Warrior of the World

by Jeffe Kennedy

  I bit my lip, unwilling to cry. It seemed I wouldn’t, but I was too full of too many emotions to speak. “You say it would be different between us, but how? It’s too bad that kisses on my hands won’t give us children.”

  He searched my face, a half-smile on his mouth, a frown line between his brows. “I’m not quite sure how to answer that. I feel like you have the experience to know the mechanics, but…” he trailed off, seeming uncertain how to finish that thought without upsetting me.

  It made me want to laugh, that particular delicacy, so I did, laughter feeling like another sweet release—which only made him frown more deeply. Cupping his dear face in my palms, I kissed him lightly. “I think I know far more than you realize. In the seraglio we learned all sorts of ways of pleasing a man.”

  “But you had no men?” He asked, clearly confused.

  “In theory. And we practiced on simulacrums.”

  He searched my face, looking for the joke.

  “In fact,” I continued, finding that I was enjoying myself, “perhaps I could do that for you. Would you like that?”

  “What about us not being married yet?” He was hedging, because I’d seen the fire light in his eyes, the way his fingers flexed despite himself. Oh, yes—he wanted that all right.

  I shrugged that off. Then reconsidered. Maybe not being married made it easier. Less like what I’d gone through before. Or, rather, what Jenna went through. Ivariel had never pledged her name to a man, only to a goddess. “You say that doesn’t matter here. This would be a good test for me. If I can satisfy your needs without worrying about giving you my body, I’d rest easier about going into marriage with you.”

  His face was a study in conflicting emotions. Aroused and interested, yes, as any man should be by such an offer. Also bemused, a bit startled by my frankness. And torn, concern and consternation warring with the rest. “Ivariel, I…” He trailed off helplessly. “I don’t know where to start here.”

  “I want to try this,” I said firmly. Stepping away from him, I checked that all the curtains had been tied. I felt wild and a little reckless. So much sorrow and death—at least I could give him this delight, something he obviously craved and would never ask of me. I could use the skills I’d learned so painstakingly, but never truly practiced. Rodolf had wanted only my pain and submission. But I wouldn’t think of that. I peered into the well of the spiral staircase. “Will anyone intrude?”

  Giving me an odd look, Ochieng picked up a circular slab of wood that matched the flooring, sliding it over the gap. “Now they won’t. But I still think we should—”

  “Shh. Enough talking.” I sounded imperious, I knew, but that helped. It made me feel more like who I’d been before Rodolf broke me. “After all, how many men can brag of being pleasured by an Imperial Princess?”

  He smiled, but frowned, too. “You know that’s not what this is about for me.”

  “I know. That’s my pride speaking. You may not know it, but I have a great deal of pride.”

  Now he laughed. “I may have guessed that.” He stilled as I approached him again, watching me almost warily, but with gratifying hunger, too, as I unlaced his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders so it fell to the floor and caressing his skin as I did. “What are the rules?” he whispered. When I raised my brows in inquiry, he shook his head, as if to clear it. “This is in your hands. I need to know what I can and can’t do.”

  A powerful feeling, to have such an offer. “If you would…promise not to touch me?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  I wanted to ask him not to chain me or hurt me, but I knew he’d be insulted by that, and I figured that fell under him not touching me.

  “Anything else?” he asked, reading into my hesitation.

  “The rest… can I tell you as I go along?”

  “All right. I know enough now. And I’ll add one—you stop the moment any of it bothers you. At all, in any way, even a little bit.”

  “All right.”

  “I mean it.” He dipped his chin, catching my eye in lieu of stopping my hands. “No pushing through out of misplaced pride.”

  I splayed my hands over his muscled chest, the tightly curled black hairs fascinating in their texture and patterns, my fingers so pale in contrast. Looking up at him through my lashes, as I’d been taught, I gave him my most sensuous smile, touching my lower lip with the tip of my tongue. His dark eyes fired and he trembled under my hands. Excellent.

  “Too much talking,” I murmured. “Let me do this.”

  He didn’t exactly agree, but as I pressed a kiss to that enticing hollow between his collar bones, he made a helpless sound of lust that was exactly perfect.

  ~ 18 ~

  I explored his naked chest with my hands, following with my mouth, teasing those spots said to be sensitive, experimenting with kisses, licks, light sucking, and bites, both soft and sharp, finding which he preferred. He shivered under it all, giving me a heady sense of power. It also gave me pleasure, which I hadn’t at all expected. Without even touching me, by giving himself over like this, Ochieng had aroused me, too. My sex ached and grew slick as it never had for my late husband. Much as it had angered him at the time, in retrospect I took a savage satisfaction in it.

  Everything about me had angered him and none of it had anything to do with who I really was. He’d been able to command my obedience, but not my genuine feelings and responses. Something of a revelation. But I wouldn’t think about that now. This moment should be about me and Ochieng only, together.

  Ochieng moaned under my ministrations, and when I looked up, I saw he had his head tipped back, throat tense and straining, hands clenched in fists at his sides. Doing his best by me, keeping to the promise not to touch me, though he clearly wanted to.

  His cock thrust against his loose trousers, moisture leaking from the tip soaking through the cloth. I took him in my hand, a bit startled by his length and girth there. Definitely nothing like my late husband’s withered member that had stayed flaccid until the sight of my blood and the sound of my screams awakened it. Don’t think about it.

  I squeezed, finding the right pressure, and Ochieng made a choking sound. Oh yes, just like that. I stroked him, and his hips rode towards me as I pulled, and he swallowed convulsively. I’d best move this along, if I wanted to try everything I had in mind. But I needed to alter our positions, to make sure I didn’t succumb to the bad memories.

  “Do you mind lying down, on the bed maybe?” I asked.

  He cracked his eyes open. They were unfocused, not quite following.

  “I think I’d rather not kneel,” I explained. That might be too much as it had been with Rodolf. “If you could lie down then I’ll be able to continue.”

  “Ivariel.” His eyes cleared and he tried to pull back, but I didn’t release him and he halted, hands dancing around mine as if he’d like to pull them off, but mindful of his promise not to touch me. With a sound of frustration he raked his fingers into his hair, pressing the heels of his hands to his temples and squeezing his eyes closed.

  “You don’t have to do this,” he got out.

  “I want to. Is it a problem for you to lie down? On your back,” I clarified.

  He choked out a laugh. “No. No, it’s not a problem. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You’ll have to let me go.” He grinned abruptly and raised a brow at me. “Unless you want to walk me over there.”

  I laughed, too, surprising myself. I hadn’t known there could be laughter during sex. Letting him go, I dipped a curtsy, full formal court style. “As you will, sir.”

  He walked over to his pallet and lowered himself to it. “Keep my pants on?”

  “For now, yes.” I liked being the one to decide these things. “But… Ochieng?”

  He froze. “Problem?”

  “No, no. Not that.” I
folded my hands together, unsure if he’d mind the request.

  “Ask, Ivariel,” he said gravely, his tone gentle, gaze warm.

  “Would you take your hair out of the queue? I’d like to see it loose.”

  I’d surprised him. “Of course. You could have taken the tie out yourself.” He snagged the tie and yanked it out, his hair falling around his face.

  I came over and straddled his legs, kneeling on either side of his thighs, widely enough that I didn’t touch him, and slipped my hands into his hair, savoring the soft, silken texture. He’d closed his eyes, holding still for me. “Is this all right?” I asked.

  He opened his eyes, looking at me with amusement. “You’ve had your hands in more intimate places than that.”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t sure… Dasnarian men wear their hair very short.” My fingers caught a little, dragging in his hair, and he let his head fall back, eyes drifting closed again. “I didn’t know what the rules were for it.”

  “No rules,” he murmured. “Only what pleases you.”

  “That’s a gift to me,” I told him, feeling a little shy to say so. “To be able to do what pleases me.”

  He opened his eyes, gazing into mine, so full of feeling that my heart seemed to swell, as if it might overfill and break. “If you’ll let me,” he said, “I’ll spend the rest of my life letting you do what pleases you.”

  “But why?” I whispered.

  “Because I love you,” he replied, as if that were the obvious answer. And to him it was.

  I leaned in and kissed him, holding him with my hands sunk in his hair, and he returned it, following my lead. When I parted my lips, so did he. When I touched my tongue to his, a shockingly intimate contact, he returned the caress in kind. I explored his mouth as I had his chest, finding what he liked, what burned into his control, the spots that made him tremble.

  He leaned back on his arms still but they weakened as I teased him into a state of near delirium, his breath coming in harsh pants. Taking the kisses to his face, I rained them on him. Rose-petal kisses, we call them, and I showered them on his upturned face like a benediction, soothing him.

  “Lie back,” I murmured, and he let out a grateful sigh, at last giving way and falling back with a sound of relief. Following him down, I took the kisses to the sharp line of his jaw, and the tender skin beneath. Then up to his ear, tracing the elegant inner folds with my tongue, sucking, then nipping at the lobe, making him groan and clench his fists in the blankets.

  My teachers would be proud, I thought, as I tried the tricks they’d taught me—and improvised from there. They’d said that each man is different, that learning to play his body is an art, like learning a new dance. He is the music you dance to, but your steps set the cadence and harmony. I finally understood that now, strumming the fine instrument of my lover. The first true lover I’d ever had.

  Following the lines of his body down, I built the tension of the song we played together. The scent of his body, the quake of a muscle, the harsh groan and tender sigh, all guiding me to give him the utmost pleasure. All the world fell away until I knew only him, only the taste of his skin against my tongue, the silken feel of him under my hands, the expanse of his body on display for my savoring, the sounds he made all the music I needed.

  When I reached his groin, he made a strange, choked sound—almost of despair, and I paused in undoing the laces of his pants. He had his hands over his face, knuckles white from tension.

  “Is this all right?” I asked him.

  He laughed, a hoarse sound, creaking, with a desperate edge. “Just tell them I died happy,” he grated out.

  I paused, he sounded so pained. “Should I stop?”

  His jaw flexed, and he swallowed, hard. “Do you want to?”

  Such a lovely man. He’d let me, if I said I did. Tempting to toy with him, but that trust between us seemed too fragile still to test with teasing. “Lift your hips,” I told him, and he did without question. I slid the pants off him, tossing them aside, taking the time to enjoy the bounty of his masculine beauty.

  Sometime I’d love to start at his feet, kissing the toes, the erogenous point at the arch, behind the ankle, that lighter skin between his toes. But not today. His whole body strained with the effort to stay still for this, his cock rising and falling of its own accord, as if reaching for my touch.

  So I crawled back up his body, indulging in tracing the lines of the muscles in his legs, the silky texture of the soft skin of his inner thighs. I nuzzled my cheek against his groin, the scent of him sharper there, making me want to take him into me. A startling thought—especially that it didn’t make me feel ill.

  Delicately I touched his shaft with my tongue, intending to trace the lines there, too, but he nearly convulsed, a strangled cry escaping him.

  “Ochieng?” I asked.

  “Just…” He was panting. “For the love of your goddess, Ivariel, I can’t hold back any more. I … just can’t.”

  I smiled, well pleased with myself. There would be other days to extend his tolerance, to take him close to the edge, and pull back. Other days. I’d been able to do this, and I’d be able to do it again. I looked forward to it.

  “Ivariel?” he asked, lifting his head to look at me.

  “I’m here. Watch.” Taking his shaft firmly at the root, I swallowed him into my mouth, loving the way he cried out, throwing his head back and arching helplessly as he orgasmed. He filled my mouth with his seed and I swallowed it gladly, wishing only I could send it to my eggs, that we could make a baby this way.

  I controlled the final climax of our pairing, milking him, guiding him back from the agonizing peak of pleasure with all the gentleness I could muster. Here the untutored can fail to take care of their partner, letting him drop back to earth without the silken grace of female comfort to soften his descent. I learned him, still finding what soothed, when to stop touching the overworked sweet spots, transferring my attention to a gentle massage of smoothing caresses.

  Making my way back up his body, I placed a kiss on his forehead, a final token of the delights I wished for him. He smiled, barely, a slight curve of his generous mouth, eyes closed, arms and hands at last relaxed at his sides, his body long and lax with release. Many men fell asleep at this point, I understood, so I waited quietly, so as not to disturb him. And also not quite sure what else to do. My lessons had never detailed past that. I supposed because the man would’ve known. He’d either summon an escort for me back to the seraglio or inform me of the next desired service.

  After only a moment, Ochieng rolled his head toward me, opening his eyes. He lifted a hand, offering it. “Will you lie beside me?” He asked, voice somehow both rough and sweet.

  I considered it, testing myself for a reaction, like rolling a new food in my mouth to check if I liked it enough to swallow. It seemed to be all right. So I eased down beside him, and he wrapped the extended arm around me, snuggling me against his side. Comforting, and yet loosely enough that I didn’t feel trapped. How well he understood me.

  “How are you?” he asked, sounding careful.

  “I feel good,” I replied immediately. “Though I have many techniques yet to try. I only got to a few.”

  He chuckled, then cleared his throat. “I’m not sure if I’m intrigued or terrified.”

  I looked down at his body, his lax cock filling and straightening again. “I believe you overstate your fear.” I trailed a finger down his flat belly, intent on renewing my attentions to him, but he stopped me. A gentle touch, then laced his fingers with mine and drew our joined hands up between us, turning on his side as he did to face me. “Am I wrong?” I asked, made uncertain by his serious expression.

  But he smiled, a soft and tender curve. “No. I shall never again scoff at my Imperial Princess, or her tenacity, patience, and cruel ability to tease a man past all sanity.”

  “Then what?�
� I searched his face. Something that I hadn’t done correctly. I hadn’t meant to be cruel. “Didn’t I please you?”

  He sobered, eyes filling with some emotion I didn’t recognize. He brought our joined hands to his mouth, kissing the back of mine. “Oh, Ivariel. You are as exquisitely talented in this as you are in all things. But I don’t want you to pleasure me. No, no—don’t look at me like that. I don’t mean not at all, or not ever, but I want us to share these things. What you did for me was incredible. Can’t you see I want to give that to you, too?”

  I eyed him, feeling hesitant. “I don’t know that part.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Restless, I shifted, but he kept ahold of me. Not tightly, but enough that I’d have to tear away. I didn’t really want to. Lying beside him felt good. Like leaning against Efe or Violet. Safe and … loved? Was that the name to put to this feeling?

  “Ivariel, talk to me,” he reminded me.

  “I mean that, I learned to please a man, but all I know about … the rest is—” I broke off, the sick rising.

  “Is what?”

  I shrugged, then pulled our hands apart, needing to sit up and catch my breath. “Submit. Give over my body. And, Ochieng, I’m sorry, but I just don’t think I can—”

  “La.” He’d sat up, too, putting gentle hands on my shoulders, bracing me against the tremors that had seized me. “Relax. Let it go. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  “All right.” I drew in a ragged breath. “We won’t speak of it.”

  “Not at the moment,” he agreed, though I didn’t miss the caveat.

  “We meant to go dig out Efe,” I said. “And we should check on Capa.”

  “Let’s do that then.”

  I stood and retrieved his clothes, handing them over, wondering if I should help but he didn’t seem to expect it.

  “Ivariel?” He asked from the wash basin.

  “Yes?” I braced myself, for whatever of a hundred questions he could ask. I would have to tell him at some point, what it had been like between me and Rodolf. So he’d know. It wasn’t fair that he didn’t know.