by Jean Johnson
Head thumping into the bedding, she gasped and arched her back. He did it a second time, lingering so that he could gently rub against that little nubbin of flesh. Saleria stiffened again, hands clutching at the bed. A third time made her cry out, a soft sound half-strangled because she was still half-mindful of the others elsewhere in the house.
Aradin teased her until she was squirming in his grip, until he had to rest her calves against his shoulders. Bringing his finger up to his mouth, he took a few moments to taste her dew. His own flesh, hard with longing, strained toward her body. Between her heady flavor and the feel of those glorious, magnificent legs, he was more than ready for her. Not knowing how flexible she was, he moved slowly, closing the gap between their loins while he kissed first one foot, then the other.
She didn’t protest, and he didn’t sense any great resistance until the tip of his manhood prodded her inner thighs. Then she sucked in a breath and blinked at him . . . then smiled and widened her legs. Quickly shifting his arms, Aradin hooked his elbows under her knees for support, stooped a little more, and slid his shaft along her folds. Warmth met his flesh, warmth and wetness. Head tipping back, he rocked against her flesh, enjoying the sensations of crisp curls, slick dew, and welcoming female.
Saleria shivered as much from the blissful expression on his face as from the deft stimulation of her body by his manhood. Her fingers released the bedcovers. Shifting them to her breasts, she cupped the curves, enjoying the way their flesh rubbed together. But when he didn’t move on, she raised her brows. “Um . . . you do know that’s supposed to slip inside me like a dagger in a sheath, right?”
Aradin grinned and lowered his gaze. “Yes, I do know,” he teased back. “I even know which ‘sheath’ to use. But I’d rather liken it to exploring and enjoying the garden outside a fine house. I’ll knock on the door and enter your home when I’m good and ready.”
His analogy made her laugh at the absurdity of it—though he was a Hortimancer—and that was when the tip of him slipped into her “doorway” and prodded on his next slow stroke. Breath catching, she strained for more contact, but the Darkhanan merely grinned and teased her. She tried reaching for him with her hands, but he was out of range; next, she tried curling her legs, but couldn’t tug him more than an inch closer.
Her stern look was accompanied by a flexing of her calves, not quite thumping him in the back. “Get inside, Aradin, before I decide you aren’t allowed in!”
“Yes, milady,” he complied, grinning. He pressed in deeper than the mere inch he had teased. “But it’s such a lovely garden outside. I shall have to remember to explore it in more detail, later.”
He felt so good, pressing inside, slowly filling her, that she could only manage a distracted mutter. “You do that. Later . . .”
She felt so good, enveloping his straining flesh, Aradin wanted to make a quip about what a lovely “home” she had, but it was difficult to think when he could feel each of his heartbeats pulsing against her slick, hot walls. So all he replied as he leaned in, as he pressed in, was a soft-murmured, “Yes, later . . .”
Guiding her legs around his hips, he braced first one arm, then the other, on the soft-stuffed bed. A few more inches allowed their mouths to meet, her lips parting beneath his. Her fingers stroked through his hair, holding his head close before sliding down to cup his shoulders. Resting there for a moment, fully embedded in her body, groin to groin, Aradin wanted to tell her that he loved her. Darkhanan wisdom, however, advocated that such things be considered outside the heat of passion and desire as well as within the moment, that they be examined, and spoken only when one was in a calm frame of mind. Only then would it be considered true.
He thought it might be, but filled his lips with the taste of her chin, her throat, of the sweat beginning to sheen even her collarbone. Filled his senses with the smell of her, of faint hints of soap, flowers, feminine musk, and sweat. Filled his mind with the softness of her breasts, the heat of her sheath, and the flex of her muscles as she wrapped her arms around him and brought his mouth back to her own.
Saleria enjoyed that, particularly combined with the slow, deep thrusts of his body into hers. She enjoyed it enough that she stroked her fingers through his soft locks, then tugged on the fine strands, wanting more. That made him grunt and hold still. She tugged again and whispered, “Faster. Please.”
He was trying to go slowly for her sake. Trying to keep ahold of his passion for her. But when she tugged again, tipping his head to the side and nipping at the muscles of his throat, Aradin complied. The first few thrusts he gave her were deeper, stronger, but not faster. Not in this position. Pausing a moment, he pushed upright, caught and lifted her legs up to his shoulders again, then bucked into her, hot and fast. Her startled cry made him pause, but the whimpering moan that followed let him know it was alright. It also warned him she might get loud.
“Silunudormo,” he muttered, and kissed her left foot. She shivered, so he licked her instep, holding himself still. That made her twitch, so he did more of it, until she was squirming and breathing hard, and then he flexed his hips, thrusting into her with rapid strokes.
Unwound by the dual attack, Saleria cried out. Hands once again digging into the bedding, clutching at the blankets, she tried to hold on while his hips slapped into hers in a strange sort of sexual applause. An odd urge to giggle rose at that stray thought, but was then whisked away under the lightning strokes of pleasure connecting her groin to the toes he suckled. Her climax began with her right foot, and ended somewhere well after he grabbed the left and laved it with his tongue, too.
His began somewhere in the midst of hers. Glad he had cast a soundproofing charm on the room, Aradin let himself go, pounding hard, pouring into her in waves of release. He almost lost his footing as he sagged, but found the strength to stand and brace himself against the edge of the bed. With her lying before him, body flushed with passion, all he wanted to do was collapse next to her. But that would leave them with their legs off the bed. And if he moved her right away, well, there was the bane of all post-bliss lovers to deal with . . . not to mention his favorite dessert.
Sagging to his knees, he parted her thighs, inhaled their combined musk, and started lapping. Her breath hitched and her hands quickly moved to his head, clutching at his hair.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Saleria asked, startled. She had never known a lover to want a taste after lovemaking, only before.
Several possible answers ran through his mind. That he was cleaning her personally rather than finding a toweling cloth. That he wanted a post-copulative snack. That he couldn’t get enough of her. But he smiled when the right answer came to him, and paused just long enough to give it to her.
“You had me so hot and sweaty with all that exercise deep in your house,” he murmured, “I just had to step back outside to admire your garden up close while I cooled down.”
Her laughter was about as loud and hearty as her final cries of passion had been. And as lusty, when he resumed his tasting of their combined desire. He knew they had to get some sleep soon . . . but not just yet.
* * *
She drooled in her sleep. Not a lot, just a little, and possibly it wasn’t a common every-night thing, but Aradin watched the damp spot on her pillow for a full minute before deciding he not only did not mind, he thought it was cute. A touch of mortal normalcy in an otherwise dedicated, holy life. Not that such things were easy to see in the dim gray light of predawn, but Aradin was used to peering into the Dark. Mortal night held few secrets by comparison.
As much as part of him longed to lie there all day and just watch her sleep, the rest of the Witch wanted to be up and about, to seize the dawn and thus the day. Not wanting to disturb her slumber, he eased from the bed, then realized he had no clean clothes yet. Not because Teral hadn’t returned—his Guide had slipped into his Doorway at some point while the younger man slept—but because he hadn’t flip
ped the edges of his Witchcloak over his clothes.
(Noticed that, did you?) Teral offered dryly.
(Hush, you,) Aradin returned without rancor. He folded the cloak over the pile of clothing and waited. (I—we—had a glorious time last night, and I am in far too good a mood, post-bliss, to be teased.)
(Well, we have only one change of clean clothes left. All of mine and most of yours are dirty. Since I’m not sure if that housekeeper of hers would be willing to scrub our things gently, we should visit the laundering shop you spotted on our way into the town. And I am glad the two of you had a good time,) his Guide finished. (So . . . did I win the bet?)
(Feet, not knees. Not ticklish, but sexually responsive all the same,) Aradin informed him. The dimly lit lump of tan fabric shifted. At a mental nod from his Guide, he unfolded the cloak and started pulling on his clothes for the day . . . formal court clothes, crafted from fine silk and velvet in the Darkhanan style, with silver buttons and ribbon trim in flattering shades of green and brown. (You weren’t kidding about this being our last clean outfit, were you?)
(No, I wasn’t. I apologize for losing track of how many clean clothes were left,) Teral added.
(It’s partly my own fault, too,) the younger Witch said. Both men looked through Aradin’s eyes as Saleria mumbled and shifted on the bed, snuggling into the warm spot Aradin had left. She didn’t wake, just relaxed into a deeper level of sleep. (But can you fault me for the source of my distraction?)
Teral chuckled. (Considering she’s the source of my own as well, plus we’ve all three been distracted by the situation with the Grove . . . no, I cannot fault you. Oh—speaking of situations, Orana Niel are on their way. They will reach the site of the Convocation within the week. How long it’ll take to get things moving after that point . . . only the Threefold God of Fortuna knows.)
(Then we’d better get working on the task of taming the Grove as hard and fast as possible.) Donning his Witchcloak over his formal clothes, Aradin slipped out of her bedchamber and made his way downstairs. He found Nannan in the kitchen, adding more wood chips to the hearth fire under the soapstone cooking slab to ensure a good bed of coals. This time, at least, she heard him coming.
The look she slanted him was still a little grudging, but not as bad as before. “Good morning, milord.”
“Good morning, milady Nannan.” He parted the folds of his Witchcloak, showing her his court finery. “I seem to be out of regular clothing. Would you have time and the willingness to do my laundry today?”
“Laundry is done once a week in this household, since I don’t have any fancy spells for helping with the cleaning, and you’ve missed it by two days. Lavender down on the end of Baking Street, near the southwest corner of Groveham, does laundry every day,” Nannan informed him. “She’s not a strong mage like Her Holiness is, but she has enough to aid in the scrubbing and drying. If you want something clean to wear tomorrow, you’ll need to visit her today, or just re-wear whatever you’ve got—I’d think that, mucking around in a garden, you’d be willing to re-wear whatever was dirty.”
“Much like Saleria’s Order, my own insists on being clean and neat as frequently as possible,” Aradin said. “Do you know when this Lavender opens her shop?”
“She’ll be open for customers at sixth hour, which is almost an hour after dawn this time of year,” Nannan gauged. “If you want to be helpful, you can grab a broom and sweep the floors or something, since I doubt you could cook.”
“I do know how to cook, though I am not familiar with how to prepare the local foods.” A thought crossed his mind. “Saleria has mentioned she prefers sleeping in. Since I have been accepted into her service by both her Gods and mine, why don’t we let her sleep in? I’ll grab one of the staves and make the rounds of the walls, and you can take your time preparing breakfast for all of us.”
She frowned at that, but sighed after a moment. “Fine. Though if I hadn’t seen the holy symbols myself on the page Daranen showed me last night, I’d not have allowed it. And I’ll blame you for it,” she added, poking him in the chest, “if the Grove goes wild while it’s in your care instead of hers.”
Rubbing the bruise she had left, Aradin raised one brow at her. “I should think all four Patron Deities would make you wait in line if I should fail to tend the Grove, milady . . . though They might just appoint you Their taskmistress for my punishment. I assure you that if I have any say in the matter, the Grove will be tended well, its dangers contained, and its inhabitants carefully restored to its long-lost glory.”
Nannan eyed him a long moment, then flipped her hand at the hallway. “Go on. Out the back door with you. If you get eaten by a carnivorous flower, though, it’ll be what you deserve for not being smart and fast enough to avoid being devoured.”
“. . . And a glorious good morning to you, too, milady,” Aradin replied, bowing himself out of the kitchen.
(A wise man knows when to retreat, hm?) Teral teased.
(Quite. I have no idea what I’ve done to get on her bad side,) Aradin sighed.
(I suspect she instinctively knows you’re a huge distraction for her employer. She fears change and the familiar order of her daily routines being upset,) the elder Witch observed. (She fears, too, I think, being supplanted in Saleria’s affections. A woman does not need a mother figure nearly as much when she has a husband to be her life-partner.)
(That could be,) the younger Witch allowed, opening the back door to the Grove. He closed it behind him and paused for a moment, inhaling the cool, damp air of pre-morning. (Or maybe it’s just because she didn’t pick me out for the household. She does seem to like being in charge.)
Teral chuckled. (That could be. Depending on when Daranen gets the morning’s correspondence sorted, we may be able to visit the laundress right after breakfast. Then the three of us could work on fixing the Grove for the rest of the morning in a solid block of time.)
(If not . . . then we’ll just take a break midway to stretch our legs into town.) Opening the shed door, he grasped one of the staves, found the triggering rune to light up the cutting spell, and readied himself for the hike. (Now help me concentrate. Given the past few mornings’ weirdness, I don’t know what we’ll be facing, and I’d rather not have to pay for repairwork to my court clothes.)
(I’m still in yesterday’s clothes,) Teral reminded him. (And they’re relatively clean; I wouldn’t mind wearing them today for a bit more. Would you rather risk them than your velvets?)
Aradin paused a moment, then shrugged, leaned the staff against the shed, and slipped into the folds of their Witchcloak. (Take the body then, until it’s time to head into town.)
* * *
Saleria woke slowly, gradually. The scent of egg-dipped toast perfumed the air. Along with hints of spiced meat minced with fruit, it lured her out of one of the best slumbers of her adult life. Inhaling deeply, she stretched and tensed every muscle, then let them all relax on a deep sigh. She almost drifted back to sleep, too, save for the nagging feeling that something was wrong.
It was too bright in her bedroom. Too bright . . . Daylight! Jinga’s Sweet Ass! Bolting upright, heart pounding, she looked at her windows, where the pink linen curtains couldn’t keep out the bright morning sunshine glowing through their thin weave. I’m late for the Grove!
She twisted to get out of the bed . . . and felt her muscles protest. Sore with exertion, she blinked, remembered, and blushed. Last night . . . oh wow. Three times for me, twice for him . . . Oh wow . . . Cheeks hot with her blush, she tried to piece together why she was still in her bed after the sun had risen . . . and realized what must have happened. He must have told Nannan . . . Uh, not to wake me, not that we . . . He must be doing the morning rounds—oh, did I tell him not to touch the collection crystal to the fissure? I don’t think I did!
Climbing out of the covers, she hurried over to the windows. Pushing back one of the curtains, she squint
ed and raised an arm to block out the glow of the sun. Not that she could see him, of course, but while her eyes were narrowed, she looked for the Grove’s flow of magics. It was a relief to see everything looked normal from here. Such things were always easier to see when one squinted, though she didn’t know why. Even her teachers at the temple had just said that was the way magic worked.
Then again, they’re more or less the same group of people who said there is only ever one Keeper of the Grove at a time. Well, that’s just fine, Saleria decided. Whatever happens, I’ll still be the Keeper and the Guardian. But I am definitely hiring more people to work under me. As soon as I can figure out how to work that into my budget.
One person’s needs, her stipend could cover. She wasn’t really using much of the money she earned as the Keeper right now, though she would eventually need it when she had to retire. Possibly, it could cover a second person, though that would cut into her retirement funds. But I could easily use five or six mages with gardening experience, if not outright Hortimancers . . .
Blessed Kata, I actually have the time to think in the morning? Saleria blinked and turned away from the window. I do! I have time to think . . . Waking up isn’t quite so tedious or awful if I’m allowed to sleep in, is it? She owed Aradin Teral for this kindness, though she wasn’t quite sure how she could repay it. Heh, I owe him for whatever he managed to do to Nannan to get her to agree to let me sleep in . . .
From the smells wafting through the cracks around her door, breakfast wasn’t far off. Donning her unused night tunic, she wrapped her dressing robe around it and headed downstairs just in time to meet Nannan at the bottom of the steps.
