The Skies of Mahdis

by Rayne Forrest

  Their afternoon under the skies of Mahdis had left him wanting her with a ferocity that either kept him from sleep or woke him in the middle of the night. He'd be almost frantic when he'd wake drenched in sweat and aching for her.

  Now she was here and that desperation beat at him again. He had to control it. Somehow. The blood was already pooled in his phallix and his phallus was swelling.

  He barred the door before turning to her and pulling her to him once more.

  She was soft against him. Her arms slid up around his neck and he lowered his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss. Her lips moved under his in acceptance of his rising passion. He caressed down her back and held her tightly against him, letting her feel his arousal. Her arms tightened around his neck and she inched even closer. His world spun down to the few aching inches of flesh pressed between them.

  She suddenly pushed away from him. He reached for her again, quickly, but she shook her head and reached into the pocket of the fur cloak. Her hand shook slightly as she held out a small box.

  "Vanteen said you'd know what to do with this.” Her voice trembled. He took the box.

  The time for the first of his confessions was upon him. He didn't know how these things worked among her people. He hoped she would understand.

  "We do not need these,” he said, stroking her cheek. “I am jayalor. Do you know what this means?"

  She shook her head. “I've heard the word, that's all."

  He slid the cloak from her shoulders and laid it across a chair. It was a stall tactic and he knew it.

  "Did you look at what is in here?” he asked, holding the box out to her. She shook her head.

  He opened the box to display a variety of tiny gold rings. She looked at him oddly. He nudged at them with a fingertip.

  "I have no need of these,” he said softly. “I do not have...” He paused. “Well, you will see."

  "What don't you have?” Trista managed to squeak. She looked at the floor.

  He tipped her chin up. “You know what I do have,” he said with male smugness.

  Her earnest expression moved him past the shame he'd always felt. The shame his people had pushed upon him over an accident of birth.

  "I am jayalor, love. I do not have nardecs.” He could see she did not understand. He had a difficult time believing Vanteen had not told her about the differences between the two types of Dannarri males. “I do not have what these rings are placed on."

  He could see she still didn't understand.

  "You will see, Trista. Now listen to me.” He thought he'd drown in her dark blue gaze. “You must tell no one what I am. No one. Not even Vanteen."

  "Why?"

  One corner of his mouth quirked into a little smile. “I will explain later. I promise you this.” He pulled her back to him. “For now, we waste the night."

  He kissed her again, gently but insistently, nipping once at her to get her to open her lips for him. He could sense her sudden reluctance.

  "What's wrong, love?” He nibbled at her ear.

  "I've never done this,” she whispered.

  "Neither have I,” he admitted and felt her start. “Does that worry you?” He felt her nod against his chest. “Ah. It worries me as well.” His lips brushed her hair. “We will manage."

  He kissed her again, coaxing her to let go of the worry, and the fear. He stroked down her back once more, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her robe. She wore nothing beneath it. He could feel her nipples, two hard points against his chest, calling him.

  He pulled away from her long enough to yank his tunic over his head. She laid a slender hand on his chest and slowly drew it down his side, across his ribs. His skin tingled in its wake.

  Q'winn carefully cupped her breasts, feeling their weight and their softness. He thumbed gently across her nipples. Flames licked at him when she swallowed convulsively. He lifted her into his arms and took those last few steps to his couch. His body covered hers as he laid her down, groaning deep in his throat as she arched up to him.

  His hands traveled the lines of her body, relearning her curves. The memory of the feel of her had taunted him since that day on the hillside.

  He teased at her breasts through the fabric of her robe. He suckled at them and heard her gasps of pleasure mixed with frustration. He claimed her mouth again, boldly stroking down to the curve of her hips and the outside of her leg to her knee. He slid her robe up. Their hands tangled as she suddenly tried to help. His hand met the heat of her thigh. He rocked against her.

  He groaned again as her scent, so uniquely Trista, reached him, imbedding itself in his memory. She was restless beneath him and he struggled for control. The need to simply take her, thrust into her, feel her open under him, rode him hard. He fought it even as he welcomed it.

  He rolled off the couch to stand before her. He pulled off his boots and tossed them to the corner. Eyes fixed on hers, he loosed the closure on his pants and let them slide off his hips. His maleness was fully displayed for her. His breath caught as her eyes slowly traveled down his body and widened as they came to rest on his phallus.

  His voice threatened not to work, but he had to ask her. For her own safety as well as his own curiosity.

  "Am I like the men of your world?"

  "Almost,” she whispered. “Very ... almost."

  His relief passed quickly as her eyes returned to his phallus. She moistened her lips. He knelt over her and slid her robe upwards, uncovering her.

  * * * *

  Trista couldn't breathe as Q'winn knelt over her. She clenched her fists to keep from reaching for him. A flood of moisture wet her thighs when he pulled her robe up. She knew he had caught the scent of her arousal.

  He knelt above her. Trista had never seen anything so male in all her life. Broad shouldered and slim hipped, his strength showed in the ripple of his muscles when he moved. He was furred all over with a pelt of dark hair. His erection was displayed proudly on strong thighs. She looked at it and the pulse inside her became a drumbeat.

  He was slightly different from the pictures she'd seen of human males. He wasn't bigger, she didn't think, although he certainly looked blessed by nature. Instead of having the glans as she would have expected, he had several visible ridges that ringed his length.

  He'd been sliding her robe up slowly, allowing her to look. She tore her eyes from his body and looked at his face. She saw his pupils flicker just before he yanked the robe the rest of the way off. Then he smiled at her. She smiled, then bit her lip.

  She finally reached for him. His phallus was silky smooth skin over a hard core. Her own flesh contracted almost painfully as she touched him. She ached inside.

  She quivered as he stretched out beside her again, claiming her mouth as his hand slid across her belly to cup her heat. Her thighs opened to him. She couldn't have stopped them even had she wanted to do so. He began a gentle exploration of her alien flesh.

  She tried to be still for him, to let him learn her, but her hips flexed in longing, and flexed again in desperation. He'd found the center of her pleasure. She opened even wider for him. She wanted him to hurry, needed him to hurry, but he would not be rushed.

  He slipped a finger inside her and she gasped at the sudden sensation and another flood of wetness flowed from her. He was aware of it and his mouth turned demanding on hers.

  She opened completely to him and let her passion flow to his. There was no stopping, no turning back now. His thumb was on her, moving in tight little circles, sending jolt after jolt of pleasure through her.

  She slipped her hand between them and found him again. She stroked gently, once, then again, and felt him pulse and swell further. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and she arched in reaction, knowing he'd be thrusting in her body soon.

  She feared that first thrust, that first spreading of her flesh by his. She feared it and yet she was eager for it. Only once could it be like this and it would be Q'winn who would give it to her.

  She had a
moment of concern for him. Not that he would know any pain, but that she was too different from what he expected. That concern fled as he inserted a second finger into her and pressed upward. She went weak with the pleasure of it.

  "Trista.” His breath hot on her neck, he nipped lightly at her shoulder.

  The air seemed to rush from her lungs as he shifted his weight fully upon her. He was watching her closely. Their eyes locked.

  He stroked her cheek as he shifted his hips to her. She felt his flesh glide that first little bit into her. She clutched at him and he stopped long enough to kiss her again. There was no demand in his kiss, just a sweet understanding of her sudden fear.

  He took her completely in one quick thrust.

  She cried out at the swift burn of his flesh opening hers. He had gone completely still, pressed tightly to her. He kissed her eyes, her temple, her lips. She could do nothing but tremble beneath him as the pain eased and her body adjusted to his.

  "Look at me, love,” he whispered.

  She opened her eyes straight into his. She could see his concern as well as the strain of fighting the demands of his own body. She'd thought it was her body pulsing. Now she knew it was his, too.

  "Q'winn.” She breathed his name. She flexed her hips up to his and he inhaled sharply.

  She gasped at the sensation as he eased the pressure of his hips from her. He slowly stroked into her again, watching her all the while. Her breath caught in her throat. He stroked again and began a gentle thrusting rhythm. The pressure of the pleasure inside her ballooned. She raised her knees and he came into her hard.

  Everything but Q'winn ceased to exist. All she knew was the feel of him inside her and his mouth and hands on her. The pleasure swelled until her body was suddenly no longer hers. An incredible tension seemed to draw her down inside herself until all she felt was him thrusting against one spot. It suddenly seized her and swept out from their joining in wave after wave of undreamed of sensation that left her gasping his name and pleading with him to never stop.

  She knew it would stop. His own climax was taking him. He shuddered in her arms and gasped her name as he suddenly slammed into her, once, then again. She felt him throbbing inside her. She had expected a flooding of wet heat from his body and that had not happened, but she knew he'd taken his pleasure of her.

  Trista thought her heart would break as he eased his weight down onto her and buried his face in her neck and sighed with immense relief.

  * * * *

  "Q'winn,” she whispered softly in his ear.

  "Hmm?"

  "You're sweating on me."

  He chuckled in her ear, a breathy sound. “You did not mind that a few moments ago."

  "Okay, then. You're very heavy."

  "You did not seem to mind that either.” His voice had gone low and husky. He trailed kisses up her neck to find her mouth. They sank into each other once again.

  Trista was breathless when she finally squirmed enough to make him raise his head and look at her. He slid sideways and she took a deep breath.

  "The lamp is going out,” she observed.

  "Are you afraid to be in the dark? I will refill it, if you are."

  "No, I'm not afraid. Should I go?"

  The surprise that flashed across his face told her more than words could. So did the mask that fell into place after it.

  "Do you want to go, Trista?” he asked in that calm, conversational voice he used with the world. The look in his eyes faded to that neutral, uninvolved intelligence she was so familiar with.

  "No. I want to stay. I only asked in case you needed for me to go."

  The mask faded as he smiled at her. His eyes sparkled again. “You should not worry. You will not be reprimanded for being here with me. Nor will I."

  "I don't believe that, Q'winn. I've learned enough to know you will have to answer for this if someone finds out."

  "No, I will not. It was my choice to make. My choice was you.” He settled on his side and propped his head on his hand. “But if it is discovered I am jayalor, then I will answer. As will my father and my brothers. Of this, you must never speak."

  "I won't say anything, Q'winn.” Trista rolled to her side and winced.

  "I hurt you. I'm sorry.” He rested his hand on the swell of her hip.

  "I'm fine. It will never hurt me again."

  "So it is with our females,” he told her. “Still, I am sorry. Although, I must admit, at the time, I did not think too much about it."

  She laughed softly at him. He sounded almost sheepish. She inched closer to him.

  "I liked it,” she whispered against his neck. He chuckled.

  "Did you?” she asked. It had been his first time, too.

  "I'm not sure."

  "What!” She might be a novice but she'd have sworn he'd taken as much pleasure as she'd had.

  He trailed his hand down to cup her bottom and pull her against him. He was hard.

  "Perhaps, if you're not too sore, a second time will help convince me."

  She was smiling as he kissed her.

  Twelve

  It was still dark when Q'winn woke her. She stretched and newly discovered muscles protested. He was nipping across her ribs, sending delightful little sparks through her. His breath teased her nipples and they peaked. She felt his lips bow against her skin.

  "Trista,” he murmured. “Trista, you must go.” His hand cupped her lightly.

  "I don't want to go,” she whispered as she reached for him. He shifted his hips to bring his maleness into her reach. He sighed in her ear as her fingers closed around him.

  "We need to stop this,” he said, his body covering hers. He sank into her heat.

  "I know.” She locked her legs around his waist.

  The sky was a lovely pinkish gold when Q'winn opened his door to walk her back to the room she shared with Vanteen. Trista worried someone would observe them, but Q'winn seemed unconcerned. He said it was better to go boldly as if it were completely normal for him to be escorting a barefoot female dressed in a night robe and a fur cloak through the halls.

  There were sounds of people stirring but they saw no one. The aroma of baking bread drifted to them. Small birds were in the courtyard, singing and splashing in the fountain.

  Q'winn reached to open her door but Trista stopped him.

  "You'd better knock. W'eylin might be in there."

  He looked at her, amused. “Do you really think Vanteen would allow him to stay?"

  "Probably not. Knock anyway."

  He knocked anyway. A scowling Vanteen, wrapped in a blanket, opened the door.

  "What want?” she demanded, glaring at Trista. “Why make noise?” She stood aside so Trista and Q'winn could enter. She didn't bother to close the door, but padded back to her couch and burrowed beneath her blankets.

  Q'winn closed the door and settled himself at the table.

  "What do you want?” Trista was surprised he'd come in. Now he clearly was waiting for something.

  "My morning ... tee.” He struggled to keep a straight face.

  "Tea, huh? Now you think I should fix your tea?"

  "It would mean a lot to me."

  How did she make a point for women's liberation in the face of that, she wondered?

  "It would, would it?"

  "I won't ask it of you again. But this morning, it would mean a lot to me."

  Trista looked in his sparkling eyes. He let her see past the walls that protected his innermost hopes. This small thing, his lady preparing tea for him after a night of lovemaking, so commonplace, so simple, was something he'd never hoped to have. Tears burned her eyes. She found the elaborate brewer, measured the tea, filled the base with water, set it in its holder and lit the small flame. It would take a few minutes so she busied herself looking to see what was there in the way of food. She was starving.

  She came up with crackers, a small crock of the green-herb spread, a bit of cheese and some sort of grape-like fruit. She set it in front of him. He smiled up
at her. She flushed warm all over, amazed and dismayed with herself.

  She'd always been the one to vow and declare she'd never wait on a man. She'd told her mother that very thing countless times.

  But now, seeing Q'winn smile at her like that, she knew she'd do this every morning she had the opportunity.

  The zhecr was ready and she poured his. She went to fill her own cup and he stopped her.

  "It is customary to pour for each other,” he said as he poured her cup.

  "Are you making that up?"

  "Yes.” He grinned at her. “Do you mind?"

  "No.” How could she mind? She watched him smear a few crackers with the herb spread and put them in front of her, along with the fruit.

  "You and Vanteen need to go to the kitchens. I'll find out when the next market will occur. You will enjoy that."

  Trista nibbled at the crackers. “What happens today?"

  "I need to reacquaint myself with Damali. Doubtless it has changed in the last fifteen years. I should check with the herbalists and see if there is anyone I should visit. I need to speak more in depth with P'erre about what the people here are accustomed to."

  She tried not to show her disappointment that his day did not seem to include her. She understood he had duties here. But the day stretched long and lonely in front of her. He took her hand.

  "You are lonely."

  "A little, but I'm sure Vanteen will find something for us to do.” She wondered if she were always that much of an open book to him.

  The lump on the couch snorted.

  Q'winn smiled and glanced over his shoulder. “I will send two boggas just before dusk. We will ride out to the oasis. Will that help?"

  Trista didn't answer him.

  "Will that help for today?"

  "I'm not trying to be difficult, really I'm not,” she told him, lowering her voice.

  "I understand.” There was a gleam in his eye that had her becoming more and more suspicious.

  "You don't like to weave,” he continued. “I've heard the afternoons in the weaving lofts are long, quiet and uneventful."

  "My head ached for hours,” she said dryly, remembering the potent spirits the women shared. “Besides, what would you know about it?"