by Jean Johnson
(Go slow. And focus more on the emotions than the sensations,) the older Witch advised. (It may sound cliché, but the two of you could make a great pairing from what I’ve seen . . . and since we’re going to be here more or less permanently, it behooves you more to treat her with an equally permanent level of respect.)
(I already know how to suck eggs, Grandfather,) Aradin retorted mildly, focusing more of his attention on the warmth and the softness of the woman snuggled in his arms than on their inner conversation. (The Grove alone does not compel me to stay and explore this corner of the world. Being a Hortimancer for this place is a huge responsibility. This . . . might be a huge reward for all the good things I’ve done in life. If I don’t muck it up. I’ll see you in the morning.)
(Sweet dreams. Eventually. Oh, and I’ll wager you a local silver coin that she’s sensitive behind her knees.)
(Go, Teral,) Aradin ordered. With a mental wave, his Guide disappeared, leaving him to hold Saleria in what felt like perfect contentment. I could hold her like this forever, and I think she’d be happy to stay. I know I am, right here, right now. It was a very good feeling.
It was an almost perfect contentment; she turned slightly after a few more moments and nuzzled her face against the underside of his jaw. That felt good, too, as did the nibbling of her lips along his chin. Aradin met those lips with his own; that made the sensations both different and better. The feel of her curves pressing against his muscles, the way she nibbled on his bottom lip, all of it was better than simply standing there, holding her.
Saleria wanted to touch him. She slid her hands under the edges of his black and tan outer robe, then stilled. Breaking their kiss, she started to speak. “Um, is he still—?”
“He’s gone,” Aradin reassured her. “Nipped off into the Dark to do whatever until dawn.”
She relaxed a little, and slid her palms up his chest to his shoulders, easing back the folds of his Witchcloak. “Does he ever get jealous? Of not being able to . . . ?”
“It doesn’t come up very often,” Aradin had to admit. Shrugging out of the robe, he draped it over the chair next to her bed as he addressed her questions. “I think if he never got any physical affection, either directly or secondhand in the back of my mind, then it might become a problem. He may technically be dead, but he also still has the chance to enjoy life in some part.”
Following that line of thought, Saleria sighed. “And it would be cruel to deny him the delights and comforts of life . . . Well, I can’t say I’m comfortable with it. Right now, at least. But . . . I’m not vehemently opposed to it. He is handsome, you know—so are you, in a different way.”
Aradin grinned at her hasty amendment. “Be sure to give him a hug and let him know, the next time he physically appears. Now, since he is not here . . . care to tell me what you like about my appearance?”
She blushed and cleared her throat, trying to find a good place to start. “Well . . . I like your hair. It’s soft, and healthy, and it seems dark when you’re in the shadows,” she told him, lifting a hand to one of his locks. “Yet it picks up all these lovely golden highlights in the sun. I find myself anticipating each patch of sunlight we cross, when we’re in the Grove.”
“I see,” Aradin murmured. Unbuckling his belt, he set it on the black fabric of his cloak lining, then pulled his tunic over his head. “What about my chest? Or my arms? Do you like them?”
Saleria started to speak, but found her wits distracted. Aradin didn’t have a muscular barrel of a chest, unlike his absent Guide, but for all that he was lean, he was well-muscled. Having grown up with a warrior for a father, having seen his fellow guardsmen—who came in all body shapes, but were one and all fit men—she had always enjoyed the various different ways a man could look and be healthy. But as she sought for the words to admit she admired his figure, she instead burst into laughter when he flexed his biceps . . . and kissed the left one.
He grinned back at her, showing that he knew he looked silly. “See anything you like?”
That reminded her of her own pert question to him earlier. Regaining her breath, she smiled at him. “Aradin . . . you are lean and fit. I like that in a man.” Moving close, she lifted her hands to his chest. Her palms slid over the warmth of his skin, enjoying the light dusting of hair coating it. Blond and faint, it was felt more than seen. It wasn’t enough, though. Playfully, she leaned back, eyed his arms, then lifted her chin. “Flex them again, please? Something looked out of balance.”
Obedient, he lifted his arms and bent them, making the biceps and triceps show. Satisfied, Saleria leaned over and kissed the right one.
“There,” she said, straightening. “Now they’re even again.”
“Oh, no,” Aradin argued lightly. He could still feel the imprint of her lips, and the tingling feel of the places her fingers had caressed. “Your kisses upon on my skin are not the same as my own, you know. They are vastly superior and far more potent. My left arm is feeling sorely underappreciated right now.”
Mock-rolling her eyes, she leaned in and kissed that arm, too. Pulling back, she shrugged out of her over-vest. Saleria turned to pitch it at the clothes basket in the corner, and found Aradin’s hands moving around her waist, seeking the buckle of her belt.
“What I like about your own hair is how soft and fine it is. Like sunshine spun from spiderwebs,” he told her. He let her take the belt once he had it undone. Shifting his fingers to her locks, Aradin sifted them through the fine strands. “That is, if you’re not upset at the comparison. Most people don’t like spiders.”
“So long as it’s not trying to eat me, I don’t mind,” Saleria said. “Spiders and spiderwebs are all a part of nature, which means they’re a part of any garden, including the Grove. Little ones are not the problem. It’s the big, mutated ones that try to hunt me instead of something small and buglike—those are the ones I don’t like.”
“Then I’ll make sure they never get in here,” Aradin promised her. With her hair tugged gently out of the way, he brushed his mouth along the curve of her neck.
Shivering, Saleria enjoyed it for a few moments, tilting her head to give him more access. She couldn’t stand like that forever, though. Stepping forward, she pulled her tunic over her head, baring her undercorset. The tunic went into the basket. A glance over her shoulder showed Aradin’s hazel eyes following her every move, though he, too, had stepped back to give himself some room. As she watched, he pulled off his boots and set them on the cloak-draped chair, and followed it with his socks.
At her puzzled look, he smiled. “I’ll fold the cloak over my things, and Teral will take them into the Dark and exchange them for fresh clothes in the morning. It’s been a boon while traveling, storing everything in the Dark. No thief can steal what he or she cannot find, let alone reach.”
“That is clever,” Saleria agreed, bemused, “but what if they steal your cloak?”
“They cannot activate its powers, for only a Witch is attuned to the magics of a Witchcloak,” he reassured her. Fingers unfastening the lacings of his trousers, he shed them, adding the garment to the pile on the chair. “So they cannot get into the Dark to steal any of our possessions.”
“I can understand that part, but I meant, wouldn’t that leave you more or less naked?” she pointed out, eyes sliding down his lean body to the loose undertrousers he still wore, dyed a faded shade of soft green.
“Most of us can cast a shadow-bubble spell, wrapping our bodies in enough darkness to be able to access the Dark, and we all store a change of clothes and supplies there,” he reassured her. Moving back to her, Aradin knelt at her feet and tapped one of her boots on the toe. Obediently, she lifted her foot, resting a hand on his shoulder for balance while he gently eased it off. “Or we can simply wait until nightfall, and fetch what we need then. Let me get your sock, too . . .”
She held still while he peeled it off, and nodded. “That’
s rather convenient. You make me wish I could use a similar arrangement when I travel to the Convocation.” Switching feet, she let him remove the other set. “I think I might add a second gown. Summer-weight. And just put the belt—and the knife—on the outside of the . . . ohhh. Oh, Gods . . .”
Aradin grinned. For a woman who spent most of her days on her feet, he had privately suspected it was her feet, not her knees, that would be the most sensitive part of her body. He’d still have to investigate higher, of course, but for now, he just kept kneading her toes, leaving her heel braced on his thigh. “Like that, do you?”
“You . . . uhhh . . .” She could feel it all the way up her legs, up into their juncture and beyond. “Youhavenoidea,” Saleria managed to blurt, if a bit breathlessly. She wobbled, though, not quite able to keep her balance when every little rub and caress threatened to liquefy her legs. “Careful!”
“Do you want me to stop?” He stroked gently along the arch, and firmly along the outer edge of her foot, then pulled his hands back toward her toes.
“Netherhells, no!” Saleria gasped. That felt so good, both sensual and sexual at the same time, a heady mix of sensations. “I just . . . bed. Need to lie . . . bed. On the bed.”
Chuckling, he let go. At her pout, he patted her thigh and rose. “Pack up your bag, and I’ll give you more, I promise.”
“Both feet?” Saleria asked, considering his offer.
He grinned slowly. “All the way up your legs, if you like.”
Whirling, Saleria grabbed her things on the bed and started stuffing them into the shoulder pack. That provoked a laugh from her companion. Covering her hands with his own to stop her movements, Aradin pulled everything back out, then with quiet murmurs and little touches that combined demonstrations and caresses, he showed her how to fold, then roll up her clothes tightly to reduce the space they used.
Saleria had never considered such an ordinary sort of chore, like packing a travel bag, to have any potential for seduction before. It wasn’t just how he handled her corset-vest, either, though the sight of such masculine hands stroking the gathered cups as he folded and tucked did make her long to feel that same gentle, deft touch on her breasts. It was everything else, too. The care he took in making sure her trousers wouldn’t crease. The caress of his palm as he smoothed the sleeves of her formal gown.
Even the way he rolled up her socks and stuffed them into a pair of clean, nearly new ankle boots, adding them to fill the extra room that he had created in the pack, made her want those hands on her body instead. Inspired, Saleria let him finish the packing, applying her touches to him instead. While he folded in the sleeves of her spare summer-weight gown, she slid her fingers along his spine. When he rolled it up, she cupped his buttocks, enjoying the play of the muscles bunching and releasing under her touch.
Somehow, he got the extra gown in, too. It wasn’t easy; Aradin had known this shared moment of packing could be a seduction, but it was supposed to be a seduction of her, not of them both. Not of him. Heat flooded his muscles everywhere she touched, tensing and releasing them, only to leave them with a slight shiver as the warmth of her fingers moved on. Standing there in just his undertrousers, no tunic or pants to hide his reactions, he carefully folded the flap of the pack, lifted it off the bed, and set it on the floor near his cloak.
She squeezed his rump when he straightened up. Cheeks flushed with heat, he turned to face her . . . and found her hands sliding to cup the front of his hips. Losing some of his breath in a shudder, Aradin quickly covered her fingers with his own. “C-Careful,” he stammered, feeling the blood in his veins rushing inward from his extremities to meet those beautiful, bold hands. “Or I won’t be able to . . . concentrate . . . to massage your feet.”
TEN
Her fingers stilled. Saleria contemplated her choices. “Hmm. Playing with you, or getting a foot and leg massage. Playing with you . . .” Her fingers rippled briefly over his barely covered loins, testing the length and shape of him. The soft, deep sound that escaped his throat strayed somewhere between the ranges of a sigh and a groan. “Or a foot massage . . .
“Foot massage,” she chose, and pulled her hands free.
Another soft groan escaped him, part disappointment and part acceptance at her choice. It morphed into a deep breath as she unlaced and shimmied out of her trousers. The fabric hit the floor, and he sighed, studying the limbs revealed. “Oh, milady, I cannot fault your choice after all. Days and months and years of walking the Grove has left you with magnificent legs.”
She blushed with pleasure at the compliment, stepping out of her trousers, then stilled, frowning softly. “Wait a moment . . . didn’t you call that thettis-vine hybrid ‘magnificent,’ too?”
I am heartily glad Teral is not here to see that come back to bite me on the foot, Aradin decided. He gave her a slow smile, and a quick-witted reply. “I am quite certain that you will be just as deadly to me as any hybrid vine, the moment you wrap those lovely legs around my body.”
She gave him a blank look, not knowing what he meant.
“. . . Forgive me. I forgot for a moment how far I am from home.” Aradin held up his thumb and forefinger together a scant distance apart. “Darkhanans refer to sexual bliss as the ‘little death,’ because we believe it’s a tiny little taste of the bliss found in the Afterlife. I am therefore hoping that your legs, when wrapped around me, will be very deadly indeed.”
Caught off guard by his explanation, she laughed. Sagging from her mirth, Saleria backed up into the bed, then sat down. Her heart skipped a beat when Aradin stepped up to her, knelt, and took one of her feet in his hands. This time she was thinking of sexual bliss, and this time the sensations were stronger. Nerve endings on her feet somehow connected themselves up through her legs to her loins, up into her belly . . . even up to her breasts. It helped that he studied them, caught in their corset, making Saleria hyper-aware of his gaze, his touch, and her need.
With unsteady fingers, she plucked at the lacings holding the vest in place. His breath caught, his lips parting in anticipation. Loosening the garment, she pulled the laces free, then peeled it away. His fingers stopped somewhere near her heel while he stared. Wriggling her toes, she prodded him into kneading again. Sort of. Shifting her leg to the side, he kept his left hand working on her right foot, but leaned forward between her legs.
His tongue tasted the tip of one breast. Shivering, Saleria struggled to remember to breathe. Warm lips closed around her nipple, and a gentle suckling tugged little sparks all the way down through her body to her toes. Another swirl of his tongue accompanied the slow, rubbing thrust of his fingers between her toes. She gasped, but before she could clutch at his head for more, he pulled back, releasing her breast with a soft pop. Instead, she braced her hands behind her on the bed, waiting to see what he would do next.
Sitting back on his heels before her, Aradin focused on her right foot again, rubbing and kneading from toes to heel, from ankle to calf. An experimental tickle behind her knee proved Teral wrong; she twitched her muscles a little, as anyone would, but didn’t squirm excessively. Stroking to soothe it, he picked up her left foot and began massaging it. When she licked her lips, he leaned forward, right hand working her foot, mouth moistening her other breast. This time, she cupped her fingers through his soft, sun-streaked hair. A soft moan escaped her, enjoying the play of tongue around nipple and fingertips between toes.
She had lost track of his left hand. It came into play soon enough, teasing her inner thighs. Two fingers slipped under the cuff of her undertrousers, teasing their way up to the curls sheltering her mound. Her legs twitched wider apart, almost pulling her foot out of his grasp. That removed his mouth from her breast. Aradin sat back to focus on her foot, bringing both hands back into play against her sole. Again, he stroked and rubbed from toes to heel, ankle to knee, but then he stopped.
She looked at him, licking lips gone dry from soft pant
ing breaths. “. . . Yes?”
“If you want me to massage your thighs, and points farther up,” he murmured, “you’re going to have to remove a certain . . . impediment.”
What? For a moment, her mind was blank. Oh—undertrousers. Right. Tugged impatiently at the strings . . . got them knotted. Frustrated, Saleria growled and struggled with them. Catching her hands, Aradin moved them to her sides, then plucked at the knot himself. At least he had the patience for it, though his show of restraint made her marvel. Particularly when he sat back and tackled his own drawstrings, because she could see his arousal straining at the fabric of his own undergarment. A moment later, the cloth dropped, pooling at his feet. Bared, his manhood bobbed a little above its curl-dusted sack, but otherwise pointed upward in cheerful salute, clearly happy to be so close to her.
The tapping of his thumbs against her hips distracted her from that intriguing view. With a bit of wriggling, she helped him remove her undertrousers. He finished it by lifting her ankles up into the air as he pulled off the garment, then kept them there, leaving her tipped onto her back on the soft, feather-stuffed bed. This time, his fingers were joined by his lips, tickling her with little kisses on each instep, and the flick of his tongue on her toes.
Saleria giggled, bit her lip, and squirmed. It wasn’t that her feet were particularly ticklish, because they weren’t, but the sensations did sear down through her legs, stirring her nerves all the way to her belly. With her legs held upright, her heels resting on one of his palms, she didn’t see the goal of his other hand until it was too late. In a bold but light touch, Aradin stroked one finger through her netherfolds, stimulating her flesh.
