by Jean Johnson
He smirked. “Hm. I shall have to do better than that. What sort of a husband am I, if you lost only four of your blossoms during lunch?”
Her brows lifted. “What kind of a husband?” She might have been a virgin to actual intercourse, but she wasn’t entirely an innocent. Gabria lifted her chin a little, hands going to her hips. “If your hair were braided with flowers, maybe I’d have removed five.”
That made him laugh. Strolling across the distance between them, he grinned, teeth white against the tan of his lips and the dark line of his mustache. “You do realize that at least two of those flowers fell from your hair because of where your hands were located?”
Her face heated again, but Gabria didn’t back down. “A pity I couldn’t lose any more of them during dinner. But it was still a very good conversation. Mage-Captain Ellett is a good man. Very loyal to his king, and very knowledgeable about spells and such.”
“And Lady Lianna?” Devin asked, stopping just sort of kissing distance.
“I don’t think she likes me very much. Or at least, doesn’t respect me, deep down,” Gabria told him. “It’s nothing I can pin down, just a subtle sort of attitude. I think probably because I’m an adult, yet I don’t know as much as she and Captain Ellett know.”
“Then we will find you teachers in the art of magic,” Devin promised, cupping her upper arms in his palms. “Have you considered what you would like to do, as Royal Wife?”
Gabria blinked. “... Do?”
“Yes, do. The Royal Wife often takes up certain causes, using her station and influence to bring awareness to certain needs around the kingdom. My mother was and is a proponent of good agricultural practices, particularly when guarding against bad practices which could lead to erosion and floods—her parents died in a flood, so it was a cause close to her heart. My grandmother, who was an architect, insisted on preserving and upgrading our older public buildings, the temples and market shelters, town halls, and so forth. My great-grandmother focused her efforts on our textile industry, and my great-great-grandmother invested her energies in upgrading our roadways.”
“Maybe I should invest my energies in education, then,” Gabria quipped, slipping her hands around his waist. “Though I should also invest some effort in bringing Aurul and Guildara closer together. That’s what I originally thought I was supposed to do, in coming here.”
“You can still do that to some extent,” Devin murmured, sliding his fingers along her arms, then around her back. “Though your envoy does a good job.”
She snorted and leaned back, eyeing the Seer King in her arms. “You mean, now that you’re deigning to talk with him?”
He chuckled. “We listened, every single time. When nothing important in his message changed, we knew both he and your fellow Guildarans were sincere.”
As much as part of her knew this was a good opening for influencing his opinion further about her people ... she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “As much as I like talking with you about everything under the sun,” Gabria stated, giving him an earnest look, “I don’t think I’d care to mix politics with pleasure ... and this is the end of the Three Days of Grace, isn’t it? Shouldn’t we be thinking of other things right now?”
He smiled and lowered his mouth to hers, murmuring, “It is, and I agree.”
Gabria didn’t argue. There really wasn’t need for further debate, unless it was the kind shaped by lips and tongues, by palms and fingertips. Somewhere in there, she lost her sash, but then so did he. She also lost two or three blooms. Devin murmured something about the bed being a good place for this, so they disengaged long enough to retreat from the parlor.
After arguing that morning with her would-be dressers, she had only two layers of etamana to remove, though she did have the corset and trousers beneath the garments and sash. In contrast, he wore a full four layers, though at least the innermost layer was discreetly stitched with runes for comfort, since that much silk could get rather warm after a while.
As much as a part of her wanted to examine the stitching spells, they were nothing more than an extra bit of texture against her fingers, an obstacle to get past. Beneath that layer, his bare chest and the crisp hairs scattered across it deserved far more of her attention right now. Gabria all but buried her face in his chest, inhaling the scents of sandalwood, a hint of her rose attar from their earlier interactions, and pure male.
It was that lattermost scent she wanted to smell; it reached into her sinuses and entwined itself down her spine, touching places mere scent alone shouldn’t touch. But it did, and it augmented the path of his hands as he removed her corset, trousers, and suede slippers, until he tipped her down onto the bed to aid his efforts.
Wanting to divest him of his own remaining clothes, Gabria tried to sit up, pulling the increasingly ragged remainder of her braid out from under her back, but he licked the insides of her knees. Squirming at the ticklish sensation, she giggled and collapsed onto the soft bedding, hair flopping and tangling around her shoulders and face. Devin held her legs open and rapidly licked his way up the soft skin of her thighs, making her squirm and laugh and squeak the closer he came to their crux.
Just as the level of intimacy started to alarm her, he retreated suddenly, leaving her stewing in a mixture of both relief and disappointment. With a few quick movements, he removed his trousers, slippers, and underclothes, leaving him bare of everything but the black ribbon wrapped around the tail of his braid. Anticipating more of the same, Gabria parted her thighs a little wider; she’d heard from Marta and other female friends how much fun it was to have a man kiss a maiden at their apex.
Instead, he picked up her right foot, making her squeak and try to kick it free, for the soles of her feet were very, very ticklish. He didn’t let go. In fact, he stroked her sole briefly with his fingertips, making her shriek, then kneaded it firmly, soothing the unbearable tingle roused in her nerve endings. To her surprise, he was very, very good at massaging her feet, and within minutes had her relaxing enough to turn her giggles into moans.
Or maybe not a surprise, she thought distractedly, arching her head back as he gently tugged and twisted her toes. All those morning massages, he’s bound to have paid—Oh my Gods! In fact, she might have shouted that thought out loud, but Gabria honestly couldn’t tell. The Seer King had suckled her toes into his mouth and was tonguing between them, and every single little scrap of her foot that he bathed connected itself to every other part of her body, rendering her dizzy with the unforeseen bliss of it. Back bowed, head digging into the covers, she clawed at the bedding.
And then—and then!—he reached out with one hand and slid his fingertips through her nether-curls. Gabria shouted, undone by his sneaky attack. Pleasure wasn’t the word for it; delirium might have qualified, if a delirium came with a rolling, bed-shaking spasm. Between the suckling attack of his lips and tongue and the circling attack of his fingers and thumb—when did he get two of them inside of me?—she could barely think. Then he sucked strongly, swirling tongue and fingertips and thumb, and she lost all sense of self in mind-blowing bliss.
She drifted back to consciousness, stunned by the strength of her pleasure. Taking pity on her, he released her right foot, gently lowering it to the edge of the bed. Panting heavily, Gabria calmed down. Or as much as she could, given he still had two fingers tucked into her depths. She could feel her flesh clenching around those fingers with each spasm of her stomach, and felt little tremors of arousal echoing in their wake.
“Gods ...” She sighed, staring at the ceiling. “All this time ... I never knew!”
“That your feet were sensitive?” Devin asked. There was enough satisfaction in his voice that it bordered on smug. “I knew.”
Gabria managed to lift her head and saw that there was an unmistakeably smug smile curving his lips. She blinked at him.
“How? How did you know my feet ...?”
“Because I’m a Seer?” he reminded her, indisputably smug.
“Ohh, that�
�s just not fair!” she groaned, letting her head thump back onto the mattress. A moment later, he withdrew his fingers. Part of her was disappointed at the loss, but the rest of her was relieved. The combination foot and ... and ... had been overwhelming. Still breathing a little heavily, Gabria focused on regaining her strength. She heard suckling sounds, heard him moan softly, and felt her belly clench again.
This time, he touched her with his other hand, brushing his fingers along her netherlips in a featherlight caress. She jumped a little, breath hitching in anticipation of more pleasure.
“Ready for more?” he murmured. Without waiting for an answer, he slid first one, then two fingers into her body. Into, and out of, over and over. Her hips started flexing in time with his slow, steady touch. Then, with the slightly damp fingers of his free hand, he caught her left ankle, lifted her leg up, and licked the sole of her foot.
Gabria lost control. Not just of her voice, which shouted loudly, nor of her body, which arched and strained against the mattress, but of her magic as well. Startled and scared, she tensed, scrambling mentally to control it before she damaged anything, and worse, revealed herself to ... to ... There weren’t any priests of Mekha waiting to pounce on her for being a source of food for the False God ... and her magic wasn’t burning up the bedding.
Blinking hard and fast, Gabria focused her vision on where that burst of energy had flowed. Not exploded, but flowed and drained ... into the man nuzzling her toes with the tip of his nose. Dark brown eyes met her startled gaze. He had absorbed her powers. Oh ... right. Sir Catrine said that ... that Seers can channel magic, even if they cannot summon nor purpose it themselves ... wow. Nice to know I can let go, in both senses. Passion . . . ohGodsohGods he’s suckling my toes again ... and . . . and magical ... self ... bastard!
Incoherent as her thoughts were, she felt a twinge of discomfort in the midst of her bliss. Her flesh stung a little. She realized vaguely it was because he had eased a third finger in beside the other two, but the loving he was giving her middle and fourth toes, with occasional flicks of his tongue to her littlest toe ... she didn’t really care. The stroking circles of his thumb on her outer folds weren’t quite as skillful coming from this hand as from his other one, but they were still good enough to strain her eyelids shut.
Just as she was getting near her peak again, he withdrew his fingers and pressed something else against her flesh. It was a bit smoother, a bit rounder, and definitely more blunt. Eyelids flying open, she found her left ankle lifted to his shoulder, his neck craning so that he could press a kiss to her skin.
Slowly, steadily, he sank into her body, stretching her passage until it stung. But no more than stung, thankfully. Undoubtedly the use of her crankman had eased the way in the past, as had the careful plumbing of his fingers. Now, snugged groin to groin, joined as one, Gabria could feel the difference between the slender shaft of stiff, unyielding, cool steel and his warm, full, somewhat more giving flesh. Ohhh, that’s much more wonderful . . . Why didn’t anyone tell me it was this ... this nice?
Unbidden, her hands let go of the covers she’d clenched into disarray. Sliding them down over her stomach, she pressed her palms low over her belly, savoring just how full he made her feel. His hand slid over the top of hers, his fingers covering and twining with hers. Joining her in silent reverence for their connection.
For a moment, she thought his eyes were starting to turn gold. But then he blinked and they were merely a warm, deep brown. A mischievous brown, for he smiled in the next moment, shifted his grip on her foot, and returned to the task of suckling her toes. Gabria clutched at the covers once again, her world coming dizzily undone, and his thumb resumed its gentle stroking.
He finally moved within her, withdrawing partway and pressing back in. Moaning, Gabria succumbed; it was just one more layer to her delicious delirium. When he finally released her legs and lowered his chest to hers, she clutched at him, capturing his mouth in a kiss that tried to convey every bit of her pleasure right back to him. It didn’t last; with every stroke, his breathing increased until he pulled back, panting heavily, his gaze just as dazed as hers felt.
Using the leverage of his feet on the floor, he rode her with increasing speed and vigor, until the bed creaked from the sideways stresses it was being subjected to. That stung her again, but not enough to distract her. Gabria’s pleasure rose, spiraling up and washing over her in a rolling, repeating peak augmented by every thrust, until she broke just before he did. In fact, a dim corner of her mind was pretty sure that it was the tight clenching of her inner muscles that triggered his own peak, for no sooner had she sagged back into the bedding than he stiffened, prodded, and shuddered into a limp, sweaty weight that blanketed her overstimulated flesh.
Like their first moment of joining, when their hands had spoken in silent, eloquent reverence, this moment of rest seemed equally reverent. Something had taken place between them just now, something which no amount of magic could duplicate. Something as old as male and female. Gabria summoned just enough strength to stroke the dark locks spilling down over her shoulders and face ... and wondered in the next moment how his hair could have come undone, when her last awareness of it had seen it solidly braided.
Rousing slowly, Devin breathed in deeply, then let it out in a soft groan. His head tilted, his lips brushed the side of her throat, then he carefully levered himself onto his elbows. And quirked his brows at the mass of dark hair curtaining them from the bedroom. Sweeping it off to one side, he pfffted a few stray strands from his lips, then gave her a warm, lopsided smile.
“Well. That doesn’t happen very often.”
“That, what?” Gabria asked, distracted.
“It’s not often that a first joining of husband and wife unbraids not only her hair, but his as well. Then again, you are a mage, and a rather passionate one. I’m pleased I could help you let go.” Leaning down, he kissed her on the lips, then eased himself out and away.
Gabria felt a little bereft when he left her, but relieved at the same time; he was rather muscular, solidly built. Still, his comment had to be addressed. Sitting up, she closed thighs which felt a little tender from being held open in such an unfamiliar—if enjoyable—position for so long. “Um, yes ... I’ve never ... that is, it was always dangerous to ... to lose my mind so fully. Wow. Very fully ...”
He smirked as he helped her to her feet. That gave her a chance to pad, somewhat stiffly, to the private refreshing room, located across the bed from the dressing room door. When she came back, he had turned the bedcovers down—at least, she hoped it was his work, and not that of some servant—and fetched two goblets of water. Not to mention, he had piled all the loosened flowers, their petals slightly crushed, onto the nearer of the two nightstands. Sliding an arm around her waist, he gave her a somewhat brief kiss, then released her and took his own turn at refreshing himself.
Unsure what to do now, Gabria climbed onto the bed and picked up one of the glasses. Drinking half of it in one go, she was surprised at how thirsty she was. At least at first, then she felt smug. Given how much sweating we did just now . . . Gods! What a lover! I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied by my crankman again. Or rather, she admitted in a touch of honesty, that I’ll never be satisfied by my crankman alone, again.
It was with that thought lurking as a smile on her lips that she watched her husband emerge and stroll her way. Her smile broadened until she figured she looked about as smug as he had, earlier. Or as smug as he did now, returning that smile with a very warm one of her own. Taking the cup from her hand, he drained the remaining half, set it on the nightstand next to the flowers their passion had removed, and kissed her until she sank down among the pillows.
Not wanting to be merely a recipient in all of this, Gabria nudged him over until he was the one cradled among the pillows, and she was the one kissing her way down his chest. Given how he gasped and clutched briefly at the covers, she guessed his nipples were almost as sensitive as her feet.
Almost, however, wasn’t enough. Body humming with repleted but not quite sated pleasure, Gabria made up her mind to find every possible erogenous zone on his body. Even if it took her all night. She didn’t have the advantage of being a God-blessed Seer to guide her efforts, after all. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind her exploration efforts.
SIX
Gabria woke to an annoying glow of bright sunlight off to her right, a warm presence to her left, and a body that ached in wonderfully, painfully, deliciously tender ways. Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out in a sigh and found enough energy to open her eyelids. The angle of sunlight streaming in through the lattice-framed windows said it was midmorning. Looking the other way, she smiled at her gold-eyed hus—
His hand covered her mouth with lightning speed, muffling the shriek that tried to escape. “Shhh! Devin is still sleeping,” Ruul stated quietly. He smiled, manipulating that familiar, and now stubble-ringed, mouth with the ease of long use. “You wore him out. I’m rather proud of you.”
She stared at Him in fear. He frowned softly, and shifted His palm so that it merely caressed her cheek.
“Do you still fear Me, then? I am not the False God,” He chided her. His golden, unnatural gaze slipped down from her face to her chest. Gabria promptly clutched the covers in place. “... You would deny Me the pleasure of seeing you directly, in your greatest glory?”
“I am not comfortable with You being here, like this,” Gabria stated, managing to sound calm, if a bit tight-voiced.
He returned His gaze to her face. “I have seen the wives of sixteen generations of Seer Kings. Seen, and shared bliss with each of them. You fear something which I know you would otherwise enjoy, all because you cannot let yourself trust. This is a sad thing. I only wish to give you unbridled joy.”
“I am married to Devin, not You!” she retorted, fighting hard against the urge to flee.
“We are as one. He is my Seer, I am his God,” Ruul reminded her.
