I was determined she would feel something. She’d wanted me before—she’d made that clear enough. I just hoped it would be enough for her now. That I would be enough for her. She’d lost her family. All I could offer her was my own claim on her. And a physical connection I hoped would shock her out of the place where she’d gone to grieve. I didn’t know it would hurt her that much, or there would be that much blood. Afterward, I was afraid I’d ruined her for sex.
* * * * *
Spark
“Mithra,” he whispered next. “Are you all right?” His lips were all over my wet face. “Say something, Spark. Anything. Even if it’s only stop, again. Did it hurt so much?”
“It hurt a little,” I gave him.
“Thank the gods.” His lips shook as they touched mine. He looked down between our bodies. “Mithra, you’re a mess.”
Watching his face, I thought he would cry and I focused on the gold talisman swaying at his neck. “Where are we, Tor?”
“Somewhere safe. I’ll be back in an instant.” Sliding to the edge of the bed, he pulled his doeskins up his legs and disappeared.
And because it was Tor, I believed him without question. Somewhere safe and quiet and comfortably warm. A faint chiming tinkle sounded from somewhere in the room or perhaps in the next room. It was dark.
When he came back there was food, the like of which I’d never tasted before, and hot sweet tea. But that was nothing compared to what followed.
I had never in my life been wet without being cold. I’d been drenched in the rain, I’d been swimming in lakes and, of course, in the ocean. I’d bathed in all six branches of the Major Muddy and I’d bathed from a bucket of cold water. But I had never had a bath. In a tub. Filled with warm water.
He lit a tiny lamp, checked to see the windows were draped, then made several trips through the door with a bucket. A fabulous piece of sculpted bronze stood in the corner of the room, and I watched the steam ghost upward as each bucket splashed into the tub. “The house is empty,” he explained. “I know the caretaker.”
“Empty!”
“Nobs generally have more than one home. This family has three scattered throughout the peninsula.”
I looked around me. The room, meant for one person, was as large as the cellar we all crowded into. Heavy red curtains denied any light that might have found its way through the windows while richly patterned rugs muffled each of his steps. A large, officious-looking desk dominated one end of the room. The bedcover beneath me was fine stuff—a stiff brocade of gold interlaced with bright scarlet. A room with that much red in it might have been warm, but it was cold. Large, cold and empty.
Tor made a face. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?”
“Your friend—the caretaker—won’t get in trouble?” I couldn’t help my eyes’ guilty descent to the ruined brocade beneath me.
Tor shook his head. “A family this wealthy won’t miss one bedcover.” He tested the water with his hand then shook it, evidently satisfied with the temperature. As he looked at me, I’ll swear his eyes were as warm as that steaming water. “Look at you, Spark,” he whispered. “You’re so lovely.”
He carried me to the tub and lowered me into the water. And—pure bliss—you cannot imagine how fine it is to lie in warm water. The tub was a scoop of bronze metal, long enough for me to sit in without bending my knees. At my back, the metal curved with a rest for my neck and head. And I was content to do nothing more…for a while.
But it was not Tor’s intent that I should be content.
“What’s that?” I asked him.
“Soap,” he answered.
I’d never seen soap so white. So creamy and full of froth. Soap that smelled like lemon thyme. He made his hands all white and full of it, then went to work on me…went to work on my discontent.
With soapy hands sliding down my neck, he started a kiss that got him over my collarbones, across my shoulders and down to my breasts. There, he paid my breasts a good deal more attention than they warranted. He cut the kiss off at that point, and together, we watched his large hands circle my breasts, his fingers drawing lazy patterns into the cream coating my areolas. As I looked down, I found my nipples behaving quite sluttishly, adding considerably to the elevation on my chest.
“Look at these little hussies,” he smiled, his voice gravelly and deep with emotion, “just begging to be fucked.”
“What!” I protested his language, but only very weakly. “Wash your mouth out, Tor Harnesson.”
And he did.
His tongue licked out to ride up over my nipple, then he sucked in a whole mouthful of nipple and breast as I arched into his mouth. When he was done, he looked down on me, white cream coating his lips, and kissed my mouth. It was the first time I remember enjoying the taste of soap.
Mithra and Ishtar Together at Once, Tor Harnesson could kiss!
By the time he moved his hands downward from there, I was ready for them, aching for them. But for a long time he only teased his hands over my flanks. Finally he pulled each of my legs out of the water and washed them carefully as he cased my legs with his hands.
“Close your eyes,” he told me, and ran a hand up the inside of my leg from the ankle, along my calf, under my knee, up the inside of my thigh—until he could go no further. My legs clenched together automatically in some protective instinct or some innate shyness—a shyness directly at war with the yearning that possessed the space between my legs.
With the soap in his hand, he gently massaged the crown of curls on my rise until I was ready to cry, by now fully discontent.
Then he pressed a kiss into my mouth, a long, wet kiss that pushed my head back onto the scooped bronze. A kiss that warned of his own scarcely controlled discontent. His tongue slid along the length of my upper lip then took my mouth by storm—by storm of violent passion. The sort of passion only Tor was capable of. His tongue thrust forward to fill my mouth with a hard, erotic rhythm. And I didn’t want him to stop.
“Spark,” he told me, eventually, his voice deep and rough. “Do you…think you could take me again? Without it hurting too much?”
Pressing my lips between my teeth, I stared up at him and nodded.
He picked me out of the bath and, shoving the bedcover to the floor, pushed me into the bed. Pushed me into silk sheets, now wet, then pushed his fingers into the wet silk between my legs.
I was nervous at first, and shy.
But I recall at the end that I had to cover my own mouth.
* * * * *
Tor
There’s a quiet inlet I’ve fished since I was a boy, within a few hours traipse of the city. It’s perhaps a long way to go for a little fishing, but I always thought it worth the time it took to get there.
If you have ever had a striper, a sea striper, on the end of your line, you’ll know what I mean. When you get one up to the surface of the water, it just about goes mad. It’s a wonder they don’t thrash themselves to death on the end of your rod, at the hard edge of the water’s surface.
I would watch the smooth plane of the water, waiting for it to break, watch the line being tugged, watch as the rod whipped forward to meet the surface of the water. Watch my hands as I reeled the striper in close to breaking, then played the line out again.
I think of fishing, sometimes, when I’m with a woman. It helps divert my attention when I’m on the edge of arrival. I know of other men who do the same, though few will admit it. I had a friend who would think of hunting which seems appropriate enough. Another thought about his work, and I suppose that’s all right so long as you’re not a butcher.
I think of fishing.
And teasing a striper up to the surface is much like bringing a woman to her arrival. The wrist action is the same and I like to watch my hands as I reel a woman in, then play her out again.
And perhaps women play men in much the same way when they take the part of the shy coquette, but I don’t think so. I think they are honestly shy—start out shy. The mystery to men is
that a woman will start out like that every time—apparently shy—even knowing she will soon be spreading her legs and begging for his full entry. Even though she did so only the night before.
But it doesn’t bother me when a woman starts with her legs tightly clenched, almost rejecting that first trespass, because it is so sweet for a man when the woman changes that attitude of withholding. Right from the first slackening he feels on the inside of her thighs to the moment when she lets him get his arm under a thigh and open her legs.
But, by far, the most exhilarating moment is that final instance when, unable to demure any longer, unable to wait for his erect action, she pulls her own knee up high along his flank then lets it fall flat against the bed. When entry is deep and complete and demanded. When the thick cushion of her pelvis grinds up between shaft and belly and her hot, wet sheath torques his cock to the point of near no return.
Spark was nervous and shy and didn’t know what to do. For a long time we lay together as I took her mouth with my tongue. During this time, I left my hand over her mound to warm her sex. Then I started stroking into the crease at the top of her leg. She found she liked that well enough to relax a little—enough for me to pull her legs apart slightly, enough that I could spread her lips with three fingers, with my middle finger laid out the length of her damp pussy.
I kissed her while I lifted my finger then returned it to her ruts, nudging and dabbing with a light touch. Her changed breathing told me my finger was having the desired effect and I continued, watching her face. Her eyes were closed and she was, as always, the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. Her pointed little chin began to tilt upward on a neck that started to curve and I realized she was contributing a little movement beneath my hand.
This is the point at which it was hard not to mount her. I’d had women before. A good many. Probably a good many more than I deserved. But never a woman I wanted as completely as I wanted this one. I tried to think of fishing again. How good it is to watch that striper just as it comes up over the surface of the water. I let my finger drop and did nothing but kiss her for a long time. Kissed her until she pushed her sex up into my hand. I reset my outside fingers to pull her open again, then rocked my hand carefully the whole length of her slot.
Wetting my tongue, I traced a damp circle around her areola and blew on it. She made some strange strangled noises, which I took for pleasure and, almost immediately, the fingers that spread her open started to slide on a wet, slick surface. By now, my heart was pounding in a constricted chest and breathing was becoming hard labor. I rubbed my cock up against the closest available surface, the side of her thigh, and continued. At this point, I thought I could probably find her nub and my fingers slid around probing for the hard little knot of flesh. She cried out when I found it.
Cried out my name.
In response, my dick surged, and a quick glance revealed my cock stretched to maximum proportion. I don’t know how I didn’t enter her at that point—but I remember I had to stop to collect myself.
I watched her while I fought with the simple concept of breathing. Her slim, shining body twisting as her skin shimmered with sweat, close, so close, almost to the surface. I gave the line of her sex a final tug and tried to decide if I wanted to watch her crest, thrashing alone at the surface, or if I wanted her whipping on the end of my rod. I removed my hand from her completely, playing her a final time and watched her for a sign.
And Mithra, the sight of her knee coming up and her legs spreading had to be the sweetest sight of my entire life. I pulled her knee flat against the bed, rolled across it, and with the hump of her rise cocked up to meet me, I penetrated her hard and all the way.
I could have come, easily at that instant, up to my waders in Spark’s wet depths, almost to the point of spilling, but I held back, varying the speed and pressure of my delivery until I seemed to hit her particular resonance. With each woman it’s different. The problem was that her resonance appeared to match mine perfectly and I must have thickened some more inside her as she rocked up to meet me every time I forged forward. At that point, I concentrated hard—concentrated on a slim, shimmering form breaking and thrashing on a still, dark surface.
A long, slow, keening note of longing wisped from her lips and I stopped and stiffened. Topped up with desire, and hard at every point that touched her, I watched her surface.
Her eyes opened without sight and rotated upward. Her head whipped on the pillow while her body fought for mine. I gave her everything I could, wondering if she would want it still or pounding and decided to give her some of each. I forced myself hard against her limit. Beneath the wild wrenching of her body, an erratic, erotic clenching was being performed by her cunt as it closed on my cock. Fully charged and waiting for this catalyst to release on, I got an arm down to pull her leg higher and, with my hand firmly behind a cheek, I brought her sex up hard to meet my next several thrusts.
And then I lost track.
I think she must have enjoyed it though, because the next time I looked at her face she was smiling up at me, shimmery damp and thoroughly landed, her fingers hooked across her mouth.
* * * * *
Spark
“I’m sorry about Ayden,” he said as we lay together afterward. “It was my fault.”
I shook my head. “Do you think we were betrayed…by Nyronal?”
He pushed himself up to sit on the bed. “No. I think the man’s sincere in his support. It was just bad luck we ran into the nobguard directly after leaving the inn. But it was my fault. There are always more nobguard in that part of the city.”
“Ayden knew that. We all knew that.”
“But I made the decision.” Tor’s head went back and he sighed. “I should have gone alone.”
I thought about this. “Ayden would have been suspicious if you’d gone alone.”
Tor nodded, his face grim. “Ayden was always suspicious. I wish…but I suppose his distrust wasn’t unwarranted.” His voice was full of disgust. “I got him killed in the end.” His eyes settled on mine. “And now you have no one.”
“I have you, Tor.”
He nodded. And sighed again. “We’d best get back. The others have been…worried about you. They’ll be glad to know you’re all right.”
As we sneaked from the dark house, across the back garden, I was amazed to discover we were heading for the same shed we’d used that last time we were inside the walls. The same shed we’d used to climb back over the first time we were there. I thought it an astonishing coincidence, although I didn’t point it out to Tor.
Chapter Six
Tor
Burro burst into the cellar, hands exploding with information. Everyone stared as I dropped to my knees in front of the boy, my eyes focused on his flying hands, trying to keep up with him. “Where?” I cut at him, repeating the question at the same time with my hands. “Where? Which way?”
Then I was on my feet. “It’s Jet. The nobguards have him. They picked him up south of the market and are coming north. We can intercept them. Danny, Chanes, get the Strikers on the rooftops either side of Market Street. Take your bows. Rocks. Bricks. There’re about thirty of them.
“Thane! You’re with me,” I shouted as Danny’s boys pushed out the door. “You and I will pull Jet out of the guard!
“Spark!” I pointed at her. “Bring your rouge.”
I’d lost one man and I was damned if I’d lose another. We got out fast—Thane, Spark and I—and positioned ourselves in an alley off Market Street with about two seconds to spare before the nobguard turned the corner. “Give me the rouge,” I told Spark. With my thumb, I dug into the little pot and smeared the shining crimson over her lips. “I just need a bit of a diversion,” I told her. “I need you to get in the way. Halt the column. Can you do that?”
She nodded up at me, her face serious, her red lips small and full. I should have given her more direction, but I kissed her instead and pushed her out of the alley. Seconds later, Thane and I sauntered
into the road as the nobguard came around the corner.
Market Street is wide its whole length from the harbor to the highwall gate, but the houses that line the road are jammed together like fish in a pan. A glance at the rooftops told me my men were in place.
The nobguard captain was out ahead of his men, leading them by about three paces. At the rear of the column, we could see Jet as he was dragged along. Casually, we moved to the side of the road, getting out of the way as the nobguard passed. I made eye contact with Jet then leaned against the wall, waiting for my diversion.
She didn’t disappoint me. Spark was a showstopper under any circumstances, her hair a wild rain of gold, her eyes too blue to go unnoticed, her slender slip of a body every man’s wet, cock-in-fist fantasy. She had the captain’s attention when she stepped out of the alley, and that was before she threw herself at his knees and started wailing about her brother, the prisoner—begging for clemency. I watched her bury a kiss in the captain’s crotch as his unit came to a tripping halt behind him.
Thane and I exchanged an instant’s shocked amusement then we went in for Jet.
Afterward, we celebrated. I let the celebration be Burro’s idea and pretended to scowl but, the fact was, the mission’s success was a boost to morale and reason enough for a party. We came up out of our cellar and paid the innkeeper to close his doors for the night. He could have charged us more. He was a good man, Davison. Is a good man.
Drumming on the long, heavy table with a pair of wooden spoons, Burro accompanied our rebel songs while Davison’s wife attempted to shush us. Davison put half a lamb on to turn in the large open fireplace and we feasted. Feasted, feted and toasted. I didn’t drink much—one of us had to be responsible. I didn’t need much. It was enough to have Jet back. Enough to have Spark pressed close beside me, the glow of the large friendly fire lighting her face with a warmth that looked good on her after months of dark huts and cold cellars. But she shouldn’t have put her hand between my legs. Next thing I knew, I had her standing on the table, hugging her slender thighs as I placed a kiss low on her body, demonstrating to everyone how she’d stopped the nobguard captain.
Kingdom of Yute: Tor's Betrayal Page 5