The Swithin Chronicles 3: The Comet Cometh

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  She started, almost sitting up when he laid it on the lower part of her stomach.

  “Lie down. Keep still,” Markis ordered. Her expression looked stunned, but he couldn’t tell if it was from pleasure or his command. Even more amazingly, she did as he told her.

  Markis slowly worked the second crystal down, setting it on her mons and then in the curve of skin just above her sensitised flesh. He looked up the length of her body.

  “You might want to hold on to something like the headboard,” he told her.

  This time, her expression went through phases: puzzlement, irritation, and then alarm. Her hands reached for the headboard blindly. With a grin that he was sure could only look wicked, he left the long crystal to vibrate inside her. She might push it out with the force of her orgasm, but otherwise it wasn’t going anywhere. Markis let its weight hold it in place, giving up trying to grasp it with his slick fingers. Taking care to part her just the way he wanted, Markis braced himself to hold her body in place. He paused for just a second, holding the crystal above where he planned to lay it. Then he pressed it home, holding it lightly so as not to interfere with the vibration, but hard enough so her movements didn’t toss it aside. The crystal had a perfect weight to it. It fitted her sex just the way he wanted. It nestled as though it had found the right home. It lay still, happy.

  Tressa, on the other hand, bucked just as he knew she would. This time she screamed, but the sound definitely wasn’t one of pain. As swiftly as her orgasm rose, he removed the crystals to let it ebb. These toys took some getting used to. Knowing how she would feel, Markis lay the crystals aside. Tressa turned, curling her body away from him. For several moments, she lay there, lost to the world as the smile on her lips spread full-blown. The smile was so wide, Markis reached out with the desire to touch her lips. He traced Tressa’s mouth with his fingers, smearing her lips. He hadn’t meant to; his fingers were that drenched. His little queen surprised him when her small pink tongue snaked out and licked her lips in a gesture of satisfaction. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

  “I like your gift,” she told him. “How can I ever repay you for it?”

  Earlier, his only plan was merely one of satisfying her and then leaving her to sleep or experiment with her new toys alone. Now, he couldn’t take his gaze away from the sight of her lips, her tongue flickering out in the occasional lick. The movement increased. Her tongue slid back and forth. He shifted his gaze up to her eyes. Pretty. Markis’s thoughts were no more eloquent than that. Pretty face, pretty eyes, pretty little mouth, and a temper to quell a king. Even in the midst of desire, Markis was very aware that he still had much to learn about his queen. She looked back at him. He swallowed, his cock jerking so hard he convulsed. She grinned, sat up, and helped him unfasten his clothes. Moments later, she showed him how wide she could open that pretty mouth.

  Only later, when they both lay replete, did Markis’s thoughts wander to what was happening elsewhere in another room of the suite.

  Chapter Eight

  Uly yawned. His day in the woods had been an enlightening one. He had seen another side to Ryanac that confused him. Questions hounded him, but he didn’t know how to ask them; he didn’t want to spoil the mood. He ached from the unusual exercise, but not unpleasantly so. They had both been a little grubby and sweaty on their return. The moment he set eyes on his own Sonndre, Uly had smiled at Antal and received a nod, which was better than being ignored, but he had hoped for a smile in reply to his. Uly had been quiet after that, during the walk back to his room. Ryanac, probably sensing something of his thoughts, had walked in silence at his side. Nothing the big man could say would make him feel better. Uly couldn’t regain Antal’s trust just like that. He had to earn it. Knowing that was one thing. Having the patience for it was something else. There was no sign of Markis. Uly had thought to question the king’s absence and then dithered over whether he should. It wasn’t as if Markis had confined him to his room or even the palace, not as long as he went out with someone, but the rumour they had allowed to swell that Markis wasn’t happy with him right now wasn’t altogether a lie. Uly had more than one person’s trust to win back.

  By the time he gathered the courage to inquire as to Markis’s whereabouts, Ryanac had escorted him all the way back to his room.

  “Bathe,” Ryanac had told him. “I’ll bring you some food in a bit. I can see you’re tired. I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”

  So, instead of asking after Markis, Uly had followed Ryanac’s suggestion. He had bathed and changed. Now, he sat on his bed dressed in a night sidon, the male nightshift, watching the sky turn yellow and pink. What blue remained changed as he watched; it was a soft shade of mauve by the time Ryanac knocked. Uly called him in.

  In his armour, the big man always looked huge. He still looked huge, but the loose tunic and pants he wore instead brought out another part of his personality. Ryanac always looked so different, as though in wearing different clothes he possessed a different purpose. The clothes he had chosen to wear to the forest were lighter than his usual garb, soft shades of brown and green as camouflage. When Uly had remarked on them, Ryanac had said they suited him more when there had been no silver in his hair. Uly couldn’t tell if the humour was self-deprecating or whether Ryanac made fun of him.

  Ryanac handed Uly the tray that he carried, and then slid onto the bed. “I thought we could share and watch the sunset together.”

  They sat and ate in silence until the sky changed to grey. “Where’s Markis?” Uly finally asked.

  “With Tressa,” Ryanac said, lightly enough, but immediately Uly sensed that the other man watched his face rather than the sky now.

  “He’s spent more time with her than with me the last few days.” Uly deliberately set out to keep his voice steady. Even so, he was surprised he managed to keep his tone even.

  “He’s more upset with you than her. He’s not doing it for that reason, though. He’s trying to get Tressa more settled, and if he spends too much time with you, he will just give in and forgive you too quickly.”

  Uly couldn’t keep his face straight. The smile slid too easily to his lips. He even showed his teeth, something he had never done previously. Uly liked clean teeth, but out on the streets, clean teeth meant the wrong kind would have sought his mouth for another use, so Uly had kept his mouth closed. The thought made the smile slip. Fingers pushed his hair back from one side of his face, and then moved down through the strands, combing it out. He had no way to tell what Ryanac could read on his face and almost dreaded to hear what the other man might say. Yet again, Ryanac surprised him.

  “I think this is long enough to braid,” Ryanac said. “I could try, if you will let me. You could surprise Markis in the morning.”

  Part of him wanted Markis to braid his hair, especially for the first time, but the idea of surprising him was equally enticing. “Now?” Uly asked quietly. No one slept in such a braid unless travelling.

  “We can try it now, and if it works, I’ll do it again first thing in the morning if you want.”

  The harmless act was regarded as intimate, but after the day they had shared, Uly felt he owed Ryanac more than that. He had even seen a stag and now knew what antlers looked like. He had also seen several large birds, eaten lunch by a waterfall, and tasted wild berries that Ryanac had assured him were safe to eat. He had breathed sweet, clean air and felt free. He’d also felt safe and at peace. He owed Ryanac a thank you for such a wonderful day, but he owed him for more than that. Uly nodded his consent.

  He sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed as Ryanac moved behind him. The brush and Ryanac’s fingers moved through his hair. To start with, Uly was too aware of the underlying tension simmering throughout his body. He wasn’t entirely sure what caused his anxiety, but Ryanac could surely sense it. Tired of being afraid, of worrying about too many things for most of his life, Uly took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did. As he released it, he let the tension within him ease, giving himself over t
o the sensuousness of the moment.

  “Can I ask you a question?” he finally asked, eyes still closed.

  “If I can ask you one.”

  Uly remained silent for a moment, listening to the brush move though his hair, feeling its light tug. “Me first,” he said. He could imagine Ryanac smiling. “You seem a different man in the woods.”

  “Is that supposed to be a question?” The voice held amusement, but that wasn’t exactly unusual.

  “I mean… What are you doing here? It seems wrong for you to be in the palace, in these walls. I can’t quite see you on the family farm either, but I can see you living ‑‑”

  “What? In the woods?” Ryanac interrupted. “Doing what? Talking to whom? That existence would be too lonely even for me.” The brush stopped moving. A soft sigh followed. “You’re right, though. I couldn’t work the farm. The life I chose allowed me to see other parts of the world. In the end, it took me to where I belonged.”

  “By Markis’s side,” Uly remarked. He managed to make the comment sound casual enough.

  “Yes. And I’m Swithin. This is my home. I love the woods. When things are more settled and we have the time, both Markis and I hope to show you more of our land. It’s diverse, and the king doesn’t have to spend his whole life here. There will be times he has to travel, visit other lands, other dignitaries. We’ll go with him and explore the world at his side. Our lives won’t exist solely within these walls. That’s why Markis and I want you to develop your fighting skills. Better safe than sorry, and now’s the perfect time while you decide what you want to do with your life.”

  That was something else Markis had discussed with him. Right now Uly’s life consisted of lessons, training, and his developing relationship with these men, but Markis had spoken of a time when Uly could take on a more active role in the household or choose an entirely different profession outside of the palace. So far, what he might want to do with his life, other than spend it with Markis, escaped him. Markis assured him he had plenty of time in which to decide after he completed his belated education.

  “You’ve only been here a few weeks,” Ryanac continued. “Are you truly that bored already?”

  “Is that your question?”

  Ryanac flicked a finger against the back of his head. “Cheeky.”

  Uly uttered a gentle laugh. “No. I’m not bored. Just…”

  “You needed some fresh air. We knew it even before you said so. Did it help? And no, that’s not my question either.”

  “It…helped.” One day free of confinement hadn’t solved everything, but he felt calmer tonight. “What did you want to ask?”

  The fingers worked, beginning to twist the braid. “How are things between you and Markis?”

  Uly frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Ignoring your recent debacle, how are things when you’re alone?”

  Uly had thought what he had asked was personal, but now hearing Ryanac’s question, he squirmed. “I’m missing something here.”

  “I mean sex, Uly, and you know it. There.” Ryanac let go of his hair, apparently finished fashioning the twist.

  Uly reached up and touched the braid. It reached only just past the top of his spine, but he hadn’t thought it was long enough to reach that far when braided. He’d had so many haircuts just to even out the length. It surprised him. “How does it look?”

  “Go see for yourself.”

  Scrambling from the bed, Uly scurried over to stand in front of the mirror on the wall. He hardly recognised his reflection. The braid made his face look very clean, more mature. His eyes shone. “Which do you prefer?”

  “I like both. Your hair up or down. It really depends on what you’re doing. The braid will be good for formality. It’ll make the council start to look at you differently.”

  Wondering why his hair didn’t simply unravel, Uly reached back to see how Ryanac had fastened the end. He touched a solid ornament that he recognised as a clip of the type that most Swithin men used. He turned his head to look across the room at Ryanac, who still sat on the bed. The man grinned and fingered the now loose ends of his braid. He’d clearly used his own clip. “Will you take mine down for me?”

  The question took Uly by more than surprise. He was instantly stupefied. He’d never imagined Ryanac asking him such a thing. The idea worried him, pleased him, and even aroused him, all at once. Uly just stood there, realised he gaped, closed his mouth, and nodded. Seeing as Ryanac had just braided his hair, the request was normal enough. Why then did it make his stomach tight? Slowly, he approached the bed.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Ryanac said, handing him the brush and turning so Uly could get to his hair.

  Hesitant, Uly grasped the end of the long braid and began unravelling it. He tried to touch it as little as possible, but as the hair escaped, it writhed over his hands like snakes. He stopped. “You’ve watched us together. You know how we are.”

  The big man turned his head and looked down. Uly didn’t have time to disguise the fact that he was rubbing his hands together as though they had touched something loathsome. He met Ryanac’s frown with one of his own. The big man tsked.

  “This is your problem. Undo my hair. Touch it. Run your fingers through it.”

  Ryanac couldn’t force him, but a hint of command existed in the man’s voice. Besides, he was being silly. Uly did as Ryanac instructed as quickly as he could, which was far from the Swithin way, but even so, the more Ryanac’s hair fell free, the more it tumbled over his hands and arms, the more his fingers plunged into it, the more he liked it, and the more his stomach drew into knots. Ryanac caught his hands. Only then did Uly realise his own breathing had grown erratic.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Ryanac pulled him onto his lap, ignoring the slight sound that fell from Uly’s lips even though the man must have recognised the noise as complaint. Uly didn’t know quite how it happened, but one moment he was protesting, though unable to form words, and the next he found himself kneeling with a leg each side of Ryanac’s hips. The man let go of him and then drew the tunic over his head, revealing that broad chest. Uly swallowed, and the sound was too loud and the sensation almost painful. He opened his mouth to say he knew not what, and shifted slightly as though to move away.

  “Keep still for me,” Ryanac said, the simple command somehow stealing Uly’s free will. He sat as Ryanac’s fingers began a delicate trace of Uly’s nipples through the fine linen of the sidon. When Uly squirmed, Ryanac repeated the command for him to keep still. Lowering his mouth, Ryanac made the fabric wet, leaving two dark spots, beneath which two small peaks jutted out. The sensation of Ryanac’s hot mouth and then the cooler air rushing in drove desire downwards into more intimate flesh.

  “Please don’t,” Uly managed. The knots in his stomach had drawn into a dull ache. He started to regret having eaten this evening.

  “We’ve done more than this together. Even in private.”

  That was true, but somehow tonight this situation possessed a different feel; he feared it might go beyond fondling. Uly frowned so hard it made his face ache. Ryanac took hold of his hands and led them to his chest. Uly’s fingers spread out against the firm pecs, hesitant, almost as though they were of a separate mind, unwilling. When he tried to pull away, Ryanac held his hands there. Then he took one of Uly’s hands and guided the thumb and finger over one of his nipples.

  “Pinch,” he said.

  Uly shook his head.

  “Why not? Because it’s something you’ll be doing to me, and I won’t be doing to you?”

  Again, Uly shook his head, still frowning. “I don’t understand.”

  “You always prefer us making love to you, Uly, although with Markis you lose your inhibitions occasionally. I can’t say you and I have made love yet. It’s more like foreplay.”

  He didn’t want to talk about that. “I touch Markis.”

  “Yes, you do, but mostly you do it to please him. You even want to touch him, and he know
s, but you hold back more often than not. You wait until one of us instigates sex. You seldom go to Markis when you want sex, and even when you do, you hang around or cuddle up, hoping he’ll get the message. You seldom ask, and you’re seldom aggressive. Even in the midst of sex, I’ve seen your hands wander to his cock and then away again before you grasp it.” He took hold of one of Uly’s hands and pressed it down between them over the hardness there. “When you want to touch someone and that person is willing, then you touch them.”

  “I do,” Uly complained. “I have.” He tried to pull his hand free. The flesh gave a twitch, probably unintentional on Ryanac’s part, just natural, but the sensation and the underlying heat made Uly’s throat go dry.

  “You touch him lightly as though he will break. That’s not what he wants. Too often, you do what he guides you to do. Only then, when your body overrules your mind, do you ever let go. You nearly always think too much at the start. Why are you afraid to take pleasure as well as give it?”

  Uly stopped fighting, only too aware he lacked the strength to pull away. The heat of Ryanac’s cock spread through his palm, and he just sat there. He wanted to say he still failed to understand, but that would be a lie. “I tried to once, and it didn’t go the way I imagined it would. I guess I don’t know how to,” he said quietly.

  Ryanac sighed and let go of his hands. Uly began to move his hand away from that solid heat, but for some reason, he stopped short of doing so.

  “How many months have you been lovers?”

  “It seems like ages, but not that long.”

  Ryanac’s smile was wry. “No, you’re right. It’s less than six months. A lot has happened in that time. It just makes it seem longer. Still, you should know each other better by now.”