She burst into orgasm a moment later, her whole body locking up with the sheer force of her pleasure.
“Again,” he growled against her. And he repeated his symphony of torturous delight until she called out a second time, every muscle in her body tightening with climax. Then she relaxed with a gusting exhalation, her limbs heavy and unable to move. She was afraid he would once more say “again,” but he moved up her body and kissed her with deep, feverish need. All the while, her fingers still gripped his hair and she wondered if she had tried to rip it from his head at one point. She couldn’t recall.
“I would like to do that to you,” she murmured. But it was clear she wasn’t ready to do anything of the sort right then.
“You will be more than welcome. But right now I think I’m going to take my time exploring you. I seemed to have rushed past it all.”
“Oh, but I can’t move,” she said.
“I’ll move you if you need to be moved,” he said with amusement.
“Oh. Well, thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome,” he said on a chuckle.
He then did as promised, took his time exploring what had to be every inch of her body. He spent, it seemed, an inordinate amount of time on her breasts alone…teasing them, toying with them, fondling and sucking and teething until she was hypersensitive to even the slightest touch of his breath upon her. Then he examined each of her limbs with equal care and fascination, his tongue, teeth, and lips tasting every inch of her as he turned her body to and fro as his desires demanded.
Eventually his ministrations had so aroused her that she was chafing with need and energy, all languor forgotten. She pushed at him, rolling him onto his back. She threw a leg astride him, her hot core pressed against him, open and waiting to be plundered by him…or so he thought. She moved away almost as quickly as she had arrived, much to his momentary consternation. But then she was kissing her way down his body, exploring every nook and cranny there was to be found, all the while working her way down and down and down. By the time her breath fell against his raging hard shaft he was all but begging for it. He longed for her, longed to be inside her, but he was also feeling far too much enjoyment simply watching her have her way to want to rush it all to an end. Then her tongue darted out and laved the head of his cock boldly and an explosion of brilliant pleasure sang through him. His left hand reached into the thick mass of her dark hair and he found himself guiding her, holding her to him as if she were planning to escape. But nothing could have been further from her mind. She took him in hand, guided him into her waiting and willing mouth. With a single strong suck of sensation, she took him in deep.
Blinded by lust and need, he thrust up against her palate, letting her take as much as she could manage. He tried to be gentle, but it was impossible with the way she was making him feel. Jileana seemed to savor the taste of him, as she toyed with him inside her mouth, her hand stroked the remaining length of him right to the root. Her fingers crawled through the curling hairs she found there, and then she molded and cupped the pliable sac below that root. Jaykun moaned loudly, his fingers crushing her hair violently as molten heat and ready need took hold of him.
“Come here!” he commanded as he dragged her from her torturing ministrations. “I will have you this very instant!”
“You are very pushy,” she remarked with a laugh. But she settled astride him once more and took hold of him to guide him up and into her body in a single mutual thrust. She rode him like that in a steady series of sways and thrusts, her proud young body rising up from him so gloriously it took his breath away. He could hardly bear to look at her—that was how beautiful she was. It was almost frightening…certainly humbling.
She was extraordinary—there was no doubt about that—and he still hadn’t fathomed why she had chosen to enjoy herself with him. It wasn’t that he thought so little of himself; it was that he was thinking so much of her. He should have been frightened by that. If he had any sense in his head, he would thrust her away right that very instant and protect himself from any further influence she might have over him. But he did not do that. Instead he let her ride him until he was unable to see straight, until the curls of desire wending through him lashed tightly around him, holding him fast and hard to her. When he came it was with astounding violence, his pleasure torn up from the deepest part of him. She tensed hard around him, her orgasm just as violent and just as deep. She then fell onto him, a boneless, gasping weight, a weight he enjoyed far too much.
Then he forced himself to speak aloud the one thing that was most important between them.
“Two days.”
“Two days,” she agreed.
And then they fell asleep.
“All right, someone has to say something,” Garreth said when he and Dethan found themselves eating without their brother for the second meal of the day. Neither had to wonder where Jaykun was or what he was doing. Although the castle was made of stone, the doors were not and sound traveled far too well along the corridors of the living quarters. Their brother’s marathon sexual escapade was being announced far and wide.
Not that they really begrudged him his slice of happiness. The gods knew Jaykun saw so little of it. But there were things to be done, and on a more selfish bent, it made the brothers miss their wives even more than usual.
“This has been a hard campaign,” Dethan said with a sigh. “I long to see my newest child.”
“Children are well and good, but I miss the comfort of Sarielle’s embrace. And every day he wastes in other pursuits is a day longer I am away from her,” Garreth grumbled.
“Hush, now. This is our lot. We spend the summers on the campaign trail, as we agreed with Weysa and Mordu, helping our brother, and in exchange we get to have our loves and our children all the rest of the year. I am endlessly grateful for the time I have with Selinda. I can remember what it was like, not that long ago, when I had to face the same fate Jaykun now suffers—tortured night after night, beholden to my goddess all the seasons’ turnings. My children would have had a stranger for a father, one they knew only in the winters. No. I will not bemoan my lot. Nor will I begrudge him what little happiness he can find. I tried that with you and it only caused us trouble.”
“But…he must stay focused,” Garreth said with agitation. “It is only by keeping focus that we can hope to find what we wish to know! We have been scouring this continent, taking over city after city, exploring the tales of the gods known to each tribe—only in this way can we hope to discover Maxum’s prison. Gods know Sabo will not give away the location. He may have let slip that Maxum was buried in soil, but he will never tell us where. We must try to find him.”
“And do what if we find him? Dig for him? Only Sabo knows how far down into the ground our brother is. Only Sabo will release him. We are better off trying to make amends to Sabo.”
“We cannot do that as long as he is part of the faction that wars against Weysa. Even so, even if there were no war, Sabo thrives on the pain and suffering of others. Why would he wish to bring an end to ours?” Garreth asked.
“I do not know.” Dethan released a pained sigh. “I am a mortal man fighting in a war between gods at the side of my immortal brothers. I am the most fragile warrior here yet still I fight. I will do anything in hopes that we will one day be granted the boon of our last brother’s freedom. Until then, we search for his location in tale and story. Somewhere in the annals of stories and histories of some race on the face of this planet is the clue to our brother’s whereabouts. To that end, today I am going to seek out the library and the Krizan scholars, provided they have any. These are a coarse people. Education is not high amongst their charms. Let Jaykun spend himself on this woman for a day. There are other things to be done without him.”
“Very well. Then I shall occupy myself in a like manner. I will continue to manage the details of this household, making certain we are firmly settled and dealing with the matters of prisoners and malcontents. This government will n
eed to be rebuilt. I realize Jaykun has the whole of the winter to do so, but I want to make a good start before you and I must leave.”
“Agreed. So we will meet back here for supper?” Dethan said.
“We can exchange our progress over the meal. Perhaps our brother might join us.”
“He has to eat sometime,” Dethan said with a chuckle.
—
Jaykun used his tongue to fish the jogu berry out of Jileana’s navel and she giggled at the sensation. Her laughter threatened to disrupt the remaining fruits he had perched all about her body. He was eating each berry and each slice of melon or fruit meat directly off her skin, then licking away any juice left behind. It was a titillating game…but it also tickled and his playfulness made her laugh.
“My dish shakes and trembles about,” he noted with a chuckle. “How am I to finish my meal when it threatens to spill onto the bedclothes?”
“Better still, when is it my turn to eat? I am hungry.” But it was clear from the heated look in her eyes that she was not speaking about the state of her stomach.
With a sudden growl he swept the remaining fruit off her body, sending it hither and thither so he could crush his mouth to hers and pin her body beneath him. She eagerly opened her thighs around his hips, her legs locking together across his muscular buttocks, which flexed hard as he drove himself into her.
“I shall feed you thusly, then,” he said, his voice low and rough, coming through clenched teeth. “Feed you until you burst with fullness.”
“Oh yes!” she cried out, pulling him down to her mouth so she could kiss him for all she was worth. Then she pushed him away, shoved him almost completely off herself, forcing him to roll onto his back, where she straddled him and immediately took him back into her welcoming body.
“Pushy little minx,” he said as his hands clamped down hard on her hips and began to help her grind against him, to help her sheathe him in brutal, demanding need. She felt amazing. Miraculous even. He doubted he could ever tire of her. Each time they connected brought him new knowledge of her, made him marvel at how open she was and how unashamed she was about her appetites. Even now, as they played and fought and tangled themselves up in passion, he found himself wanting her ever more strongly, as opposed to feeling content and satiated. Perhaps it was because he knew his time with her was limited, because he knew he had to jam into two days everything he possibly could.
He pushed aside the feeling of dread that accompanied that thought. He had made a bargain with her—with himself—and he would hold to it. Whatever the cost, he would hold fast. But facing that made him angry for some reason and he took it out on her with a punishing, lurching thrust upward that met the downward crash of her imprisoned pelvis. Her spine curved, her hair was thrown back, and her green eyes glowed with fiery passion and the determination to meet his punishment with every bit of matching fervor.
As he struck her across her sweetest spot she began to cry out in an increasing crescendo of moans. Hearing her reach for pleasure was enough to drive him mad, enough to make him raw with need. It wasn’t long before his voice joined hers, the chorus reaching a breaking point roughly and quickly. It frustrated him in a way—that she could drive him into a fever so quickly and so easily. It made him forget himself, made him forget every promise he’d made to take her more slowly, to savor every inch and every moment of her. But the nature of their relationship made slowing down almost impossible. They were racing against time. He had so little time and so much he wanted to force into it. He would savor in retrospect; later he would take things out and replay them more slowly. For now, he wanted her rough and hard.
She came first, with a scream of pleasure that cascaded into smaller shouts. He exploded with a roar of his own, feeling as though his very soul were pulsing and jetting out of him and into her with his final thrust. She collapsed upon his chest, her breasts crushed between them, her breaths panting hard and wild and loud against the side of his neck and shoulder. He thrilled to hear it, longed to hear it go on forever.
No. Not forever.
Just two more days. Only that. Nothing more.
Nothing more.
—
Dremu skulked his way toward the kitchens. No one paid him any mind except to maybe shove him out of the way. But it was something he was used to. He was considered to be lower than the lowest of his kind. If half-breeds could be called his kind. He was the misshapen product of an unfaithful Krizan woman and, it was rumored, a gypsy man who had traveled with the minstrel caravans. Oh, his mother had been properly wed to a Krizan man—a good, solid farmer from the hardland farms just beyond the Krizan city walls. But when Dremu was born, it had been more than clear that she had been faithless. His teeth were straight and even, all within his mouth instead of tusking up over his upper lip as a purebred Krizan’s would. They were so small he could not even cap them in gold or gems. His skin was a sallow sort of tan color, nothing like the typical ruddy Krizan complexion. And he was of an unhealthy, lean sort of build, lacking the true beautiful bulk of his people.
He was a half-breed and it showed. His mother had died for her faithlessness, as per the laws of Kriza, and he had been left on the beach, exposed to the elements, squalling and vulnerable. Then he had been retrieved by a couple so desperate for a child that they had been willing to overlook his ugliness and mixed birth.
So at the very least he had grown up loved by his adoptive parents.
But he had grown up hated by everyone else in the city. They called him a trega half-breed. Kicked dirt at him and spat at his feet. The idea of him ever being accepted by a Krizan woman was ludicrous, so he lived alone now that his parents were dead. He bunked in stables or dark places where he would not be noticed too easily. He worked in the shadows doing whatever he could, whatever they would let him do.
But today his trega appearance would serve him well. He gripped the small leather pouch in his hands for all he was worth, scurrying like a rat toward the food in the kitchens. All he needed was the right moment. A single right moment. Then he would be given, for the first time in his life, one gold coin in trade for his day’s work. He had been promised it by the finia’s fortunary. One gold coin that would allow him to finally leave this horrid city where he was so thoroughly rejected day after day. He could afford to leave, could go onto the road where travelers from different lands were found all the time. His differences would be expected there, not questioned. He didn’t know what he would do exactly, but at least he would be able to find work or earn his way in fair trade. It couldn’t be worse than this life. Nothing could be worse than this life in Kriza.
He had of course toyed with another idea. Perhaps he could join the trega army. Perhaps his looks would go unremarked in a group of men and women who all looked so different from one another. He had never seen such a mix of races before, so many different types. Skin of blue, eyes of yellow, hair of green. This one looked one way and that one another. He would blend right in with such a noise of races. But for all that he could be one of them, the trega frightened him. They were a warring lot, made to kill others. He wasn’t able to lift a sword, so what could he possibly do in an army?
It left him little choice, really. He could take his chances trying to find something to do in the trega army or he could be loyal to his people, earn his gold coin, and be on his way.
Even though his people had never been loyal to him.
Dremu ducked into an alcove just outside the kitchens, pressing his back against the wall and breathing hard in a panic. He shouldn’t do this. He had never killed anyone before. He didn’t have it in him! He clutched the leather pouch so hard his nails dug into the soft skin of it. He needed that gold coin. Desperately needed it. Needed it more than he had needed anything in his scraping, needy existence. One gold coin for the price of…death.
He glanced into the kitchens. They were abustle with preparations for the evening meal, loud and boisterous cooks singing as they worked. All Krizans had been banished fro
m the kitchens; only trega were allowed. It was why he was the only one who could do this thing.
He loosened the drawstring of the pouch and peeked at the white powder inside. He was careful not to get any of it on himself. If he should accidentally ingest it, he would be dead within seconds. One sure way of ending his quandary as to what to do with his life. He looked around for something he imagined everyone would be eating. He needed to slay as many with one blow as was possible. As soon as one fell, the others would know and would stop eating. But the most important thing was to get the leaders. That was his goal: to kill the trega leaders as directed by the fortunary. The fortunary had even been so kind as to provide the poison.
Kill them or join them.
In the end, it was the guarantee of that gold coin that made the choice for him. The trega had made no such offer and likely wouldn’t even if he went to them and exposed the poisoning attempt. They were, after all, barbarians…weren’t they?
No. He must have his gold. Then he could run away or even…even join the army anyway! How would they ever know it was him? If he snuck in and out fast enough, if he escaped unseen, how would they ever find out?
They wouldn’t. They simply wouldn’t.
With a deep breath, he moved quickly into the kitchens.
Soup. A pot of soup. It was the first thing he saw that he knew he could dissolve the powder in unseen. He walked up to it, looked furtively left and right, waited until no one was paying any attention, then dumped the white powder within it. He hastily stirred it in using a large wooden spoon he found nearby. Now all he could do was hope no one tasted the soup before it was served. But he had done his part. All they had to do was die. One or all, the fortunary said. Whatever he could manage. One death at that table or all. One death would earn him the coin…All would earn him more, he had said.
More! Imagine more than a single gold coin! It was more than he could ever hope for!