THIRTEEN
Rexei wrinkled her nose. “It’s kind of small.”
Alonnen rolled his eyes. “You don’t need that much.”
“Well, I thought it’d be a lot larger,” she protested, holding up the little jar of elderberry jelly, one barely half the size of her fist. The oil lamps lighting the brothel room—fourth floor, instead of third this time, but still a corner room—shone through both the glass of the jar and the deep purplish red preserves inside, but there was barely half a cup’s worth. “For that much silver, I’d expect a full pint, is all I’m saying.”
“Can you honestly eat an entire pint of elderberry jelly in a single sitting?” he challenged her. He reached for the jar, only to have her pull away. Undaunted, he cupped her arm instead, but she didn’t move far. Moving up behind her, Alonnen wrapped his arms around her sweater-clad chest. “Well, can you?”
“With a big enough stack of toasted bread? Maaaybe,” Rexei teased. Setting the jelly back down next to the other jar, she picked it up and squinted at the label. This jar had a rippled outside texture and a smooth oval for the glued-on label, which simply said, Pomade. The translucent white contents were a mystery. “What’s this one for?”
“Well, after you’ve had your elderberry jelly mess, and we’ve had a chance to clean up in that nice big copper tub . . . I was hoping we could . . . you know,” he coaxed, sliding one hand down to cup her backside.
She considered his words, conflicted. Alonnen was a good man, smart, funny, handsome, and appealing in many ways. He had a lot of love to give, from what Rexei had seen. In fact, she was sure he would make a wonderful parent. However . . . “Um . . . I’m not ready to be a mum. And the potion isn’t one hundred percent perfect.”
“It’s not for that,” he told her. She gave him a confused look. Plucking the jar from her fingers with one hand, he slid the fingers of the other down between her nethercheeks and spoke bluntly over her little squeak of surprise. “Pomade is used to grease the bottom for pistoning. I’d hope to be a good father, and I’m sure you’d be a good mother, but neither of us is in a position at this point in our lives where creating a child is a wise option.”
“Ah. Right. And using the back door for pistoning avoids that as a complication,” she agreed, remembering all the lurid gossip she’d listened to over the years in her guise as a boy. The fingers between her nethercurves had been a bit of a surprise at first, but . . . were kind of exciting now. Rexei had heard it was enjoyable for both genders, though apparently it took a bit more preparation and effort than the baby-making route. And he’s willing to be careful, and I know he cares enough to make sure I’d enjoy it . . . A thrill of excitement wormed its way past her trepidation. “Okay . . . we’ll do it.”
Alonnen squeezed her waist and nibbled on the side of her neck in gratitude. “As much as I enjoy fondling and being fondled,” he murmured, tracing a little circle on her skin with the tip of his long nose, “I also want to do much more with you.”
Part of her was nervous at the thought of all they were about to do. Part was curious. The greatest part of Rexei’s feelings, though, was very glad she was here in this room with him. Alonnen. Setting down the pomade jar, she turned in his arms, looped her own around his shoulders, and . . . they bumped noses awkwardly.
He ducked his head at the collision, mumbling an apology. Smiling, Rexei kissed the “offending” appendage. Several times, too, so that he knew she didn’t care his nose was a bit longer than most. In fact, she peppered it with pecking kisses until he laughed and pulled back.
“Enough—enough! Leave my nose alone, woman, or I’ll attack you with it!” Alonnen mock threatened, though it was spoiled by his grin.
Giggling, Rexei covered her mouth with both hands; giggling was a girlish thing, a habit she had mostly broken over the years. But the way he smiled at her, warm and accepting this side of her, all of her, made her relax. “And how would you attack me with it? I’ll grant you it’s long and sharp at the tip, but it’s still made of flesh.”
About to reply, Alonnen paused, thought, smirked, and stepped back, releasing her. Lifting his hands to his knitted top, he pulled it over his head. “Here, first get yourself naked,” he said. “I’ll do the same. Then I’ll show you how a nose is used—a Tallnose nose,” he amended, “in lovemaking. It’s a skill not every man can train, you know, as most just don’t have the proper appendage.”
The way he lifted his head, tilting it in arrogant nasal display, made her giggle again. The way he stripped off the rest of the layers concealing his chest made her cover her blush and cover her mouth. That hid most of the smile she simply could not stop from spreading across her lips the moment he bared his winter-pale skin.
“Come on,” he ordered her, flipping a hand at her own garments. “Off with all of it! Not unless you want them stained with elderberry jelly.”
“Uh, no.” Focusing on her own clothes, Rexei worked to remove them in the face of her growing nervousness. She glanced at Alonnen. He stripped in a matter-of-fact manner and dropped his clothes onto one of the chairs next to the little table, completely unashamed of his nudity. It made her realize just how comfortable she was with him, given his visible comfortableness with her. “Right.”
Moving over to the lounging couch, she stripped off her clothes and piled them on the cushions. Everything came off easily, except her breast bindings. The material had tangled somehow; between that and the cool draft she could feel against her naked hips, she was even more anxious to get it off.
“Shh, shh, I’ve got it. A few loose threads got bound up in the knot,” Alonnen explained, soothing her. His fingers took over from hers on her left side, then he helped her unwind the long strip of linen. He let her drop the wadded material on the couch, but did not touch her. Instead, he merely observed, “You have a very cute bottom. You also have wider hips than one would think.”
“It’s, uh, the baggy tunics and sweaters and shirts I wear,” Rexei said. Her skin itched, as it always did upon removing the wrappings. Normally she scrubbed at her skin for a minute or so to rid it of the sensation, but with him right behind her . . . The itch didn’t go away. It grew, making her shift her weight and grimace.
“Is something wrong?” Alonnen asked.
“Ugh!” Giving in to her greatest urge, Rexei scrubbed her hands over her modest curves, scratching and rubbing at the reddish lines formed by the wrinkles in her breast-bindings. “So itchy!”
Chuckling, he placed his palms on her back and started scrubbing. “Here, let me help.”
Startled at first, Rexei relaxed into his efforts with a soft moan of pleasure; it was the one spot she could never reach, and he was now soothing the madness that she had learned by necessity to ignore. “Oh, that feels so good . . .”
“My pleasure. I’m happy to assist,” he reassured her. His nails scraped lightly for a few strokes, then he shifted his fingers to her ribs. Rexei squirmed a little, until he firmed his touch past the point of tickling. Another happy sigh escaped her, drawing a chuckle out of him. “Hedonist.”
“Um, yes,” she murmured, blushing. Then felt his hands slipping around to cup her breasts, making the skin of her face feel rather hot. Those fingers wiggled and stroked, making the flesh gently caged in his grip ache with needs she hadn’t really known about before the last few nights. Remembering now how he had played with and kissed her curves, she sighed and leaned back against his naked frame. Only because it was him, Alonnen, did she feel comfortable enough to confess, “I like this part, too.”
“Mmm, so do I,” he agreed, plumping one small breast. “Barely a palmful, yet so wonderfully sensitive.” He kissed the side of her neck, and played with her other modest curve.
Being passive wasn’t in her nature. She might run and hide, or she might face down a foe and fight, but Rexei was still doing something about her situation when she did those things; standing still was just not in her nature. Taking care of herself, learning new guild skills, all of these things had taught her to step forward and grasp what she wanted.
She also wanted Alonnen, and she had the grace to admit that to herself.
Turning in his arms, Rexei slid her hands over his flesh, exploring every angle and curve. She nipped at his neck and licked along the raspy edge of his jawline, enjoying his musky scent. This felt right, and wonderful, and was exactly what she wanted. “This . . . is where I want to be. In your arms.”
Alonnen felt it, too, in an upwelling of love, need, and a deep-rooted contentment. He hugged her close, chest to breasts, and just breathed in the soft, slightly spicy scent of the woman in his arms. But when she wrapped her fingers around the heat of his erection, he twitched backwards. It was too much, too intense on the heels of the emotions she had raised.
“Easy! Easy, I don’t want this to end quickly,” he murmured, soothing her brief frown of disappointment. Beyond her shoulder, he could see the jar of pomade and the jar of preserves. “Actually, now would be a good time to experiment with the elderberry, yes? Which would you rather do, lay out the old sheet or open the jar?”
“Lay out the sheet. I can act like a young man all day long,” she added, stepping back so that she could pluck the folded linen off the table, “but my wrists aren’t up to the actual task of it. How about on the lounging divan?”
“That’ll do,” Alonnen agreed, picking up the preserves. He started to twist the cap off easily . . . and failed. Gripping lid and jar more firmly, he grunted twice, trying to loosen the lid. Finally, he got it off but not before provoking a small giggle from his lover over the effort involved. “Oh, very funny. You and I both know the Threefold God of Fate loves a good ironically timed joke.”
“Then I’m very glad we don’t have the Threefold God as our Patron,” Rexei soothed him, hugging him from behind. The more time she spent with him, the more that hugging—and touching, period—felt natural and normal to her. “Or it would happen much more often, I’m sure.”
“That does bring up a good point,” he said, turning to follow her back to the couch. “Does Guildra have a sense of humor, O High Priestess?”
“Guild Master, and of course She does,” Rexei pointed out. “How could She not? She is the Patron Goddess of all the entertainment guilds, as well as all the rest. Actors, Bards, Writers, Poets . . .”
“And Patron Goddess of Brothels,” Alonnen replied, lifting the opened jelly jar as if it were a glass for a toast. Lowering it, he tilted the mouth toward hers. “Would you like to break the wax and have the first scoop?”
“I don’t have a spoon,” she told him.
“You don’t need a spoon. Use your fingers,” he countered.
She wrinkled her nose and sat down. “But that’ll be messy.”
“That’s the point,” Alonnen said, and poked at the wax that had been poured on top of the preserve. Working out several chunks, he tossed them onto the small table, then offered her the dark red contents. “Scoop some out, pick a target on either your or my body, and apply it with your fingers—wait,” he added quickly. Stepping closer, he carefully made sure his feet were on a corner of the sheet that had draped over the floor. “Okay, now do it. The point of the sheet is to catch anything that falls, after all.”
“Right.” She dug her fingers into the cool, firm, slightly grainy jelly. It squished between her fingertips, and a glob threatened to fall off when she scooped some out. Catching it with her other hand, she hesitated, then scooted forward on the sofa and smeared a bit on Alonnen’s chest.
His muscles contracted under the cool, sticky stuff. Fascinated, she spread the jelly around a bit more, then awkwardly tried to lick it. Sitting, she was too short; standing, she was too tall. With a grin, Alonnen graciously sat down and let her settle next to him so that she could lean over his lap and lick.
The jelly was a bit strong. She loved it, but she usually ate it smeared thin on toasted bread, not gooped thick on, well, non-toasted man. Still, she tried a few more licks, then looked up at his face. “Is this . . . good for you? Are you enjoying it?”
He gave it a moment of thought, then shrugged and lifted his brows. “It’s not bad. Are you having fun?”
She debated, then bit her bottom lip in a brief grimace. “It’s a bit too tart, to be honest. Maybe I should’ve asked for the birch syrup—I’ll pay you back for the elderberry jar.”
“It wasn’t that much,” Alonnen pointed out. He nudged her into a normal sitting position, then he twisted to face her. “Here, let me try it.” Scooping out a bit from the jar, he carefully daubed bits of jelly onto her nipple. “Let’s see if you like being on the receiving end.”
The first few tentative licks felt good. The way he swirled his tongue, too . . . but then he pulled back. Wrinkling his long, pointed nose, Alonnen grimaced.
“Yeah . . . the flavor’s too tart for this. Let’s clean up and share that tub,” he offered instead.
Rexei sighed, but let him rise and head for the rounded alcove. “Sorry.”
“Hey, not your fault,” Alonnen said, shrugging and spreading his arms as he turned to face her while walking backward. “We try new things, and sometimes they work okay, sometimes they work great, and sometimes they fail. Hopefully not spectacularly—and this time wasn’t a disaster—but you’ll never know until you try. We can try the syrup another time, but for now . . . one hot bath, coming up.”
Rexei rose and put the cap back on the jar; it was still perfectly good jelly, and she would be having toasted bread with her meal when breaking her fast tomorrow. Pulling the old sheet off the couch, she wiped the smear off her breast, then bundled up the fabric and set it on a chair. Big Momma’s had members of the Launderers Guild—a sub-chapter of the Servers Guild—on staff who would take the sheet and the other linens, bleach and scrub everything, and hand it all off to the room cleaners to remake the beds and so forth.
She had done something similar in the temple, stripping priests’ beds and remaking them with fresh linens once a week, and dumping the dirty linens and velvet clothes into sacks to be taken to a nearby Laundry guildhouse. Here, though, she didn’t have to do any of that if she didn’t want; the staff were paid well, based on what the brothel owner charged for these rooms. Since this wasn’t an emergency, Alonnen had elected to pay for an entire night in one of these rooms for the two of them back when they had arrived at midday.
Fresh linens, a hot bath, scented soaps . . . Joining him in the alcove, grateful the blinds had been pulled low, Rexei investigated the low table of soft soap pots. Picking one with a spicy smell to it, she added a fancy, soft sea sponge, and held them in one arm. The other, she used to test the water splashing from the faucet into the oversized copper basin. A nod let Alonnen know he had picked a good temperature. She offered him the jar for a sniff and received a nod in return.
Pleased at her choice, Alonnen let her set the jar and sponge on the broad flared rim at the head of the tub, then climbed in and assisted her over the edge. Both sank down into the heat with little hisses and contented sighs, one at each end of the oval basin. Eyeing her, he contemplated her relaxed nudity, then tapped her hand and flicked his fingers. “C’mere,” he ordered, opening his arms. “Put your back to my chest, and let’s cuddle.”
Blushing, she smiled and moved. “You really are a very . . . touchy . . . person. As in, you like to touch people. Aren’t you?”
“Very much so,” he agreed, parting his legs to make room for her to settle between them. His chest was still a little bit sticky from the jelly attempt, but the basin was quite deep, allowing the water to rise up almost high enough to soak the elderberries away. “I feel better when I’m touching someone I like. Happier. It’s like . . . it’s like making a wordless connection, deep with trust, and abiding in affection and caring.
“And when they touch me, when they reach out to me and I don’t have to start it? Then I know they care about me.” Gently wrapping his arms around her ribs, he nuzzled his jawline against her steam-dampened hair. “I love sex, don’t get me wrong—and don’t deny either of us the pleasure of it,” he teased lightly, “but just a simple, honest, cuddlesome hug conveys as much love or more. Actually, more. I could get a dozen women to grease my piston with their hands, simply because of my rank and their own desire to rise in the ranks somehow. Hell, a dozen men. But a hug? That’s something special.”
Rexei grunted, dropping her head back onto his shoulder. “Ugh . . . why do you tell me this when I’m facing away from you? And in a bathtub? If I tried to turn around now to hug you, it’d be all awkward elbows and mangling knees and unwelcome bruises for both of us.”
He chuckled and squeezed her. “We’ll have plenty of time for hugs. Right now, I’m going to enjoy the heat of this bath a little bit more, then help you scrub the elderberry preserves off our hides. Then . . . I’m going to clean your cute little bottom.”
“My bottom is not little,” she muttered. “My hips are a little bit too wide for someone trying to pretend to be a boy. I have to wear long, baggy tops to hide it.”
“The part I’m interested in is cute and little,” he asserted, sliding a hand down to her hip. “These lush bits are lovely for grabbing on to, but it’s the little cog-star between your cute nethercheeks to which I’m referring.”
His words reminded her of what they were going to do. “I, uh . . . heard it can be painful. Um, using that one.”
“It can be, if you don’t go slowly, don’t take time to gently loosen it, and definitely if you don’t use any pomade or such,” Alonnen admitted. “The other way is faster, easier, and better-feeling, but it carries the long-term risk of babies.” Shifting his hand to her belly, he rested it there for a moment, then hugged her around the ribs. “As much as part of me wants a couple of little Rexeis running around—boy or girl, doesn’t matter—the greater part of me knows we still have some serious problems to clear up before we can go that far.”
She nodded, turning her head just enough so that her forehead caressed the side of his jaw. “You’re right, we shouldn’t. And . . . um . . . well, I trust you to take your time, go slow, and . . . um . . . pomade. We should have grabbed the jar of pomade.”
“Yes and no; it might be helpful to clean up a little, first,” he told her, and slipped his other hand between her nethercheeks for a subtle tickle.
Sucking in a startled breath, Rexei squirmed a little in surprise. She forced herself to stop and relax. “Wait . . . Is my shoulder blade sticky?”
“You’re the one who leaned against me without cleaning off the jelly, first,” he teased lightly.
“Fine. Just for that, you have to scrub my back,” she mock ordered. “And anywhere else I want.”
Without a word, he reached behind him, groped for the soft yet scratchy tuft of sea sponge, gently soaked it in the hot water—and applied the sopping thing against her head and face in several rapid, gentle pats, splattering water everywhere. Yelping and spluttering, Rexei twisted around and splashed at him in affront. Since he was laughing at the time, he coughed from a mouthful of liquid, but she didn’t show much mercy when she splashed him again, so he splashed her back.
The water fight was somewhat short; very noisy with shrieks, shouts, and laughter; very wet; and glorious fun. When it ended, it did so because Rexei slipped and splashed face-first against him, breasts to chest, her legs straddling one of his. Just like that, the playful mood between them snapped amorous.
This time, she didn’t wait for him to make the first move. Gripping the rim of the tub for leverage, Rexei pulled herself up the last two inches and claimed his mouth. The shift in position allowed his manhood to slide along her belly and nudge between her thighs. Aroused, she parted her legs and straddled his hips, never quite ending the kiss, though their lips parted for fractions of a second here and there.
Wrapping his arms around her, Alonnen held her close while they kissed. Eventually, he urged her higher. Nibbling on her neck, tasting the little water droplets that clung to her collarbone, he sunk just slow enough so that she straddled his waist, bringing her small breasts into the range of his lips.
As before—as with every time—the moment his mouth brushed her skin, she shivered. The moment he licked, she shuddered. And the moment he suckled, Rexei moaned, swamped by the pleasure his simple touch evoked. A shift of his hands curved them under her rump for support, allowing him to increase the lovemaking he applied to her chest.
Her breasts were so sensitive, she was flushed and panting with pleasure before she realized what his fingers were doing. When she did, Rexei gasped. Two of them—not just one, but two—had slipped into her . . . and they were . . . !
Before she could do more than tense, he pulled his mouth off her nipple with a smacking kiss and murmured, “There, all the jelly’s gone. Or would you rather I used soap?”
His fingers wiggled impudently just inside her cog-star, ruining any chance of a coherent reply. Eyes wide, Rexei looked down at him. “That . . . That feels . . .”
“Yes?” Alonnen asked her, smirking. “It feels . . . how?”
“Disturbingly good,” she confessed, blushing. It did. It was embarrassing, but it did. He had slipped two fingers into her netherhole, a spot on her body far more associated with refreshing rooms than bedrooms, and . . . and she was enjoying it. Rexei had heard from several sources over the years that it could be pleasurable, but she hadn’t been completely sure it would indeed be so. Now, she knew.
“Well, the other way’s even better, but we make do with what we have,” Alonnen told her. “Now, if you can reach the soap behind my head and find the sponge, we’ll continue cleaning up . . . and then have lots of fun getting dirty all over again.”
His grin was difficult to resist. Complying, Rexei stretched past him . . . and found her nipple nibbled by his lips even as her fingers closed on the jar of lightly scented soft soap. It wasn’t easy to concentrate, but she found the sponge as well, groping through the water. Applying one to the other, she . . . forgot what she was supposed to do when his free hand slipped between their bellies and stroked that little nub between her legs. Forgot in favor of trembling and moaning, overwrought by pleasure.
His chuckle grounded her. Remembering her task, Rexei started scrubbing his shoulders and chest with the soap . . . and when he wiggled his fingers in her fundament some more, swiped a blob of lather onto the tip of his long, pointed nose. She wasn’t intimidated by the narrowing of those hazel eyes, however impudent her “attack” might have been . . . but the alcove soon rang with shrieks of laughter and the floor did get a bit wetter as he retaliated with tickling and splashing and snatching at the sponge to scrub her from nose to toes, too.
When it ended in breathless grins, they finished lathering a few missed spots, then rinsed carefully so they could climb out. Alonnen stopped Rexei from trying to use the damp toweling sheets to mop up the water on the floor, however. Instead, he held out one hand, flicked his fingers in a circle, and gathered up some of the dampness with a simple, wordless spell. Her look of surprise made him smile.
“You can’t work in the Lubrication Guild without learning at least something about cleaning up liquid messes,” he joked. A pass of his hand guided the bobbing, head-sized globule of liquid into the tub, where it joined the rest of the water in swirling down the drain. It wasn’t the only puddle on the floor, but it was a good start.
The mention of his alternate guild’s name made her blush. It also made her retort, “I’m not planning on spilling any of the pomade.”
His eyes gleamed with wicked humor. “Neither am I. Go fetch it to the bed, will you? I’ll join you as soon as I’ve cleaned this all up.”
Nodding, she retreated to the larger portion of the room. She didn’t go straight to the table, though; instead, she detoured to the iron stove and used the tongs to add a few more coals, ensuring the room wouldn’t grow cold anytime soon. Only then did she move to fetch the jar. Unlike the jelly, the contents of the plain container were a lot more liquid than viscous. Curious as to what it smelled like, Rexei worked on twisting off the stiffly screwed-on lid. It didn’t come off until after her fourth or fifth try, when she had reached the side of the largest piece of furniture in the room.
Like the previous brothel bed one floor below, this one had clean, bleached sheets, layers of blankets, and a mound of feather-stuffed pillows braced against the headboard. Sinking onto the edge of the equally feather-stuffed mattress, she carefully pulled off the metal cap and sniffed at the contents. The slightly oily smell, she expected. The hint of mint, however, she had not. Dabbing a fingertip in the translucent white liquid proved it to be quite slick, to the point that Rexei was not sure she wanted to touch the smooth glass with that hand again.
She looked around, but with no good place to wipe it off, she gave up and scrubbed it onto her stomach. Once her hand was clean, she was free to set down the jar and lid on the nightstand. Then she rose and pulled the covers back a bit, so that they would be on the soft linens instead of the scratchy woolens.
Only then did she notice that Alonnen had moved to rummage through the pack he had brought, now placed on the bench at the foot of the bed. But not to get out any spare clothes he had brought, no. Instead, she had a glimpse of something metallic and silvery. Noticing her curious look, he quickly tucked it behind his back and gave her a disarming smile.
“What are you hiding?” she asked, not fooled by his charm.
“A pleasant little surprise,” he demurred, moving to join her. “You’ll like it.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “What are you hiding, Alonnen?”
Sighing, Alonnen brought his arm back around. Clasped in his palm and resting along his forearm, the awkwardly shaped object took her a few moments to recognize. The long, gently tapered cylinder had a bent arm sticking out from the flat end, and a push button . . .
Oh. She knew very well what that was, even though she didn’t own one herself. Cheeks hot, she blinked at it, then at him. “You bought a crankman?”
“It was my late fiancée’s,” he confessed, “and no one bothered to claim it after she passed, so it’s now mine. I, uh, don’t use it often, but . . . Um. Here, let me show you another bit of magic.”
Muttering under his breath, he gripped the smooth cylinder in one hand, pressed the push-through button just below the crank with the other . . . and magic made the curved handle spin. She could hear the gear-teeth clattering faintly, rapidly inside the device as he wound its one-way spring, and she covered her overheated cheeks. He was using a spell to wind the device. One clearly tailored to this specific object. That was what made her blush. Rexei felt downright inadequate in her knowledge of such things—she could hide herself from a God if need be, but . . . everyday uses for spells? And for this particular use?
The spinning handle gradually slowed down as the internal spring stiffened in its resistance. When it stopped, Alonnen carefully pushed the button to the midpoint before releasing his spell, so that the handle didn’t spin the other way around in spring-wound release. Rexei blushed, knowing why he was being so careful; pushing the button all the way through its hole the other way would have sent the crankman rattling.
Setting it on one of the pillows so it would be within easy reach, he leaned over and kissed her. She kissed him back, liking this lovemaking stuff more and more. Conversations that had gone half over her head in the past now made much more sense. Though most everyone had assumed she was male and had discussed things with that viewpoint in mind, she remembered the things discussed from the other perspective. One of those things was something an actress had tried on her, thinking Rexei to be a boy.
The moment her lips nibbled on his ear, he twitched. A glide of her tongue along the slightly fuzzy curve made him pant. And suckling on the lobe evoked an outright growl. Overwrought, Alonnen dragged both of them fully onto the bed. The crankman slid off its pillow and thumped into her shoulder, but both ignored it for a long while in the passion of their kiss. Rexei tried nibbling on his ear again.
Frustrated with too much stimulation, Alonnen pulled free, grabbed the crankman, and brought the cool metal down to her breast. Her brows narrowed in confusion, but he couldn’t smile. He just thumbed the button and pressed the rattling, buzzing, vibrating machine to her left nipple.
“Oh Holy Goddess!”
It was a good thing the room had been spell-warded against sound, for her shout echoed off the decadently papered walls. Alonnen teased each sensitive breast, switching back and forth as she shouted and clutched at the covers, at his shoulders, at his wrist, half clinging to his arm, half pushing him away. Thumbing the button to neutral, he leaned in close, admiring the little beads of sweat raised on her flushed face. “That,” he murmured, “is what it feels like to me when you nibble on my ears.”
Her brown gaze, soft and unfocused as she struggled for breath, sharpened. Looking at him, she stared into his hazel green eyes, clearly thinking things through . . . then deliberately slid her gaze to the side of his face and licked her lips. Staring at his right ear. It amused him that this bright, talented, cunning woman would dare to think about licking his ear some more in the wake of his unspoken sensual threat.
He did not turn the crankman back on, though. Instead, he slid the curved metal tip down between her breasts, along the soft curves and planes of her stomach, and teased the dark brown curls of her mound. Those eyes unfocused again, and her dark-lashed lids drifted shut. Her lips parted a moment later. So did her knees, granting him access to her netherfolds. Aroused by her acceptance of this passion between them, Alonnen focused firmly on plying the rounded tip down into her folds, between her netherlips. He gently stroked and rocked the quiet device a few times, then pulled away.
It was gratifying to see her hips lift in the wake of the crankman’s retreat, seeking more stimulation. The sight of her dew slicked over the polished metal made his hand tremble. He wanted to taste it, to toss aside the Clockworks toy and replace the cool metal shaft with the heat and the hunger of his mouth, and follow that with the heat and the hardness of his own shaft. Carefully, he refrained. Instead, he nudged her hand into taking the crankman from him, then helped roll her onto her side so that she faced away from him.
“Rub that between your legs,” he coaxed, gliding his palm along the underside of her thigh until she lifted it up and braced her foot on the bed. “Don’t turn it on, yet; just rub it against yourself.”
“Mmm . . . o-okay,” Rexei agreed. She was still a little rattled—pun inadvertently intended—by the way he had used the crankman, but she was willing to comply. Within reason.
The buzzing against her nipples had been unbelievably intense. Though the toy was purely mechanical, it felt as if sparks of electricity had arced down through her whole body, connecting her breasts to her belly, her loins, even her toes. She had no idea what would happen if she turned on the machine while pressing it to that little nubbin between her legs that felt so good whenever it was stroked.
She moved the metal against herself, while she felt him shift on the bed, no doubt fetching the jar of pomade. The metal, hard, unyielding, and polished nearly mirror smooth, felt good gliding between her folds. Pleasurable, mildly intense, and just enough of a distraction that she didn’t mind what he was doing with his fingers, slick and mint scented, between her nethercheeks. She stroked a little faster, a little firmer, feeling the cool ointment, the gentle insistence of his fingers . . .
“Now, bring it back up to your breasts,” Alonnen urged, hearing her breath quicken and seeing her skin beginning to flush with desire, “. . . and turn it on.”
“Uhh . . .” Do that to herself? Could she? Dare she? An impudent wiggle of his fingers reminded her why: as a very pleasant distraction. Ignoring the slick moisture coating some of the shaft, she brought it up to her chest, braced herself . . . and thumbed the switch. The wrong way, whapping herself in the wrist with the crank. “Ow!”
Her lover had the grace to stay silent, rather than laugh aloud . . . though she felt him shake a little from suppressed mirth. Embarrassed but equally amused, she quickly pushed the button the other way. The crank immediately stopped pressing against her arm in the effort to unwind its internal springs, and the inner, rubber-wrapped hammers rattled to life. Bringing the device to her breast, she didn’t tease the nipple directly, choosing instead to press and slide the buzzing, tapered tip along the gentle swell of her left breast, then the right.
The feel of his fingers probing and stretching her star, the occasional pomade-slick brush of his knuckles lightly, teasingly along her perineum, all of that made her blush and bite her lip against the urge to moan. Now she understood all the jokes in her boy-disguised presence about “a back door to the Heavens.” Now she understood why so many couples used this route to avoid an unplanned pregnancy. Not because it was the only way to copulate without that great risk, but because it was also very, very pleasurable—and this was just his fingers.
In fact, it added a whole new layer of experience to her sense of sexuality . . . just as the crankman added something new. An addicting level of pleasure, because the more his fingers pumped in and out, the more the metal case buzzed and tickled her breasts, the more she wanted of both sensations. Panting, moaning between heavy breaths, she moved the machine up to her nipples in little teasing touches. The polished metal rarely lingered for long each time, since that would have been too intense all at once, but she did gradually increase the length of time each nipple was stimulated.
Pleasure in front, pleasure behind . . . Guildra, tell me this is what lovers feel when reunited in the Heavens . . . ! Finally, his hand came over hers and shut the crankman off. Slick with pomade, his fingers were no longer prepping her body, but she could still feel something . . .
Oh. Oh my. He’s inside me . . . She blushed hard, her eyes went wide, and she felt a small tremor of a climax ripple through her nerves. His touch had distracted her from the realization that his shaft had actually entered her, replacing those fingers with a thickness that satisfied instead of scared.
“You feel so good,” Alonnen groaned, kissing her shoulder.
“A-Alonnen,” she gasped as he moved his manhood a little.
He nipped at the muscles underneath her skin, then sucked on the sting he had made, soothing it with lips and tongue. Working his way up to her neck, he lapped at the lobe of her ear. “Do you like this?” he asked, pausing to suckle on the soft flesh. “Do you like me nibbling on your ear? Does it excite you like it does me? Or is all this trembling and moaning because I’ve put my piston in your beautiful cog of a bottom?”
He suckled again. She shivered, and her leg wanted to twitch. “A-Almost as much . . . and . . . and more,” Rexei panted. “I want . . .”
“You want . . . ?” he growled, his tone conveying an unspoken promise to deliver on whatever she desired.
Swallowing, she confessed, “I want more.”
He shuddered and held on to her for a few seconds. She could feel his heart beating through his chest pressed against her back, felt his shaft twitching and throbbing faintly in time to that beat. Ignoring the slippery stuff on his fingers, Rexei twined her own with his, barely holding on to the crankman. She needed to anchor herself in him, not some mere machine, however blissful.
Finally, he moved. Slowly, patiently, Alonnen pushed deeper inside her untried back door. Plenty of pomade had made the trouble of friction minimal; it was simply the tightness of that ring of muscles that required caution and care. She moaned, feeling the lightning currents rushing out through her limbs, and he groaned with her, moved faster, feeling it, too.
His hand covered hers, turning her grip so that the crankman pointed downward. The damp metal slid down her belly, over her mound, and came to a stop between her folds, making her shiver from the press of it against her *oris. Then his thumb shifted, sought, and pressed . . . and the machine throbbed to life, snatching away rational thought in a deluge of overwhelming stimulation.
Pleasure escaped in a wordless holler. Rexei clawed sideways at the bedding. Bucked against him. That made her breath catch from a slight stinging stretch at the move, but Alonnen used it, rocking gently into her, delving deeper. Bracing his own foot on the bed, he abandoned her hand. That let her pull back on the crankman, easing the rattling press against her *oris, but it was for a good cause.
Pulling her leg up over his to open her up more, Alonnen thrust deeply, if carefully. He had to grit his teeth against the urge to buck and pound in fast, holding back against the demanding needs of his own pleasure. Each inward stroke delved a little deeper. Once he was fully inside, he returned his hand to hers and pulled the buzzing crankman up to her breasts. Only then did he move, using her gasp and twitch to pull his shaft partway out, then he pressed back inside. That in turn pressed her forward, bringing her nipple once again into contact with the machine.
Rexei gave up control of the device. Gave up control of her pleasure. In absolute trust, she cried—with a spill of tears as well as with her sobbing voice—while he teased and tormented her nipples. He almost stopped, hearing her breath hitch in sobs, but she caught his wrist and held his hand close, then released it to reach back to his hip.
Relieved, Alonnen resumed making love to her, wanting her to forever associate pleasure with him, with this moment in his arms, rather than all the fears she had suffered while hiding for over a decade from the False God’s minions.
He did his job well; Rexei pulled on the blankets and sheets when he tucked the tapered metal cylinder between her legs, but she knew better than to close her thighs against the vibrating invasion. And when he started thrusting in earnest, picking up speed in compliance with her broken pleas for more, more, more, she pushed back into every stroke, for it was just one more layer of deep, passionate stimulation in her mind-shattering pleasure.
Her writhing and trembling made it hard for him to keep the crankman positioned just right. During one of her thrashings, he tried a little too hard, bumped the tip past her sheath opening along the sensitive span of skin between it and her cog-star, and right up against his own flesh as he thrust. That not only stimulated the underside of his shaft, it also brought the buzzing metal up against his scrotum, vibrating straight through his flesh to his own perineum. Stars exploded behind his eyes.
Vaguely, he got the machine back into place; he knew he did because of the way she hollered and clenched up in pleasure with hands and toes and buttocks, limbs straightening and spine stiffening, but it was too late to stop his own eye-blinding, toe-curling bliss. His own body tensed, shuddered, then jolted like a bowstring snapping back and forth now that the arrows of his seed were being released. He shouted, too, a strangled sound that was too far gone to be her name, though he tried.
White-blinding bliss drained away rational thought. When it ended, he found himself shaking almost as hard as the still-rattling device. Carefully thumbing it off, he dropped it onto the bedding, then wrapped his arm around her waist. She, too, was still trembling hard from her own climax. Spooned together, still connected piston to cog, he held her while their hearts slowed and their breathing steadied. Every few seconds, her inner muscles clenched just a little in pure post-bliss reflex, making him bite his lip from the lingering pleasure of it.
Finally, the twitches ended, and Rexei could think again. Think and have enough energy to speak. “I . . . I don’t know if I can . . . do that again . . .”
Alonnen lifted his head a little, alarmed. “You can’t? Why not?”
“Because if this . . . if this is how the back door feels with you . . . I don’t think I can survive the front door version,” she half complained, half complimented him. “But . . . I, uh . . . think I’m insane enough to try. When I’m not a puddle of limp jelly, that is.”
This time, the sound-masking spell was needed to hide his hearty laughter from the rest of the building.