He hadn’t realised he was holding a glass. "Oh, of course." He took a sip, hardly tasting the drink. It felt warm in the bar, almost too warm. He felt like he needed fresh air; the smoke was irritating his eyes, but he didn’t want to move. Not with this wonderful creature so close.
"It’s good, isn’t it?" she said, smiling up at him. She leaned back into him as she watched the musicians. Cautiously Miro lifted his arm and awkwardly placed it over her lap. She smiled and firmly grabbed his arm, putting it around her waist. He could feel the curve of her hip, the softness of her skin beneath the thin material. Her bodice rose and fell with every breath. Miro’s heart raced, his breath growing short.
"You are not from around here?" Esmara said.
"Umm, no," said Miro. "I am of Raj Altura."
"An enchanter! How exciting!"
"No, no — nothing like that. I’m a soldier, here for the Chorum."
"Such a strong soldier too," she murmured, running her hand idly over his bicep. He blushed.
"I hope to become a bladesinger one day," Miro said. "I’m actually very good with a sword."
"I’m sure you are." She looked up at him, her lips parted. They were as red as rubies, glistening with moisture. He badly wanted to kiss her. What if he was a bad kisser?
"Ooh, tell me," she said. "Have you ever seen a zenblade? I hear they’re deadly."
"I’ve seen one, yes," he said. "I’ve never held one though."
"Oh, that’s a shame."
Esmara took his hand and surreptitiously slid it onto the skin of her stomach, under the material. Miro thought every person at the bar must be able to see what his hand was doing. He waited a moment, and then began to softly caress her bare skin. It was the smoothest thing he had ever felt. Esmara continued chatting pleasantly as if nothing was happening. Miro wondered how she could keep her composure.
"Our people think very favourably of Altura," she said.
He tried to concentrate on what she was saying, rather than what his hand was doing.
"Really?"
"Of course, what would we do without nightlamps and heatplates? Prices are always high though. I hope whatever is happening at the Chorum makes prices go down. The Emperor said he was going to try to stop the raja from charging so much."
"Mmm," said Miro. His hand started to work its way higher. He could feel the underside of her breast, round and soft.
Suddenly Esmara sat up and Miro’s hand left the confines of her bodice. He tried not to show his disappointment.
Esmara turned so that she sat astride him, facing him now. She raised herself and leaned in to him, presenting her neck. Miro took the offer, kissing her gently on the neck. She smelled like flowers. Her hair cascaded over his own neck as he moved in close to her. She raised his face up, gently pressing her fingers under his chin.
Ever so slowly Esmara moved in close, her lips parted, hungry. Miro could wait no longer and moved forward to close the distance, his lips finally touching hers.
The contact sent a jolt of pleasure through him. Esmara made a soft mewling sound, only perceptible to his hearing because he was so close to her. Her chest was pressed up against his, her breasts so close he could feel their firmness. Their lips parted, and then touched again. This time her mouth opened and he felt her tongue probing gently, trying to enter his mouth.
Esmara’s soft thighs were on either side of his waist. His mind lost in the pleasure of her taste, Miro started when he felt her hand grasp his, guiding it down, slipping it under her skirt.
As Esmara’s tongue moved inside his mouth, meeting his, Miro moved his hand along the inside of the bare skin of her thigh, tracing it upwards, ever further.
The sounds of the raucous music, the drink, the crowd, the smell of the girl, all combined headily. Miro felt dizzy, intoxicated.
He waited for her to tell him to stop, to make him remove his hand; she did nothing. He reached the apex of her thigh, feeling a soft flimsy material covering her. He broke the kiss, looking into her eyes, seeing if she would let him continue his approach.
With a soft moan she pushed her body closer into him, kissing him hungrily.
Miro began to gently rub her outside the material. He hoped the motion of his hand under her short skirt wouldn’t be visible, that their bodies pressed together would hide it. She felt heavenly, hot. He could swear he could feel moisture building up on the silky cloth. She kissed him with abandon. Miro forgot where they were, forgot everything.
With final daring he slid his hand slowly inside her underwear, pulling it to the side to give his hand access. His breath was running ragged, his heart beating like he was in a fight to the death. Miro’s tongue twirled against hers; she tasted sweet like honey, her mouth moist. His hand moving ever so gradually, he first felt silky hair, the softest hair he had ever touched. She moaned against him, bucking slightly, daring his hand to go further.
He slid one finger further, and suddenly felt an incredible wetness, hot and soft. The folds of her innermost being sucked at his finger; it slid in all the way. Her breathing grew heavier, her moans louder. Miro slid in a second finger. He started to move them both back and forth.