement. It spilled my upper body up off the ground, tore a scream from my mouth. Abeloec released me, and I could finally stare down my body at Mistral.

  Mistral's head was flung back, eyes closed. His body was married into mine as deep as he could make it. There were no lines of color on him anymore and I realized there were none on any of the three of us. But there was something in the shining of his skin. It took me a moment to realize that something was moving inside his skin. It looked like a reflection of something, but it was not a reflection of anything around us.

  He stayed there, frozen above me, with his lower body as snug to me as he could get it, and his upper body raised back on his hands and arms. He opened his eyes and looked down at me, and I saw clouds glide inside his eyes like windows onto some distant sky. The clouds moved as if hurried by some great wind, and I realized that that was what I was seeing inside his skin. Clouds, storm clouds roiling inside his skin.