It would not be completed tonight, however, so she focused on what could be done. Such as skinning lizards. She was too hungry to wait for a stew, so she stuffed them with yellow peppers and sweetroot before laying them in a clay pot, filling the remaining space with ale, and setting the pot in the fire. It would be a hearty meal, especially after adding tender slices of the opossum she’d smoked throughout the previous night. She would do the same for the snakes this evening—they were better eating on the road.
Then there was nothing to do but wait. Kavik had already gathered their sleeping furs and saddles, and he joined her by the fire. He glanced into the crackling flames. Fragrant steam was slipping from the pot. He leaned over and breathed deep before settling down beside her.
She passed him the wineskin of ale. “I hope that you are weak-minded and easily led by your stomach.”
His grin seemed to increase the heat from the fire. She watched his throat as he drank, slipping her fingers down the length of her own. Mala wouldn’t touch him now, not without permission. Oh, but she could imagine so well.
She needed a deep drink when he returned the ale, aware that Kavik watched her mouth, and of the slide of his gaze down her body.
It came to a rest at her hips. “You wear your mother’s trophies.”
The jawbones suspended from her belt. An outdated tradition, but one that Mala was glad to carry on. At least for these.
“I do.” She took another drink, regarding him curiously. He’d spoken as certainly about their origin as if he’d seen her mother wearing them. “How did you know they were hers?”
He looked into the fire. “They’re old. And I think you would be wearing many more.”
So she did. Many more eyeteeth studded her belt. But she only said, “One is my father’s.”
His eyes met hers again. “They were the Destroyer’s men?”
“Yes.” She tilted her head back, looked up at the moon. Her mother had told her it had been full that night. Vela had seen it all, but there had been no help for Krimathe. “I’m fortunate that most of my traits resemble my mother’s, because they must have been the stupidest of soldiers. They turned their backs on her when they’d finished.”
Kavik didn’t respond. But this time, only because there was no response to make. Mala passed him the wineskin, then untied the jawbone hanging from the middle of her belt.
“I think my father must have been this one,” she said and held the bone up to her own jaw. “It’s the same shape, don’t you think?”
And in this short time with him, love must have been coming upon her. Because when Kavik choked and spit ale into the fire, she didn’t think about what a waste it was. Instead she watched him laugh, and the deep sound of it made her heart seem stuffed full. Then he looked at her, and his laughter quieted, and she hoped he felt the same.
If he didn’t, she would see that he did. “I hope you still intend to lie with me on my moon night.”
Fire filled his eyes even before he looked away from her and into the flames. “If you are so willing to take my cock, then I am still willing to fuck you.”
“I’m not only willing, warrior. I am eager. But I should warn you that once I have you, I will not share you.”
His hands clenched. He stared into the fire, his broad chest rising on a series of deep breaths. Finally he looked to her again. Hard determination had covered the heat.
Slowly he stood. “Come here, then.”
Her heart pounded as she rose. With each step, her breasts seemed to grow heavier, her nipples teased by soft linen behind stiff armor. Her gaze locked on his, she moved close enough to touch. His face a mask of tension, Kavik reached for her, his big hand cupping her jaw before sliding back to fist her braids.
“Down.” His voice was harsh. “Take my cock now.”
And taste him. Finally taste him. Anticipation sliced through her, hot and sharp. She sank to the ground, her knees cushioned by the folds of her cloak bunched beneath them. Her hands gripped his thighs, her palms sliding over the threadbare brocs and thick, steely muscle.
Oh, sweet gods. So strong.
“Now.” His fingers tangled deeper into her hair. “If you are so eager for it, take it all now. Tug as hard as you can.”
Her gaze shot to his face. A grimace had pulled his mouth taut, as if he lifted a weight beyond his might. Strain made sharp lines of the sinewy strength in his arms as he reached beneath his furs and shoved down the front of his brocs. His stance widened, powerful legs braced apart.
Because she was about to yank his leash, and he was apparently determined not to be moved by it.
Mala didn’t care if he moved. This wasn’t about taming him. She just wanted her tongue on his skin, and to give him pleasure. So if Kavik wanted the satisfaction of resisting what he felt for her, and if he needed it hard, and now, that was how she would give it.
Wetting her lips, she pushed aside the furs hanging from his belt. Oh, generous goddess of creation. There was so much for her to taste. Already his cock stood so tall for her, thick and heavy, with ruddy shaft and substantial crown.