Bedtime Stories

by Johnson, Jean

  “That . . . sounds like it’d take a lot of work to implement. Though I suppose I do have more of an advantage than you in that I’ve grown up used to the Menomonite mind-set of committees for this and councils for that.” Bracing one elbow on the table, she rested her chin on her hand, toes rubbing gently against the lower part of his calf. Touching him just felt too good to pass up the opportunity. “But it will still take work on both our parts. Not only will it take work for the people on both sides to accept our joint authority, it will probably take some time for both of us to learn how to trust each other’s judgment enough to honestly share all the powers, privileges, duties, and responsibilities.

  “I’m used to sharing power because that’s the way Menomon is run, ruled by layers of committees, guilds, and teams. Can you handle that?” she asked, wriggling her toes subtly behind his calf. The birds were still agitated from the extended light, and they were being watched by the Menomonites and Althinacs around them, but she was fairly sure Migel was aware of her subtext: Can you handle me?

  Migel smiled in a way that said he was taking a moment to tactfully phrase his reply. “As part of a team ruling the city, yes, I believe I can handle that. As part of a team married to you . . . Frothy or not, I think I would have to insist that you divorce your husbands before you married me. I’m not inclined to share you.”

  “She can’t do that,” Cotter stated. At Migel’s sharp look, he shrugged. “If you want her to get married here, she has to do it by Menomonite law, and there are a handful of indemnity clauses involved. If she divorces us, she is forbidden by law to marry anyone for a full year, plus she must pay us in marriage equity for the loss of access to a wife and all the privileges that entails. If we divorce her, she would be free to marry again, but we cannot marry anyone for three years, and we would lose our marriage privileges.”

  “I’m missing something,” Migel murmured, glancing at the other husbands. “You’re frothy men. Why would losing marital privileges be an issue?”

  “Not marital privileges, marriage privileges,” Baubin corrected. “Under Menomon law, a woman is allowed larger and better quarters dependent upon the number of her husbands, plus a tax break, rental discounts, and even a larger food budget. With six husbands, Mistress Nevada has one of the best tenements in the upper East Reef zone. Menomon also has a slight housing problem at the moment. We’d have to move out of her nice, large tenement and cram ourselves into three sets of tiny quarters at the base of the city.”

  “We can’t expand by very much in size until we have the desalinator up and running, taking from our city protections much of the burden of filtering out freshwater to drink,” Rogen stated, folding his arms across his black-leather-clad chest. “At that point, the magics allocated toward drinkable water can be shifted toward expanding the city’s limits, easing the housing pressures. Until that point in time . . . we are disinclined to divorce our wife.”

  Migel looked at Rogen and his co-husbands, then at Nevada. Finally, he nodded his head. “I can understand your point. But we won’t be living here; we’ll be living in Althinac, where polyandrous and polygamous marriages aren’t accepted. I have, however, spotted a loophole.”

  His foot moved under the table, sliding partway up Nevada’s calf. She raised her brows as much from suppressing the urge to shiver as from polite inquiry. “And that loophole is . . . ?”

  “You and I marry, and then you divorce your husbands.” He turned to the husbands. “Her marriage equity can then give you all the right to maintain your current housing status and location . . . and Althinac will foot the bill in paying for the tenement for the next three years, giving Menomon plenty of time to build your desalinator and begin expanding the city’s housing limits. After that,” he said, spreading his hands slightly, “you’re on your own.”

  “Six years,” Talladen counteroffered. “With the provision that we—the six of us—remain housed in the tenement, no more and no less. Or seven, if you care to stay, Sierran?”

  “I’d have to think about that. I’m not as young as I used to be,” the former Althinac stated. “My mind is fine, but relocating into a tense political situation is something for younger, swifter reflexes.”

  “I do owe you my life, Sierran; you’ll always have a co-father’s rights with me, and a warm welcome in my home. I’ll have to hash out these ideas with the city council,” Nevada warned Migel as she turned her attention back to him, “but I think there’s a precedent for co-husbands getting to keep their upgraded housing for at least a year, and I’m sure we can extend it to three at the very least. Particularly if I point out that they’d be getting friendlier trade relations with Althinac if I’m allowed to divorce with their legal blessing toward the terms. But it may take a few days before they make up their minds, since this isn’t a life-or-death crisis.”

  “Hopefully they won’t take forever in reaching a decision. I can fake appearing to still be in Althinac only for so long,” he warned her, and gave her ankle one last caress with his own before rising. “In the meantime, would you be willing to show me—us—more of this city? I’m told it’s just as beautiful at night, lit up by suncrystals and bioluminous plants and animals, as it looked to be by day.”

  Rising, Nevada smiled. “I’d be delighted. That is, if you don’t mind getting wet? It’s best seen from above when swimming through the towers outside the main air dome.”

  “I don’t mind getting wet . . . if you don’t mind me making you wet,” he murmured, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “But as I am a mage, I’ll just cast a spell to keep our clothing dry.”

  The masculine warmth in his rich blue eyes, coupled with that phrase, made her blush with pleasure. From the moment they had first met via mirror, Nevada had liked Migel. But it had just been liking until now; they lived too far apart and the political situation was too unstable for imagining anything more. But from the moment their hands had first met . . . Nevada could definitely picture more.

  “I wouldn’t mind at all,” she promised him, smiling as she guided him out of the Aviary Hall.

  “AND then the bladder wrack broke free, but instead of making things better, the long strands got all tangled up in the propellers and I still couldn’t get anywhere!” Migel confessed humorously, gesturing expressively with a hand before returning it to hers.

  Nevada laughed and squeezed his fingers. “Menomonites use jets for propulsion more often than propellers, but I’ve been thwarted by clogged intake chutes a time or two. Which reminds me of this time when I—”

  “Ohhh, for the love of Menos!” Seated off to the side, on one of the balcony’s padded lounging chairs, Cotter gave the two of them a glare worthy of his lead co-husband. His demand woke up Baubin and one of the Althinac men, Lajos, who had been dozing on two of the other couches. “It’s almost an hour past midnight, and the two of you won’t shut up! Some of us do have to work in the morning, you know—for reefs’ sake, go to bed already!”

  Visibly reluctant, Migel sighed and lifted Nevada’s fingers to his lips. He kissed them lightly and gave her a wistful smile. “I guess I’ll have to hear your next story tomorrow morning . . . unless you have to work first?”

  Cotter made a rude noise and hauled himself to his feet. “Not separate beds, her bed. Left-hand hall, first door on the left, you can’t miss it. And do remember you’ll have six of her best friends to answer to if you don’t make sure she enjoys it. You are more than welcome to enjoy the hospitality of our home and anything else she wants you to enjoy.”

  “Lajos . . .” Pausing to yawn, Baubin scratched his short-cropped head and nodded politely at the remaining member of Migel’s entourage. “It’s a bit late to try and find your way back to your ship in a foreign city. You’re welcome to stay here. The couch in the parlor is more than comfortable enough for napping, so you should be able to sleep comfortably on it. I’ll get you some blankets and a pillow as soon as these two clear out.”

  Blushing, Nevada rose
from the end of the lounging chair she was sharing with Migel. Cotter snagged her around the shoulders as she started to pass him. He smacked a kiss on her cheek and murmured in her ear before she could move on.

  “Just remember all that I told you about men, and you’ll do fine,” he encouraged her beneath his breath. “But don’t use all of it at once, or you’ll kill him.”

  Nevada laughed and hugged him back. Slipping free, she caught Migel’s hand and led him to her bedchamber. Finally! My turn to make the others roll their eyes at the noise we’ll be making. I hope. She didn’t want to get this wrong. A glance at the Guardian of Althinac showed his tanned cheeks were a little pink, but he was smiling just as much as she was. Good. He’s not objecting in the least.

  She couldn’t remember even half of what Cotter had told her. All her senses were wrapped up in the excitement of finally getting to make love with a man she liked, respected, and found attractive. Touching the crystals just inside the door, she lit up her bedroom and moved to the side, giving Migel room to enter. As soon as he stepped inside, she shut the door and twisted the lock.

  Migel lifted one of his dark brows at that, but didn’t protest. Instead, he glanced around her chamber, taking in the mix of colors from the chests, bookshelves, paintings, and scrap-quilts adorning the walls. His gaze fell upon her large bed, and he frowned in puzzlement. “Are those . . . leather sheets? Are all Menomonites obsessed with leather?”

  “Hardly. We just don’t have the room to grow fibers for cloth, whether from plants or from animals. Fabric is too rare and costly to waste it on bedding materials, so we usually piece together long strips of eelskin,” Nevada told him. “It’s very soft and supple, and the sueding process helps keep it from sticking to sweaty skin. Or so I’m told. This will be my first chance to find out.”

  He looked at her and smiled. “Then I’m honored to help you get . . . wet.”

  Grinning, she lifted her hands to his face. He wasn’t too much taller than her, and it didn’t take much effort to tip his head just so and draw his mouth down to hers. His willingness to be drawn into a kiss helped, as did the way he slipped his arms around her waist, pulling their bodies together. With their mouths mating, she tempered her eagerness with a thorough exploration of what kissing was all about.

  He detoured after a little while to the side of her throat, nibbling gently with teeth and lips. Nevada reveled in the soft texture of his fabric shirt as he feasted. It was warmer than leather, though not as warm as the skin of his throat. And supple; when she slid her hands to his chest, she could feel the small beads of his nipples beneath it. His own hands played with the fitted leather of her golden rayskin shirt, but the leather was too tough to shift easily, for all that its beaded texture was soft enough to wear.

  Taking her turn, Nevada nibbled on his ear, brushing back the exotic, shoulder-length strands of his dark brown hair. It was very unlike hers, which had been cut short in a scale-tooth pattern, with most of her black strands no longer than the width of two fingers. At least he didn’t seem to be offended by the shortness of her hair. Nevada knew that a lot of outsiders didn’t care for women with short hair, but the Menomonite lifestyle demanded it.

  Last year, the rage had been stripes of brightly dyed color; this year, some people were attempting to grow their hair long, following the surface-dwelling fashion preferred by the Pyromancer now living in their midst. The rest had gone back to pattern cuts. Since her soot black hair didn’t bleach well and thus didn’t dye well, Nevada had rarely bothered with coloring it. She was glad she hadn’t done so this time around; she didn’t want to scare off the man in her arms. Reclaiming his mouth, she kissed him as best she could.

  I’ll have to get used to thinking like an Althinac again, she acknowledged, helping him find the cuttlebone buttons holding her blouse in place as their tongues meshed. I . . . Ooh. Wow. I didn’t know he could make my whole body shiver like that, just from touching my bare skin . . .

  Migel broke off from their kiss, pulling back far enough to give her bra a bemused look. “Even your underwear is leather?”

  “Salmonskin. It functions as a swim outfit, in case I have to go into the water while I’m on the job but don’t want to get the rest of my clothes wet. Salmon leather doesn’t stretch out of shape when wet, like other leathers usually do,” she explained. “Rogen and Dar-shem wear a lot of it, since they’re coral masons.”

  He winced a little at that. “Can we leave the subject of your husbands on the other side of that door?”

  She nodded. He kissed her and drew her hands to the ties of his shirt. As much as she enjoyed the feel of all that cloth under her hands, Nevada wanted to touch him when he was naked and eager, too.

  Somehow they managed to get from standing by the door to the side of the bed, shedding clothes and footwear with a minimum of fumbling. Nevada didn’t know if he or she was the one responsible for getting them onto the bed, just that they were still kissing and touching when they lay on their sides, legs and arms and lips interlaced.

  Migel finally eased back with a humming sigh, his hand caressing the curve of her hip. “You are very beautiful, both inside and out, Nevada,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb gently along her hip bone, making her shiver. “Even if expediency didn’t demand it, I’d still consider marrying you. I’m glad I thought of it . . . if you don’t mind my being practical enough to combine both reasons.”

  Nevada smiled. “Believe me, I understand practicality. And I’d marry you, too, I think, under different circumstances. More romantic ones.”

  “I think I can make things romantic enough,” he murmured, leaning in for another kiss. Shifting the hand on her hip, he tickled her thighs apart. Brushing against her nethercurls, he eased his way into her folds with soft, slow sweeps of his fingertips.

  Her breath caught in her throat when he rubbed her peak with the pad of his index finger. It caught again when that same finger dipped into her opening. She liked it, and sucked on his tongue to show her enthusiasm, since it wasn’t as if she could say anything in the midst of his kiss. He chuckled and shifted his thumb into play, teasing her clitoris in time with the gentle in-and-out pumping of his finger. Unable to stay still, she let her hips move with the feelings he stirred in her, rocking into his touch.

  The urge to reciprocate had her brushing her palms over his skin, exploring the crisp hairs on his chest and the muscles lying beneath. She discovered he was ticklish on his lower abdomen; he sucked in a breath when she teased her fingertips around the dimple of his navel. And that he really liked it when she brushed her knuckles lightly against his shaft, so she did it again, then wrapped her fingers around him and stroked slowly. He was already warm and firm, but under her touch his flesh grew hot and hard.

  Migel kissed her harder and added a second finger to the first. It was a tight fit, but he didn’t rush, easing his way into her depths. Thumb circling steadily, he kissed his way from her mouth down to her shoulder, then onto one breast. When his tongue flicked out and circled her nipple, matching the movement of his fingers, Nevada cried out. It wasn’t a loud cry like Cotter’s, and it didn’t quite match the bashful wail her bard co-husband gave, but she understood the bone-deep sentiment behind both. Having her breast licked felt just as overwhelming as being shocked by a lightning eel, if one could be shocked in a deliciously pleasant way. Beyond pleasant.

  Shifting lower on her body meant shifting out of her grip. Nevada moaned in disappointment, her palms missing the satiny-smooth feel of her new toy. Migel soothed her with little kisses sprinkled across her stomach and nudged at her legs, making room for himself between her thighs. Catching on to what he wanted, she parted her limbs and lifted her knees a little to make the new position more comfortable for both of them.

  Murmuring his approval, Migel nibbled on her thighs, licking between nips. His thumb never stopped stroking her flesh. Unable to lie still, needing an outlet, Nevada moaned again. Her fingers fisted in the soft, silvery gray leather sheets, then s
troked up her ribs to cup her breasts. The moment he replaced his thumb with his tongue, she cried out, arching into his touch.

  Her flesh stung again when he added a third finger. Distracting her with swirling, lapping flicks, Migel coaxed her into arching and moaning more. When he fluttered his fingers deep inside, she squeaked, throat locking in shock at just how good that felt—then cried out when he fluttered and suckled at the same time. Blinded by bliss, she drowned in sensation as he did it again and again until she was weak and trembling.

  Warm flesh covered her torso. Prying open her eyes, Nevada met Migel’s gaze just moments before his hair curtained her from the light and his lips blotted out further thoughts. She could smell and taste herself on him, essence of woman mingling with musk of man. Stroking his hair back from his face, she kissed him enthusiastically despite her passion-sated state.

  After a few minutes, he rested his forehead on hers while he shifted his weight, bracing most of it on his forearm and knees. With his free hand, he gently prodded his shaft against her flesh, rubbing it through the moisture still seeping free. Nevada smiled at him, pleased he was taking his time with her.

  “Do you want me to reciprocate, first?” she asked. Most of him stilled at her question, though a certain part of him twitched against her as he contemplated her offer.

  “Later,” Migel decided. A shift of his hips, an adjustment with his hand, and he pressed the tip of himself into her. Her body resisted, making her suck in a sharp breath, but he tucked his thumb between them and gently rubbed. Pleased by his care, she tempered her own touches, soothing him with gentle strokes of her hands on his skin rather than trying to excite him.

  Between his soft kisses and his gentle touches, his slow entry into her untried flesh took a while, but it didn’t hurt too much. By the time he was fully inside, Nevada wanted more than this gentle consideration. Cupping his face, she angled her mouth against his and suckled his tongue. He hummed in appreciation, but didn’t move. She tugged gently on his hair. He stayed still inside of her, concentrating solely on their kiss. So she stroked her nails lightly down his back in that stimulating, scratching way her first husband had said most men liked—and he bucked at that. It stung, but it felt good, too.