The Twelve Kingdoms

by Jeffe Kennedy

  It became unbearable, the stimulation, the utter arousal of my body under his hands and lips and teeth. My heart raced as if it might burst from effort and, though I tried to steady my breathing, I lost the rhythm again and again, panting and making pleading noises. Finally I couldn’t hold back and I thrashed in his grip, bending to take his mouth so he had to tip his head back to receive my desperate kisses.

  “I want.” I panted into his mouth. “I need.”

  I made no sense, but I craved so much more.

  “I would give you the release you seek.” His deep voice nearly growled the words. “But it may be too soon.”

  “I want this. Help me. Please.” The fervent desire so drove me I didn’t even mind that I seemed to be begging him for help.

  “Can you touch yourself? Have you done that?”

  Odd that I could be embarrassed, fully naked and writhing in his arms, but I buried my face in his neck, wondering if I could truly speak about this. “I did some, before . . . that time. But not after. I felt—”

  “How did you feel?” He held me with such tenderness, as if he didn’t feel the same mindless urgency I did. So controlled.

  “I can’t say it.”

  “Yes, you can. Lance the wound. The words are your blade. Use them to open it and let it all out. I’m here with you.”

  Absurd to think of words as a blade. Such simple things to confess, yet they sliced at me, old and jagged, rusty with stagnant blood.

  “Dirty. I felt soiled. And it hurt.”

  He made a small sound. “You were so young. Of course it hurt. You were torn.”

  “Yes. I bled. Some. Not a lot, but I couldn’t bear to think about it, so I just stuffed some cloth in there and tried to forget. Then the blood dried and it hurt even more, and when I pulled the cloth out finally, because I was afraid I’d get infected and die, it bled again.”

  “Oh, my hawk. Why didn’t you at least see a healer?”

  “I kept it secret. Told my maids my woman’s time was heavy and they were all sympathetic. They gave me tea for cramps.” I laughed a little into his shoulder, a watery sound.

  “So brave,” he murmured, kissing my temple.

  “No. I was desperately afraid and miserable. Over time it stopped hurting so much and I healed. But I never touched myself there, no more than I needed to.”

  “Does it pain you now?”

  I lifted my head and looked him in the eyes. “Not pain, but different. Aching. I want you to try again.”

  “It doesn’t have to be tonight.”

  “What if tomorrow sees an end to either or both of us? I want to try. I’m tired of being a coward.”

  “That you could never be.” He brushed my lips with his, deepened the kiss, a blacksmith stoking the fires again, thumbs caressing my nipples, and he held me afloat with his big hands spanning my rib cage. When he had me panting again, very nearly as desperate as before, he turned me in his arms. “Let’s try this.”

  29

  He had me lie back in the circle of one arm and slipped the other under my back, so I floated in the water. We kissed like that for a while, the fever burning hotter. “Touch yourself, Ursula. When you’re ready. Try it a little bit.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “If you can’t, then I certainly won’t. Your body is yours first. If you can pleasure yourself, then perhaps I’ll be able to also.”

  It was easier than I thought it might be, especially with his drugging kisses and that part of me so desperate to be touched. Keeping my focus on him, on the wild sensations he stirred in me, I slipped my hand from his neck and under the water, letting the need guide me. And found myself slick and swollen. Though part of me tensed for the pain, for the sick feelings, instead a lovely shimmering susurrus rolled up through me, a warm and nurturing wave through my body that carried me with it, like the sea around me.

  I sighed out a moan and Harlan’s arms tightened, his kiss intensifying. Stroking my own folds, I found the place that felt best, an almost too-piercing sensation. I tensed with it but seemed unable to stop, unwilling to back off from the sharp sweetness of it. The need, the utter craving for release, built, and I whimpered, sighed, wanted to bite. More. I needed more. Harlan’s mouth hardened on mine, demanding, his own breath coming harder. Pulling away, I gasped, “But you . . .”

  “Don’t worry about that. You have no idea how exciting this is for me, holding you and feeling your delight. Give yourself over to it, to me. I’m right with you. Let me feel you go over.”

  With that his mouth fastened on mine again, as hungry as his words, pulling on me, drinking from me, and the unbreakable tension rose hotter and higher and more intense.

  And broke.

  With a sharp cry, I convulsed, bowing in Harlan’s arms, shattering into thousands of pieces under the hammer of the release, breaking again and again, into crumbs, then grains, at last left dissolved and languid, like so much seawater.

  Harlan had gentled his kisses, making them sweet and tender, feathery brushes of his lips against mine, my cheeks, my brow.

  “I knew I had to be missing something,” I murmured, and his laugh rumbled through him.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Good.” I levered up and turned to face him. Amazingly good, in fact, as if I’d had an excellent workout, leaving my blood running clear and fast, my body limber, full of energy. I wrapped my fingers around his erect cock and had the satisfaction of having his hands clench on me and lust burn through his deliberate gentleness. He’d be panting and pleading, too, before we were done. “I want the rest now.”

  “Ursula—”

  “Don’t argue. Unless you’ve changed your mind?” I stroked up and down his length, loving the way his hips moved, drawn into the rhythm. “Have you withdrawn your offer?”

  “Gods no.” He groaned. “It’s—” Grabbing my hand, he stopped me. Not pulling it away, but holding me still. “I couldn’t bear it if I hurt you. We can wait, work up to it.”

  “I’ll tell you if it hurts. Judging by the other night, you’ll know pretty fast. No, no.” I cupped his cheek when he looked stricken. “This is amazing. You are amazing. That’s why I want more.” I turned my hand in his grip, guided his hand to my own sex. “You touch me now. A good test, yes?”

  He rested the back of his hand against my thigh, not letting me tug him closer. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Touch me. Do it.”

  “I won’t refuse you, but we’re going slowly. My way. Put your hands around my neck.” He kept his hand unmoving on my thigh as I did. Then started moving it, ever so slightly, just a soft caress of his knuckles against my skin. I went to kiss him, but he stopped me. “I need to see your face,” he explained, lengthening the caress, so that he drew his hand down to the curve of muscle above my knee, then drifted up higher, to the soft round at the upper end of my inner thigh.

  I sighed in elation at it, at the way the heat began to build again. “Yes,” I said. “More.”

  He chuckled. “Patience.” Slowly—infuriatingly so—he gradually increased the upper end of the caress, turning so the pads of his fingers touched me, sliding up one thigh, then the other. I parted my legs, inviting him to take more, but he continued the excruciating journey, all the while watching my face as the desire rode me harder and harder.

  “I can’t stand any more,” I grated out, my hips moving into his hand, which stubbornly refused to go where I craved it to be.

  “Can’t you?” He smiled, a cat with captured prey, both hungry and pleased at once. His hand rose again and I stilled, hoping he’d complete the movement and touch my folds. But he paused, nearly there. Not close enough.

  “Higher,” I demanded.

  “As Your Highness commands,” he replied and tangled his fingers in my curls, making me groan in frustration. “Too high?” He asked in an innocent tone.

  “You’re killing me.” I managed. “Please.”

  “Soon.” Caressing my mound, he drew his
fingers down through my curls, to the point where my nether lips parted, holding my gaze. “Yes?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  With infinite tenderness, he slid the pad of one finger into my folds, so lightly, I might not have felt it had I not been so sensitized, my own moisture making his movement glide differently than with just water on my skin. More, his touch on me sent lightning strikes of need, far different than my own had. I cried out at the shock of it and he stilled.

  “Bad?”

  “Agh, no, Danu take you.” I rocked my hips against his hand. “More. Harder. Move!”

  He chuckled, dark and full, and pressed his whole hand against me.

  I came immediately, as if he’d set spark to my tinder that had me bursting into flame. My shout of pleasure echoed in my ears and I slid my body against his big hand, the calluses an extra bite against my slick flesh, the climax pouring through me like a cleansing rain after years of drought.

  I fastened my mouth on his and he let me, returning the kiss with ferocious need. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I pressed in, needing to be closer. “Inside me.”

  He hesitated and I bit his lower lip, not too hard, but enough to make him growl. “Don’t push me. I’m trying to be gentle with you.”

  “I’ve had enough of gentle. I need hard.”

  “I’m not letting you bully me into something that might hurt you,” he returned, but he nudged a finger into my opening, the one that ached to be filled.

  “Feels good,” I murmured, nipping at his neck, making him shudder, urging him to lose that careful control. He’d have none of it, though, slowly edging into me, holding my hips still with his other hand so I couldn’t make him go deeper.

  It drove me crazy.

  “Harlan.” His name came out as a desperate groan.

  He laughed, breathless also. “Gods, how I’ve waited to hear you say my name in that tone, whiskey hoarse with desire. But we have to go up to the beach if we don’t want to make a baby.”

  “All right,” I agreed, at this point willing to go along with whatever stipulations would get me what I wanted. I started to unwind myself from him, but his arms tightened.

  “No need for that.” He lifted me a little so I sat more securely with my legs wrapped around his waist and, cupping my bottom, began wading powerfully through the water.

  “Much like riding a horse.” The position gave me an excuse to hold on to his shoulders—and plenty of opportunity to explore his skin with my mouth. He grunted and went faster, some of that control fraying at the edges.

  Gaining the drier sand, he kissed me long and hard, then set me down and rummaged through his clothes, pulling out a leather envelope.

  “What is it?”

  He handed me the thing, like a thin sock. “The protection. A lind. It stops my seed from reaching your eggs.”

  I eyed it dubiously. “So thin.”

  “Else I couldn’t feel you at all.” He touched my cheek. “We don’t have to do this. Not yet. Not ever, if need be. Don’t do it just for me.”

  Holding his gaze, I turned my head enough to kiss his fingers. “I want to try. Unless it would be too difficult for you if we start and I have to stop. I can’t promise that—”

  He pressed his fingers to my lips. “I don’t need promises.”

  “What do you need?” I hadn’t concerned myself with it before, but I wanted to know.

  “I already have it. Anything more is gravy.”

  “Shall I put this on you?”

  He took the sheath from me. “In my current state, that might end things before we get started. I’ll do it.” Making quick work of it, he rolled it onto his cock, then pulled me in for a kiss, setting a slow pace again with long, languid caresses. Our bodies, both still damp from the sea, slid together, heating rapidly again. He cupped my breast and I gasped, amazed that it felt so perfectly new every time and yet intimately familiar in a way that dazzled me.

  He drew me down to the sand and lay back, draping me over his big body as he liked to do, hands roaming over me. “It might be best,” he said, in between kisses, “if you ride me in truth—so you can control how it goes.”

  Some part of me that had been worrying at the thought relaxed in relief at that suggestion. I hadn’t been sure I could bear to bend over and . . . I firmly put the thought away. “I’m making new images tonight,” I said, then realized he’d have no idea what I meant. He seemed to follow the thought anyway.

  “Do exactly as you like with me, my hawk.” He folded his hands behind his neck, a banquet of masculine beauty for me to feast on.

  I straddled him, working out the logistics. Lifting his cock from where it thrust against his belly, I held it in place and raised up on my knees. Harlan’s lips moved, a bare whisper of his language coming out. “What are you saying?” I asked, pausing.

  His gaze flicked to me, a melting glance of wild desire. “I’m reciting the dates of the Dasnarian dynasties so I don’t spill too soon.” He very deliberately looked away again.

  It was tempting to tease him, but if we were to see this through, I knew I shouldn’t. My entrance remained slick, but the head of his cock was so broad that it stretched me. I wriggled, easing him in a bit, the driving need to have him in me overcoming the rill of fear that chilled me at the twinge of pain. Danu help me, I would not let that fear stop me from so simple a thing. I’d faced far worse than this thing that countless women before me had done and enjoyed. Still, my gut clenched at the sensation of him pressing inside me there, a vague sense of illness cooling the heat that had carried me through.

  “Ursula.” Harlan touched my hand where I braced it on his chest. “Stop now. It’s too soon.”

  The concern in his face tugged at my heart. So quickly he’d gone from a state of desire so fierce it forced him to recite history to distract himself from it, to this heartbreaking worry for me. Because I let my fears get in the way of the one thing he’d asked of me. By Danu, I would give it to him.

  “No. I’ll do this.” Cleanly, without letting myself dwell further, I pushed myself down, sheathing him with my body. As if he’d indeed cleaved me with a sword, I cried out, the astonishing sensation of him filling and stretching me more extraordinary than anything that had come before. “Oh, Danu!”

  Harlan sat up, wrapping arms around me, still sheathed inside me, so the motion sent ripples deep into me. “Ursula,” he whispered, sounding ragged. “You’re hurt.”

  “No.” I gasped against the astounding pleasure. “It’s good. So good. I didn’t know.”

  He laughed, dark with relief, and slid his hands down my back to my hips, holding me there, then rocked himself inside me. My eyes practically rolled back in my head at the wave of exquisite sensation. I found his mouth, avid, eager for me, and kissed him as he moved deep inside me, the desire building, billowing, so that my blood boiled and I panted like a wild thing.

  “Harlan.” I said his name like a prayer, a vow. The heat of him set me aflame and fed me at once. The moment should last forever and I clung to him as if it could.

  “Yes,” he answered and held me as I came apart.

  I lay against his side, in our accustomed position, my head in the fold of his shoulder as we gazed up at the stars. We hadn’t spoken since we’d made love. Had held on to each other for a while, exchanged kisses, and, by mutual accord, waded into the water to clean up. He was waiting for me, I knew, to process my thoughts and feelings.

  All of which seemed too enormous to parse.

  I might have thought he slept, but his fingers lightly traced a caress on my arm, seeking to reassure me even now.

  “What I don’t understand,” I finally said, “is how that could have felt so right when the other felt so wrong.”

  “Because the other was wrong,” he replied immediately, verifying that he remained alert.

  “It’s the same act.”

  “But not the same intent.”

  I sighed, unsure what to think about it all. Not really wanting to thin
k about it, in truth. “He wanted a male heir. It wasn’t about me or even him. We both acted in service to the High Throne.”

  “He wanted to control you. Rape is an act of power and violence. What he did was wrong and he knew it.”

  “I’m not sure that’s so. No, listen.” I put my hand on his chest. “He has ever been a law unto himself. That’s how he accomplished the impossible, because he answers to nothing and no one. He became High King exactly because the rules meant nothing to him, and now he’s above the law. That’s what makes him King.”

  “It’s what makes him a monster.”

  “One you’re contractually bound to serve, I have to point out.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “What does that mean?” I shifted to sit, but he held me to his side.

  “You listen, Ursula.” He sounded mean, unlike him, and I recognized the tone for a cold, burning anger. “I know you and I have different ideas about loyalty, but the Elskastholrr means that mine belongs to you above all things. That contract wasn’t in conflict with my decision because both it and my pledge are to serve you, but it became void in my eyes the moment I learned what he’d done to you. I have no fealty, no obligation, to someone who would wound you so terribly.”

  “You can’t just void a contract.” I broke free of his hold, started to get up, but he pulled me onto his chest, holding me by the shoulders so I had to look at him.

  “I can and will do whatever my pledge to you dictates.”

  “Well, then, I’m telling you not to break that contract.”

  He smiled, a grim line to his mouth making it deadly. “It doesn’t work that way. My pledge was mine to give, and I did so freely, but that doesn’t let you dictate to me. My agency remains mine and I decide how best to serve you.”

  “What are you saying, Harlan?”

  “I’m saying the man is a monster and the only way you can stop me from killing him is if someone else does. Or if you kill me.”