He rested his head on her leg and watched his fingers play across her folds. “You are bare.” He leaned in and placed a slow kiss at the apex of her tender flesh. “How lovely.”
A small frown crossed her face. “The Haarb did something to me. I don’t grow hair there anymore.”
“Forget about them.” With a wicked glance at her, he ran the tip of his tongue around her clit.
“Gods. Do that again,” she said.
He did. Several times.
With a long moan of enjoyment, she hung her head back and reveled in the exquisite, sparkling sensations that accompanied the warm, gentle swirls of his talented tongue. His unabashed enjoyment allowed her to let go of any reticence, any shyness she might have felt at his intimate position. By Her light, the man knows what he’s about.
Nuzzling in further, Eric sucked her tender clit into his mouth. The continuous suction of his lips and swirls of his tongue passing over those engorged nerves forced inexorable pleasure on her. Incoherent cries escaped to fill the chamber. That sound is me! She collapsed back on the pillows, her hips writhing, ungovernably. His silky hair filled her hands as she pressed him into that center of her delight. He killed her with a suckling tongue and mobile lips, circling and circling with delicate precision on her tender clit until she detonated in incandescent fire. With a carnal scream she did not recognize as hers, he sent her over. Explosions of brilliant pleasure rendered her incapable of thought or movement. She lay there, destroyed, quiet aftershocks shuddering through her. Silence settled into the room.
“Mind letting go of my hair, Sophi?” His muffled voice vibrated against her pubic bone.
“Oh!” She released her fists still violently clenched in his hair. He raised his head, laughter gleaming in his eyes. He passed his face along her inner thighs and wiped her glistening fluids from his mouth and chin.
Rising up, he pulled her underneath him until she was inches from his face. He examined her intently, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and something else she couldn’t grasp. His finger traced her eyebrows and he placed a kiss on the end of her nose.
“I’ve only started with you. But, I think for the moment, my brave Sophi, that much is enough.”
She couldn’t stop the tears welling in her eyes. This evening had changed her life. This man had changed her life. “You make me bold, Eric.”
She swiped at her tears with her hand and Mother Lyre’s words came back to her. “When the right man comes into your life, your fear will vanish like mist in the morning sun.”
He rolled over, plumping the pillows and holding out his arm in invitation. “Stay the night with me, Sophi.”
“Yes.” She snuggled next to him, fitting her head on his chest, her arm across his abdomen. We fit together perfectly.
* * *
A soft rap on the door the next morning nudged her from sleep. She snuggled further into Eric’s warmth, unwilling to surrender the blissful comfort of his body.
“Magistra? M’Lady? Umm, Sir? Magister?” The soft rap sounded again.
Eric’s long groan and muttered oath set her to laughing softly. “You’re awake, good. See to the door, warrior woman,” he said.
“Unnuuh. You go, Magister Bronzed God of Manly Proportions.” She prodded him gently.
With a scoff, he extricated himself from the intertwined bedding. Grabbing a towel from the floor, he wrapped it around himself and opened the door.
“Mistress Turner.”
“Sir. Magister DeStroia. You asked to be awakened before daybreak, and your men have been fed this past hour. Will you be wanting to breakfast in your room, Sir?”
“No need, Mistress. We’ll dress and be down.”
Sophi listened sleepily, then rolled over and spoke loudly enough to carry to the door. “My robes. I need my robes.”
From the hall, she heard Mistress Turner answer. “Yes, Magistra DeLorion, we folded and put them in your room, m’Lady. Um, we added a few things, m’Lady. We hope you like them.” Mistress Turner’s effusive voice continued. “Sir, Magister DeStroia, thank you both, thank you and Lady DeLorion for your kindness. We have gone so long without. Well, everyone has gone without. You have such important matters on your mind and for you to think of us, of our small village. Just thank you, Sir. We are so very grateful.”
She heard the question in Eric’s answer, “Ah, yes, yes, of course. You’re welcome.” Without what?
“I’ll just be off to get your breakfast ready, Sir. And again, thank you. Thank you so very much.”
Eric wore a puzzled expression as he returned and sat on the bed, stroking her hair away from her face gently. “What do you suppose all that was about?”
* * *
Sophi exclaimed in pleasure upon entering her room. Crossing to the bed, she examined the supple satin gown of azure blue with a silk brocade over-robe of violet and peacock, and the bejeweled belt of precious metal. A pair of finely worked, soft leather boots sat on the floor beside her bed. Such rich gifts for such a small village. These people have so little. I have done nothing to deserve this. She tossed aside the utilitarian garment given her by the innkeeper’s wife. With a chirp of purely feminine appreciation, she slid into the glorious satin and silk brocade garment, and settled the belt on her slender hips. Pausing to catch her reflection in a mirror, she gave a sigh of pleasure. She smiled inwardly. I wonder if this will get a reaction from him.
An empty hallway greeted her when she peeked around her door. With a small skip in her step, she pattered down the staircase into the public room—a public room ablaze in the early dawn hours with the warm light streaming from diaman globes. Diaman globes? Last night the inn had only candles. Silent villagers filled the spacious room. The town mayor, by his dress, had Eric’s hand clasped in both of his and was pumping it enthusiastically.
When her appearance on the stair drew notice, a hush fell over the room and to a man and woman, all bowed or curtseyed, with murmured, “m’Lady” or “Magistra” repeated again and again.
With a nervous smile, she acknowledged the crowd’s greetings and moved to Eric’s side. In an undertone she whispered, “What’s going on, Eric? They’re addressing me as magistra. I’m an aristocrat, but I’m not schooled in the Lesser or Greater Rites. I haven’t earned that title yet.”
“Later,” he murmured.
Extricating his hand from the town official’s, he addressed the gathering. “Thank you for your welcome. The Lady DeLorion and I wish to break our fast before hearing your petitions.”
The town official stumbled over words of gratitude. “Of course, of course, we didn’t mean to be rude, Sir. We was just that surprised and grateful. We didn’t want ye to leave afore we could tell ye.” The town official turned and shooed the gathered villagers toward the door. “When ye and m’Lady be ready.” With a respectful nod, he followed the crowd through the door.
Mistress Turner gestured to Eric and Sophi. “This way, m’Lady, Sir. I have a private dining room set for you.”
Sophi and Eric settled to their breakfast with speaking glances. When they were alone, Sophi asked, “What is going on, Eric?”
“Magick. Something these villagers have not seen since the Haarb invasion.”
She could not interpret the look on his face. Satisfaction? Bemusement?
“Magick?” she asked. “But that requires a magister and a magistra…oh.”
He answered her but questions lurked in his eyes. “Think about it: our activities renewed their diaman crystal light globes. The townsfolk once again have light without candles or lanterns. You can understand their astonishment. A function dormant for years suddenly returned to life.”
Profound astonishment made her sputter. “But, but, we, ah, we... It wasn’t on purpose!” she finally got out.
“Yes,” Eric mused. “Our mother planet is full of surprises. I wonder what the docenti in Sylvan Mintoth would make of this spontaneous interaction. I certainly spoke no ritual words. Did you?”
�
��No! I, well, it never occurred to me to try,” Sophi said.
Between bites of buttered scone, he threw out, “By the way, you look particularly lovely this morning.” He lowered his voice to a murmur. “Though I vastly prefer you in nothing.” He gave her a quick wink and a smile.
Pleasure out of all proportion swept through her, followed quickly by irritation at her desire for his notice.
“I told Headman Stumpf we would take petitions from the villagers for magick services they needed that we might be able to provide. It remains to be seen if we can direct the energy we produce.” After he swallowed another mouthful, he caught her eyes, a kind smile on his lips. “They are deserving, Sophi, and it is what we do.” He frowned slightly. “Well, what we used to do. We will stay another night. Brush up on your Lesser Rites. I noticed a copy of Libre de Diamantorre in the bookshelf. I could stand a refresher myself.”
What! She missed her mouth and hurriedly brushed the shattered scone from her lovely over-robe. “But I am not trained! Eric, the villagers looked at me with, well, reverence.”
“And well they should. Since the Haarb’s butchery of our women, you are a creature of myth—a Verdantian magistra. Sophi, this is your birthright. Finish up. Hearing their petitions may take all day.” Eric shoveled more food into his mouth.
She sat in stunned confusion. What if I can’t become aroused? Last night was easy, but there were no expectations, no pressure.
Chapter Nine
That afternoon, Sophi sat beside Eric in the same private dining room where they had eaten breakfast and then a late lunch. The villagers presented request after request until her head reeled. Sophi admired Eric’s handling of the situation. Ever gracious, he listened carefully, made notes on a tablet and then escorted the petitioner out and called for the next. Clearly, he had performed this function before.
Dull gray diaman crystal, in varying sizes, obscured the top of a large trestle table. Every now-inert lump of rock had fueled some vital service these people had done without for over six years. Sophi realized she had taken much for granted. Her father and mother had most likely performed the Lesser Rites on a consistent basis to keep their estates functioning with all the amenities: ever-present heat and light, fertile productive fields, and powerful healers. The Oshtesh never used diaman crystals so she had given their absence no thought.
Each petitioner handed his or her crystal across the low desk with a look of such hope Sophi shuddered at the thought of disappointing them. This entire situation had ambushed her with surprise but now that the opportunity presented itself, she desperately wanted to help. Mother Lyre, her brother, Eric—all of them had spoken the truth. Verdantia summoned her, and those like her, to this purpose. This was her birthright; even more, this was her obligation to the people of Verdantia.
“Eric, I want to do this but what if we cannot renew these crystals? You told them I am not a trained magistra but I could see they put no stock in your statement; all nobles are alike to them. I fear I cannot live up to their hopes.” Sophi wrapped her arms around herself with a dubious sigh. She didn’t mention her other fear—that under pressure she would not become aroused.
“We will do what we can. Whatever we give them will be a gain.” Eric surveyed his long list of notes. “I need to get up and move. Walk with me. Mistress Turner tells me there is a path to a lovely fish pond, just back of the inn.”
Sophi smiled. “What? You don’t want to ride?” she teased.
“Ah, no,” Eric chuckled. He stood and pulled back her chair with a courtly, “Shall we, m’Lady?”
As they strolled down the carefully tended gravel path, Eric cautiously felt Sophi out with an idea he’d had earlier. “Sophi, have you ever taken cinnagin?”
She turned a startled face to him. “The Great Rite aphrodisiac? No! How could I have? I have not yet been initiated into those rites.”
“It is not as improbable a question as you imply.” With a smile he continued. “Many young nobles have snuck a grain or two to experiment with its violent sexual arousal.”
Sophi cast a sideways glance at him. “Did you?”
Eric shrugged with a lopsided smile. He cherished that night of youthful indiscretion. Ah, youth. Ten years later, the bordello madam still treated him like a sex god.
Sophi snorted. “Mother lectured Doral and me about its sacred nature and precious rarity until our ears closed from fatigue. I would not have dreamed of sneaking the least grain of it.” She turned a mischievous look his way. “Is it as they say?”
At his wide grin, she burst out laughing.
“I have been gifted a sample,” Eric said carefully. “When the Haarb murdered the magistra and magister residing at the estates near here, the medica who prepared the bodies for burial found it. She hid it and told no one.”
“Yes. I remember you stood in the doorway speaking with her. I wondered what you talked about,” Sophi said.
“I want you to take it,” he said. “Now.”
“Why?”
He stopped and faced her, picking up her hands. “We don’t have the luxury of staying past tonight. You have seen the quantity of diaman crystals on that table. They feed off female arousal. Simply put, the longer I keep you highly aroused, the greater chance we have of re-energizing all those crystals.” He watched her expression carefully. Good, she’ll take it.
He had seen the uneasy doubt that crossed her face. He guessed sweet Sophi had a tinge of performance anxiety—totally common to untried magistras—and easily remedied. My preference is to spend more time with her, lacking that, the cinnagin will serve nicely.
Sophi inhaled a deep breath and slowly let it out. “All right. Do all those rocks go to the bedchamber?”
He smiled at her wry tone. “Yes. But I want them to stay in the dining room, in your presence, until we retire. I want them exposed to your energy as we go over the Lesser Rites. When you feel comfortable with the rituals, we will go to the bedchamber with the ‘rocks’.”
At Sophi’s smile and nod, he dropped her hands and reached into his tunic. He brought out a small square of folded parchment and held it up between two fingers.
“That’s it?” Sophi asked.
“Ummhmm.” He unfolded the parchment with exquisite care. A small amount of red-brown powder collected in a crease of the wrapping. He licked his finger and barely touched it to the edge of the powder. “Lick my finger, Sophi.”
She held his forefinger in front of her face and peered almost cross-eyed at the tip. “I don’t see anything.”
“Just lick my finger, Sophi,” Eric repeated. With a shrug, she brought his finger to her mouth and covered it with her lips. Her warm tongue sucked on his forefinger in a slow glide. Parts below his waist took notice.
“Mmm, spicy,” she murmured, sliding his finger out. “I couldn’t see anything but I definitely taste something.”
Eric returned the parchment to an inner pocket and told his lower parts to behave themselves. “You will soon begin to notice the effects. Dizziness is common, but that will pass.” A thought blazed through his brain. Ah, fuck! We should have discussed this first. “Sophi, you do know the other effects of cinnagin?”
“Other effects?”
He groaned inwardly. She hasn’t a clue. This would be a delicate explanation. He scratched his head. “Ah, yes, well. My semen and the cinnagin will create a neuro-chemical bond between us during your first climax.” He stalled. Shit, shit, shit. “Until the cinnagin clears your bloodstream you can’t climax again unless I spend in you.”
“So? You and I will be together until the cinnagin wears off. Why the guarded tones?”
“While the cinnagin is active in your system, if I spend in you more than once, twice at the most, the effect becomes permanent.”
They had reached the little pond. Sophi sat on the grass and leaned back against a tree trunk, silent. He sat next to her and waited for her clever brain to assemble the pieces.
“Insane arousal will course through m
y body, aided and inflamed by you for as long as I can stand it,” Sophi stated flatly.
“Yes.”
“We will climax together, you coming in me.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“But I will remain insanely aroused, unable to come unless you spend in me.”
“Until the cinnagin wears off, yes. You will have some respite after the first climax, but your arousal will probably build again, yes,” Eric murmured.
“But you can’t come in me again more than a couple of times or I risk becoming dependent on you for every climax for the rest of my life.” Sophi’s voice rose at the end.
“Well, yes, but I didn’t give you much.” This is not going well. Sophi turned and his left cheek exploded in pain. He saw her slap coming but did nothing to stop her.
“That was for telling me after you gave me the cinnagin.”
“I deserved that. Don’t do it again,” he growled.
“See that you don’t deserve it again.” Her aqua eyes held his steadily. “My nipples ache to be touched. I feel flushed all over and I can’t begin to describe what I feel between my legs. Let’s make some rocks glow.”
She rose to her feet and marched away.
His head rolled back and thudded into the tree adding to the ferocious sting of his cheek. I am going to spend the rest of my life chasing after this blasted woman. He imagined performing the Great Rite with Sophi – a ritual where they both consumed cinnagin. Oh Great Mother, preserve me.
* * *
Sophi entered the dining room with the Libre de Diamantorre clutched to her chest, crossed to the low table they had used as a desk and laid it on the top. She scanned the bewildering Table of Contents. I don’t know where to start. The sound of Eric entering pulled her eyes away from the tome. His sculptured cheek bore the clear imprint of her hand.
He pulled out the chair next to her but paused before sitting. “Is it safe?”
She ducked her head to hide her smile. “Yes. Please tell me what of this I must learn.”
Hers To Choose (Verdantia Book 2) Page 11
