by Jean Johnson
In fact, he freed his hand again, forcing her to brace herself partly on his chest, and touched his finger to his tongue and to her breasts. Not just the nipples, either, but the sensitive line of her sternum, and the creases underneath each curve. Feeling his tongue flicking and teasing and licking was too much. Groaning, she dropped both hands to the bed, overwhelmed by the pleasure shuddering through her flesh.
It was enough for her, but it wasn’t enough for him. Bracing his heels once more on the bed, Kerric grabbed her hips and thrust up into her, all while licking and flicking his lips. That drove her over the edge. Crying out, she rode him like a wild thing, rearing up and dropping down, clawing at the bedding.
That’s more like it, Kerric thought, in the corner of his mind still capable of rational thought. His smirk changed into a gasp as she raked her fingernails down his chest, onto his stomach. That was . . . erotic. When she did it again, then dropped down once more into range, he grabbed her by the back of her head and pulled their mouths together. With his tongue playing against hers, every move from it echoing against the other, spell-touched parts of her body, she cried out against his lips, inner muscles pulsing around his shaft in ragged, delicious squeezes.
That was enough to trigger his own orgasm. Head pressed back into the bedding, he let himself go. Holding her close while his flesh filled hers, he gradually shifted his grip to soothing strokes while both of them recovered. Both of their bodies were sheened in sweat, and the air had the heady, musky perfume of their lovemaking. A beautiful feeling, and a beautiful smell.
As limp as his limbs felt, Kerric couldn’t stop smiling. Making love to this extraordinary woman energized him even as it relaxed him; he felt ready to take on a second Tower gauntlet, if need be. Thankfully, another run wasn’t necessary. Even if it had been, there was a physical way to access the Fountain Hall from this bedchamber, one without any tricks or traps in it, though it did involve several flights of narrow, barely lit stairs, and was only to be used in the most dire of emergencies. But getting to the Guardian’s quarters involved circumnavigating far more lethal traps than the much easier route he had picked, and more people than just a single, fantastic partner.
He licked his lips, preparing to thank her once again for helping him. Her faint shiver and soft moan stopped him. Curious, he did it again. She moaned a little louder, breath hitching and body squirming. Oh. Right, he realized. The tongue-touch spell. A slow grin spread his lips, prompted by a very wicked thought.
“What’s the matter, Myal?” Kerric asked his beautiful bed partner, enunciating each word carefully. “Is something bothering you? Like, say . . . the sssssensation of air blowing acrossssss your nipplessss and nether-sssssentinel?” he inquired slyly. “Or perhaps the rapid flicking and licking and lapping of the tip of my tongue against your favorite bitsssss?”
“Damn you,” Myal groaned, feeling exactly that. She was sated from riding him, but still incredibly sensitive in the post-bliss lethargy of lovemaking. “I need . . . ungh . . .”
“Yesssss,” he purred, “you need. You need me to make love to you. You need me to show you how beautiful and strong and gllllorious you are,” Kerric added, taking the time to press his tongue on the L in glorious, as if pressing his tongue to that special little nubbin between her legs. “And I need to tell you, word for word, how wonderful I think you are. How brave, and strong, and compassionate, funny, delightful, intelligent, brilliant, quick-witted, sexy, magnificent . . .”
He didn’t stop describing how he felt about her. Each word from his damnable mouth teased and touched her in ways only possible via magic. Dizzy with pleasure, Myal moaned and writhed on top of him. Words like succulent weren’t quite as effective as titillating, but some of the more base phrases he used stimulated her ears and her mind even more than her body. And all of it blended into a glorious, teasing ache that drove her back up into delirious delight.
He didn’t move beneath her. His flesh re-thickened, holding her in place, but the Master of the Tower did not move. He did not have to; instead, he proved himself the master of her desires via his words. Dazed, aching for repletion, for relief from the pleasure hazing her mind, Myal felt his hands stroking her hair back from her sweat-dampened face. Felt him lifting her face from where it rested next to his ear on the pillow. Blinking, she gazed down at him and forced herself to focus on what he was saying. It helped that he paused for several long seconds before speaking.
When he was sure he had her attention, Kerric stated slowly and clearly, “I would love to spend the rest of our lives together in getting to know you better, Myal of Mendhi . . . because I am falling in love with you.”
Overwhelmed, she dipped her head and kissed him, putting into the efforts of her own lips and tongue what she couldn’t think coherently enough to say.
He hadn’t expected such a fervid reaction. She didn’t have to speak; her response was eloquent, arousing his hunger and feeding it simultaneously. Buried in her body, his shaft pulsed, hardened, twitched, and spilled. This second climax didn’t rock his body; it simply rocked his soul. Their kiss slowed, until she finally broke free and nuzzled her head down next to his ear once more, breathing deeply, softly, in her repletion.
Smiling, Kerric hugged his woman. “So,” he finally murmured a minute or so later. “What do you think of my sp—”
Striking as fast as she ever did in a Tower run, Myal clamped her hand over his mouth.
“End. The spell,” she ordered hoarsely, flesh too sensitive to continue. Not unless he wanted to leave her a puddle of sated goo in his bed, unable to move. At his nod, she cautiously released his mouth.
“I do indeed love you,” he murmured. She groaned and moved to silence him again. Capturing her wrist, Kerric gently pulled her fingers free, muttered the termination words with a push of his will behind them, then kissed and licked her fingers. Only her fingers. Feeling her slump against him in relief, he grinned and kissed the side of her head. “So,” he murmured, “do you love me? Or perhaps think you could?”
“Very, very easily,” Myal groaned. She did not want to move. Unfortunately, she was too experienced an adventurer to think that either of them could stay in this moment of bliss. Still, it didn’t hurt to ask, “. . . Do I have to let you go back to work?”
He chuckled, amused by her complaint. “Yes, unfortunately. Hopefully, Guardian Dominor has more news for us. And hopefully between Tower Control, Maintenance, and the Adventuring Hall, everyone has sorted out the various employees’ loyalties and fixed the new scrycasting schedules. And hopefully, you’ll be able to recover your strength, head home, and plan on inviting me over for . . . hm . . . what do you call supper when it’ll actually be served around breakfasting time?”
“Food.” She stated it flatly, like an epithet. She also snuggled closer over him, pinning him down. “I am not moving.”
“Yet,” he warned her, putting a time limit on her cuddling, though he did tighten his own grip a little.
“. . . Yet,” Myal conceded, enjoying the feel of him beneath her, around her, holding and supporting her. She could be as strong and powerful as anyone could wish when running a gauntlet, but there were times when she just wanted to hold and be held. After a few more moments, she sighed and loosened her grip. “Dinner, you said? At my place?”
“Can you cook?” Kerric asked her. “If not, we can go out to eat, or eat here. I’d offer to cater, but the food would have to arrive outside your doorstep, since those tenements are thoroughly warded.”
“I can cook a few things,” she admitted. “Not as well as your chefs, though. Usually, I eat out.”
“Ah, yes, the Honey Spear. We can go there tomorrow morning, if you like,” Kerric offered. “I’d offer the evening version right now, but I have to grab something to eat on the way to the Fountain Hall to check in and see how ready we are to resume scrycastings.”
She thought about it, mind working away while her body rested over his, still recovering from their lovemaking. O
ut of consideration for Kerric, she had braced some of her weight on elbows and knees, but he didn’t seem to mind the rest of it. Finally, she dipped her head, kissing the tip of his nose. “Only if you do not think it will cause problems, for the Master of the Tower to be seen courting an adventurer.”
Kerric knew what she meant. “Only if you don’t mind that everyone will be taking bets on everything from whether or not there’ll be a second date, all the way through to bets on how long this will last.”
This, she knew, meant their current relationship. Whatever it was. The only thing she objected to was the word last. That implied this whatever-it-was would end, and she did not want it to end. Adventuring was a male-dominated profession, mostly because of the physical needs. She was respected for her skills, and admired for her skills, and relied upon for her skills, but very few men gave her all three as freely as Kerric did, and he was familiar with scores of women adventurers just as capable as she was. That implied she rated high in his esteem.
Shifting her position, she crossed her arms on his chest. He winced briefly from the pressure as she moved, but didn’t protest once she settled back down. Not that Myal was trying to hurt him, just pin him down. Physically, that was. Magically, he had her beat by a Tower to her tenement building, and could have levitated her off of his torso with a thought. But no, he merely arched a brow in silent inquisition.
“I give it forty-three years,” she stated, doing her best to sound confident. “With three major fights. Are you going to argue, or will you hold off until the first ten-year mark?”
The laugh that burst from his throat moved his whole body, jostling her a little. Shaking his head, Kerric caught his breath and countered, “Only forty-three? I’d have picked at least sixty years.”
“You’re just being greedy,” she mock-admonished, tapping the tip of his nose again. He kissed her finger, then nipped it playfully. She allowed it for a moment, then removed her finger from his reach and gave him a sober look. “Will we be giving this a chance? A long-term chance?”
“Considering how much I enjoyed your company when in the midst of great peril, and am still enjoying your company in a moment of rest? When I’m supposed to be concerned for the resumption of the Tower’s normal operations and eager to get back to work?” Kerric asked her rhetorically. He shook his head slightly, banishing negative thoughts. “Well, I am eager to get to work, but I, for one, am also going to court you in earnest. If you don’t mind?”
“I’d like that,” she agreed, giving him a contented cat sort of smile, shy and smug and deeply pleased all at once.
Kerric thought it was adorable. In the privacy of these moments alone together, she was showing him a softer side than the competent, straightforward Myal the Magnificent she normally displayed for the scrycasts. It was, he decided, a rare privilege. He combed her tangled locks back from her face, enjoying the moment, then sighed. “. . . As much as I could spend a year in here with you, I do have work to do. And you should go to your home, to relax, to rest, to see if you’ll be called up for a gauntlet run any time soon. Though that does bring up one big problem.”
“Oh?” Myal asked. She moved as she did so, reluctantly dismounting off to the side, but he did have a point about getting back to work.
Holding up thumb and forefinger close together, her lover grimaced and said, “I’m going to have a slight problem with nerves, every time you adventure through the Tower from now on.” Sitting up, Kerric scrubbed his hand through his locks, then rose and turned, facing her. “I respect you and your skills, and the years you spent honing them. I will not stop you. I just . . . I’ll have a hard time not lowering the challenge rating when you go in, even knowing you’d probably win. It’s the probably that still carries a slight chance for failure, and the . . . the thought of losing you is not one I’m willing to contemplate.”
His concern warmed her from the inside out. Myal snuggled into the heat left by his body in the bedding and propped her head up with one hand. “Thank you for respecting my choices. For being honest, too, about how you feel.” She paused, then smirked and said, “Goddess . . . the nerve of some people—you sleep with a person only once, maybe twice, and next thing you know, you find that you actually care about them!”
Snickering, she watched him gape at her, until his shocked look made her laugh out loud. Giggling madly, Myal buried her face in the bedding. It didn’t help that with each inhale, she could smell pure male mage. Her mage. Her man.
The next thing she knew, her right buttock stung painfully as a soundly struck thwack echoed through the room. Myal popped her head back up to gape at him. “You spanked me!”
“It was three times,” Kerric mock-growled, swatting her delightfully rounded, inked rump a second time, and a third. “Once in the Tower, once in the tub, and once in my bed, woman.”
“Twice in your bed,” Myal argued, wiggling her rump in an attempt to avoid being smacked again. He still managed to spank her twice more. Then made her moan from the way he rubbed his palm over the warm spot left by his hand. As she stilled, his fingers slid down between her thighs, boldly claiming the right to touch her nether-folds. “. . . Three times?”
Groaning softly, Kerric removed his fingers. “Temptress . . . I really do have work to do. I’ll contact you later about supper, yes?”
Myal nodded. Then looked around. “How do I get out of here?”
“When you’re ready, just leave through the same door we entered. I’ll set it to the Adventuring Hall foyer from the Fountain, to shorten your walk home. Just give me ten minutes before you leave—though you’re free to stay here as long as you like,” he added quickly, reassuring her. For a moment, his gaze lingered on her strong, beautiful body. Tongue flicking over his lips, he dragged in a deep breath and dragged his gaze away. In fact, he put his hand up at the edge of his eyes to shield himself from the sight of her. “Right. Clothing. Work. Scrycastings. Angry patrons getting angrier at every second of the delay . . .”
She snickered again. Guardian of the Fountain, Master of the Tower, the most powerful man in the region, and she could distract him just by being naked in his bed. “You are good for my self-esteem.”
For that, he leaned over and swatted her one last time, just a glancing blow on her buttocks, enough to tease as well as sting. “Behave, woman, or I’ll trap this bed like Anything But The . . . ! Feel free to help yourself to the food under the stasis domes, and like I said, give me ten minutes to dress, get down to the heart, and reset the front exit of my chambers.”
Nodding, she watched him duck into the refreshing room, no doubt to clean up before heading over to the dressing room to don clothes for the day. Once she was alone in his bedroom, Myal rolled onto her back, savoring the faint, lingering sting. Pain wasn’t new to her; it was never new to a seasoned adventurer. But the pleasure that accompanied the way he spanked her, that was a strange and wonderful treat.
Not something for every day, of course, but she wouldn’t mind it on occasion . . . particularly when coupled with that tongue-touch spell of his. A shiver rippled through her, an aftershock from the memory of him working his linguistic will upon her. Lounging in the too-luxurious bed, Myal contemplated staying right where she was for a while longer. She didn’t have to be anywhere or do anything.
Except she was curious about what it took to restart the scrycastings. Climbing out of the oversized bed, she padded for the refreshing room and knocked on the door. “Kerric?”
“Yes?”
“Can I come watch you work?” she asked. She could hear running water and raised her voice. “I’ve always been on the scryed side of the mirror, not the scryer’s side.”
“Can you be not-sexy?” he called back through the door. A moment later, the panel opened, allowing him to poke his head out. “Because I’ll need to concentrate on my work, and not your legs.”
She blushed at the compliment, but gave him a quelling look. “I do have Aian-style clothes. Fabric from neck to ankle, even. I�
�ll need to visit my home, though. I didn’t pack it in my adventuring bag.”
“I’ll send you there from the Fountain Hall. When you’re ready, come back to the Adventuring Hall and go through the staff door,” he instructed her, exiting the refreshing room so that she could use it. “I’ll have someone escort you through the doorway-Gate in the back office to Topside Control, and another will guide you from there to the Fountain Hall.”
Nodding, she closed the door.
* * *
“My wife is rather peculiar when it comes to mathemagical puzzles, I’m afraid,” the unseen Guardian Dominor drawled. Unlike his brother, ex-Guardian Rydan, he had an actual sense of humor. Dry, but extant. “She’d like to see a recording of this ‘Netherhell invasion’ if that’s possible, and copies of your notes. As if she needs another global problem to address . . . but I’ll admit there are few who can think as well as she can.”
“I am aware of Guardian Serina’s reputation,” Kerric allowed. “Give me a moment to copy my notes. Have you chalkboards or enchanted scrolls standing by to receive the information? And a flawless crystal about the size of a goose egg?”
“Yes, and yes. I’m actually going to relay this on to the Koral-tai Fountain,” Dominor stated. “And we always have spare crystals lying around, locally. We’re not a diamond mine, but Rydan is particularly good at manipulating stones of all sorts.”
“Excellent,” Kerric praised. He glanced over at Myal, who was busy at work in the black chair again, this time with a proper crystalline tablet hovering in front of her. Her task was to pick a location for the lying, cheating, secret-stealing mage Torven and his companions to be shipped to, since they couldn’t be held in a White Room cell forever. Once that task was complete, Kerric had another for her, if she was willing to accept it.
The Adventuring Hall staff had arranged for five fresh gauntlets to be run, three of them particularly dangerous, on top of the original schedule of twelve lesser scrycastings. Thankfully, Myal was not on the list for any of them. It was Hall policy to allow at least two days of rest between runs, and three following the multiday ones, though if a patron made a particularly strong request—accompanied usually by a substantial bonus for the adventurer in question—some might forego their rest period. Myal was not under consideration at the moment, though that was probably because the patrons out there did not yet know she had personally helped him get back into the Tower heart.