Wicked Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  A million thoughts and feelings collided in her mind as she fixed his morning meal. By the time she finished, he sat at the table. She served him, then took her place by his side. The morning passed much as usual, and she became convinced last night was just a brief interlude. She helped him don his gear and watched him stride toward the main door. He stopped short and turned to face her.

  “Come.”

  Unlike his tone last night, today his voice rolled with a rumbling seductive edge that shot awareness right to her clit.

  Compelled, dreamlike, yet cautious, she moved to his side.

  Chur considered her for a moment. His eyes roved over her as if he could see right through her robe. He leaned near, placed his mouth right against her ear, and whispered, “I would very much like to see you in that dress tonight.” Leaning back, he added, “But only if you wish to wear it for me.” With that, he was gone.

  Enovese placed her palm against the door, as if she could actually touch him and know his intent. Absently, she traced the carvings in the Onic wood with her fingertips. As she explored the curves and edges, her eyes tracked her hands and a pattern emerged. It felt and looked familiar. She considered for a very long time, letting this puzzle distract her from the thoughts of what Chur was after. She needed time to decide whether she would do as he asked.

  Enovese stepped back and the meaningless lines of the pattern carved into the door resolved into two figures entwined in such a way it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Merging and melting, the two figures seemed so inextricably intertwined she couldn’t determine the sex of either one.

  Her hand flew to her mouth. She ran to her room, removed the bonding dress from the chest, flung it open, and retrieved the ceremonial chalice box. When she compared it to the door, she discovered the carvings were the same. The door was just on a much larger scale. How had she entered and exited this door a thousand times without even noticing the carving at all?

  What did the carving mean? There had to be some significance for it to grace both the Harvester’s main door and the ceremonial chalice box. She placed the box on the table and considered it while she ate. Her mind ticked back over the information in the text, but there was nothing there to explain beyond the structure of the goblet itself and the ritual involving it. She considered going to the library to study further, but her last foray into the stacks hadn’t yielded anything she didn’t already know. She wanted to discuss it with Chur. His perspective would be different. He might see something she did not. He’d been clear about her returning the box, but now that the winds had shifted again he might be more willing.

  She considered his request to wear the dress for him again. Perhaps if she did he might be more interested in uncovering the many mysteries of the Harvest prophecy. On the other hand, if he sensed her trying to manipulate him, such might immediately turn his heart cold. She shivered. She would rather do anything than return to the indifferent way he treated her.

  Unable to decide, she cleaned up his rooms and took the ruined jacket down to the storage room. She placed it on the repair rack and pressed the service crystal. Once she left, someone would come and replace it. In this way, they never had to see her. This had bothered her when she first started serving the Harvester, but she understood now that her role set her apart from all others who served him. She alone actually touched the Harvester, and that, in turn, made her untouchable. She grabbed another clean robe and a shift for herself, more oil and other supplies, then left.

  As she returned to Chur’s rooms, she took note of the decorations in the hallway, as if seeing them for the first time. The closer the halls came to his suite, the more the swirling curves of gilded lines resolved, echoing the pattern on the door and box. Again, she had never taken note. She’d walked these halls a thousand times yet never paid attention for she considered it all elaborate decorations. She wondered if anyone else had ever noticed, for the echoing pattern had to have meaning.

  No matter how much she would like to solve this mystery, it wouldn’t help her decide what she would do tonight. Would she wear her robe or her dress?

  Chur went through training with his mind elsewhere. His life became ever more complicated. Where once he only lived and breathed to be the Harvester, now he had to worry at that, but also about who would take his place. In addition, he wondered what basis would he use to choose a mate at the next Harvest, for he had given up all notions of finding a bondmate. Perhaps he would do as Helton suggested and just pick a pretty one. If the woman had already chosen another, that was too bad, for one way or another, this next Harvest would be his last. He worried about his relationship with Enovese, what would become of her, if he could somehow find a Harvester who might take her away from her role for he knew it could not be him. Moreover, overlapping images of Enovese and the elder woman at the party swirled in his mind, causing him terribly dark thoughts of abandonment. Had that woman given up Enovese to gain the trappings of wealth she so happily displayed? All of these thoughts conspired to distract him.

  Helton Ook slapped the flat of a blade across his belly with a hearty splat, and bellowed, “Focus!”

  Embarrassed by the immediate turning of heads to his direction, Chur centered his attention fully on Helton until the session ended.

  Breathless and sweating, Helton sat next to Chur on a bench and said, “You are most inconsistent in your training. One day you focus such I am afraid of you, then the next, you have the attention of a child.”

  Chur grimaced, for he deserved the reprimand. Helton would not want to hear the truth of what caused his lapse of attention. Leaning near, Chur asked, “If I have questions that my paratanist cannot answer, where am I to turn?”

  Bafflement twisted Helton’s face. “A paratanist is trained in all aspects of the Harvest. What question could you have that a paratanist could not answer?”

  Afraid of revealing too much, Chur shrugged. “Nothing, but, perhaps I wish to study the prophecy myself.”

  Helton rolled his eyes. “That is the place of a paratanist. You are the Harvester. You are the brawn, the paratanist the brain. Such has been so for thousands of seasons.”

  Frustrated by this nonanswer and still cautious, for if Helton took it in his head to nose around in Chur’s affairs…Chur simply nodded.

  Lifting his head, Helton squinted at the far wall. After a moment, he said, “Well, I suppose there is the tome, but as far as I know there hasn’t been a Harvester yet who bothered with it.”

  Chur’s heart raced with excitement. “The tome?”

  “During your initiation didn’t the magistrate give you a tome wrapped in metal and animal hide?”

  Chur thought back to that time in the temple. He remembered reading and signing documents. Heaps of ceremonial gear and weapons had been placed at his feet. Toward the end, when he’d been almost desperate to leave, Ambo had forced Chur’s hand on something that grew warm and then placed it in the pile with the gear. Was that the tome? Chur had no idea what happened to it after the ceremony.

  With a groan of exhaustion, Helton stood. “Ask your paratanist about the tome. There isn’t anything in there that isn’t already in your paratanist’s head, but if that will get you to keep your focus, then by all means, study all evening if you must. Just be ready for me in the morning.” Helton clapped a meaty hand to Chur’s shoulder and departed.

  Now that training was over, Chur allowed his mind to wander to Enovese. Would she wear the dress as he requested? If she did, would he be able to keep his hands off her? The more he pictured her in the form-fitting dress, the less likely he thought he could keep to his plan to slowly seduce her.

  An odd quiver of anticipation filled his belly as he opened the main door and entered his rooms.

  Enovese wasn’t wearing the dress. She wasn’t wearing her robe. The only thing she wore was water.

  Oblivious to his entrance, for her head was under a stream of water, she continued to bathe. He removed his gear. Settling himsel
f on a padded chair, he simply watched her wash.

  Once her hair was wet, she lathered her scalp and worked the foamy bubbles down the length with slender fingers. Her movements, the way she turned her body and tilted her head to caress her tresses, aroused him when he imagined those same motions on his body—her hands and her hair wrapping around him, teasing and soft. He cupped a hand to his cock, stroking himself almost absently as he watched.

  Her hands were small and her fingers delicately tapered, but he knew what strength she had in her hands, what magic she could perform with them if she were so inclined. As he watched her hands cup her breasts, twist her coral peaks, and smooth soap along her flesh, he wanted to again feel her hands on him, willingly on him. Not the mechanical necessity of a ritual or those that he demanded, but her oh-so-clever hands working magic because she wanted to.

  Even from this distance, he could smell the floral essence of the soap. The sweet scent clashed with the ripe smell of his body. He continued to tease himself, enjoying the mixture of different aromas. He felt dirty, not just with sweat and grime, but also for watching her without her knowledge, and stroking his cock while his hungry gaze ate up every bit of her. He felt nasty for his perversity, but that only excited him more. Defiantly, he pleasured himself and watched her bathe.

  Efficiently, she washed her body, but she did linger a bit between her legs, which compelled him to take harder strokes. Her back was to him, but he knew by the way her legs parted and the movements of her arms that she was teasing her sex. Her wet hair flowed down over her back all the way to her calves as if hiding her from his gaze. Bits and flashes of her pale flesh peeked between the darkened strands. He found this vision far more arousing than being able to see her clearly. Imagining her hands at her luscious cunt was far more intriguing than actually witnessing her tease herself. Did she think of him while she slowly worked her hand back and forth, or had he hurt her so deeply she now fantasized about any man but him?

  Sensing that she was almost finished, with her shower if not a rousing climax, he stood and walked toward her. His pulsing cock pointed at her, seeking, bouncing with his steps, surging an animal lust that he had picked his mate and would now claim her despite her objections. Chur wanted Enovese. He wanted her the way he had cycles ago, wanted her surrender and capitulation. He wanted her wet, moaning, and begging for him. Chur gulped a great breath to fight the rush of overwhelming hunger.

  Enovese must have heard him for she gasped and turned, covering herself with her hands. She sputtered something, but he shushed her with a shake of his head and then joined her under the stream. He pointed to the soap in her trembling hand and said, “Help me wash, Enovese.”

  Eyes round with fear, she simply stared at him. She had helped him wash every night, but she’d had the protection of her robe. Naked, vulnerable, with the sweetness of last night a tiny grain of sand to the horror of three cycles of harshness, she no doubt imagined the worst. He cursed himself a thousand times for putting that terror in her jade eyes. Desperate to turn the tide back, he searched for words to reassure her but found his voice blocked by a lump in his throat.

  He lifted and kissed the back of her hand. With his eyes, he tried to convey that he demanded nothing. By his strength and position he could force her, but he discovered too late it gave him no pleasure. Her willing participation, her white-hot desire, that gave him infinite satisfaction. Even if he could speak, he could not find the words to say this, so he simply gazed at her, putting all his honesty and heart into his eyes.

  Understanding eased the terror. Cautiously, Enovese turned toward him and smoothed the soap over his chest. His thick hair lathered the soap into a swirl of bubbles that she worked around his chest and his arms. She lifted his arms to scrub at his armpits and then worked down to his hips. When she hesitated, he clasped his hands behind his head. His defenseless posture reassured her. With a darted glance to his face, she lowered herself and washed his legs and feet. Lifting her soapy slick hands, she bravely cupped his sex. Before he could even groan, she stopped.

  Enovese stood and moved behind him, washing his back, teasing her hand between his buttocks. Soapy slick, she rocked her hand into the crevasse, dipping low enough to tease his balls. Gently, she removed his hands from his head so she could wash his hair, which she did, working her way around until she faced him again. Pressing close, Enovese angled up until her lips held close to his. Chur stood very still, afraid of making a wrong move. She brushed her lips against his, not in a kiss, but in a teasing stroke. Water wet, her lips rubbed his, arousing and intoxicating. Working the lather into his chest hair, she trailed her hand down, painfully slow, until she grasped his sex. His head rolled back and he closed his eyes.

  “Don’t close your eyes, look at me.”

  Her voice was seductively soft, commanding, and compelling.

  Chur gazed down at her.

  Enovese betrayed no emotion as she held his gaze and worked her soapy slick hand up and down the swollen length of his cock. Alternately gripping and slipping, she eased her fists around him, tugging, pressing him against her belly. Softly, she cupped her lips to his and whispered, “Do you understand now, Harvester, that you need not force me? That I long to please you but only when the choice is mine?”

  He nodded, brushing his mouth to hers. “Call me by my name.”

  Enovese kissed him then. She parted her coral lips, captured his, and teased her tongue against his. With a breath into his mouth, she whispered, “Chur.”

  She tasted of ambrosia, as did his name on the lush breath of her voice. Chur drank deeply of her taste, scent, and her longing. In a rush, he knew what a fool he had been, for Enovese would do anything to please him. He had but to ask. By forcing her, he destroyed the unique desire inherent within her.

  Inflamed, he placed his hands to her buttocks, grasped, and lifted her until she stood on tiptoe. By pulling her close, he pressed his hand-wrapped cock against her belly. Such forced her into an awkward position, but he could not stop. Enovese let go of his prick and lifted her hands to his shoulders. His cock now slid uninhibited against her belly. Enovese angled until his cock dipped low, between her wet thighs; then she clamped them tightly together.

  “I have caught you.”

  He chuckled and nodded, holding her body just as firmly. But then he realized the truth in her words; she had, indeed, caught him. He could not resist her.

  Enovese rocked her hips, working his soapy slick cock between her water-slicked thighs, teasing him against the throbbing of her clit and the intense heat of her cunt. Much to his delight, Chur realized soap didn’t make her slick, it was lust. For the first time in a long time, Enovese was not only wet, but profusely wet. Wanton. He tossed up a thank you to the god of Harvesters for letting him again know the slick passion of her desire. Yet still, he held still, for he did not want her to think he demanded anything. If he had to scream inside his own head, he would let Enovese dictate the pace and timing of this encounter.

  “I want you, Chur.” Enovese moved back and forth, rocking him between her legs, riding up high on the curve of his penis to stimulate her clit. She didn’t take him inside. Her tightly clamped thighs were soft against his shaft, their pubic hair providing a delicious friction.

  Chur lowered his mouth to her ear, and whispered, “I want you, Enovese.” He pressed on the small of her back to steady her as they rocked faster and faster. Her wet hair was soft and slick, sliding his hand against her. His cock throbbed and felt so hard it almost hurt. An intense orgasm built within, lifting and tightening his balls against his body. Chur knew he wouldn’t last much longer, but he wanted her to climax first. He demanded only that. For he had hurt her so much that he would rather suffer without climax than find release before she did.

  Enovese breathed in rapid gasps as she dug her fingertips into his shoulders. She leaned her head back, catching the stream of water with the length of her hair, then leaned forward so the strands teased around their bodies. He imagined if
someone saw them from a distance, they would think he embraced a water sprite.

  Short, sharp gasps escaped her mouth. Enovese lifted her gaze to his. Her eyes lost focus, her lids barely stayed open, and she blinked in a dreamy slowness. Rocking her hips faster caused her eyes to open wide; then she clamped them shut. A long moan rose from her chest and tumbled out of her luscious lips. Her thighs quivered with the strength of her orgasm.

  Her surrender to pleasure compelled his. Wave after wave of sensation rolled from the extremities of his body, gathering strength, only to erupt from his cock. Unable to continue with the smooth rocking pace, he jerked, and clutched at her hips, to steady her as he thrust between her slippery thighs. It was the most wickedly intense orgasm he’d felt in several cycles. Once spent, he held her close, murmuring to her ear, while the water flowed over them. Under the water, holding her tight, he felt reborn.

  17

  Enovese smiled to herself as she clung to Chur. It seemed she didn’t have to worry about what to wear for him after all. A relief filled her, from not only the shattering orgasm, but also that Chur was himself again. Not the vicious master she’d come to hate, but the strong yet gentle man she loved.

  He nuzzled her ear and said, “I missed you.” His voice came so close to breaking. Longing and apology conveyed without a word. He would never apologize and she didn’t expect him to. All she wanted was exactly what she had: a chance to be in his arms and experience the ecstasy of his touch for as long as she could. Because deep down, Enovese knew, even as she embraced him now, she would have to let him go.