His cock had already begun to regain a bit of the steel it’d shown when she’d taken it in her mouth, and he stroked himself as he approached her. Elina watched him work his cock, her mouth open, blind and deaf to anything else, until he was close and her gaze caught him staring at her stare, and she blushed a little and looked straight ahead.
Pol’s cock hardly needed any more attention—it was a rock in his hand. He stepped behind Elina, his hips meeting hers, admiring the wide round curves of her buttocks, and the smooth muscles of her back, the gentle cleft along her spine and the shoulder blades that disappeared or rose up depending on how she moved her arms, shifting the ever-present vine of morning glories depicted in her tattoo.
His cock was resting in the crack of her ass, and Elina had begun to rub her body against his, until she stepped forward a little, reaching a hand between her legs to grasp him by the base of his shaft, pulling him down and forward. Pol’s hand seized her wrist before she could force him inside her, so that the head of his cock rested between the lips of her pussy for only a moment before he pushed it past, rubbing it up against her clit and belly.
Elina groaned to feel how hard and hot he was as he stroked his cock slowly back and forth over her body, her lower lips kissing the top of his length as he moved.
“Don’t tease me, thief,” she muttered.
“If I’d stolen into your bedchamber at night, you’d hardly be in a position to command me when or when not to tease,” said Pol. He gave her rump a light slap, just hard enough that, with the water, it stung for a second, prompting a sharp exclamation from Elina.
“In Tia Vashil, the Exarch has decreed that thieves that are caught lose a hand,” she said.
“In that case, you’d better choose,” said Pol. “This one?”
His right hand cupped her right breast and he kneaded and groped at it. Elina arched her back to press more of her flesh into his palm.
“Or this one?” His left hand found her left breast, but this time his fingers found her nipple, twisting and pulling.
“Oooh,” said Elina, raising her hand to catch his.
“Mmm. As I thought,” he said. He took his right hand away from her breast, and pulled his hips back slightly, his hand guiding his cock into her pussy as he thrust hard forward.
“Ahh, yes, that’s what I needed,” grunted Elina as Pol’s cock pressed deep into her, creating the delicious fullness inside her body she’d been craving since arriving at the vai Ullan estate earlier in the day. He held himself still for a moment. His right hand pushed its way back up her body, lifting her away from the leg of the statue as his fingers once again provided a tight cage around her breast, two of his fingers rolling her nipple between the knuckles.
“Vash, you’re tight,” said Pol, reveling in the grip her pussy had on him, almost as strong as her mouth had been. Elina laughed an amused little giggle, not wanting to disabuse him of the notion, but wondering if her pussy or the girth of his cock was to blame. “Has Jin ever been where I am now?”
“Nn-oh!” cried Elina as Pol began to pump his hips, drawing himself a little ways out of her before pushing back in.
“You were working on him during dinner,” said Pol. Elina began to push back against him as he thrust against her. He groaned watching her ass ripple each time it made contact with his hips. “How do you know he’s a good lay if you haven’t ever tried him?”
Elina’s hand grabbed his left wrist, dragging it away from her chest. She pulled it along the side of her face, and he hooked a finger into her mouth, feeling her tongue lick at the tip, before she once again pulled it away until his hand was resting in her hair.
“Us ladies do talk to each other, you know,” she chided as Pol wove his fingers through the auburn strands of her hair. “Except for Vatya, who just brags.”
Pol’s grip on her hair tightened, drawing her head back. His other hand seized her right thigh, lifting her knee into the air until it was resting on the gryphon’s raised leg.
“Dragon’s bells, fuck me with that glorious cock,” she groaned. Pol's next thrust was much deeper and they both gasped in unison to feel his length penetrating between her folds.
“Do you know?” asked Elina, in between grasping at the gryphon’s leg while Pol plunged in and out of her. “I’ve been coming here for almost a month, desperate to get this from Jin, and now, here you are and—”
She paused, shuddering on a particularly well-aimed stroke.
“—it was worth it.”
Pol was almost beside himself, listening to her talk. He gritted his teeth, forcing his mind to wander to other subjects, memories that might help him. But most of those were memories of thieving, and they brought him back to Elina.
“The thief you pictured in your bedchamber,” he grunted. “Did he look like Jin?”
His hands had given up holding her leg, or her hair, both of them tightly gripping her waist instead, giving him purchase as he drove into her as hard as he could.
“Sometimes,” said Elina, pushing back with equal force.
“Who will you think of now?”
“You,” came the answer, barely above a whisper.
“Oh hells, I’m going to—”
“Wait, wait,” said Elina. “Not yet.”
Pol strained with the effort to comply, but maintain his pace. One of Elina’s hands found her pussy, petting her clit with furious, determined strokes. Her own thrusts did not diminish in the least as she brought herself to the brink.
“Now,” she said. “Together.”
Pol could not have lasted another second if he’d wanted. He threw an arm around her waist, pulling her as tight to him as he could, his cock pouring his cum inside her. Elina’s own orgasm followed quickly, her pussy spasming around him, pulling out more of his seed, while her body froze as still as the statue they were perched over, the only clues to her pleasure the contortions of her face and pussy.
He withdrew from her with a groan and Elina turned around, leaning against the gryphon’s leg, panting heavily under the spray from the fountain. She stepped forward and kissed him, her tongue licking gently at his lips before she sank to her knees before him, pulling his cock into her mouth before he grew too soft or the water washed away the taste of her on him.
When she lifted off his shaft, she looked up at him, her eyes dancing with delight.
“I can’t wait to dream of you tonight, thief.”
* * * * *
Kiera let the field glasses slip from her fingers, lucky that the floor was carpeted instead of the marble favored so heavily throughout the rest of the house.
Her own climax came on her suddenly, and she moaned as it rippled through her body, running from her clit out to her toes and nipples, but refusing to cease the punishment she was inflicting on her own body as she thought of Pol having his way with Elina down below and how hard he’d been in the bath that morning, and what his finger had felt like inside of her, and his breath hot on her breast, her nipple hard and wet from being in his mouth. She could feel a rivulet of her own cum slipping down the inside of her thigh, and when she lifted the front panel of her skirt to inspect herself, she saw she’d soaked through her undergarments, and that her sweat was apparent across her entire body. She took a moment to regain her composure, a little moisture from her breath collecting on the window pane in front of her. She smoothed her dress and tried to evaporate some of the sweat by pulling the fabric away from her body and flapping it a little.
She would need to find a couple of servants and have them fetch a basin and some hot water for a bath in her bedroom.
The image of Pol’s cock spurting over Elina’s body came unbidden to her mind, and for a moment, the heat of her own blood make Kiera think she could feel his cum, hot and sticky, on her own breasts and stomach.
It would need to be a long bath.
Chapter 8
Mistress Margase appeared most unconvinced. She leaned back, causing her off-the-shoulder dress to sink a little furthe
r, exposing the spray of freckles that dotted the pale skin of her chest.
“You claim to be a warlock, Citizen Burr?”
Pol exchanged a glance with Kiera. She frowned at him and nodded. He had done magic. At least once in her presence, with Sir Vallan. And there’d been a few things with the Canians that had given her pause.
“I don’t claim to be anything. But strange things have happened while Kiera and I traveled to Tia Vashil.”
Kiera cleared her throat, interrupting.
“I was tested by the Guild as a young girl,” she said. “I was found to lack any magic. That rules me out. Unless a Sorcerer has been following us since Lowvale, then I believe he is a warlock.”
“I remember when you were tested,” said Margase. “I was apprentice to Master Waldrin when he was Master of Students.”
Her piercing blue eyes danced as Kiera stared at her, trying to remember the fire-haired beauty from her test. There’d been a few more Sorcerers in the Guild then, enough to crowd the small testing courtyard, and they’d all sat very patiently as Master Waldrin had demonstrated moving a small rock from one marble podium to another through the air. Kiera had been desperate to be a Sorcerer like her namesake, and had struggled to try and get the stone to move without touching it. She’d pressed her face against the marble, willing, begging the rock to float away. Nothing had worked.
She didn’t remember Margase at all. All she remembered was the rock not moving and Master Waldrin gently patting her on the shoulder.
Margase herself remembered the event quite fondly. Ked vai Ullan had not yet been elected Exarch, but his eldest daughter coming for a testing had been a unique event, and most of the Guild had wanted her to succeed, hoping that her family might help empower the Guild with more than magic should she join their ranks. But what Margase was most pleased to recall was, when Waldrin had returned to his quarters from showing the girl to the gates, how she’d stepped from the shadows, shed her robes, and knelt to take her master in her mouth, much to his surprise. Waldrin had taken her for the first time then, and in the nearly fifteen years since, they’d almost never left the bed they’d been joined on that night.
Except when she had to test potential new students. It was a regular occurrence, but since becoming Master of Students from Waldrin, she’d never found one fit to become an acolyte at the Guild. She’d scoffed when Heldi had suggested there was a warlock out there to perform the Rite of Renewal. The magic was dying. If you were a religious person, as Margase was, then while you might know that Kili’s power still existed in the dragon jade and other similar artifacts, it was very clear that Vash’s gifts to mankind were waning.
And yet, here was Pol Burr, sitting in this chair across from her, a fantastic story of performing a disintegration spell on an unsuspecting knight to accompany him. Performed by an unsuspecting Sorcerer, as well. Margase was skeptical by nature, but she was religious enough to know that while Coincidence was not one of the gods, Fate was.
Margase stood and opened the door. Pol shot to his feet, believing the audience to be over, that Kiera was wrong. Kiera rose out of her chair, a look of rank indignation on her face, disgust at being thwarted by the petite slip of a woman before her.
Margase cut them both off. “Lady Kiera, Citizen Burr, if you’ll follow me.”
She turned and walked away, leaving them to chase her or be left alone in the office.
Pol would have preferred time alone with Kiera. She'd been a ghost since the dinner until once again she’d roughly awoken him at a rude hour, this time from the most comfortable feather bed he’d ever slept in—a marked improvement over the patch of dirt he’d been more accustomed to sleeping on these past weeks—to go obtain an audience with the Guild. She’d stood by in her fine leather riding gear, directing her servants to dress Pol properly for the occasion in clothes finer than he’d ever worn before.
At the Gate of Fire, a flummoxed young Sorcerer, if any Sorcerer these days could truly be called young, had stared at them dumbly when Kiera had announced “Warlock Pol” when he’d asked who they were. Then he’d turned and dashed away, at which point Margase had come out and invited them to her office.
Now they once again plodded down the high-ceilinged corridors, the walls adorned with tapestries from across the Farthest Sea and marble busts of famous Chairs of the Guild, and the occasional outstanding Guild member, their accomplishments etched in stone below the dates of their births and deaths. It seemed a little strange to Pol that one could summarize an entire life with just two dates, especially a life as long as a Sorcerer’s. But then again, Pol’s life had not been anything much of note and, if he’d only known his birthday, then he supposed his life would’ve been adequate summed by just a start and an end date.
Margase was a fascinating woman. She was small and had seemed terribly dainty, like a toy doll, when they’d met. Her long cascade of dark red hair had been curled up into a bun, with a few locks slipping away and framing her face. Her skin—and Pol could see quite a lot of it, given that her dress was backless, save for fine gold chains that stretched below her shoulder blades to keep the front taut and fastened—was an alabaster flecked with freckles, like a painter had splattered her brush across her skin over and over by accident.
And yet, she’d refused Kiera’s attempt to take a knee and Pol’s attempt to bow and nearly crushed his hand in her grip when she’d shook it instead. She’d even lifted the heavy cast iron Gate of Fire herself, as if by magic.
It occurred to Pol, feeling quite foolish, that it might very well have been by magic.
They took a door off the main corridor, passing by a number of small rooms where dozens of peculiar look instruments sat, waiting to do Vash knew what. Margase pulled open a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall, then waved a hand at the iron bars that blocked their way. The bars retreated into the ground in front of them.
“The testing courtyard,” Kiera whispered to Pol as they walked out into the sun. The courtyard was fairly small, just the size of a simple garden. It was mostly grass, with a cobblestone path to two marble podiums, each about waist height. On the left podium was a smooth black rock ball, not much larger or wider than a silver Vashili mark.
“Now, Citizen Burr,” said Mistress Margase, turning her blinding blue gaze on him. “This is a very simple test, one we give to anyone who would seek to become an acolyte here at the Guild. All you must do is move the black stone from the left podium to the right podium without touching it. You may do anything you wish to aid you; gestures, commands, there are no rules prohibiting anything but not actually touching the rock.”
Pol looked at the rock, then at Margase, and then Kiera, who gave him a wan smile. He looked back at Margase.
“Whenever you’re ready, Citizen Burr,” the Sorcerer said.
“I just walk up and move the rock without touching it?”
“If you feel you need to walk up, yes. Otherwise, you can just move the rock.”
Pol took a hesitant step forward. He stared at the black rock and willed it to rise.
The rock sat pleasantly on its podium, heating in the day’s sun undisturbed.
“You’re doing very good, Pol,” said Margase, her voice gentle and reassuring. “Perhaps you might add a gesture, or a command. Or both.”
“Like what?”
“Well, raising your palm is a classic. Or saying, ‘rise.’ Either of those.”
Pol snuck a glance at Kiera before turning his attention back to the rock. There was a sympathetic pain in her eyes; she’d failed this test long before Pol had ever tried it. She knew what it was like.
“Rise,” he ordered the rock. He demonstrated, lifting his palm up into the air as though the rock rested in the center of it. “Rise!”
The rock did nothing.
“Rise!” he shouted, immediately feeling foolish and exposed, even in the confines of the garden.
Margase stepped to him, her hand rubbing his back. Her head barely even came up to his shoulders,
and he had to bend down to hear when she started to whisper at him.
“You know, Warlock Pol, I’m beginning to think that you’ve the potential to be a very powerful, very important Sorcerer. And one of the benefits of being such a creature is you can have anything you’d like.”
Her gaze shifted to the young woman behind them, and her voice became even quieter.
“Or anyone. I know this for a fact.”
She stepped back away from him, her voice immediately rising in volume.
“Remember what I said, and move the rock, Pol.”
Pol looked at Kiera for a moment. Her green eyes were alight and seemed to sparkle when their gazes met, and her smile felt warm and encouraging. “You can do this,” she mouthed at him.
Pol planted his feet and stared at the rock. The only time he’d really felt like he’d done magic was in Lowvale, when Sir Vallan had lost an arm. How had he done that? He stretched his arm out, his hand straight up, as if commanding the rock to stop. He splayed his fingers, and willed the rock to movement.
Margase started to say something that sounded like, “No, not-” but by then it was much too late to intervene. The numbing sensation he’d felt before ran through Pol’s entire body this time, pouring down his arm and into his hand, so much that if he hadn’t been able to see his own fingers, he would’ve doubted their existence. The air around the left podium began to shimmer, then twist about, as though it were different color paints being blended together, stirred by some unseen hand.
There was a sucking sound and if one blinked, they’d have missed the transformation of the world from one in which the podium, the black rock, and much of the ground under the podium existed, to one in which none of those things were present. Half a cobblestone, split apart by the spell, toppled into small crater that was left in their passing.
Dragon Jade Chronicle: The Warlock And The Warrior Page 15
