The only other thing outside her job that the Bandar woman liked almost as much as hot, juicy sex was a good strong mug of dark rum and--just like with her numerous lovers--the more of that heady brew, the better. She could drink most men under the table and even as soused as she was at that moment, with the room slightly spinning, she hoped she was about to undertake a marathon sex adventure with…
"What's your name?" she asked and grinned widely at the loud pop he made as he released her nipple to look up at her with eyes the color of the grass in summer.
"Marek," he provided then returned his mouth to its exploration.
"Marek," she repeated and would remember it and his face from that moment on. In her line of work, memory was nearly as important as expertise with the deadly weapons she'd trained with since childhood.
She squirmed against him, growing hotter by the moment for he was doing delicious things to her tits as he moved from one to the other. Her cunt was primed, her panties wet, and she wanted the promise of his hard shaft plunging into her moistness.
"Let me get these jeans off," she said and was away from his plundering lips and off the bed before he could stop her. She sat down on the edge and tugged at her boots, letting them hit the floor with a thud as she felt him mirroring her actions on the opposite side of the mattress.
"Where are you from anyway?" he asked her.
"Does it matter?" she countered for she knew the moment he learned from where she hailed, what she was, he might damned well lose that hard erection that she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye as she stood up to shuck off her pants.
"I guess not," he said and crawled back to the center of the bed, his cock leading the way, his long hair draping down to either side of his chiseled features as he lay down on his side and waited for her to join him. He patted the mattress and wagged his brows. "Come here, wench."
Kicking her jeans aside, she threw herself on the bed and was up and over him, stretching her tanned body atop his, wedging her lower body between his legs, pinning his wrists to the mattress as she put out her tongue and gave him a lick from chin to temple.
"Oh, yeah," he growled and tried to break free of her grasp, but she tightened her grip, and he stared up at her with just a hint of unease in his verdant eyes.
"I wanna lick you all over," she said, the booze talking.
"All right," he agreed, relaxing as her mouth swooped down to slant over his. She ground her lower body against his--his steely cock trapped between their bellies--and ran her foot up and down his leg as she kissed him.
It was a kiss that curled his toes as he dug his heels into the mattress for Lauryl was as good at her lovemaking as she was at wielding a broadsword and just as dangerous. She thrust her tongue deep, dueled with his, suckled his bottom lip, and swept the tip over his teeth and under his upper lip, feeling him shudder. Her hands tightened even more around his sturdy, broad wrists.
"You're a strong woman," he said as her mouth traveled over his cheeks and temple and down his nose before she began nibbling at his chin.
"Uh huh," she agreed and nudged his thighs farther apart with her own. She slid down his body, her tongue flicking along the column of his neck and the ridge of his shoulder until she closed her lips around his left nipple.
"Mother of God!" he gasped, sucking in a breath as she clamped her teeth--none too gently--around his hard little pap.
She suckled him hard, swept her tongue around and around the dusky areola, reveling in the crisp feel of the spiky hair surrounding his pecs. She loved that tactile sensation pricking the sensitive plain of her tongue, but she loved it even more tickling her nipples so she lowered herself and rubbed her bare breasts upon that expanse of wiry pelt, feeling it all the way to her womb.
He lay still as she ran her hands down his arms, under his armpits, and down his sides to cup his hips in a firm grip. Her fingers grasped him as she trailed kisses down the thick tiger line than ran from the center of his chest, past his navel--which she dive bombed for a moment before moving on--and into the triangular nest of spiky curls above his straining cock. The moment her lips closed around that pulsing organ, his hands slammed down and he threaded his fingers through her hair to hold her head.
She lifted her face so she was looking up at him, taking her lips from his flesh. "Don't hold me down on you, Marek. Don't push my head onto you," she warned, "or I might be tempted to take a bite out of this tasty sausage."
His hands loosened their clench in her hair and he nodded, unable to speak for he was so hard he was in acute pain. He needed her to enclose him once again in the velvet warmth of her tight mouth and he would have agreed to anything to get her to do so.
"I know what I'm doing, lover," she told him. After giving him a firm look she lowered her head again and took him in her mouth once more. Her fingernails dug lightly into the flesh of his hips as she anchored him for her sensual assault.
And that assault was like nothing the poor sailor had ever known. He had been sexually active since his older sister's best friend had seduced him at age twelve, but in the intervening fifteen years of having more than his share of women from all over the world and in more ports than he could count, he'd never come up against one who knew her stuff like this one did. The things she was doing to his body should damned well have been legal--and probably was in some ports. When she thrust a questing finger up his ass, he nearly came in her mouth and had to bite his tongue to keep from doing so.
Lauryl felt the jerk of his cock when she goosed him and smiled around her suckling. She probed deeper, heard him groan and wriggled her finger around his tight little hole.
"Wench, don't!" he pleaded and his entire body was as stiff as iron.
She slid her mouth up and down his hard length a couple of times then lapped her tongue over the sensitive head before releasing him. "You ready to come?" she asked.
"Aye," he breathed for his legs were beginning to quiver.
"Then eat me," she said and rolled off him to lie on her back beside him, tucking her hands beneath her head and spreading her legs to accommodate her command.
For a stunned moment he just laid there, his body refusing to acknowledge the fact that it was no longer being pleasured. He whimpered, tears of frustration entering his eyes and he turned his head on the pillow. "What?" he pleaded.
"Eat me, sailor," she said, not even bothering to look at him. "Like you're starved and haven't eaten pussy in months."
He stared at her perfect profile with its slightly upturned nose, luscious full lips, delicate chin and long, golden eyelashes and whimpered again. "But you were…"
"Eat me," she demanded and swiveled her head to give him a commanding look that would have quelled a lesser man.
She was so beautiful with her high cheekbones and wide blue eyes the color of sapphires. Any man who had gladly done her bidding and Marek Stedman was no different. He was up and over her, his face planted in her crotch before she could issue a fourth demand of his attention to the silky, damp heat between her legs.
Lauryl looked up at a water spot on the ceiling as his practiced tongue dragged up and down her soft folds. He was fairly good at what he was doing, but she'd had better. His tongue probed too fleetingly at her clit, and he nibbled too gently at that hard little pearl. He didn't pull the hood back to expose the sensitive area to his marauding and that was a bit of a disappointment. Though he thrust his tongue deep inside her as he lapped at her juices, he could have been a bit more assertive about it, and he could have suckled her slit. He could have inserted a finger or two or three to add to the growing pressure building between her legs and that counted against him. As she did with every man who serviced her needs, she rated him, and so far he was a bit on the high side of average.
She sighed, but not loudly enough for him to hear her. Men had such fragile egos when it came to how they perceived their sexual prowess, and she didn't want him to know she found him lacking in that department. If she was going to gain the immense pleasure
she sought, she knew she needed to take charge of the situation. The marathon sex she'd been anticipating would now be a valiant sprint.
"Lie down," she ordered and had to dig her nails into the palms beneath her head to keep from laughing when his head popped up from between her legs as though he were a turtle.
"Beg pardon?" he asked.
"Lie down and let me fuck you," she said sweetly.
He didn't need a second invitation and was down and one his back in an instant.
Lauryl straddled him and took hold of his hard cock--grateful to young men who could keep an erection--and settled it at her entrance. "Want me, baby?" she asked, grinding her hips so that the curls of her cunt pricked at the head of his shaft.
"Aye," he said and swept his tongue over his lips. "Like I've never wanted a woman in my life!"
She smiled, knowing he was telling the truth, and slid her body down his shaft, squeezing him with her inner muscles as she settled atop him.
"I'm going to ride you hard," she warned him and leaned forward to dig her nails into the muscles of his pecs. "Ride you hard and put you up wet, little sailor boy."
Marek's eyes flared. "Aye," he breathed, staring into blue eyes that were lethal slits of intent.
She flexed her vaginal muscles around him again, raked her nails lightly down his pecs and began to swivel her hips in such a way she knew it wouldn't take either of them long to come.
Staring up at her with a glazed expression of pure lust, the young man clamped his hands on her hips more to hang on than to guide her movements--which were bringing sheer delight to his loins. He had tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, sweat popping out on his forehead as he strained to reach the ultimate goal of a blazing, crippling climax. He was concentrating so hard on the pleasure she was wreaking on his more than willing body that when he felt the ripples start deep within her cunt he howled for they took his climax in hand and jerked him toward unimaginable bliss.
Lauryl pushed hard, rocked forcefully against his steely erection until it hurt, and as soon as that happened her release shot over her in wave after wave of contentment, bringing a smile to her lovely face as well as a light sheen of perspiration to her upper lip. She shuddered hard, growled low in her throat, and then melted atop him, sighing as his strong, brawny arms closed around her, his flesh no longer jerking within her, but now flaccid yet still clinging tenaciously to her sheath.
"That was … that was …," he tried to say, but she shushed him.
"Sleep," she said and let the liquor's hold wash over her to close her eyes and steady her heartbeat.
"But that was so…."
"Shush!" she hissed at him. "No talk." She was satisfied just to lie there in his arms, cushioned by his muscular body and give in to the rest she sought, but if he insisted on talking, she was outta there.
Marek increased his hold on her and rolled so they lay side by side, his chin atop her head, one of her legs hooked over his calf, their combined juices trickling down his other thigh.
She snuggled against him and within seconds was sound asleep.
It was the heavy knocking on the door early the next morning that brought her instantly awake and sitting up bed, reaching for a weapon she was stunned to find wasn't there. Her hand groped for the scabbard that should have been hanging from the headboard, but upon discovering her blade was not available to her, she sprang from the bed, crouched in a fighter's stance as the knocking came again.
"Who the hell is it?" Marek demanded groggily as he pushed up in the bed, seemingly a bit surprised to find a naked woman crouched beside the bed with hands up as though ready to engage in combat.
"We're looking for Lauryl Codeil," came the reply.
Hard light shot through Lauryl's eyes. She wasn't expecting company, no one should have been looking for her in Belvedere, and realizing she wasn't in her own room, was more than a little unnerved and a whole lot angry that someone would come looking for her in a stranger's room in a strange town.
"What do you want with her?" Marek asked as he got up and dragged on his denim pants.
There was a moment's hesitation, the sound of low voices conferring, then, "We've a job for her."
That didn't sound at all good to her, and she cursed brutally beneath her breath. She already had her jeans on and was pulling on her shirt. She looked around desperately, hoping the young man had a weapon of some sort. When she found none, she hissed like a cornered bobcat and scooped up her boots, making quickly for the window.
"Where are you going?" Marek whispered in a shocked voice when she pushed the curtain aside, unlocked the window, and pushed it up.
"It was fun, sweetie, but I gotta run," she snapped and was out the window before he could say anything else.
"My god!" the young man gasped and hurried to the window, no doubt fearing she'd break her neck in a fall from the second story. Sticking his head out, he was stunned to see her running along the alley between the inn and the next building with her boots in hand. As he watched, she disappeared around the side of the other building and was gone.
For nearly an hour Lauryl watched the entrance of the inn from her hiding place, waiting for whoever had been seeking her to come out, but when no one did, she grew angrier still and soon lost patience with the waiting. Her weapons were in her room and from where she stood in the shadows of the livery stable, she could see the window, but there was no way to scale the wall to reach it. She needed a dagger at the very least but would have preferred the serviceable blade that had served her well over the years. Annoyed that she hadn't at least stuck a knife in one of her boots before going out drinking with the handsome sailor, she eased into the stable and began searching for something with which to defend herself. All she found was a dull hunting knife, but she'd make it do. Clasping it upside down in her right hand with the handle in her palm and the blade stuck up the sleeve of her shirt, she walked boldly out of the stable and toward the inn, mindful of everything and everyone around her.
The innkeeper glanced up when she came in, looked down, and then his head snapped up again. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, and it took Lauryl a moment to realize she'd forgotten her bra, and, since the fine lawn shirt she wore was fine, indeed, the innkeeper could clearly see her breasts through the fabric.
Ordinarily that might have amused her, but she was irritated and slightly hung over as she walked up to the desk and with the sheer force of her iron will brought the shocked man's eyes from her chest to her face.
"Someone is looking for me?" she asked in a hard voice.
The innkeeper nodded, swallowed with some difficulty. His gaze wavered, but the harsh sound of his guest's low voice demanding to know how many were seeking her leveled his stare, kept it elevated above her neck.
"Three men," he replied. "Gentry by the look of them."
"Not bounty hunters or thugs?" she wanted it clarified.
"Toffs," the man answered. "Accents say they are from Faolchúnna."
Lauryl lifted her chin. She'd been expecting someone from that airy kingdom to come looking for her. One of their precious royal sons was missing and no one had been able to find him.
"Where are they now?" she questioned.
"In the common room breaking their fasts," the innkeeper answered.
Running her left arm across her mouth, she caught a whiff of her own ripe body odor and frowned. She needed a bath, but a quick wash was all she knew she had time for.
"Send a man to the stable and have him purchase a fine steed for me," she ordered. "I'll pay for it when I come back down." She snaked out a hand and grabbed the innkeeper by the front of his coat and jerked him halfway over the counter. "And it had better be a gods-be-damned excellent piece of horseflesh or I'll take the price out of your hide. Understood?"
The innkeeper's head bobbed back and forth in reply. "Aye, Milady."
She released him, cast a leisurely look toward the door leading to the common room, them made for the stairs, taking them slowly fo
r her head was beginning to pound--the pain brought forth from her rude awakening earlier and lack of food in her belly.
When she came back down ten minutes later, she walked into the common room, spied the three gentlemen having their breakfast at a table off to one side, and strode purposefully over to them. She smiled nastily for they had their heads together and were unaware of her approach until she slammed the rusted hunting knife into the center of the table at which they sat.
"I hear you're looking for me," she said.
The men shot to their feet, their hands going to the sheathed daggers at their thighs. Their eyes flared at the sight of her, and the lips of one of them parted in disbelief.
"You're the Hell Hag?" the younger looking one of the three asked with a gasp.
"Vale!" the older looking one hissed.
Lauryl had never cared one way or another about the insulting nickname the women of her tribe were called. She wasn't sensitive to insults--couldn't afford to be--and so she ignored the unintended slur but picked up on the name the older looking man had used.
"Vale," she repeated. "As in Prince Vale Aeolian?"
Knoll bowed his head slightly. "Unfortunately so," he replied in a low voice. "I am Prince Knoll, and this is our brother, Prince Breck."
"The Prince Regent, no less. At least you Faolchúnnas don't send lackeys to do your bidding," she stated, folding her arms over her dark brown suede jacket.
Breck had the good manners to draw out a chair for her. "Would you sit with us, Milady?" he asked.
She hesitated a moment then unfolded her arms and took the seat he offered. "Don't waste my time. State your business, Milords."
WindBorn Page 2