The Guild

by Jean Johnson

  “Mmm . . . thank you. I, uh, I think I might,” she mumbled, blushing. She heard him chuckle, then shuffle off toward his bedchamber. As he left the sitting room, he swept his hand over the lights, dimming them down to near darkness. She realized her shirt was still unbuttoned and worked on fastening it with tired hands, then pulled the covers a little higher. Now that he wasn’t making her hot with his touches, she could feel the nip of winter in the air. A satisfied sigh escaped her as she snuggled into the couch to sleep.

  Alone in his bedroom, Alonnen leaned his shoulders against the quietly shut door and bit back a frustrated moan. Lifting his hands to his face, he started to scrub at his cheeks, trying to get over the throbbing, unsated ache in his groin. It was a mistake; his thumb still smelled like her passion, her satisfaction.

  Giving up, he pushed his trousers down past his hips, baring himself. His fingers stroked and cupped his ready flesh for a few moments, then he brought his hand back up to his nose for another sniff. With the scent of her climax filling his nostrils, he stroked himself, hips flexing. Overheated by watching her achieve bliss in his arms, under his touch, Alonnen found it didn’t take long to achieve his own climax. Warmth coated his hands and his shaft.

  Slowly sagging into the door, he rested with his legs bracing his weight against the stout panel, then sighed. Straightening, he tugged up his sleeping trousers and headed for the attached refreshing room. His own bliss would lead to a sleepy lethargy in a few more moments, and he wanted to clean up before crawling back between his empty sheets.

  Another time, he promised himself. If she can still look me in the eye tomorrow morning, then there will probably be another time. And another and another . . . and maybe there’ll be a wedding and a wedding night between us . . . because I’m falling in love with her, and I know she won’t settle for anything less. And . . . and I’m very okay with that.

  The lack of contraceptive spells—he didn’t trust the iffy potion the Alchemists Guild made—meant it was hard for couples to consummate their passions without running the risk of a pregnancy. Both of them had too much to do in the coming months to risk that. But there is still a lot we can do without intercourse, he thought, dampening a rag under the faucet of his sink. A thought made him lift his brows, then smirk to himself.

  I did enjoy an occasional use of the crankman Bethana owned . . . and no one reclaimed it from me after she died. For a moment, he lost his smile, remembering her death, his grief . . . but he had mourned her and moved on a few years ago. He also knew that she would not be pleased if he refused to fall in love ever again. Bethana had helped show him that he was fully over the duplicitous Daralei and free to love again.

  I think she’d like Rexei. They’re different physically—Bethana was curvy and muscular, Rexei is lean and, well, not very curvy. Long blonde hair versus short brunette . . . But they’re both strong, talented, smart women. And we’re both mages, and both Guild Masters, even if Rexei’s just starting her guild.

  And I can’t help it. I admire her. I’m falling in love with her. And . . . I need to stop this line of thought so I can get some sleep, he ordered himself, knowing that if he kept thinking along such lines, his loins would re-harden with interest. So, let’s think about the vote in two days to make us the nation of Guildara . . . No, work will only stress me further, since that’ll lead right back to the demon problem, and I’ll never get any sleep this way . . .

  I know—I’ll think about holy days. That’s a neutral yet interesting subject. Mekha only had one per season, but I think we should have one per month. Perhaps on the full of Brother Moon? That gives us twelve holy days in a year, and we do have a lot to celebrate . . . so . . . what aspects should be celebrated each month?

  Perhaps I should figure out how to divide the guilds into twelve categories? It was an interesting line of thought, intriguing enough to keep his mind off sex yet calm enough to allow him to drop off to sleep.

  TWELVE

  The first thought on her mind when she awoke was pure happiness. Rexei could not remember the last time she had felt such an unsullied contentment; usually, worry and stress plagued her days. The suncrystals overhead were still somewhat dim, suggesting it was barely morning, so she knew she had the time to spare for contemplating her happy state.

  Let’s see . . . safe and sound within the wardings of the Vortex . . . well rested after a really good night’s sleep on Alonnen’s . . . Alonnen.

  She blushed, remembering. His lips nibbling on hers, the suckling pull of his mouth on her nipple . . . the feel of those fingers stroking and sliding the fabric of her sleeping trousers through her folds. A shiver rippled through her muscles, bringing with it a flush of renewed desire.

  Along with memory came a realization. He didn’t . . . he didn’t get to have any fun himself, last night. She blinked up at the ceiling, then knuckled away the grit of sleep. That isn’t right. I should’ve . . . Well, it’s a bit late for last night, but not too late for this morning, Rexei decided. She wasn’t ignorant of the theory of how sexual urges worked in men, not after a decade of pretending to be “one of the boys.” Right now, presuming he had enjoyed a good night’s sleep, Alonnen would be feeling the first stirrings of morning pressure.

  Before she could lose her courage and backpedal herself into thinking this was going to be a bad idea, Rexei got up and headed for the bedroom door. She did hesitate before touching the panel, but only because she wasn’t sure whether to knock first or not. After a brief mental debate, she rapped lightly on the wood with a knuckle, then pushed on the handle.

  A soft grunt met the opening of the door. She heard Alonnen trying again. “Mmfh . . . Rexei? Whazzit?”

  He sounds rather cute like that, she decided, smiling shyly. “Shhh,” she said, closing the door behind her. “I’m just . . . um . . . returning the favor.”

  “Huh?” Cloth rustled as he turned over and pushed up on one elbow.

  Crossing to the bed, Rexei pulled up the covers on the left side and crawled under them. Her sleeping shirt and trousers weren’t thick enough to be proof against the cold winter air, but that was alright. Once she got close enough, she could feel part of the warm spot he had been occupying before rolling onto his side, and quickly huddled into it. Tugging the covers up to her neck, she gave him a shy, somewhat nervous smile.

  Bemused, Alonnen studied her. Why would she come in here and crawl straight into my bed? “Bad dream?”

  Rexei shook her head quickly. “Um . . . no . . . I, uh . . .” Taking a deep breath, she forced the words into the open. “I really liked what you did to me last night and, um . . . wanted to return the favor. This morning. If you want?”

  Alonnen stared at her, groaned under his breath, and flopped onto the bed. On his back, because his body was instantly enthusiastic. Edging toward rampant. She took it as tacit agreement, for a moment later, her hand slid under the covers, brushed against his cloth covered hip, then fumbled a little onto the top of his groin.

  Mindful of her undoubted innocence, he covered her hand with his, assisting her in cupping his thickening flesh. She squeezed him a little, fingers moving in gentle, curious exploration . . . then she wiggled her hand free from his.

  Before he could ask if she was okay, he felt her fingers seeking and dipping beneath the waistband of his sleeping trousers. Breath catching, he sucked in his stomach under that tickling, explorative touch, then arched his back, lifting his groin up into her fingertips. Her skin was a little cool, a sweet, startling contrast to the heat of his manhood. Dizzy with lust, Alonnen panted, struggled for thought, and finally squirmed, shoving his sleeping clothes down below his hips, baring himself under the bedding.

  Rexei blushed and bit her bottom lip at her daring; his enthusiasm did encourage her to continue, though. Twisting onto her left side, she leaned on her elbow and shifted her right hand into a better angle. Gripping his shaft, she marveled at the heat of it, the velvety
-soft skin and slight spongy feel when she experimentally squeezed. His groan let her know she was doing it right.

  A hundred crude comments and a thousand jokes came back to her, shared with her by men who had thought she was “one of the lads” at the time. She had even learned to give back as good as she heard, but this was the first time she actually touched one—at least, when trying to give pleasure instead of squeezing hard just to cause enough pain so that she could escape some would-be bully’s grip. This, however, was something she wanted to do right, with just enough pressure to stimulate and no more, with enough movement, enough . . . her palm stuck to his shaft, her skin a little damp from nerves.

  He tolerated it for a few strokes, then nudged her gently. “There’s a jar of lotion on the nightstand, made from mint, for chapped lips and dry skin. You can use that.”

  Blushing, she twisted over, found it, fumbled the lid off, and scooped a bit up with her fingertips. Careful not to get any on the bedding, she curled her fingers into a loose fist and returned them to his hip. From there, she found her way to his shaft, then gently spread the slick, mint-scented stuff onto his skin, grateful he had pushed his sleepwear even lower while she had been turned away. Not that she could see it, but she could feel it.

  It helped a lot. Within moments, her fingers were able to stroke from base to tip and back with definite ease. The ointment felt extra cool on her skin because of the mint; Rexei could only imagine how it felt to the man himself, though she could guess. From the soft, deep whimpering noises and the way he tipped his hips up into each downstroke, it probably felt pretty damn good.

  Mindful that he had done more to her than just stroke her folds, she leaned over, ducked her head awkwardly under the covers, and kissed his chest. His breath caught, and his hands shifted. One tugged the covers up higher over both of them, then cupped the back of her head. The other twined his fingers with hers, showing her how to squeeze and stroke faster, harder. She followed his silent instructions as best she could, breathing in the mingling scents of wintermint and musky man.

  Alonnen loved the feel of her mouth nipping and tasting the muscles of his chest. It connected the nerves of his torso with those of his hips, even his legs. Groin lifting in needy rhythm, breath panting, he strained toward his bliss. Those little finger twists at the top, however, the little pulsing squeezes at the base, those blew his mind.

  “So good . . .” he panted. “So . . . good . . . How’d you . . . how’d you learn to . . . do this?”

  She blushed and smiled against the crinkly little hairs dusting his chest. “Lads like to gossip. I may not have one myself, but I’ve heard enough about what many like to do with theirs.” Nuzzling him, she felt something pebbled rubbing against her cheek and heard the hitch in his breath. Turning her head a little, she licked at his nipple and grinned at the way he spasmed. “Like that?”

  “Slag, yes!” he gasped. She did it again and again, and his hips pistoned faster, pushing his shaft through her tightening grip. There was just enough lotion left to ease each rapid stroke, yet just enough drag to stimulate every last nerve. “R-Rexeeeei!”

  Back arching, he came, hips jolting into the edge of her palm in several hard, unsteady thrusts. Hot dampness hit his chest, the sheet, and her fingers. He bucked a couple more times, then slumped, trembling. His fingers quickly covered hers, but she had already eased her movements. Settling instead on a gentle, slow-pulsing grip, his partner eased out the last few drops, then just cradled his softening shaft under her palm. Her lips dusted little kisses on his sweat-dampened skin, a tender touch that was not lost on his heart.

  As soon as he had enough strength back, Alonnen tilted just enough to gather her in his arms, hugging her close. “Thank you,” he murmured, in between pressing little kisses to her forehead. “Thank you very much . . . for such a wonderful gift.”

  A soft giggle escaped her. “You’re welcome. And I learned it by listening to the ‘other’ men bragging about what they liked when their lady friends stroked them. Ummm . . . if you want to do the same tonight? You with me, and, um, me with you . . . ?”

  He didn’t have to give it more than two seconds’ worth of thought. “Okay. But tomorrow, clear heads. We have to go into town for the new-kingdom vote, and everything else that will have cropped up.”

  Rexei nodded, her cheek nuzzling against his shoulder now that she wasn’t half buried under the covers. “Mmhmm . . . but tomorrow night . . . are we going to be staying at Big Momma’s again?”

  His shaft twitched under her fingers. Just the thought of everything they could do, with the brothel’s supplies on hand, was stimulating. Unfortunately, now he needed the refreshing room, and he lacked a crucial piece of information on top of that. Kissing her forehead again, he started worming his way out of the bed to go clean up. “I think that could be managed . . . but the real question is, do you like strawberry jam, or would you prefer birch syrup?”

  It took her a few moments to realize what he was talking about. When she did, Rexei blushed and blurted, “I’d want elderberry jelly. I think. Um . . . yeah. Elderberry.”

  Grinning—and trying not to wince as the cold morning air hit the streaks of seed and mint, chilling his skin—Alonnen padded for the refreshing room. “Then dessert shall literally be on me. If we end up staying that late. If not, we’ll come back here, and I’ll introduce you to all the fun things we can do with honey. Win or lose, we’ll either celebrate or commiserate. But only if we concentrate, tomorrow. It’s a very important vote.”

  • • •

  Word had been spread, representatives picked and sent, but not everyone was coming. Part of it had to do with the weather; most of those who had arranged to travel to Heiastowne were from cities to the west and south, where the lands were less steep. To the north, a heavy snowstorm blocked travel, and farther north of that . . . many cities were now in full riot. Priests versus mages, militia versus citizens, old regime versus new would-be despots. The northlands were feeling the full brunt of the turmoil stirred up by Mekha’s destruction. Not all Precinct captains were interested in upholding the law, not when so many of them had also benefitted from the priests bending it.

  Rexei didn’t know if it was due to her own words on the temple steps or to Captain Torhammer’s word that order would be maintained, or some combination of both. Probably both, since her words had quelled the initial urges to riot, yes, but the captain’s commands had ensured no others had a chance to start. She did know she was grateful that Heiastowne was not one of the cities embroiled in the horrors of a wintertime war.

  She was also grateful the Consulate was toasty warm when she arrived through the back door, via the alley from Big Momma’s. The skies outside were clear, thanks to a steady wind from the west, but the thin winter sun couldn’t penetrate far enough to compensate for the sharp chill imbued in each frozen gust. Once safely inside, she focused on unwinding a layer at a time as she headed through the back halls toward the meeting chamber. First to come off was her scarf, then the long coat she had worn on the drive into town, then her gloves and cap, then . . .

  “There you are!” Marta’s cheerful greeting startled her.

  Blinking, Rexei found the older woman smiling with both sides of her mouth, to the point of beaming at her. Disconcerted, Rexei looked over her shoulder at the others who had come in the back way with her, but Alonnen only shrugged and tugged his cap down over his dark-spelled hair.

  “Guild Master Rexei Longshanks,” Marta stated, turning partially to face two youths and an elderly gentleman, “I present to you your new apprentices in the Holy Guild. Pensen Tuckerhart, of Lumber, Springs, and Brewers Guilds,” she introduced, and Rexei found herself facing a tall, lanky youth with reddish hair and light brown woolens that almost matched. He dipped his head in a little bow, then stepped back as Marta continued. “Alsei Cartwound, of Bakers, Binders, and Embroiderers Guilds,” Marta introduced next, which meant
a young blonde girl in a cream felted dress decorated with gray and black embroidered vines bobbed a curtsy. “And Master Gearman Jorro Foundertack of fifteen Guilds, so I shall only mention that he has master-rank in Mathematics, Exchequery, and Lessors Guilds.”

  The balding, gray-haired fellow, clad in gray wool with blue-dyed trim, dipped his head and lifted his palm toward her. She found herself clasping his ink-stained and pen-callused fingers, which were warm and firm. He gave her a slight smile as he shook hands and said, “I understand you have me beat with thirty guilds?”

  “Beat in numbers, yes . . . but not in the wisdom of years, I should think,” Rexei countered, forced to be honest in the face of such seniority. She offered her hand to Alsei and Pensen as well. “I’m rather surprised anyone could be found so quickly. I . . .” She trailed off, realizing only now that she didn’t even have a way to pay them wages yet. She shrugged, feeling awkward, but knowing it would be better to be honest about just how disorganized things still were. “I’m afraid the Holy Guild is still trying to get started. I’m terribly sorry to say this, but I, ah, haven’t even figured out how to create an income for the Holy Guild yet, so . . .”

  “Actually, I have that covered for you,” Marta informed her, pulling out a stiff-paper folio from the messenger-style bag slung over her shoulder. Blinking, Rexei found herself the owner of a sheaf of papers, and the advice to, “Just bring up the laws on the summary sheet and call for a vote to change them in the ways indicated, and you should be able to get a portion of the previous mandatory tithes to the Priests Guild transferred over to the Holy Guild in no time.”

  “Right. Thank you, Grenspun,” she said, still a little off-balance by how efficient the woman was. Clearing her throat, Rexei gestured at the doors in the distance, ones that led into the meeting hall. “We should head on in and discuss what we can of your thoughts and expectations before the meeting begins.”