by Leslie Kelly
He had to think for a minute, focus on the whole picture, not just the salacious ones that filled his head. “So these many men you said you have been with, they were all…”
She interrupted him. “I’m with men all the time, though they aren’t in the Guard, they are constantly underfoot in the villages and the castles.”
Oh, jeez. She’d meant been around. Not been with—not sexually, anyway. He needed to keep reminding himself she took things very literally.
“Okay, let me rephrase that. Your big party, the one that made you give up sex, how many men came…er, I mean, attended?”
“Oh, hundreds.”
He slid down from the back of the couch onto the seat.
She sat down, too, earnest and forthright. “Of course, they weren’t all for me.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“Each initiate chooses a dozen men.”
“A dozen,” he whispered.
“Is this a lot? More than women from around here?”
“I guess not. But they don’t usually have them all at once.”
Her brow scrunched in confusion. “All at once? Is that possible? Do women here have that many orifices?”
Rafe started to cough on a mouthful of air, looking around for the camera he felt sure had to be hidden somewhere. But just as he doubted a woman would lie naked in front of one, he also had to wonder if she’d admit attending an orgy and banging a dozen guys for her twentieth birthday.
“In any case, women in Elatyria do not. I used one man at a time.”
Some relief, he supposed, though he found the word used jarring. “Twelve of them.”
She looked away, fiddling with her flask, mumbling, “Not exactly.” As if confessing she’d done something wrong, she said, “There were two. Well, a little more than two. Closer to three.”
“Excuse me?”
“The law doesn’t say an initiate must lie with all twelve men. I did my duty, tried one and didn’t like it much. So I thought I’d try once more. It was equally…uninspiring.”
“I get the picture. So, was one too big, one too small—” hence a little more than two? “—and the third just right?”
“Actually, they were all about the same size,” she murmured, staring into his eyes. “And none much resembled you.” He sensed by the quick way she flicked her tongue over her lips that she thought that was a good thing.
The woman was killing him here, every word stabbing him in his two most vulnerable places—his heart and his groin.
She kept talking, obviously not noticing that he wanted to push her back and show her all the ways two people could give each other pleasure without the word penetration ever entering into it.
Olivia might think she wasn’t a virgin, but he would argue it. She’d had a man inside her body, but she’d never really experienced sex. As for lovemaking? Not even close.
How cold her life must have been, never experiencing intimacy? Not real intimacy, anyway. All his protective instincts reared up and he wanted to show her all the things she’d been missing.
“By the way, the third one was most definitely not just right. In fact, I fear he was rather intimidated by me as he couldn’t manage the job and I eventually fell asleep waiting for him to.” With a small shrug, she added, “So, you see, more than two, less than three.”
“Two and a half men,” he mused. “I somehow doubt CBS would like that interpretation of their Monday night hit.”
She didn’t respond, not that he’d expected her to. He’d been making under-the-breath comments so he could try to pull his brain cells together to deal with what she’d revealed.
It could all be bullshit. Some country where women had a special militia and had to give up sex for life? A place where princes ran off to sing in gay clubs?
But her stare never wavered, and her tone said she, at least, believed every word she’d said. Besides, she kissed like she’d never known what a real kiss should be like. And her blunt reaction to his physical interest in her made it hard to believe she’d lie about much else.
If he believed some of it, he had to believe it all. Which included her sad description of her sex life.
He only wondered, if she was as interested in him as she seemed to be, was she still sticking to her Amazon vow of celibacy? Because if that hadn’t been lust flashing in her eyes a time or two—or twenty—since they’d met, he’d give up his entire classic LP collection.
He also wondered something else. If she was so determined to stay celibate, what would he have to do to get her to change her mind?
* * *
THOUGH SHE TOLD HIM repeatedly that she’d been making her way around this great city for a few days in the clothes she had on, for some reason, Rafe insisted that she wear something else when they went to find Prince Ruprecht. They’d argued about it over a delicious breakfast—something he’d made involving eggs, cheese and an unusual spice he called chili powder. Adamant about it, he’d left her here, in his home, while he went to the market to fetch her some other clothing.
“Ridiculous,” she mumbled, hoping he didn’t come back bearing some sort of silly feminine dress or gaudy fripperies. They’d talked a good bit this morning, and she suspected he already knew her well enough not to do such a thing. But men were ever so thick at times.
Alone, she’d nosed around his chambers for a while, curious, as always, about the things people over here took for granted. This wasn’t her first trip to this world. Since the Amazons had originally come from Earth, every initiate had to make the trek back. She hadn’t found much to like before.
Now, though, it was growing on her.
One thing she really liked was the books, especially the ones she found in a box marked Amazon. They must surely be special, and she wondered about the warriors who had written them—Stephen King and James Patterson. Such manly names, perhaps unique to whatever tribe had survived here on Earth after her own ancestors had found the borderlands and chosen to make their home in Elatyria.
She liked a lot more, too. The enormous city seemed to energize her spirit. Everything moved faster here. The people, the language, certainly the modes of conveyance. Life itself.
She liked the color of the sky from the window. And she liked the way the city looked so sprawling from inside the top of the tall building where Rafe lived.
The thing she liked best?
Indoor plumbing.
Which was why, shortly after he’d departed, she’d done as he invited and made full use of his bathing suite. Everyone over here took things like hot showers or steamy baths-on-demand for granted. They weren’t so common in Elatyria, and certainly weren’t standard in the barracks where she spent her time.
“Mmm,” she purred, letting the clear water cascade from the showerhead and spill over her body in hot, gushing streams. Her skin was reddened from the heat, her wet hair plastered to her face, but she savored every bit of it.
She reached for the soft-but-scratchy sponge, called a body pouf, per the package. Soaking it with perfumed soap from a bottle, she slid it all over herself. It smelled like him—Rafe. Not flowery, like a woman’s soap, but warm and spicy. When she closed her eyes and let the scent blend with the steam rising off the water, she could almost imagine he was here with her, just a touch away.
She’d come to accept the fact that she wanted that touch. She wanted his hands on her, wanted more of those kisses. And she’d been wondering what it might feel like to be filled by someone whose touches she enjoyed, rather than enduring the act of intercourse in order to fulfill the requirements of her job.
She’d dreamt about it. About him, and her, and wondered what it might be like to part her legs and take him into herself.
Despite all her training, all her vows, she wondered.
Even now, lingering in the shower, she continued to think about it. The images filled her mind, and she kept her eyes closed as she bathed, enjoying a chore she usually did quickly and expediently. Now, she savored it. Her breasts tingled when she
soaped them, her nipples pebbling. And between her legs, there was a strange ache. When she washed there, she found the area slick and hot, and her own fingertips brought the most interesting waves of sensation.
“Olivia?” a voice said.
Rafe. He’d returned from his errand. She glanced through the opaque, steam-covered wall of the shower, seeing his big, shadowy form standing a few feet away. “Hello.”
“There is a door here, you know,” he said, sounding like he was choking on every word. “You can close it for privacy.”
She shrugged. “I have privacy.”
“No, you don’t.” His voice shook as he added, “That shower is about as private as the screen was for me last night. And the show you’ve been putting on is a whole lot more interesting.”
“The show? You mean…”
“I think you’re clean,” he snapped, sounding at the limits of his own control.
Fascinating. He’d obviously been standing there watching for a few moments before announcing his presence. And he’d liked seeing her touch herself. Intimately.
Just as she’d liked seeing him touch himself. Intimately.
She sucked in a breath, her heart flipping. Was he watching her with covetous eyes, the way she’d watched him? Had he been aroused, seeing her hands move across her body?
Great Athena’s ghost, she’d strolled around the room bare-arse naked this morning and he’d barely even glanced at her. Nudity being such a natural thing, she hadn’t thought twice about it. Only, now, she began to realize certain movements, gestures, touches, could be very arousing indeed.
Curious, she pulled the shower door handle, opening it, standing naked before him. Rafe didn’t leave the room. Instead, he merely lifted a hand to his jaw and rubbed, shaking his head as if he was trying to persuade himself of something.
“So, seeing me naked like this is fine.” She closed the door again, now running her still-slick hand over her body, scraping her palm across her nipple, then lower, until she was touching that interesting spot of sensation between her legs. “But this, is…arousing to you?”
She heard his groan, saw his shape grow bigger, but didn’t realize what he was going to do until he threw the door open again and stepped right into the shower closet with her. Fully clothed, down to his shoes, he didn’t seem to care that the water cascaded over him.
“You are driving me completely crazy,” he told her. Then he grabbed her, one big, hot hand on her hip, the other sinking into her wet hair. He pressed her back into the wall and covered her mouth with a wicked, wild kiss.
Olivia lifted her arms and curled them around his neck, tilting her head so she could invite him even deeper into her mouth. Their tongues crashed and thrusted and he tasted so good to her she wanted to drink him down.
Without warning, he moved that strong hand, sliding it down her hip. Then further around, until his fingertips brushed the wet curls covering her mound. His other released her hair, dropping in a slow glide to her breast, toying with its tip.
Olivia whimpered, feeling the strength slide out of her legs. Leaning against the wall, she could only let him do whatever he wanted to do, helpless against the pleasures battering her body.
“Open,” he growled against her mouth.
She knew what he wanted, and gave it to him willingly. Lifting one leg and wrapping it around his, she arched toward his hand, wanting that intimate touch.
He slid his fingers closer, the rough pad of his thumb nearing the nub of flesh that had become so surprisingly swollen while she’d bathed.
When he finally stroked it, she almost flew out of her skin.
“Mercy,” she whispered, shocked by the bolts of pleasure that simple touch wrought.
He cut off any further words by capturing her mouth in another devouring kiss. Keeping his thumb right where it was, he moved his other fingers between the soft, slick folds of her womanhood. She whimpered against his lips, needing more, crying out when he responded by sliding a finger inside her wet channel.
She jerked toward him, thrusting instinctively, as she had last night. Rafe matched each stroke of his finger with one of his tongue, until she caught the rhythm he created and met every stroke. The steam rose, the smells overwhelmed her, and heat—such incredible heat—built like molten lava inside her.
Then, suddenly, it erupted in a gush. Olivia actually screamed out. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the pulsing pleasure rocketing through her, from her sex down to her feet, and up to the top of her head.
Rafe held her, pressing kisses on her jaw and her temple, nibbling her earlobe. His hand was still between her legs, and he continued to stroke, gently bringing her back to her senses. Her breaths slowed, as did her heart rate, and she finally began to think she could stand on her own two feet without his help.
Not that she necessarily wanted to. Not if he continued to hold her just…like…this.
When she finally felt capable of speech, she opened her eyes and looked up at him, seeing the blazing intensity in his handsome face. “What was that?” she whispered, needing to know.
“That,” he replied, “was an orgasm.”
“Oh.”
She thought about it. Remembered what he’d said last night, when he’d challenged her on her kissing.
Olivia suspected she’d done better this time.
And with a tiny smile, she said, “I think I did more than breathe a little hard.”
CHAPTER 5
THEY GOT TO THE CLUB at a few minutes before eight, and Rafe kept an arm around Olivia as they entered. Though conscious of a lot of stares, he wasn’t sure whether they were for him—more likely given the clientele and his body double—or for her.
She did look absolutely amazing.
Then again, she always looked absolutely amazing, no matter what she was wearing. Or what she wasn’t.
He shifted, uncomfortably aware of how easy it would be to get all hot and bothered again, just thinking of what had happened between them this morning.
Honestly, he didn’t know how he’d stopped himself from jerking his pants open and taking her up against the wall of the shower. He’d wanted to, desperately, especially once he’d put a hand between her legs and felt how dripping hot she was.
But he’d stopped at some heavy, intimate petting, giving her what he suspected was the first orgasm of her life.
Unbelievable.
Oh, after that, he had definitely wanted to start things all over again and slide into her. But he still had a lot of questions about Olivia. And even if every single word she had ever said to him was true, there was still that pesky issue of her celibacy to deal with.
If she had been completely clearheaded, not under the influence of steam and lust and drugging kisses, and she’d asked him to make love to her, he almost certainly would have done it.
Especially if she’d used those words. Make love. He had the feeling the woman needed to be made love to more than anyone else he’d ever known.
For all her swagger, she had no idea what she was missing.
But she hadn’t asked, and he hadn’t pushed. Somehow, he’d managed to step out of that shower, stagger to his bathroom and dive into a cold one of his own.
“I feel constrained,” she muttered as they followed a friendly host, who chattered as he led them on a curving gauntlet around dozens of packed tables. “This clothing is tight.”
Yeah, it was. He had been close on her size but had underestimated the fullness of her breasts and her hips. He would pay for that mistake every time he looked her way tonight.
He’d gone shopping with the intention of getting her clothes that would enable her to blend in. But he’d also known he had to get her something that would be somewhat familiar, or else she’d refuse to wear it. A woman’s black leather skirt had seemed a simple solution. He just hadn’t counted on it fitting her like a second skin, hugging her backside like it was Super Glued on.
Nor was the soft, lightweight sweater much better. It dipped l
ow, revealing that incredible cleavage, the fabric doing sinful things to the bare nipples thrusting against it.
He’d remembered underwear. But not a bra.
“I couldn’t possibly run or climb in these things,” she muttered, sounding disgruntled as she looked at her feet.
Okay, yeah. The boots had definitely been an impulse buy. They were also black, and snug against her calves, with three-inch heels that clicked like tiny shotgun blasts with every step she took across the club.
“Sorry,” he admitted as they reached an empty table in the back and sat down.
“The prince will not be impressed to see me in this outfit.”
“Most men would,” he assured her. But thinking of the prince, whose preferences seemed pretty clear, he suspected she was right. “Why do you need to impress him anyway?”
“He must take me seriously. Queen Verona fears he doesn’t wish to come back and I might be forced to…take him.”
“Like you tried to take me last night?”
“He’ll be easier to take,” she admitted, her tone dry.
“I dunno,” he said with a tiny smile, “I think you could have had me pretty easily.”
Her eyes narrowed as she peered at him. “Do you mock me?”
“No, of course not!”
“Why, then, do you sometimes get that amused look and tone in your voice when we speak?”
“It’s called flirting,” he told her. “Which I guess you’re not used to. It’s a light, suggestive word game men and women play when they’re getting to know each other.”
Sighing deeply, she admitted, “I’m not used to a lot of things in this place.” Her lips curled a bit, but she looked only at her hands, not at him, as she added, “Though I think I could come to like certain ones…like showers.”
Grinning, he realized she was trying to flirt back.
“And orgasms.”
His grin faded and he swallowed hard, wishing he hadn’t started this.
“I also like the days here—they last longer,” she said.
“Daylight savings time,” he said, glad they’d moved on to less sexy things she liked.
