by Morgan Rae
Garock steps away and puts distance between us. The air leaves my lungs and, for a second, I am completely crushed. He’s turns away from me, and goes to the edge of the bank to collect his clothes. The magic is slipping through my fingers like sand, the page is turning, and pretty soon this will just be another bright glimmer on my list of could’ve, would’ve, should’ve moments.
“What if…”
His eyes flash to mine. Black steel. I take in a breath and toughen my nerves. You can do this, Kennedy. You have to, before you give up in fear again and regret it forever.
“What if your Goddess wants to be defiled?”
His expression softens completely. It’s funny, a few hours ago I didn’t know how to read him through his masculinity but now I see he wears his emotions on his sleeves. It’s a relief. I never have to guess at what he’s thinking. The warmth in his eyes is as obvious as the hardness of his manhood. When he comes to me, and cups my face in his large hand, my heart patters against my chest and I feel my cheeks burn red.
“Then I would get to my knees and worship every inch of her body with my lips.”
“Oh, just take me already,” I blurt out and grab his face and crush his mouth against mine. In all twenty-four years of existence, this is the boldest thing I’ve done since I learned to walk on two legs. I should be terrified. I should be running to my room with the nearest book and curling up under my fluffy white comforter. I’m not. I feel alive. I feel empowered. I feel safe. It’s ironic, to feel so safe in the hands of a man who could literally crush my bones to bake his bread, but he cups my face and holds my hip as though he’s handling butterfly wings. I know there’s not an iota of him that would hurt me.
The black hair of his beard scratches my chin and my cheeks. His lips are a little awkward against mine, as though he’s unused to kissing like this, and I can tell he’s doing his best to be gentle about it. He’s holding back, even though I can feel his hard length brush against my thigh. Here I am, throwing myself at him, and his restraint is making me dizzy.
“In your culture,” I murmur without really breaking contact with his full lips, “Do you kiss like this?”
“No,” he says. His voice is as raw as sawdust now and it makes my insides quiver. Of course they don’t. These are warrior men. They don’t hug. They don’t kiss. They probably just get on all fours and go for it.
“Open your mouth,” I instruct him. “And stay still.” I don’t know what possesses me to order around this wild beast of a man, and maybe it’s the Goddess Wylah stuff getting to my head, but I’m enjoying this. He parts his lips and I grip his shoulders as I lean in. Slowly, deliberately, I curl my tongue inside the warmth of his mouth. I flick my tongue, teasingly, against the tip of his.
A moan pours from him and his cock twitches against my thigh. I’m reveling in his reactions, high off of his lust for me, and I tease him out a little longer while I have him here. I have no idea what I’m doing, always imagining that my first time would be with someone who had to patiently take the lead, show me the way. Instead, I’m the one moving forward while he stays still, even though it’s clearly not easy for him, as I trace a circle suggestively around the tip of his tongue.
My tenuous hold on this untamed man snaps and he grabs me by my hair. His grip is no longer gentle, it’s rough, and I gasp as my arousal rushes between my legs.
“Do not do that,” he warns me. His voice is low and dark and I can barely catch my breath.
“What?”
“Challenge me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I cannot possibly want you more than I already do.”
His eyes never leave mine and I am hypnotized by them. He grabs me by the waist and lifts me up. My legs wind around him instinctively and despite all my curves I feel weightless as he carries me to the bank. Garock pushes me down on a large, flat rock. It’s sun warm and it feels nice on my back as he flattens me onto it.
He doesn’t even try to unclasp my bra. Garock snaps it off my chest like a taut rubber band and my breath gets caught in my throat. He pulls it off of my body and tosses it to the sand, leaving my chest bare. My nipples harden in the cool air and I bite my lip.
Garock’s eyes lock on mine. That predatory fire is still there now, but there’s something else as well. He’s admiring me. I swear, for a moment the tattoos on his body seem to shimmer like blue flame. His fingers curl around my skirt and he peels it down my legs, along with my panties. I’m completely naked now, but I don’t feel shy. The way his eyes never leave mine fills me with a confidence I’ve never known before. I don’t feel the need to impress him. I don’t feel like I have to apologize for the way I look. He likes what he sees, it’s obvious in the darkness of his eyes and the quiver in his cock.
Garock spreads my legs apart and his eyes take me in. He slips his hand up my thigh and boldly strokes his thumb down my sex as though he were splitting open a sweet fruit. A single touch from him sends pleasure shooting through the center of my body and I arch my back and whimper. I need him. I ache so terribly.
“I’ve never made love to a human,” he tells me.
“Well, I’ve never made love to a…uh…” I motion to him.
“Kurah?”
“That too. But I mean… anyone, really.”
“When I am inside of you, you will feel my Kaul. It is my life energy. If you cannot handle it…”
“I can handle it,” I reassure him firmly. I need it. There’s nothing he can say to dissuade me now, not when I’m burning up for him.
“Please,” I whimper. My little swollen nub, exposed, feels like it’s on fire as his thumb presses up and rolls over it. “I need you.”
His eyes find mine again and he doesn’t waste time anymore. He plunges his cock inside of me in a single thrust of his hips and I cry out with the briefest sting of unexpected pain. He’s big, so big, but I’m sopping wet and my body doesn’t protest when he fills me. My vision blurs and he reaches places inside of me I didn’t know ever existed.
“Oh my god,” I whimper.
“My Goddess,” he says, his voice thick and reverent. He cups my face in his large hand and looks down at me. “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” I’m panting like a dog. My mouth is so dry that my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. My eyes don’t leave his now and I wind my arms around the back of his neck as my hips pivot. I roll my hips against his, taking him deeper inside of me, taking him in at my own pace. He is hard as iron and hot as fire, like a freshly forged sword inside of me. I grip his shoulders, his chest, his thick, long hair, I can’t get enough of his strong muscles and flawless body.
Each of his thrusts is deliberate, allowing me to feel the full length of him. He ebbs and flows and each wave of him draws me closer to that cresting edge. His long hair drapes down the sides of his face like a waterfall and tickles my bare skin, tightening the peaks of my nipples as it brushes against them. My toes curl and my insides clench. Everything in me is pulled taut and my legs begin to quiver around him as I feel my release build and build. I’m in a pleasure fever, sweating and burning and panting. He holds my face in his hand and his touch is so gentle and so all-consuming that I’m completely overwhelmed.
“My Goddess,” he moans, a deep sound that vibrates in the back of his throat. His jaw tightens and, by the looks of it, he’s nearing his own climax too, but he’s not going to let himself go over until he’s fully satisfied me.
“Call me Kennedy,” I beg as I grip him tightly. I notice his tattoos are shimmering under my grip. They’ve gone from a deep black to a deep blue, as though his body is literally covered in too-hot flame. It should frighten me, but it doesn’t. Instead, his heat courses through me and ignites my veins. “Please.”
His dark eyes lock on mine and his body thrusts deep into me, so deep I can barely tell where I end and he begins. “Kennedy,” he murmurs in a breathy growl.
That’s it. The sound of my name on his lips is
too much and I cry out. I’m completely taken by the intensity of my first orgasm and for a second it’s all I can do to gasp, whimper, and writhe as my climax explodes through me. My body contracts around his thick shaft, throbbing, and I dig my nails hard into his shoulders and down his chest. His tattoos pulse with a hot, cobalt light. When he arches back, shouts, and shoots deep inside of me, a shudder runs through me, all the way from my toes to the tips of my fingers, as though I’ve been gently grazed by a lightning bolt.
For a second, I can’t breathe. I pant heavily, and the after effects of my orgasm thrum through me. Garock is spent, his markings settled back into an inky black on his skin, and he hangs over me, his waterfall of hair covering me.
“So,” I say, a grin spread across my face. “That’s what it’s like...”
Garock’s eyebrows knit and, finally, he breaks the silence. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yes. More than okay.” I chew my lip and then admit, “It was amazing. I’ve never felt anything like that.”
“Neither have I,” he says. When he looks at me, I believe him, even though the idea that I could possibly be enough to satisfy this man is astounding. He kisses me, closing his lips over mine firmly, but delicately, and I melt into his kiss. He starts to grow soft, but I love the feeling of him inside of me so I tighten my thighs around his hips, keeping him in me just a moment longer. “I cannot drink enough from you, my Goddess,” Garock murmurs.
“Kennedy,” I remind him. “I think we’re on first name basis now.” I laugh at my own joke and then that laughter grows until I’m shaking with it. He grins and lets out a low chuckle himself. Even if he doesn’t entirely understand the joke, my laughter seems to tickle him, at least.
“You know what?” I say as I look back up at him, smile still on my lips. “I’m suddenly starving.”
He gives a nod. “I’ll find us food.”
Before I can say anything more, he pulls out of me and I gasp at the emptiness, which leaves behind the sting of loss. But I should know better, the man is hell bent on taking care of me. I tilt my head to look at him as he shifts back and stares at the water. He’s fishing.
I bite back a grin and slip my hand between my legs briefly. I’m wet with his arousal and mine. Was that me? Really me? I’m a homebody, a girl who stays in her bed all day and checks her door six times to make sure it’s locked. I’m not the kind of girl who would ever dream of having sex in a public place with mysterious, beautiful men.
Correction, Kennedy. You weren’t that girl. Not until now.
I can be anyone here. Anyone. Even myself. And, as cheesy as it might sound, I feel the first flutters of excitement in my chest in a long time. I can’t wait to find out who the real Kennedy Davis is.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: GAROCK
I spear two large fish, start up a small fire, and cook them over the flame. My Goddess, Kennedy, seems to enjoy the meal. At least, she is hungry enough that she doesn’t complain as she picks it apart. I devour my meal, feeling famished, and then draw my attention to my axe. She needs sharpening. I find a rock to sharpen her blade. The act is methodical and it keeps my mind from straying. It keeps me from wondering too hard about the woman next to me and how she made me feel only moments ago. I have mated with a she before, but never like that. My chest feels full of knots, as though my heart is trapped in a thorn bush. I busy my hands and scrape my blade back and forth.
“What’s with the axe?”
I glance up and see Kennedy staring at me. Her mouth is full.
“This is Swing,” I tell her as I show her the glint of my axe. “She is bound to me.”
“Are all the important figures in your life women?” There’s a small smile at the corner of her mouth. I like that smile. As soon as the thought enters my mind, I feel a pinch in my chest. I look away and turn my gaze back on Swing.
“Women are important. They create life.”
“And men like you take life, huh?”
The flat stone clinks against Swing’s blade.
“When a Kurah boy reaches his age,” I explain, “he is gifted with a weapon of his own. He will name it. He will care for it. He will bond with it. The bond is what makes Kurah weapons the strongest weapons there are. Our weapon is connected to us. It will never leave our side and it will never fail.”
“What do you mean, bond?” she asks.
I take Swing by her handle and lift my arm to show her. In my mind’s eye, I imagine I’m preparing to battle Faron. The markings on my body begin to glow white. It starts at my chest and then flickers like fire down my arm. Once the light reaches my fingertips, it ignites Swing as well. Her carvings and etches burn with the same bright light that pulses within me.
My heart thumps in my chest. My bloodlust grows hotter the longer I keep my Kaul active.
“This,” I tell her, and I can hear the thickness in my voice, “is the bond of warrior to his weapon.”
When my eyes flicker to Kennedy, her mouth is open and she is transfixed. I want to bite her lip. I want her wide eyes to look up at me as I plunge myself inside of her. I want to hear the breath fall from her open mouth as she gasps with each thrust.
No. My primal instincts are kicking in and clearing any logic and inhibition from my mind, making me sharp for battle. I need to slow down before my good sense shuts off completely. Ice washes through my veins as I will my Kaul to calm. The light on my markings begins to fade to black once more and my clenched grip on Swing’s handle finally loosens enough for me to set her down.
When I turn to look at my Goddess again, her eyes are turned to the water. There is a particular distance in her eyes that I cannot comprehend.
“I’ve frightened you,” I say.
“No,” she says. Her eyes slowly raise to meet mine and she admits, “Yes.” I can see her fighting inwardly with herself, so I remain quiet and let her find her words.
“It’s just,” she says after a long silence, “Isn’t there anything more important to you than fighting?”
I squint at her. “What thing?”
“Anything.” She sweeps her arm in front of her and stares off down the lake. “Like, I don’t know. Love?”
There it is again, that dull ache in my chest I get when I’m with her. I press my lips together and set my jaw, tightly, until it subsides. “Warriors do not love,” I tell her. “It is not the Kurah way. We give our loyalty to our Tribe and our people. We trust only our blade. Love only makes a warrior weak.”
The more I recite the Kurah code, the more Kennedy’s frown deepens. “You can’t really believe that.”
“I am my people’s Chief,” I remind her. “If I don’t uphold the code, no one will.”
“Well, maybe your code is stupid.” The anger in her voice is something I haven’t heard before and she gets to her feet quickly and stomps away from the bank.
“Where are you going?” I ask as I stand as well, prepared to follow.
She waves me off. “Your Goddess commands you to stay. I need to clear my head.”
My feet feel like lead as I come to a swift halt. I’m torn. Part of me wants to follow after her, but the other part of me wants to head her command. How am I to choose?
I never had to make choices like this before. The Kurah way is simple. The Kurah way is the only way. But Kennedy…
There’s another twinge in my chest, this one sharp and painful. I sit down heavily on the bank again and snatch up Swing. I grab the rock and bang it hard on the blade, until the violent motion of my arm takes over and I no longer ache.
CHAPTER TWELVE: KENNEDY
The clangs of Garock’s blade echo loudly, even as I move deeper and deeper into the forest. He must really be taking it out on that thing. On one hand, I guess, I should feel bad for lashing out at him the way I did, but on the other hand…
How could he be so stupid? So single-mindedly violent?
It’s frustrating. One second, I’m basking in the warm glow of the most sati
sfying orgasm I’ve had in…well…ever. Topped up with some nice, cooked, fresh fish. Maybe it didn’t have enough seasoning on it, sure, but after sex like that, who needs spice?
And now here I am. Punching my way through the trees. I find a narrow winding bit of stairs carved into the side of the cliff face, and I start to climb it. I have no idea where I’m going and even though the climb looks daunting, I just want to be away from Garock. Anger rattles around in my bones and makes me do seemingly impossible things.
An act of unthinking violence took my parents from me. It’s just something I can’t condone, no matter how good the intentions. You can’t solve violence with more violence I try to form a whole, elaborate speech in my head. It starts with, “So excuse me if I don’t ascribe to your shoot first, ask questions later philosophy.”
I’m practicing quietly to myself as I make my way to the top of the cliff. I’m sweating now, but at least I feel accomplished. I made it here. I take a breath of relief and feel accomplished. Right before I run straight into another body.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: KENNEDY
At first glance, I almost mistake the woman in front of me for a man. She’s a good head or two taller than I am with toned muscles and strong cheekbones. Her long dirty blonde braid and buxom breasts underneath her leather armor give her away, however. I notice the tattoo markings that flame up and down her arms as the same markings that Garock wears, she’s a Kurah. She’s flanked by two equally massive men and she’s carrying a twisted, wicked looking dagger. I’m surrounded by armed warriors as my heart leaps in my chest.
I gasp and involuntarily take a step backwards, only for my foot to slip on the side of the cliff. She catches me quickly and grips my arm firmly enough to leave bruises.
“Be careful, little bug.” Her eyes are hard and chastising as she sizes me up. “You are not Kurah. Not Gypsy. Have the Selith sent you?”
