He moved to face her again. “Turn around, please.”
“Why?”
“You have lovely hair. I’d like to loosen it.”
Loosen her hair. What was next, a foot rub? Oh well, maybe such attention to detail was a requirement in Dagran whorehouses, and she could always tell him to braid it once they were done.
She turned and felt him undoing her braid. Then his fingertips pressed into her hair, and she jolted as his palms slid lightly over the edges of her ears. She forced herself to hold completely still as he traced circles against her scalp before drawing his fingers down through her hair.
“Let’s get this over with.” She turned, the loosened mass of her hair swishing against her back and shoulders as she did so.
His brows lifted. “You paid a silver. You’ll get your money’s worth.”
That wasn’t what I meant, she thought, but he seemed to realize he had to return to work, because he unlaced the sleeveless vest she wore over her shirt. She pulled it off and tossed it over the chair. One corner of his mouth quirked up.
“May I kiss you?” he said.
While she had expected to be kissed, she’d never thought of being asked, so being caught off-guard and unsure made her brusque. “I don’t want your tongue in my mouth.”
Naturally, he didn’t seem in the least discomfited. “Don’t worry.” He leaned forward and his lips brushed the burned side of her face.
Lera froze. It was a moment before her throat unlocked and she could speak.
“I don’t feel anything there.” It was true; the scar tissue was far too thick.
He had lifted his head, as though he knew better than to prolong the touch or perhaps to see her reaction, though the look in his eyes was soft again. Without speaking, he kissed her other cheek, beside the corner of her mouth.
That she felt. His mouth was warm, the skin around it closely shaven enough to be only slightly roughened, and she fought an urge to close her eyes as heat flowed through her face in response. It was almost a disappointment when he drew back slightly rather than continuing to kiss her, and his hands went to the buckle of her sword-belt. He lifted her saber in the palm of one hand and glanced curiously at her.
“Do you know how to use this?” he said.
“What do you think I carry it for—to pare my nails?” She had heard Dagrans were surprisingly backward when it came to social progress, so perhaps he hadn’t seen any women who were trained to defend themselves. Thank the Unity she would be leaving for home in two days’ time.
“Let’s see.” He hung the belt over the back of the chair and closed his fingers around her wrists, lifting her hands. The pads of his thumbs traveled slowly over her upturned palms, tracing every crease in her skin, rubbing lightly over the calluses. “Yes, you know how to use it.”
He explored each of her fingers from base to tip, and she couldn’t stop herself trembling when he lifted her hands to his face and pressed a kiss into the center of each palm. Those weren’t dry, close-mouthed touches either. His lips parted and the tip of his tongue flicked against her skin. She felt warm breath on wet flesh.
A tingling urgency shot through her nerves, tightening deep in her belly, and she set her teeth to make certain she didn’t give herself away with a sound. Just breathing normally was enough of an effort. Finally he released her hands, his long fingers moving away one at a time as though he was reluctant to let her go.
“You’re—” She barely recognized her own voice. “You’re not what I expected.”
When he smiled, he looked genuinely glad, which was another strange thing about a whore who was being underpaid into the bargain. “Neither are you.”
What is that supposed to mean? Lera wondered, but before she could say that he covered her mouth with his. She stiffened, but he didn’t try to deepen the kiss, only let his lips press down gently against hers before he lifted his head. She had never been kissed so chastely before. Except if he hadn’t even tried to use his tongue as she’d told him not to, why did she feel as though the floor had shifted beneath her feet?
This has gone too far, a little warning voice said in the back of her mind, but she didn’t know how it could go too far when she wasn’t bare except for her feet, when he’d done nothing besides kiss her face and hands. It wasn’t as though he had scared her—as if any Dagran could do that—or disobeyed her.
He looked down as he unbuttoned her shirt, and it was a little easier to think with the steady brown gaze off her. A little easier to breathe too. The air felt cool on her skin as the shirt came off, and he draped it neatly over the back of the chair. The thought crossed her mind that it might be the first time she would walk out of a whorehouse looking as uncreased as when she’d gone in, as long as her hair was braided once they were done.
Now she was naked to the waist except for the wrap she wore around her breasts, which were too full to be left unsupported. His slight frown suggested he hadn’t seen a garment like that before, but he was already reaching around. The wrap came off and her breasts sprang free.
But once again he didn’t do what she’d expected. Rather than fondling or sucking what he’d uncovered, he slowly rubbed the marks below her breasts, the lines the wrap always left on her skin. Her nipples ached for his mouth, but if he noticed they were taut despite the sunlit warmth of the room, he gave no indication of it as he unbuttoned her trousers.
She shivered involuntarily. The throbbing need had spread lower. Tugging at the sides of her trousers, he slid them off her hips. Her drawers followed, rustling softly to her ankles, and he drew his breath in as his gaze went over her.
“Damn, you’re beautiful.” His voice was quiet but rough, as though it came from the depths of his throat, and the deep timbre of it made her tremble again. He was good at his occupation, but she reminded herself that was all it was—a pretense he would have provided to any paying woman. Or man, for that matter.
“You don’t need to fake it,” she said.
He looked up, a puzzled furrow between his brows. “Fake what?”
“The sweet talk. It’s not necessary.”
The frown cleared. “And it’s not faked. You’re lovely, whoever you are.”
Someone was breathing audibly, and she had a feeling it was her. The few scars on her body were nowhere near as bad as her face, but he didn’t seem to notice those. Without meaning to, she glanced down. He still had all his clothes on, but that didn’t make a difference; the swollen ridge in the front of his pants was only too noticeable. Her mouth went dry.
“Lie down,” he said quietly.
Lera had a feeling she wouldn’t have been able to remain on her feet for much longer anyway. She edged back, felt the side of the bed and didn’t so much sit as fold on to it like a ribbon. Except that put her eyes at almost the level of his groin. For the first time she regretted her instructions to use only his mouth and hands.
She ran her tongue over her lips. “Get a sheath.”
“A what?”
Her gaze flicked up at once, but he looked genuinely confused. Just her luck. Obviously preventatives weren’t requirements in Dagran brothels; that land really was behind the times. It was annoying, especially since she’d imagined pushing him to the bed and straddling him, finding out if his cock felt as good as it looked.
“Doesn’t matter.” She’d simply have to make the best of what they could do.
He put a knee on the bed, and she shifted sideways—not very far—to make room for him. He smelled good. No fragrances, only clean linen and a crisp hint of shaving soap and the natural scent of a man’s skin.
Her own skin felt far too sensitized. His settling beside her made her want to press her legs together or squirm on the bedspread, anything that would relieve the empty ache between her thighs, but she set her teeth and made herself hold still. Over his shoulder she saw an hourglass on the little cabinet
beside the bed, but he hadn’t set that going. The room was as silent as the garden outside had been somnolent in the warm lull of the afternoon, as if there was no one in the world except for the two of them in a timeless place—which was a thought as ridiculous as it was fanciful.
He had been looking at her again, she realized, his gaze roaming over her body as though he was drinking her in with his eyes, but when he raised a hand, it was to touch her hair, fanning it out over the pillows so it gleamed red-gold in the light. Then, as if he had finally positioned her just right, he moved to cover her body with his. Her hips jolted involuntarily at the feel of his erection through his clothes, but if he noticed that he gave no indication of it. There was none of the mocking amusement she might have expected to see in his face, only a desire as sweet as it was strong.
Then she couldn’t see anything at all, because her eyes had closed of their own volition and his mouth was on her throat. His teeth grazed her skin and his tongue soothed the spot before he blew lightly on it. At her sides, her hands fisted on the bedspread. He kissed his way down her throat, and she drew her breath in, waiting for what would come next.
Instead she felt his hand on her knee. “Spread your legs.”
Without even thinking about it, she obeyed. Propped on one elbow beside her, he slid his hand over the inside of her thigh, palm to her skin, making slow circles and moving inexorably higher. She shuddered when he covered the nest of soft red curls between her thighs, and she knew he could feel how damp she was there.
His swollen shaft pressed against her hip, but he didn’t make any attempt to touch her more intimately. Wondering if he was teasing her, she looked at him.
“Your eyes are like slates in the rain,” he said.
At that moment she didn’t care what her eyes looked like. She reached for his hand, guiding one finger to her entrance, then deeply within. Breath rasped out between her teeth. She was so slick that she took the length of his finger easily, and after an instant’s pause, he pushed a second finger into her. He wasn’t smiling any longer, and the taut set of his mouth told her he was as aroused as she was, as close to the edge.
Then his head bowed to her breast and his mouth closed over the nipple, tongue dragging wetly over the taut flesh before he sucked. A hot tightening thrill shuddered from the spot down to her sex, and as if from a distance, she heard herself gasp. Her hands sank into his hair, holding him to her. Her hips bucked, pushing against him as his fingers moved within her, out and deliciously in, again and again.
Her flesh clenched fast and unbearably tight before she came apart in release. His other hand was on her mouth at once, smothering cries into guttural groans, but he kept filling her and withdrawing, stretching the pleasure out as she jerked and writhed beneath him.
And when it finally ended, she lay with her eyes closed, remembering how to breathe as she felt his fingers leave her for the last time.
Oh, but that’s only the start of it, she thought in a sated yet hungry haze. It had been such a long time since she’d had a man that she’d climaxed quickly, but the next time would be slower, even better. He’d use his mouth, and there were other things they could do which wouldn’t place her at any risk. She almost smiled before she realized he would be able to feel that against the palm which still covered her lips.
Letting go of his hair, she pushed herself up on an elbow, pleased he hadn’t put a time limit on their encounter. His hand came away from her mouth, and he moved back as if to give her room. Other than his breathing, which came almost as quick and hard as hers did, he looked as unruffled as he had been when they had stepped into the room. Well, she could change that.
“Take your clothes off,” she said.
His brows went up. “Are you sure? I can please you without—”
“I’m sure.” She hesitated—aware, on a level deeper than thought, that she was in over her head—then took the plunge. “And my name is Lera.”
He inclined his head in a slight bow. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Lera had had men before, and many of them had been quite satisfactory in bed, but no one had come that close to making her laugh, and he didn’t even seem to be trying. She bit her lip, struggling to keep her features still.
“Well, hurry,” she said. “I want to see you naked.”
His skin reddened, a deep tide of color scorching up to his cheekbones, and Lera stared. She’d actually made him blush? There were a few things which couldn’t be faked, and she’d seen the second one. Unbelievable.
Before she could say anything about it, he slipped his jacket off and tossed it over the foot of the bed. Something slid out of an inner pocket, but she barely noticed that as she took in the breadth of his shoulders—he was lean enough that he could have used a few substantial meals, but there wasn’t much wrong with the dimensions of his frame otherwise. He got off the bed and unbuckled his belt, but abruptly his gaze shifted to something just beyond her.
Lera turned her head. His jacket had landed over the baseboard, a few sheets of folded paper scattered beneath the soft brown suede, and she made out the letterhead on the first one. Department of Public Health?
“What is that?” she said.
“Don’t—” He made a grab for it, but she was closer and she slid off the other side of the bed with the unfolded paper. She glanced over it, not understanding much and not particularly wanting to, since it seemed to do with diseases and legal terms. She would have handed the unpleasant thing back at once if she hadn’t noticed the signature at the bottom.
When she looked up from the paper, he hadn’t moved. That alone told her the name on the paper was no coincidence.
“What the hell is going on?” She kept her voice calm only through sheer disbelief. Was it a trick someone was playing on her in revenge for her winning a race that had spanned an ocean, or was it because she was a foreigner—and a woman—in a Dagran whorehouse?
Jason ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “Would you care to sit down?”
“No.”
“Then at least give that back to me. If you wouldn’t mind. It’s an official document and I went to some trouble to—”
Lera threw it at him, though unfortunately it didn’t do much other than flutter to the bedspread between them. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m afraid I, uh, didn’t tell you the truth earlier.” He picked the document up, edged towards his jacket and scooped up his other belongings. “I don’t work here. I’m a health inspector.”
A what? Lera’s thoughts whirled. How on Eden had she ended up in bed with a health inspector? Did the brothel routinely assign those to foreigners, to make sure she wasn’t carrying the plague or something?
“Go on,” she said through her teeth.
He cleared his throat. “I conducted a routine check here, and I was about to leave. Then, well, I saw you and thought you were—”
“—a foreigner you could fool.” Now it all made sense, too, the way he hadn’t negotiated for a high price, had asked her name, had blushed, for the Unity’s sake. Not having drawn the right conclusion from all that made her more furious. “Or did you think a woman with scars like this would settle for anything?”
“No.” His voice was hard, and suddenly he no longer seemed abashed. “I would never think that. It just seemed someone as lovely as you shouldn’t need to resort to a prostitute—”
The sweet talk snapped the last of her restraint. She whirled to the chair where he had hung her sword-belt, grabbed the scabbard in one hand and pulled her saber with the other. His eyes widened and he took a step back.
“That was my decision to make, not yours.” She pointed the blade at him. “You had no right to lie to me!”
He glanced at the door. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why?” But at once she knew the rest of the truth. Not content with
merely poaching a prospective client of the brothel, he’d had the gall to use the place’s facilities without informing anyone. The day just got better and better.
“They don’t know what’s going on, do they?” she said. “I ought to run you through.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, and I daresay the government of Dagre might appreciate it too.”
“Oh, don’t even think of hiding behind—”
The handle turned, rattling as someone worked it repeatedly. “Who’s in there?” a woman’s peremptory voice demanded.
Lera went still, hardly daring to breathe. The door was locked, but that wouldn’t last for long; the madam of the brothel was sure to have keys which could open it, or the hulking door-guard who’d let her in could smash it down. And then what? Word would spread like wildfire about how a Denalait captain was caught naked in a whorehouse after being tricked by some glorified pox-finder. Her fingers tightened on the hilt of the saber.
“The window,” Jason whispered.
“What?” She was careful to speak quietly as well.
“Open this at once!” the woman outside shouted.
“We can get out that way,” he said under his breath, and shoved his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. Lera slammed her blade back into its scabbard, no longer caring about silence, and struggled into her clothes as he went to the window. The curtains were held back with long tasseled ties, and he whipped those cords loose before tying them together. Outside, the woman’s footsteps hurried away and muffled shouts echoed down the passageway.
Lera yanked her trousers up around her hips. No time to lace her drawers or fasten her wrap; those were shoved into the pockets of her uniform coat. She flung her shirt on, doing the buttons lopsided in her haste, then pulled on her vest as Jason knotted the long cord to the curtain rail.
“You go first,” she said, thinking that if he hadn’t tied a secure knot, he could deal with the consequences. He swung his legs out as she buckled her sword-belt, and he was already climbing as she pulled her coat on. His head disappeared below the window frame. She stepped into her boots, not bothering to lace them up before she grabbed the chair and jammed it at an angle beneath the doorknob. Then she ran to the window and looked out.
The Highest Tide Page 2
