Gift of the Goddess

by Denise Rossetti

  “But you’ll be watching for them,” Trey assured him blithely. “And you’ve set traveling wards, haven’t you?”

  Anje sat up, mischief bubbling within her. She hadn’t had so much fun since… Well, she couldn’t remember when.

  “You’ll keep us safe, won’t you, mighty shaman?” She fluttered her eyelashes. She suspected she was a woeful flutterer, but Brin reacted by shooting her a look calculated to chill the blood of a lesser woman. How gratifying!

  Holding his stare, she unlaced her shirt and spread it wide. Her breasts bobbed perkily to the rhythm of the vran’s stride, the nipples already peaked. Brin’s eyes widened a fraction and he growled something under his breath.

  Her blood singing, Anje leaned forward as slowly as possible until her nipples brushed Trey’s bare back. He jumped. “Feel me?” she murmured in her smokiest voice.

  Trey moaned, but Brin jerked his gaze away and urged Twink on until he was several paces ahead, giving her nothing but his stiff back.

  Anje bit her lip, cursing under her breath, but Trey turned his head and whispered, “Talk to me, darling girl—loud, so he can hear.” He pressed a kiss into her hair. “And for Lufra’s sake, don’t stop. This is heaven.”

  “I can’t. I feel stupid,” she whispered back.

  “Well, you’re not.” She caught the edge of his infectious grin. “Just talk dirty and watch Brin.”

  Anje cleared her throat. “Do you like this?” She scratched lightly at the hair on his chest.

  “Yes.” Trey arched into her touch and repeated, more loudly, “Yes!”

  She ran her palms over his pectorals in a figure-of-eight pattern. “Are your nipples sensitive, Trey?”

  He grunted.

  “Shall I touch them?”

  “Love, I’m all yours.”

  Brin shifted slightly in the saddle and a rush of heat liquefied Anje’s sex.

  Using the pads of her fingers, she rolled the tiny peaks, flicking gently, rubbing. Trey’s hands went slack on the reins.

  “What’s better, fingertips? Or…” She circled both palms over the blood-engorged flesh, rotating with the lightest friction.

  When Trey didn’t speak, she nipped the side of his neck. “Talk to me, Trey, or I’ll stop.”

  He swallowed. “All. I like it all. Anje, please—”

  The shaman half turned in the saddle and she said hastily. “I’m melting for you, Trey. I’ve never been so wet.”

  Brin slowed Twink until they were riding abreast. He was wearing his stone face, his jaw set like a cliff. “You’re pushing, scout. You know what happens when you push.”

  Anje swallowed a giggle. Suddenly, she felt light, joyous, full of power. Letting her insolent gaze rest on the hard ridge bulking out Brin’s trews, she slid her hands down to Trey’s groin and plucked at his laces.

  Long fingers covered hers, bit down. “What do you think you’re doing?” Brin grated.

  “What does it look like? I’m going to play with Trey’s cock.” She grinned. “For as long as I want. Or as long as he can stand it.”

  “Lufra!” Trey’s head dropped back against the curve of her neck. Peering down, she could see his glans jutting out of the opening in his trews, like a shiny fruit, pink and bursting ripe.

  Anje’s mouth watered and she paused, startled. She was actually contemplating contorting her body on the back of a moving vran in order to service a man with her mouth. She, a warrior among the Children. Holy Mother, what had they done to her?

  “Shall I take you in my mouth, Trey?” she growled in his ear.

  He quivered and his cock bobbed beseechingly. “Do something!” His hips rocked upward. “Lufra, do anything!”

  A heavy hand grasped her shoulder in a firm, gentle grip, holding her back. “That’s a trifle ambitious, scout. It’s a long way to the ground.”

  “I want to give Trey pleasure,” she said stubbornly.

  The hard lines bracketing Brin’s mouth disappeared, though his body still radiated tension. He raised dark brows. “Do you, scout? Will you pay my price? Both of you?”

  “Lufra, please!” gritted Trey, grabbing Anje’s hand and jamming it on his cock.

  Brin’s words slid straight out of her head. Trey’s skin was hot under her fingers, so smooth and hard. With both hands, she burrowed into the opening of his trews, lifting him out, curling her fingers around his girth.

  Because it was difficult to see, she squeezed experimentally and Trey whimpered. Intrigued, she stroked her fingertips from root to tip and down again. He quivered. “Good?”

  “More,” he husked and his cock reared in her hands, furnace hot.

  Remembering how he’d masturbated himself on the rock, she massaged his foreskin up and over the cock head, pressing and rolling it, spreading his own lubricating moisture until her fingers were slippery with it.

  Trey’s breath came in hard rasps against her hair and she was intoxicated, drunk with the musky smell of his desire, with the sheer pleasure of pleasure given to the beloved.

  She pressed her aching nipples into the hard muscle of his back and took a two-fisted grip, working him hand over hand.

  Trey stopped breathing altogether. His spine curved like a bow and his hands clenched on her knees with bruising force.

  A big hand fell over hers and gripped hard. Trey moaned deep in his throat and Anje froze. “Slow down, scout. Make the offering worthy.” Brin’s voice had dropped to such a low register, it was a subterranean rumble.

  Catching the reins of Trey’s vran with his other hand, he brought both beasts to a halt. He looked down at his long, bronzed fingers wrapped around hers, at Trey’s cock head emerging from their joined hands as smooth and flushed as a fat, pink rosebud. His sigh was so deep, it seemed dredged from his very soul. He lifted his hand away and leaned back.

  Trey turned his head toward the shaman and his eyes snapped open. Anje caught her breath. For a split second, his expression was unguarded and the brief blaze of love and lust was so intense, so powerful, she felt scorched.

  Numb with shock, she relaxed her grip and Trey murmured a protest.

  “Lift your hips, Trey.” Brin tugged at the other man’s trews. “There now. Cup his balls, Anje.”

  She slid one hand under the warm, hairy nest of Trey’s sac and his thighs tensed.

  “Good girl. Gently now, there’s a spot just behind…” The skin of Trey’s perineum was hot and resilient. She rubbed a slow circle with her longest fingers, while she stroked her thumb across his testicles.

  Trey gurgled and his cock pulsed in her grasp. Brin slid a hand down her spine, his hair brushing cool across their shoulders as he leaned forward to watch.

  “Keep that going while you work his cock. Harder at the root, lighter near the head. It’s very sensitive there.” His voice had sunk to a whisper, his cheekbones flushed with hectic color.

  Trey arched and shook, deliciously helpless in her grip. Her sex wept and fluttered to the rhythm of her stroke.

  She must have imagined it, that expression.

  “Look at him, scout.” Brin’s fingers sank into her hair. “He’s yours now. Take it up a notch. Hold his balls taut and stretch his cock away when you pull.”

  The slit in Trey’s cock head dribbled clear fluid. She could feel the sweat on his stomach, slippery against her forearms. He was trembling hard, teeth sunk deep into that luscious lower lip.

  Anje glanced up at Brin. “He—” She had to clear her throat. “He’s very close.”

  Brin gave her his crooked smile. “You have a natural talent.” He rose in the saddle and ground a hand over his genitals, circling them hard into his pelvis. The action was completely unconscious. A flare of triumph hit her like glory and she pressed her lips to the freckles on Trey’s shoulder, hiding her face.

  “If you touch the head, scout, he’ll be gone.”

  “Perhaps I won’t then.”

  “Anje, if you love me, please.” Trey’s voice was a hoarse rasp.

 
; She scraped her nails up the underside, stopping at the soft, wrinkled collar of skin at the neck. Putting her lips to his ear, she breathed, “He’s watching, Trey. Come for him.”

  On the words, she raked her fingertips across the domed, spongy surface, pressing firmly into the slit.

  Trey’s spine stiffened and his mouth opened soundlessly as the spasms took him. She could feel them begin in his balls, pulled up high and hard into his body. They raced the length of his shaft and exploded in jets of creamy white that splattered over his belly and chest and dribbled over her fingers.

  She had her answer.

  Trey was in love with the shaman. Desperately, miserably in love.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Mountains of Morn separate the Sitariat-Gillen Tableland from the Empty Lands. Running roughly east to west, they stretch for fifty miles. The highest peaks remain snow-clad and cloud-wreathed, even in summer.

  Excerpt from the Great Encyclopedia, compiled by Miriliel the Burnished.

  Brin watched her doze off and on the rest of the way, curled like a languid temple cat into Trey’s back, her cheek resting trustingly on his shoulder blade. Youth called to youth. The lucky young bastard.

  He stifled a grunt as he shifted for the umpteenth time. He couldn’t afford to meditate the arousal away, not here on the trail. Instead, he distracted himself with planning.

  It was time to take her to the next level.

  Actually, it wasn’t, but he couldn’t wait any longer to see her unravel. Lufra, he craved it!

  And as for Trey… He glowered at his friend only to get a slow wink brimming with cheek and satisfaction. Brin’s cock rippled with dark expectation and his stomach clenched. Trey could smile now, but he deserved everything he was going to get. It would take all his shaman-trained control to bend both of them to his will and not betray his feelings for the lad, but ah Lufra, it was going to be good! He raised both hands above his head, directing Twink with his knees, and flexed his spine in a luxurious stretch.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Trey go completely still, so he did it again, just to spite him.

  He spent the next half hour berating himself for his woeful lack of self-discipline, but gods, it had felt fine!

  The long twilight was creeping in by the time they reached the foothills proper. The Mountains of Morn spread before them, a long, rambling range rising from the earth like the half-buried bones of some gargantuan, prehistoric creature. If he remembered aright, there was a cave complex not far ahead that would be perfect for their needs this night. The largest opened into a spacious chamber after a narrow right-angled passage. No light would escape to advertise their presence to passing Hssrda.

  And that was pleasing, because he wanted to be able to see what he was doing.

  He stared into the shadowy distance. Home was there, beyond the barrier of the mountains and the Sitariat-Gillen Tableland. His ranch, where the rasa grass blew silver before the wind and the vranee grazed down to the river. He missed Djalen the cook’s noodlecakes, he missed the bed he’d had specially made to accommodate his length. It was broad enough to fit three. He could imagine lying there blissfully sated, comfortably tangled with Anje and Trey. Brin sighed. There could be no doubt he was growing old.

  Anje roused as the vranee splashed through a shallow stream. She was a good sleeper, his sweet warrior. One soft cheek was creased, her eyes dazed. She looked young and vulnerable, as though she needed petting with a gentle hand.

  The illusion lasted until she focused on him. She sat up, pursed her lips and blew him a mocking kiss. Almost purring with anticipation, Brin smiled calmly back, delighted when she froze, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

  “Are you well rested, scout?” he enquired politely.

  “Well enough.”

  He showed his teeth. “Excellent.”

  He let her stew.

  The caves were as he remembered, with a busy stream chuckling over a rocky bed thirty paces away. Ideal.

  In the almost dusk, he circled the area, setting a double ring of wards with exquisite attention to detail. Tonight he would be concentrating on the knife-edge between pleasure and pain. He could not afford to divide his attention.

  By the time he returned to the cave, Trey had hobbled the vranee and started supper. He looked up, the firelight kissing his hair like a lover. “All done?”

  Brin grunted an affirmative. “Yes. Here.” He tossed a bunch of reddish stalks at Trey. They had thick, white bulbous stems. “I found a stand of trintri.”

  Trey brightened. Trintri had a sweet, nutty flavor. They’d go well with fareng.

  Brin looked around. “Where’s Anje?”

  “Said she wanted to wash. I volunteered to scrub her back, but—” He made a face.

  “She’ll keep. Did you find enough bracken for bedding?”

  Their eyes met in perfect understanding and Trey grinned broadly.

  “Don’t look so thrilled,” said Brin grimly. “I’m none too pleased with you.”

  Trey’s expression turned devilish. “Can’t win them all,” he said.

  Brin dropped his voice to a sibilant rumble. “But I intend to.” Trey’s knuckles whitened on the trintri stalks. “Go get your oldest shirt.”

  “What for?”

  “Do it.”

  A flush so delicate it could have been a girl’s stained Trey’s cheek, but he rose and disappeared into the depths of the cave without a word. When he returned, he had a balled-up garment in his fist. He thrust it at Brin.

  “No.” The shaman stopped him with a growl. “Tear it up. I want strips long enough to use as ties.”

  Trey’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips and the breath clogged in Brin’s throat. “How many?” Trey husked.

  Brin smiled and knew it was an evil expression. Lufra, he was evil! “Eight,” he said, for the simple pleasure of watching Trey think about it.

  Trey’s lashes swept down and his fingers tightened on the fabric. Brin turned and walked away before the other man could notice the tremor in his hands. Standing on the shallow ledge before the cave, he dragged in greedy lungfuls of the crisp air. If he didn’t keep an iron grip on his control, he’d betray himself, sacrificing his honor and self-respect. Absently, he rubbed at his throat, his skin felt as though it burned.

  Behind him, cloth ripped in a long, rasping tear that shivered along his nerves in a brutal caress. Trey pushed him to the brink simply by existing. Anje was his goddess-sent match. How easily he could lose himself in them!

  If he took care not to let Trey touch him this time, if he could bear to cause Anje pain to give her pleasure… Ah Lufra, but he wanted to, he wanted to do those things! Within him, self-loathing battled with dark desire.

  Another rip, the sound of Trey’s grunt as a seam resisted. Brin squared his shoulders.

  In the Great Rite, he and Anje would be drugged and anointed with aphrodisiacs and stimulated to screaming point by teams of shamans and priestesses. They had skills his poor sweet warrior had never dreamed of and their purpose would be to drive her out of her mind with lust.

  Literally.

  His balls cramped as he imagined her lithe, muscular body stretched and bound on the sacred bed of Lufra, tongues and fingers and cocks all over her, while she begged and screamed and pleaded for relief.

  But if she resisted, if she fought too hard, refused his help, his support, she would shatter. Instead of leaping from her body, rising to Lufra in glory, her soul would implode. Fracture and die.

  And if she didn’t take his soul with her when she went, he knew he’d wish she had.

  Tonight, he had to teach her, had to use his body and Trey’s as the instruments of her education, her submission. The only way for her to learn was through experience.

  And in the process, he had somehow to keep from betraying Trey’s trust. He snorted. He was a fine one to talk of trust! One day soon, Trey would grow up and recognize his infatuation for what it was. Though a part of him mourned, Brin knew he
would rather die than give the younger man something to soil the memory of their friendship.

  So all he had to do was mete out enough dark pleasure to earn his sweet warrior’s trust, meanwhile ensuring Trey couldn’t touch him.

  Simplicity itself.

  Without turning his head, he said, “Go shave, Trey. I don’t want you to mark her.”

  “Why?”

  A dark curl of amusement lit Brin’s mood. Trey would stare death in the eye and ask why. He turned. The younger man stood a yard away, firelight glinting on the light golden stubble on his chin.

  “Because I’ll be doing all the marking necessary.”

  Trey’s brow quirked and he salaamed. “Yes, mighty shaman.”

  That startled a laugh out of him. As Trey passed, he swatted him hard on one delectable cheek.

  “Bastard,” said Trey amiably but he didn’t stop.

  Shaken, Brin stared after him. His palm tingled with the curved imprint of a muscular buttock.

  So much for his fine resolutions!

  He raised his voice. “Send Anje up.”

  “I don’t need a keeper.”

  His head jerked around. She stood a few paces away, poised on the balls of her feet, watching him, her eyes unreadable. Gods, she must be a superb scout! How much had she heard?

  She leaned over the pot bubbling on the fire and sniffed. “This dinner?”

  Brin grunted assent, bemused by her athletic grace, the fine curve of her ass as she hunkered down. His gaze sharpened. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.”

  In two strides, he’d grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. “There’s blood on your neck. Get in here.” He hustled her down the long passage and into the dark cave. “Don’t move from that spot.”

  She sighed theatrically, but stayed where he’d put her.

  Fumbling for his tinder box, he lit the traveling lantern on the camp table and trimmed the wick. When he turned, she was standing with a hand on her hip, an ironic lift to her straight, dark brows.

  With a rumble of irritation, Brin pushed her jaw up so he could see. His stomach turned over and he hissed between his teeth. “Those are cuts.”