In the end, Trey’s assistance was only necessary to maneuver the head of Brin’s big cock into her body. A few gentle rocks and he slid halfway home, her sheath so oiled, it was superbly slippery.
“Lufra’s tits, that’s a beautiful sight,” muttered Trey. “You should see it, Anje. Your cunt’s so sweet, so small, and he’s pushing that great pole inside you. You’re stretched like a little drum around him, you’re so tight. Lufra, you’re killing me!” He reared up and wrapped an arm around her from behind, crowding close, pressing his chest into her spine.
Anje hung half-impaled, panting. The fleshy walls clasping Brin’s penis flexed with panic and arousal.
The shaman said between his teeth, “Let go, Trey. I’ve got her now.” Turning her head, she caught a flash of the younger man’s wicked grin and realized he hadn’t removed his other hand.
“Anje?” asked Trey and she wanted to crow.
She nodded and Trey nudged the cloud of her hair aside to lick her neck, just above the torque. He moved reluctantly to lounge at Brin’s shoulder, all flushed and rosy and beautiful. He breathed, “Go on, love.”
Anje inhaled carefully and dropped, sheathing Brin to the balls. He growled his satisfaction and arched up another fraction, nudging her cervix. “Ride me, scout, ride me hard.”
“Gods, yes!”
He felt like a tree trunk inside her, a forest giant, wedged clear up to her womb. His hands supported her and she began slowly, savoring the rub of his unyielding heat against the resilient walls of her sheath. Tremors of delicious sensation radiated through her belly and spine and she picked up the pace, using the strong muscles in her thighs, plunging up and down, drawing out to the head and ramming herself back to the root.
Brin fixed his flaming onyx eyes on hers. “Yes, scout. Yes!” His hips arched.
“Anje!” Trey rose to his knees, one hand pumping furiously. “Wait!”
He scrambled to his feet and stepped across Brin’s massive torso to face her. Involuntarily, she braced her hands on his firm thighs. It put her eye to eye with his cock, the head purple with frustration and wet with leaking desire.
She froze, Brin pulsing inside her like a well-tended furnace, and licked her lips.
Trey’s chest heaved and his shaft trembled in supplication, weeping clear fluid. The musky scent of his arousal invaded her senses.
Anje raised her gaze to the pleading hazel eyes. She cleared her throat. “A warrior of the Mother doesn’t…she doesn’t…”
Brin swiveled his hips and stroked gently in a circular motion. Anje moaned. Her clit burned. She could no longer see the shaman’s face, but his deep voice was full of greedy interest. “Never, scout?”
“Lufra’s cunt and clit!” swore Trey, tormented beyond endurance. “A virgin mouth! Just a lick, darling, please, please. I swear I’ll pull out before I offer. I swear.”
“No, no. I don’t…”
Brin growled, “Lean forward and open your mouth. I’ll do the rest.” He ran his hands over hers, up the outside of Trey’s thighs, his tanned fingers very dark as they bit into the other man’s fair skin. “Don’t thrust, Trey.”
“No,” agreed Trey shakily.
A warrior of the Mother didn’t service a man. But a warrior of the Mother took her pleasure as she willed.
Anje stared. Trey’s cock was long and beautifully formed. If it hadn’t been for Brin, she’d have said he was seriously hung. What the hell, he was seriously hung by any normal standard. Brin was simply awe-inspiring.
Her mouth watered. She extended her tongue and ran it over the smooth cap. Hot, salty. Trey whimpered.
The delicious prodding that was keeping her pussy just short of the boil stopped. “Get on with it, scout.”
She thought of what Brin could see through the vee of Trey’s spread legs. Her pubic curls and her belly, the lush hang of breast flesh if she leaned forward and took Trey in her mouth. She thought of him staring at Trey’s muscular body, the delicious indentations in the small of his back, his ass cheeks, tense and round with lust. He’d see the swing of the other man’s testicles, drawn up tight in their sac and the columns of his hard thighs, dusted with fine golden hair.
“Yes,” she whispered and did exactly as Brin had instructed.
The rewards were immediate.
Brin began to stroke gently and she was tipped forward, her lips sliding down Trey’s shaft. The sound he made was a cross between a groan and a sigh and it was the most lascivious thing she’d ever heard.
Encouraged, she wrapped her tongue around the head on the next pass. He sank his fingers into her hair. “Fuck, yes! Oh, sweetheart!”
Brin clamped his hands on her thighs and powered into her with long, steady thrusts. Her pussy heated again and glowed, vibrating with pleasure. Trey’s scent, his moans of joy, went straight to her clamoring clit. She tightened her lips, increasing the pressure, and Brin racked up the pace.
When Trey hit the back of her throat, she choked. “Pull back, man,” said Brin. “You’re too deep. Anje love, relax.”
Trey fisted the lower half of his shaft and Brin began fucking her in earnest, his magnificent cock ramming in and out of her pussy, jolting her mouth over Trey’s smooth solidity in a carnal rhythm. Anje hung on, her head reeling, her whole body screaming with pleasure. Great Mother, she’d never done anything so lewd in her life! With all her heart, she wished she could watch as well as participate.
The thought of the erotic tableau they must present pushed her arousal up another excruciating notch.
There was no sound save gasps and curses and the wet suction of flesh on flesh—three minds, three bodies striving for the same culmination, utterly focused on a common goal, yet exquisitely aware of each other. Her heart lurched. Such a purely physical activity, but her soul soared with exhilaration. It wasn’t in a warrior’s life to gift another with outright joy. But she knew she was doing so now and elation surged through her.
Trey’s mumbles had become incoherent, his hands shaking against her scalp. Brin’s breath came in harsh rasps, his bronze skin sheened with sweat, the dragon curled around his loins glowing as if it was alive.
Anje’s orgasm gathered, building inexorably, a dark tide she could no longer gainsay. As if he knew, Brin grunted and thundered into her at a more acute angle. Her clit flared and the climax exploded. She screamed around Trey’s flesh, remembering at the penultimate second not to clench her teeth, and came and came like the world was ending.
Trey jerked free, groaning as though the heart was being torn from his chest, and splattered warm cream over her breasts and neck. Brin swelled deep inside her sheath, pulsing with every jet as the seed blasted its way the length of his shaft. The spasms were spaced seconds apart, each separate and distinct. She’d never felt anything like it in her life.
Long before he finished, she lurched forward and collapsed against Trey’s knee, the eyes rolling back in her head.
As if from a long distance, she heard Trey say, “Oh sweetheart,” in a voice choked with tenderness. “Here.” Warm hands laid her flat across Brin’s chest, helpless as a newborn babe. Someone stroked the length of her spine, drew idle patterns on the knobs of her vertebrae. When Brin finally slipped free of her body, she murmured a protest and was hushed and petted.
She roused when the shaman shifted her gently to her back and a warm, wet cloth swiped over her breasts and belly. “What?” She batted at his hands. “I’m all right.”
He ignored her, rinsing the cloth in the bowl Trey was holding. “Are you sore?”
“I don’t think—” The words dissolved in a gasp of pleasure as he parted her thighs and pressed the cloth over her sex. Then he wet it again and cleansed her thoroughly, as though she was an infant. Anje wriggled, certain she was blushing.
“Humor me.” Brin smiled crookedly. “You said I was a mother hen.”
“Lufra, look!” The urgency in Trey’s voice was so compelling, she was up on her knees looking for a weapon before she knew i
t. “It’s started!”
Chapter Six
Declaration 3
The Interim [Council?] names this planet Phoenix [note: meaning unknown] in recognition of the hope it represents. In this new world, may humanity rise from its own [ashes? fire? ruins?].
Translation of a Firster text by Miriliel the Burnished. (The fragment is preserved in the Royal Library in the Kingdom of the Leaves of the Sea.)
“What? Where?” Water slopped over the rim of the bowl when she jogged Trey’s arm.
Brin rescued it, setting it aside. “Gods man, why don’t you frighten the life out of her?”
Anje cast him a scathing glance. “Don’t be stupid. I’m not scared.” Brin glared back, returning her look with interest.
“What are you talking about, Trey?” she asked.
“The wings.”
“Wings?”
“Lie back for a minute.”
“Forget it,” she said flatly. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Your birthmarks, Anje.”
She looked down. “What about…” The words dried up. She’d never given much thought to the birthmarks below her hips. They were small and shiny and caused no trouble. She had neither the time nor the inclination for vanity.
Now they’d spread, both of them, but not in a blotchy way. Fine silver lines radiated across her belly and snaked over her hipbone toward the small of her back.
Dumbfounded, Anje’s gaze arrowed straight to the shaman. “What have you done to me?” she husked. “Am I sick?”
Brin slung a heavy arm around her shoulder and tried to draw her close, but she shrugged him off. “What have you done?”
“You’re perfectly healthy, Anje. Never better.” He rose and strode across the tent, the dragon riding his buttocks. Scooping up his discarded sarong, he knotted it around his hips. Thus armored, he said, “We haven’t done anything. It’s Lufra’s will.”
“Right.” What a typically male justification. Frowning, Anje licked her forefinger and rubbed at a silvery line. It didn’t come off, but a gentle tingle coursed through it.
She rose and faced Trey. “You tell me,” she ordered.
Trey’s mouth opened and closed. He glanced at Brin, who watched the byplay with sardonic amusement. Then he shook his head. “Brin’s the shaman.”
“And you’re the big mouth,” said the dark warrior.
Trey bristled. “She’s not blind! She was going to notice sometime.”
“When I was ready.”
“For the one who’s supposed to be such an expert on women, you haven’t—”
“Tell me!” Anje roared, pushing her way between them. “Or I swear someone’s going to die!”
After a short, stinging silence, Brin sighed. Eventually, he said, “I had a vision.”
“You’ve said that. So?”
He picked up a leather thong from the camp table and wound it around his long fingers. “A vision of a woman who resembled the Goddess.
“Once would have been portent enough, but the dreams wouldn’t leave me.” He shrugged. “So we came after you, with the dreams as a guide. We’ve been tracking you a while, scout.”
“You’re joking!” How had she missed their presence? They must be superb at forest craft.
“No.” He dragged his hair back and secured it with the thong. The line of his jaw showed strong and severe, set hard. Suddenly, he looked older. Weary.
It might be ridiculous, but all this mumbo jumbo obviously meant something to him. Anje stalked to her pack and retrieved her last pair of trews. As she bent to pull them on, the torque shifted on her neck. With an uneasy twist in her gut, she remembered the way its magic had prevented her from leaving the camp. Leaving Brin.
She looked down at her body and her mouth went dry. “What about these?” Hands frozen on her laces, she indicated the silvery marks.
“Lufra’s claimed you, Anje. Those are Her wings. I was right about you.” The shaman’s dark brows drew down. “I almost wish I wasn’t.”
“Why not?” she asked, feeling stung. Was there something wrong with her?
Brin put a large hand under her chin and tilted it. “Because of what you are.”
She jerked her head aside and glared. “And that is?”
His lips twitched. “A warrior. Independent, bloody-minded. A true Child of the Mother.” She heard Trey’s snicker from the bedroll where he was lounging, unabashed and beautiful in his nudity.
“My people are honored among the Ten Nations!” She stuck out her chin.
“That may be so, but it’s a dangerous journey back to the lands of the Feolin. There can be only one leader.” He took her cheeks between his palms and stared deep into her eyes. “When I command, you must obey instantly, scout. No thought, no hesitation. Our lives will depend on it.” He paused. “And our souls.”
There were so many things Anje wanted to say, they tangled together on her tongue. She drew a sanity-saving breath and exerted her will. Ticking the points off on her fingers, she gritted, “One, I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re lunatics. I have my duty. I’m a scout, with a report to deliver. Two, command is a matter of respect and trust. It has to be earned.”
Brin grew very still. He dropped his hands. The air sizzled. “How have we forfeited your respect, Anje? Have we treated you with aught but honor?”
Anje refused to take a step back, though her feet wanted to. Intimidation had no effect on a Child of the Mother. But how was it he made her feel so small? Surely, he wasn’t hurt?
“By your own lights, I suppose you have.” she admitted. She met his eyes. “But trust is something else entirely.”
“True.” Brin took a step closer, until his body brushed hers. His fingers trailed over her shoulder blade and she shivered. “A few minutes ago, you had both of us buried inside you, Anje.” His voice dropped to a rough purr. “To the hilt. You gave yourself freely. If that’s not trust, I don’t know what is.”
She licked her lips, resisted the silken pull of his will, his certainty. “It was… I’ve never… You’re very good.”
She shook her head to clear it, grabbed her shirt and pulled it over her head. Mother, what was it about this man? Rolling up the too-long sleeves, she strove to sound brisk, rather than bemused. “And three. Three…” She cleared her throat. “I don’t believe you. All this nonsense about dreams, the goddess… Read my lips. I. Don’t. Believe. It.”
“Sweetheart?” Trey stood at her elbow. “Look here.”
In his hands he held a small round mirror. He angled it so Anje caught her own reflection. She sighed. She should have braided her hair before they…
Her eyes looked strange. Frowning, she peered, and snatched the mirror out of Trey’s hands. Deep in each pupil, a tiny flame danced, a white-hot flicker.
The mirror dropped from her nerveless fingers.
Speechless, she stared from one man to the other. Brin stood poised, every muscle tense, but Trey was grinning. “You should see it when you offer, Anje. It’s a wonder you don’t burn us all to a crisp.” He blew on his fingers. “But what a way to go!”
Fury and terror boiled within her. She was a Child of the Mother, not a plaything for some divine slut! Baring her teeth, daring them to stop her, she slung her pack over her shoulder and stamped into her boots.
Hands on hips, she seared them with her glare. “I’m going to set snares,” she snarled. “If you’re lucky, I’ll get to kill something that’s not human!”
Trey stood frozen, but Brin followed her out of the tent. He clamped long fingers around her biceps and swung her around. “Don’t push me, Anje. You won’t like the results.” The fire in his midnight eyes blazed.
Anje growled deep in her throat, ripped her arm free and took off at a dead run.
Brin watched her go, her long legs eating up the distance. As she disappeared over the ridge, he rubbed at the crease between his brows.
At his shoulder, Trey said, “That went well.”
Brin grunted di
smissively. But Trey had never been able to let well enough alone. “You didn’t tell her about the Great Rite,” he pointed out.
Brin rolled a dark eye at him. “And you would have?”
The lad had the grace to flush. “I need all my working parts.”
“Ay, she’d serve us our guts for breakfast if she knew.”
He had no doubt of it. But the Great Rite was the last chance, the final cast of the dice for the Feolin. If they lost, if they failed to placate the Goddess, his people would die. Not gloriously in battle, but slowly, their empty hearts aching for the babes that never came.
The priestesses were so eager, they’d determined the most auspicious time already, the Day of the Dark, when the Shadow swallowed the Sun, a few weeks hence.
Feolin legend was rife with hero shamans and brave, wanton priestesses who abandoned themselves to the sexual excesses of the Rite, their passion an acceptable libation to the Goddess. By their sacrifice, their submission, so the stories went, they invoked Lufra’s protection against some dire evil, thereby saving the world. Time and again.
Heroes indeed.
Brin stared blankly at the ridge above the valley. She was up there somewhere, fuming—his insoluble problem, the woman he wanted more than life. The darkness of his thoughts gathered like storm clouds behind his temples. His head ached.
Reality was grimmer by far than myth. Three centuries ago, the Rite had ended in disaster. Contemporary accounts were garbled. No one knew whether it was human error or divine wrath that caused the conflagration, but the temple was consumed by a fireball so massive it was leveled to the ground and all within it perished. Not surprisingly, the ritual had not been performed since.
“A couple of weeks,” said Trey, echoing his thoughts in that uncanny way he had. “Can you turn her around in time? She’s your match, I think.”
“Nonsense, she can’t be. No training.”
“Don’t be so sure, mighty shaman. I was there, remember?” Trey’s eyes sparkled. “You pushed and she pushed right back. You almost had her for a moment there, at the start, but then she turned us both inside out and she wasn’t even trying.”
Gift of the Goddess Page 6