by Aaron Crash
He’d mentioned the strange relationship to Gharam Ssornap, who merely laughed at him. Ymir and Gharam met once a week to spar. According to the old orc, Ymir was the only other person at Old Ironbound who could stand toe-to-toe with Gharam.
When Ymir asked about Korga, his Classic Warfare teacher, the Gruul professor had laughed. “If you spar with your wife, you certainly don’t want to beat her, not if you know what’s good for you!”
Ymir started to see Gharam as a battle brother. He had the bruises to prove it.
Siteev Ckins? She was something else to Ymir, and their attraction had only deepened. She was one of his advocates at the school, without a doubt. He thought Siteev might’ve been the one to leave the parchment, though he wasn’t sure of her motives. And she never dropped any hints that it might be her.
He’d gauge her reaction when he asked her about the Homme word aszeculum.
Ymir walked into Siteev’s classroom. She was at her desk reading over papers they’d turned in that day. They’d translated an Ohlyrran poem by some famous poet. Ymir had done the work quickly to finish early. It seemed like a waste of a man’s life to write a poem about a tree standing alone on cliffs above the Green Water Sea. What was the point of that?
Ymir approached the desk. Siteev’s coral golem stood in the corner, a mass of rock, eyes closed, and no crabs scurrying from hole to hole.
The professor didn’t look up as she read. She had her salt-and-pepper hair tied back with a long blue ribbon, the main color of the Moons College. She wore her robes, and a tight black dress, edged in lace, underneath.
His eyes followed the curve of her breast. He wasn’t close enough to smell her, but when he had before, she smelled of a spicy soap and a musky perfume, not sweet, but more complicated, like an older woman should smell. He knocked on the wood in front of her.
“Yes, hello, Ymir. One moment. I just want to finish your translation.”
She made some marks, circled a few words, and finally looked up with her green eyes, crinkled with crow’s feet. Her lips were full and red. “You captured most of the words correctly, but you forgot one of the words for green in Ohlyrran. It’s not a light green, but a forest green. All in all, you did well. I know this is not something you want to be doing.”
“And what do I want to be doing?” he asked with a smile. “Crushing my enemies? I’ve done that. Making love to a beautiful woman? I’ve done that. Mastering my classes? I’m on my way.”
She cocked her head. “Making love to a beautiful woman? We might need to talk more about that.” An impish look twinkled in her eyes.
Ymir grinned at her. Lust heated his belly.
“As for mastering classes?” Siteev shrugged. “You don’t care about that. You still haven’t gone to your Courtly Manners and Arts class, have you?”
“I haven’t. Should I?” he asked.
“Probably.”
“I will continue to be unwise until I am corrected. The Princept hasn’t talked to me about that. She hasn’t talked to me at all since the beginning of school. I believe she is satisfied in my performance.”
Siteev let that drop. “You’ll want to master your powers, focus them, so you don’t end up floating away at some point. We still talk about your levitation act that first day.”
He’d forgotten all about that. “Maybe I will master them, maybe I will destroy my dusza. I haven’t decided yet. You wouldn’t happen to have an opinion on the matter, would you?”
This was his chance to see what she thought and if she had left the parchment in his cell.
The professor slid open a desk drawer and retrieved a green glass bottle and a single wooden cup, the inside stained red from wine. She poured herself some and sipped it. All the while, she seemed deep in thought. She finally spoke. “Your life is your own, Ymir. But only in some ways. I know you want to be wild and free again, though I think you were not born for that. You were born for greatness. Master your powers first, and then, if you want, you can rid yourself of them. That would be the wise thing to do, would it not?”
There was wisdom in what she was saying, but it didn’t give him any kind of hint whether she had given him the parchment. He liked the idea of her creeping into his cell.
“I’ve been accused of being a lot of things,” he said. “Being wise isn’t one of them.” He took the bottle and felt the weight. It was nearly full. “You don’t happen to have a second cup in your desk, do you?”
“No,” she laughed, a little breathily. “I don’t normally drink with students.”
“Then let this not be a normal evening.” He lifted the bottle and took a gulp. It was the normal stuff they served in the inns. Again, how he missed the seesee berry wine, flavored from the skin, sometimes heated in a pot over the fire. His home. The food. The drink. He winced at the homesickness. It was getting worse, not better, and he felt the wound in his heart opening. Telling his story to Lillee hadn’t healed it completely. Perhaps nothing ever would.
“That is rather cheeky of you, drinking straight from the bottle. Now if I want more, I’ll have to suffer through your spit.” She wasn’t angry at all. No, she was amused, and maybe breathing a little faster.
“I wouldn’t call it suffering. If you and I kissed, I believe you would enjoy it.” He set the bottle down on the desk.
Her mouth was half open, and she blinked before catching herself. “Well, a kiss between us is unlikely.”
She said the words—Ymir wasn’t sure she believed them.
Chapter Twenty-Six
YMIR STOOD IN FRONT of the teacher’s desk with the bottle of wine in his hand. He took another pull.
Siteev swallowed hard. “They frown on professors sleeping with their students. Given that there are so few men, it doesn’t happen much anyway. Yes, sometimes a woman with a proclivity for her same sex might have some indiscretions, but those are dangerous waters to swim in. As for you and me? I’m twice your age.”
“Not likely. You’re ten years older, maybe fifteen, and you carry the time well. Actually, I noticed you right away on my first day.”
“You and that deer carcass,” she mused. “And thank you. A woman, of any age, likes to be told they are beautiful...maybe more so as the years become unkind. Even the Ohlyrra succumb to time’s relentless claws.”
“Perhaps a thousand years is too long to live. Maybe that’s why they have their strange customs.” He thought of Lillee, felt a tad guilty, then remembered she had wanted him to celebrate sex. He wouldn’t be disrespecting himself or her if anything happened with the Moons professor.
Strangely, he considered Jenny. They’d only had the one night together, and yet that night still hung heavy in his thoughts, like dew at dawn on tundra grasses. The swamp princess had no claim on him. He could do what he wanted as far as she was concerned.
Siteev didn’t comment on Ohlyrran morality. Instead, she asked, “Why did you want to see me? You are doing well, exceptional even. You have a talent for languages. I’m sure you will pass my exam, though you will need knowledge of Ohlyrran for the First Exam.”
“As well as history,” he said. “All of my classes will be important. I know. In three weeks, I’ll pass the First Exam. I have no doubt.”
“And there is the Harvest Festival afterwards, on that Saturday if you pass. I looked for you at the First Night Festival, and you weren’t there. I wanted to see if you could dance. I assume the clansmen have music and dance?”
Ymir took another swallow of the wine. “We have music. I can dance. And perhaps you and I can dance together. Or would that also be frowned upon.”
“It would be frowned upon. People would talk. If you and I ever did anything of that nature, it would have to be in secret.”
So she was thinking about having sex with him. This didn’t surprise Ymir. They had a mutual attraction, and she didn’t have a man to dowse the flames of her lust.
He would get to the translation of the ancient Homme word from the parchment. First, however, he wan
ted to see what he might have with the professor. He turned, threaded his way through the desks, and went to the door. A key sat in a lock. He twisted the key, rolling the bolt in place, and walked back to the desk. He set the key in front of her. “Since this is not a normal evening, and since the door is locked, perhaps we can begin our secret affair tonight.”
Her cup froze in her hand. “Did you schedule this conference to seduce me?”
“No,” he said. “But here we are. Actually, I came to ask you about a Homme word I came across in an old scroll. I’ve been reading a lot, mostly Pidgin, but some Homme. I found this one word, aszeculum, but I cannot find a translation. Lillee and Jenny and I have made Gatha’s life miserable asking for more information. We finally decided I should come to you.”
“Lillee Nehenna, the fallen princess, yes.” Siteev frowned. “A victim of her culture. Not all of us can fit in, though we should try. The Age of Isolation has been mostly peaceful, and some believe we should cling to it.” She swallowed more wine. “What would Lillee Nehenna think of you here, with me, and with the door locked?”
“She sees that sometimes self-control is an unnecessary prison. She is not my wife, I am not her husband, and she understands that life brings people together that need to be together. I would not be disrespecting her if you and I did secret things together.”
The cup trembled in the professor’s hand. “What’s the word again?”
“I will write it for you.” Ymir came around and knelt on the floor next to Siteev. He made sure his arm brushed hers as he reached for her pen, sitting in the inkwell. He shook off extra ink, and then scratched the word on the paper, under his translation of the tree poem.
He then turned and set his right arm on the back of her chair. This time, he was careful not to touch her. This close to her, her scent struck his nose—the musk of her perfume, her body, hot from the long day of teaching.
He stared into her eyes. “Aszeculum. That’s the word.”
She held his gaze for several heartbeats. The connection was undeniable. Then she looked at the page again. “It’s sky, but it’s odd. It’s an old Theranus word, if I’m not mistaken.”
Ymir remembered his history class. “From before the Akkridorian Empire? That would be in the Age of Union.”
“I think so,” Siteev said. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I can do a little research myself. I do have access to the Illuminates Spire.”
That meant she could’ve copied the parchment from whatever lost book was there. That meant she might be lying to him and did know the word. He didn’t think so. Maybe she’d merely assumed it meant sky. If so, he’d have to wait over three years to create the Black Ice Ring.
“We thought it might mean reflection or a mirror,” he said.
Siteev took his hand, gently, and moved it to the word. Her skin was soft, and warm, so very warm. He loved having her touch him. They’d flirted with their eyes, and given each other long looks, but this was the first he’d ever felt her skin on his.
“You see that swoop there? It means stars, so it definitely means the sky, the night sky it seems. Was this word used in conjunction with the three moons?”
“It was.” He smoothed her hand onto the desk and entwined her fingers in his. Feeling the sweat between her fingers made his heart leap. “So we’ll have to keep looking.”
“We will.” Her voice was husky. She removed her hand from under his and shifted her chair to face him. She set a leg on either side of him. “Now, about these secret things. I’ve studied a bit about the clans since you came here. You have three questions, am I correct?”
He threw a glance at her coral golem. He could ignore the thing. Either it was sleeping, or it didn’t care that its mistress was playing around with a scholar.
Ymir placed his hands on her knees. Her bones were solid under the fabric of her lacy dress. Her black boots came up to just below her knee. “Yes. I have no family to disrespect. I told you about Lillee, and she will understand. Lastly, if you are like other Theran women, we don’t need to worry about you getting pregnant. How would you answer the questions?”
She covered his hands with her own. “I have no romantic ties, and my parents wouldn’t care. Others might, but they aren’t here. I’m serious about keeping this secret. I don’t want Lillee, or anyone else to know, including Jenny.”
He leaned in and sniffed. He could smell her excitement. He moved his face over her chest, kissing the soft skin of her cleavage. He lifted himself higher and propped himself up on the chair’s arms. He gave her throat a lick, and then he was face-to-face with her. “No one needs to know. It’s been a long time since you’ve been with a man, has it not?”
She nodded. She didn’t seem to be breathing. She gasped when he kissed her full red lips. She tasted of wine—even more so when his tongue found hers. She had her legs spread wide, and he was between them. Her dress was too tight to let him press his sex against hers. He’d take care of that.
He settled back on his knees, flung off his shirt, and then scooped up the dress and pushed it up to her waist. Her pale thighs quivered—there was a good amount of meat there. He grabbed her pannee and slid them down, exposing a triangle of black fur. He pulled her underwear over her boots and cast them aside.
He widened her legs to expose her slit, a shapely set of lips, big around her half-hidden pearl. He lowered his face to taste her.
Siteev entangled her fingers in his thick locks. “I’ve wanted to feel your hair since the first time I saw it. Such a dirty, dirty blond. And I wanted to feel your mouth on me. I wasn’t sure you would want to.”
He lifted his face. “Believe me, I want to.” He then licked her until he had her whimpering. She grew more and more excited until she stiffened, keeping his head between her legs, as she came.
She shoved him back, stood, and dropped her Moons robes to the floor. She undid some buckles and straps on the dress and whisked it over her head. She wasn’t naked; she had those long black boots on.
He drank in her hard nipples rising from her pebbled brown areolae. Her breasts sagged a bit, and she had a bit of a belly, but she’d never been pregnant. She didn’t have the stretchmarks, not that he would’ve cared. That older woman, from the Red Elk Clan, had been marked by her children. Her tattoos had covered some of the scars. Still, he had spent hours on that magical night, three moons in the summer sky, exploring her body.
Ymir didn’t think this little encounter would be hours; with the way he was feeling, he was a bit worried it would only take a few minutes. He’d have to control himself.
It would be difficult. The professor seemed so very hungry. It must’ve been years since she’d felt the touch of a man. Had she been with women? He didn’t know, but since she wanted to keep their encounter secret, she probably wouldn’t want to include Lillee or Jenny.
Siteev dropped to her knees. He reached down to feel her tits, smooth and creamy. The hard nubbins of her nipples pressed into his palms. She yanked free his member and sucked on it, groaning with pleasure. She obviously loved having his uht in her mouth. Her tongue tickled his head as she bobbed back and forth. Her hands clung to the hard muscles of his thighs as she played.
And she knew how to play.
“You’re too good at that,” he moaned.
“Don’t spill in my mouth,” she warned. “I want to feel you in my oheesy. You’ll stretch me. You’ll stretch me so, so good.”
He didn’t correct her grammar.
She sat back in the chair. She put her hands on both sides of her sex to show him her wet treasure. “Right down there. Hurry, clansman, but go slow. You are so big. I’ve never had a man so big. Sucking on you, I almost choked. I think I liked almost choking.”
Back to propping himself on the arms the chair, he lined up his sex with hers. He had dirty blond pubic hair, and hers was black—no salt down there.
He pressed the tip into her wet curls until her lips parted around him. She gasped. The head of his uht was in her.
Her eyes were open, staring at him. He stared back. “You want another inch?”
“Yes.” A beat. “Please.”
Her soft flesh drew him in another inch.
“Another inch, Professor Ckins?” He knew that reminding her that she was his teacher would only make it hotter, more illicit.
“Yes.” A whine. “Please. All the way now. I want it all the way in me now.”
He pressed his hips forward. She took him in. Her velvety, sopping channel was so tight around his girth.
He withdrew, which made her whimper, and then he thrust forward, ramming into her, once, and then stopping.
“Yes.” She grabbed his arms so hard her nails bit into his skin. “That, Ymir. Do that. As hard as you can. As fast as you can. It’s so intense. You’re so deep in me. You fill me up so well.”
He retreated and thrust forward, again and again, watching her face, the lines around her open mouth, her eyes closed, and her hair coming loose from the blue ribbon. Her face was as sexy as her bouncing tits, riding on her chest, rising and falling as he pulled back and fucked her. He pounded her until a single shriek made her cover her own mouth so they wouldn’t get caught.
This had to be kept secret, and he was fine with that. No one ever need know.
Seeing her loss of control, her struggle to keep from crying out, was enough to push him over the edge. He thrust in a final time, deeper than ever, and then let the release take him.
“I feel it,” Siteev wept. “I feel you coming.”
Once the heaven of his orgasm faded, he felt his shoulders burning. Every one of his muscles was on fire. He eased back from her, naked, his organ glistening from her juices.
“Your eyes are green,” she breathed. “That’s because you are full of lust. In class, when you are studying, they are brown. But when you look at me in a certain way, they turn green.”
