He checked himself in a mirror, raked his hair into place with his fingers, blew a breath into his hand to make sure there was no bad odor, then turned the brass doorknob, which was no longer locked against him. His heart thudded in his throat. He opened the inner room door and stared into a black emptiness, illuminated only here and there by dots of flickering candles. Water splashed ahead and to his right.
When his eyes grew slightly more accustomed to the dark, he saw her sitting in a small pool. Her face, shoulders and the upper swell of her breasts caught the candlelight, which seemed to glow from within her. As much as he tried to focus his gaze, the swirling dark water obscured the rest of her body.
Only when he heard her call to him softly, “Come, please close the door and join me,” did he realize that he’d been gawking, stock still in the doorway. Pulling the door closed behind him, he stepped forward, and his foot sank into a deep, soft weave that covered the floor. A moist warmth enveloped him, gentler than that of a steamhut. He moved slowly, as in a dream.
The room was strangely shaped, with no corners or edges, almost like a bowl, with the pool at the bottom. Everything was smooth and curved, covered with thick carpet, including the walls. Not even the floor was flat, reaching upward, not in a straight line, but like foothills, raised here and there in gentle undulations. The walls were a continuous curve of the floor. Surrounding the small oval pool was the only hard surface, an area of mottled stone that was cool to his bare feet.
The woman raised her arm out of the water toward him, offering him her hand. In so doing, one breast rose out of the water, though the nipple was still tantalizingly just below the surface, almost, but not quite, visible.
“Come, the water is warm and delicious.” Her voice was a soft lilt, beckoning.
He started to step into the pool, but was stopped by her small gentle laugh.
“In your clothes is fine. But I think you’d be more comfortable without them.”
Suddenly, he felt shy, uncertain how to undress in front of this woman. Tayar tactfully turned away, gliding to the other side of the small pool, where she poured fragrant oil from an amber vial into the water. He quickly stripped off his clothes and stepped into the warm water, to sit on a submerged ledge that followed the curved contours of the edge. Only then did she turn around again.
They perched on opposite sides, so close that if he straightened his leg outward, his toes would touch hers. But it felt to him as though an ocean separated them, held as he was by the awe of the moment, the fear of finding it to be only a dream.
Tayar reached behind her for two bottles and poured oil and soap into her palm. Then she rubbed her hands together and, with her eyes closed, slowly lathered her neck, shoulders and arms.
He watched her every movement, entranced, drawn to her through the warm swirling waist-high water, until he stood a breath away from her. He raised his hands to touch hers, riding the movement of her fingers and palms on her soapy, slippery flesh. When she reached for him, he massaged the lather into her shoulders, working his way downward to her breasts, fingering the tight, tall nipples, transfixed by the contours and textures filling his hands.
He quivered at her touch on his waist, chest, hips. When her hand grazed his stiff shaft, the shivers turned to unrelenting convulsions. His hands squeezed her breast, in rhythm with an inner pulse that, for that brief moment, became his total and involuntary focus.
It was over so quickly that he had reason to hope she hadn’t noticed. After all, everything below his waist was under the dark water, and her eyes were still closed. He decided to proceed as if nothing had happened. My stick’s never failed me before, he reasoned. In a few minutes, it’ll be as tall as ever.
He continued to fondle her breasts, unlike any he’d ever touched. Small, but full, more oval than round, so soft and yielding in the cup of his hand. Her fingertips played the full length of his body, slowly climbing in gentle, feathery circles, raising bumps of pleasure wherever she touched.
Could this sensuous, submissive woman be the same controlling, obstructive Allesha who had frustrated him so? Hell, who cares? She’s mine now, he thought to himself as he lifted her into his arms, stepped onto the ledge and out of the pond. Slipping slightly on the wet stone floor, he carried her across to the nearest cushioned platform and laid her down, with only a bit of a bump to her head.
Her body under his was a warm, inviting softness; her mouth, neck and breasts tasted windswept, musky, like an approaching autumn storm. With one hand, he gently pried her legs apart and entered her. Each time their wet bodies collided, he felt a fiery spark of lightning shoot from his groin up the full length of his spine. But he resisted giving into the ecstatic sensations that pricked every nerve in his body. No, wait! he told himself. Wait for her. Wait, wait, not yet! Even when he felt her shiver of pleasure, he held back, with a stringently rigid focus. It was her sigh, so throaty and dark, that broke his control, in sharp, penetrating tremors that squeezed everything he was into the narrow, piercing now, now, now!
Finally and fully spent, he collapsed on her, showering her with kisses, because women like such attention, though he would have preferred to turn over and fall asleep. He rolled onto his side and pulled her into his arms, against his chest. There, he thought, now she knows how good she’s got it for the next few months.
They lay there for some time, in silence. It was the quiet that he couldn’t take. Women like to talk afterwards, especially when the sex has been good. Damn her. Do I have to do everything myself? Teetering between languid comfort and a growing uncertainty, he finally broke the silence with a single word. “Well?”
“Very nice.”
“Nice?” He bolted upright, to sit several feet away from her, with his back against one of the upward curves that formed the sides of the plateau. “Don’t do that. I know what I felt. You enjoyed it.”
She leaned back against her elbows. “Yes, you gave me pleasure.”
“And it was great, right?”
“It was so nice that I was inspired. I now know your name — Dov.”
“Dov? Does it have a meaning?”
“Of course it does. That’s what names are for. In fact, it has many meanings. In one region, it’s the spirit of the brown bear, playful and powerful, dangerous and protective. Elsewhere, it’s a messenger bird that flies high and wide. I’ve heard that it’s also used to describe the act of prayer, of hope. And it’s a word of action, meaning to delve deeply, to dig into the earth or into people, to reach for the essence of a moment, a movement or a place.”
“All that in one name?
“You deserve no less.”
“Yeah? That’s pretty good, Tayar.” He lay down and pulled her once more into his chest. “Thank you.”
Satisfied and depleted, he closed his eyes in anticipation of the deep sleep that always came after sex. How wonderful it felt to hold her. Her breasts pressed against his ribs, the nipples neither relaxed nor fully rigid. Her breath on his chest hairs was like a gentle summer breeze that barely stirs the tall grass. Her skin was cool to his touch, which surprised him, because he had built up such a sweat. Something about it bothered him. The more he tried to focus on what it was, the itchier his mind became, unsettled and unfocused. Fragments of ideas flitted like a swarm of gnats, biting him over and over again, but moving too fast for him to grab hold of them. Exasperated, he pulled himself out from under her cuddling embrace, to sit up once more. The Allesha sat opposite him, watching, but saying nothing.
He said the first thing that came to his lips. “This is all wrong.”
“In what way, Dov?”
“I don’t know. It just is.” He shifted uneasily, searching the room, for the thoughts that eluded him. “It seems that… I mean, I feel strange, jittery, like before sex, not after. Not in my body. That’s satisfied. But deep in my stomach or my mind.” He swallowed his words into himself, needing to hold himself back from saying too much.
“Please tell me. What’s botherin
g you?”
“It’s like when you’re hunting alone in the forest, and you’ve made your first kill. It could be a fine beast, plenty of meat, good skin. You should be satisfied. But your instincts tell you that the mother of all beasts is just around the bend or over the hill. You want to rest, enjoy the kill, but something inside you won’t let you.” He balled his right hand into a fist and pummeled the ground. “Damn it! I know it’s nonsense, but I can’t shake the feeling. Stupid, huh? I mean, this is the inner room. I’m here. And, Great Mother, you’re one hell of a woman.”
“I think I know what you mean,” Tayar responded. “Ever since you came to our Valley, you’ve believed that gaining entrance to this room would be the climax, the culmination of a great life experience. To some extent, you’re disappointed that the sex has been, well, ordinary. Not unlike your previous encounters with women.”
“Look, I wasn’t saying…”
“Don’t worry, Dov, I’m not insulted, because you’re correct. It was somewhat ordinary.”
“Hold on there. Don’t you go turning this thing around on me,” he protested.
“Oh no, Dov. Believe me, I’m not. You must understand that today is only a beginning, not a climax. So it’s good that you’re not yet satisfied. It proves how perceptive you are and that you are, indeed, an excellent candidate for Alleman.”
“Well, that’s okay, then. As long as you don’t go blaming me for ordinary sex. Now come here and let me remind you how unordinary it is.”
Tayar obeyed, realizing that he needed reassurance. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing and caressing her, with all the callow skill of his young life, as they slid together into a prone position. Then, balancing his weight on his arms and knees, he entered her, deliberately, almost excruciatingly slowly.
It might have been exquisite, if she hadn’t known that he was motivated more by pride than tenderness. She turned from such thoughts, burying them to be attended to at some appropriate later time. For now, she gathered all her energy from her mind and heart, her memories and hopes, and focused it onto her pearl, and his erection inside her. Her determination drowned out everything but the slow, gentle stroke that, only then, began to ignite into a tense tightening of flesh. Once again, the boy seized on her slight frisson of pleasure as a signal that he had proven himself, and his methodical gentleness was suddenly supplanted by the hammering, reasonless imperative of his orgasm.
Tayar swallowed her frustration, cautious to remain more Allesha than woman. On an imaginary slate behind her eyes, she jotted memory aids, to ease her frustration and turn it to purpose. He’ll learn, though he doesn’t yet realize how much he does not know. He’ll learn, because he must, because he can. And none of it is for my sake, though there may be pleasure to be had. She focused on the throbbing, unrequited waves, willing them away, down to her thighs and legs, to dissipate before they reached her knees. No, not for my sake, but for him, for the man he will become, and for his wife, his people, our Peace.
Calmed by the rhetoric and mnemonic ritual she turned outward, to rest her thoughts where they belonged, on her Winter Boy. She listened to the deep breathing that wasn’t quite a snore, setting her pulse to his inhales and exhales. Soon, she fell asleep.
Chapter 27
Dov awoke in tar-black darkness, to the sublime discovery that his hand cupped a warm, pliable, willing breast. Memories of where he was, of the events of yesterday, of making love to an Allesha, his Allesha, washed over him.
The inner room!
His palm rode the rise and fall of her sleep, buoyed by her beating breast. Was his hand too heavy, pressing her flesh? She didn’t seem aware of it. In fact, she continued to sleep, her breaths steady and deep. He eased some of the weight of his hand, lifting it slightly, slowly. Amazingly, her nipple seemed to be drawn upward, stretching tall to maintain contact with his hand. He gently grazed the nipple, barely touching it, gliding his palm over it, feeling it become hard, delighting in her unconscious responsiveness. She was so vulnerable, yet all trusting, all his. If he knew where the candles were, he would light one, to see her face. Did she smile in her sleep? In the dark of the inner room, so much deeper than even a starless night, only his imagination could answer that question. His imagination and his hands.
Wanting to hold her closer, to feel the full length of her body against his, but hesitant to pull her inward for fear of waking her, he carefully encircled her head with his other arm. She turned to snuggle to him, apparently still asleep. He caressed her, devouring the feel of her body under his fingertips, filling his arms, pressing against his groin and chest, entangled in his legs. Her thighs parted when his fingers reached for her nether lips, and her mouth answered his when he kissed her.
Uncertain whether she slept or woke, wondering whether it mattered, he listened to her heavy breathing. Her body was ready; it wanted him. But should he be doing these things to a sleeping woman? To a sleeping Allesha? He hesitated only briefly. Then her tongue darted to play on his lips, as she reached out to pull his body closer, opening her legs to give him entry.
She moved under him, not a woman asleep, but one fully and ravenously aware. Their gasps of pleasure broke the silence, building to his quick, explosive orgasm.
Once more they lay quietly, wrapped in each other’s arms. She was the first to break away, quickly standing and speaking in a voice too lively for any morning, but especially too much in control for one such as this.
“Sweet day, Dov. Thank you for a very nice awakening.” Her voice traveled away from him in the darkness. How could she move around the many obstacles of the dark inner room, with no candles or lamps? “I’m going to bathe and dress. I’ll meet you in the kitchen for breakfast.” Dazzling sunlight flew into the inner room when she opened the door to her bedroom, which she left slightly ajar, illuminating the way to his own room.
Dov washed and dressed quickly, curious to discover what the new day would bring. Now that he had finally entered the inner room, everything would have different. But how?
Pausing at the kitchen door, he took a steadying breath and struck an attitude. How well he knew the importance of a first meeting on a morning after. Head tall, shoulders wide and chest out, he strode into the kitchen with pride and confidence, ready to be appreciated.
The room was empty.
Damn that woman! Couldn’t she do what I expect, just once?
He stood in the middle of the kitchen, uncertain what to do. Should he go back to his room and wait?
Hell, I could stay there all morning until she comes looking for me, worried, sorry to be without me.
But his stomach rumbled with hunger.
The icebox was brimming with more food than an entire family could need and a wider variety than any region of villages could fathom. He gnawed on a chicken leg and downed several gulps from a red clay milk jug. When he heard the thud of a greeting room door, muffled by the walls, he tossed the chicken leg into the icebox, and slammed it shut. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and his hands on his trousers.
When Tayar entered, he was sitting at the table, trying hard to not show anything but his well-rehearsed pose of powerful manhood. He turned to gaze at her, paused, then honored her with his ever-so-effective, quiet-but-earnest smile that he knew accentuated the dimple on his chin.
“Good morning, Dov.”
She sparkled, not just her eyes, but her entire body. To look at her was to feel alive. He didn’t even mind that she seemed unaffected by his practiced bearing, though he’d known women to melt when he’d favored them with such a look.
In midstride, Tayar leaned down to kiss him, so lightly that he almost didn’t feel it. “I’m starved. What shall we have?” she asked, motioning for him to follow her. Peering into the icebox, she moved containers aside to see what was behind. She piled food into his arms, then filled her own. She gestured for him to put everything on the counter, then handed him a knife. “Please chop the fruit into bite-sized pieces.”
Dov obeyed without thinking.
While she measured and mixed flour, eggs, and milk, with bits of this and drops of that, she chattered, almost like a young girl. Could it be like a girl in love? She did seem to have blossomed since yesterday morning. Her luscious auburn hair flowed, cascading from a thin pink ribbon tied in a small bow at the crown of her head. Her cheeks were flushed. With pleasure? Delight? Sex? Even her movements were lighter, her voice more spritely.
Could I have done this to her?
Suddenly, Dov realized that her voice had stopped. He searched his mind for her last words, but could only remember the upward lilt.
That’s it. She’s asked me a question.
How could he admit that he hadn’t been listening to her, that her lovely voice was like background music to him? She’d be angry for certain and that would spoil everything.
“Fried fruit cakes,” she said. “They’re like breakfast flatcakes, but filled with fresh or preserved fruit. Oh, names are so different among our villages, but the ideas and food are often quite similar. Are you sure you’ve never had them?”
“Oh, yeah.” He sighed with relief. “But we call them berrybakes and have them only for special occasions.”
“What more special occasion could there be than this morning?”
“Well, yeah… I mean, of course!” Damn! Why was it that ever since she had walked into the kitchen, he’d felt breathless, awkward? But moments before that, there’d been no doubt in his mind or body, only the residual tingle of her flesh against his, the sure knowledge of his prowess. He chopped the fruit more ferociously, angry with himself, but unable to be angry with her. Not when she looked so beautiful and vibrant, transformed by his touch into this glowing, happy creature.
He dropped the knife on the counter, wrapped his left arm around her shoulders and started to reach for her chin with his other hand, to show her with a kiss just how special the occasion was.
The Winter Boy Page 14