Gift of Flesh

by Diane Lau

  “Forgive me, Lord Naissun,” said Miakaela as she sat down again gracefully, “but I must express how lovely your hair is…I have seen a few of your countrymen at the palace and have always remarked upon those with such hair.”

  “It is from my mother’s side, my two brothers are the same as well.”

  “If there are many in King Regit’s harem with such hair, I will feel humble in their company.”

  “The Tribute rivals any woman currently in the King’s possession, so fear not on that count, Miakaela.”

  “Thank you.”

  Again he could feel happiness coming off her in waves. It must be so: she felt something for him. In spite of all his efforts to deal with this knowledge stoically, he felt himself stirring. He might well be a man who dealt with life rationally, but in this moment it was impossible for him not to contemplate the possibilities.

  And just now Miakaela was cocking her head at him curiously, a hopeful look on her face. She said, “I am in no position to ask a boon of you, my Lord, but I have come to know your kindness and therefore dare to. Might I touch your hair? I’m curious to know what it is like.”

  Naissun smiled, mostly to conceal his agitation, and leaned a bit closer to her. “Of course,” he said.

  He expected she would simply take up a few strands in her fingers, but instead, once Mia had removed her mitten she ran her hand over his head, once, twice, and then the third time burying her fingers lightly. Naissun held his breath. All the while Miakaela looked at his hair with her pale eyes, dilated in the dim light. “Such hair…” she said, in a manner that made him think she wasn’t even aware she had spoken.

  Naissun’s hair had looked soft to her, but Mia still was not prepared for how it felt. Even tangled from the day’s ride it felt as soft as down, only smoother, so silky it made her palm tingle. Tonight when he’s asleep I’ll bury my face in it, she thought. I’ll feel it against my nose and cheeks, against my lips…

  Miakaela had learned what men do when aroused, and she saw even by the dim light: his nostrils flared, his pupils dilated even further, and color rose in his cheeks. For a moment she contemplated trying to seduce him…but of course it would likely be the equivalent of luring him to his death and she rejected the idea at once. But a kiss, just a kiss…just one touch of that beautiful mouth on hers…she ached for it. By way of compromise she allowed herself to barely caress his cheek as she dropped her hand. The contrast of two day’s growth of beard to his gossamer hair only made her want him more.

  Their eyes met briefly and then they both looked away. Naissun made a fuss then of stirring the crock of stew and turning it in the coals, and checking the status of the warming wine. “Ah,” he said, “the chill is off this, it’s almost the perfect temperature.” He took a drink and then nodded approval, handing the wineskin to Miakaela.

  This will not help me, she thought, but took a drink nevertheless. It warmed her doubly and tasted splendid. She was very hungry and the wine shot straight to her blood. She decided it would be best to talk, hopefully of something distracting.

  “Have you ever wished to be anything but a soldier, Lord Naissun?” she asked him.

  He took the wineskin from her and drank a second draught. “I have always thought of studying law, and when I’m too old for this business, I think I will. As it is, it is a hobby of mine.”

  “Interesting,” said Miakaela as she took off her other mitten and held her hands out to the fire. “That a man who has always made his living by brawn should aspire to do so by brain. You did strike me from the beginning as a most intelligent man, and that is not the empty flattery of a concubine, my Lord.”

  “I think you are incapable of empty flattery, Fair Envoy—you are far too candid a spirit. At any rate, it has always been my belief that the law is stronger than any army, or at least in civilized countries it is so. After all, see how this soldier is bound by law to do its will, and whatever brawn he possesses matters little.”

  “But if you disagreed with the law, would you not rebel against it, as a man dedicated to higher morals? It is pointless for me to rebel, for I am a weak, small woman, and must obey the strong in order to survive.”

  Naissun was nestling the wineskin carefully back in the hot stones and took a moment to answer. A long moment. In fact, he seemed to be struggling with himself. Finally he said, “I do disagree with the law, but to rebel against it would threaten your life as well as mine. I have no right to that.”

  Miakaela’s whole body seized up at these words in a flash of shock. She could not find her voice to reply, but stared at him with wide eyes.

  Naissun continued in a low, steady voice, “It sickens me to be the amoral emissary who must hand over an innocent to the whim of an irresponsible king.” He turned from her to look into the fire. “I have no heart to do it, and I wonder if the morning after tomorrow, when I turn my back upon you at the palace, how I will ever again see myself as a man.”

  That restored Mia’s voice, and she set her hand upon Naissun’s knee and said, “But my Lord, the fault is not yours. You are honor bound to your King, you only do what duty requires, and by it show yourself faithful and good.”

  He turned his eyes to her. “Sweet Tribute, I cannot see it that way.”

  It seemed to her like an insurmountable impasse. Her heart grieved to see him trapped so. And meanwhile, she was moved deeply that he should care so for her welfare; she had never dreamed a man could feel such a way concerning her.

  Naissun pulled the crock of stew out of the fire. He had brought two spoons, and they ate right out of the crock, cradling chunks of bread in their laps. Neither spoke for a good while, until Miakaela finally broke the silence.

  “Lord Naissun, will we need to travel much further before we arrive at a town?”

  “Probably three or four hours. There’s a good place there that we can stop and take a hot meal. From there on the trip will be easy.”

  “When I envisioned my eventual journey to my new master, I never expected it to be quite like this.”

  “No murderous attacks by highwaymen? No spending the night in the Lakelands?”

  In the dark Mia could hear the smile in his voice, so she sought to match his jest. “No…I just didn’t expect to eat the same thing for dinner two nights in a row,” she said.

  Naissun laughed heartily at this. “Well, we could have trapped a rabbit, but then you as my servant would have been required to skin it. Did you learn to skin rabbits in the harem?”

  “Nothing so practical, my Lord. I could perfume a rabbit, and choose jewelry for it, but skin it, no.”

  They laughed and shared the wineskin. Then Naissun asked, “So you learned nothing practical at all during your training?”

  “I shouldn’t say that,” said Miakaela, handing back the wine. “There is a great deal of practicality in what I learned, considering my station.”

  They had not really broached this subject. As curious as Naissun was, he found it difficult to speak of it. But now the wine and the joking seemed to have loosened his tongue a little, so he said, “I can’t help but wonder what sorts of things a Tribute needs to know. It seems to me a man needs nothing specific beyond a beautiful and willing woman. We are hardly a picky lot.”

  Mia laughed. “Quite true, good Envoy. But sex is like wine. It’s always good, but some is better than others.”

  “So you are like the best wine,” said Naissun with a twinkle.

  “The very best, my Lord,” said Miakaela, smiling back. “Any wine will warm your blood, but the best simply tastes better doing it.” She ate a small bite of bread delicately. “But do you seriously wish to know of my training?”

  Naissun, whose mouth was full of his last bite of bread, nodded.

  Mia looked into the fire. “Let’s see…We are taught the twenty positions, several of which require extreme flexibility. We are taught about every inch of the male body, and how to touch every inch, whether with fingertips or palms, hair or clothing, or with tongue.
All this requires years. We are taught words of love, both harsh and gentle. We learn to bear pain and to inflict it without harm. We learn to use a variety of devices, natural and manmade, as well as food, to enhance lovemaking. We are acquainted with every known aphrodisiac, its benefits and risks. We know every form of erotic dance and disrobement. We are taught to play at being a harsh mistress or a meek innocent. But more than all these obvious arts, we know how to help a man find what he most needs and wants, even if he doesn’t know it himself.”

  The Envoy was grateful for the darkness, which he hoped concealed the effect this speech had had upon him. Until then he had been attracted to Miakaela on her own terms, for her beauty and charm and kind heart, her intelligence and wit and grace. But all at once he was struck by the full import of her status as a Gift of Flesh. His throat tightened with arousal, his blood flushed hot, and he stalled by taking another long drink from the wineskin. It was almost empty. “Here,” he said, handling it to Miakaela. “Please finish it off.”

  “Thank you,” she said politely, unruffled.

  “Well, that list is most complete…I commend the Harem of Taelorea.”

  “It is that last thing that is the most necessary. Because men are so easily pleased, they seldom bother to really contemplate their deepest desires.”

  “You make us sound so simple,” jested Naissun.

  Miakaela smiled. “You are, which would make my job easy if I were lazy. But now that at last I may serve, I hope to do it well.”

  Naissun’s heart fell at her innocent naïveté. Most of her art would be lost upon King Regit, although he had been glad to hear the Harem taught its pupils the tolerance of pain. Naissun offered Mia a soft smile. “I have no doubt that you will shine,” he said, hoping to conceal his heartsickness.

  Their meal complete, there was little left to do but prepare for sleeping. They each held one of the blankets carefully to the fire to warm them. Then Naissun lit a single fat candle from the fire. He gave Miakaela the task of keeping it carefully alit in the shelter while he put out the fire and settled his horse in for the night.

  It was no easy task to find a steady place to trust the candle flame while she arranged the blankets and disrobed down to her shift. Naissun had assured her light clothing would help them better share body heat and that the candle would sufficiently heat the small space. In the brief span of time before the Envoy joined her in the shelter, it did indeed warm up substantially. Naissun had crafted it well and thoroughly, and the walls held firm against the rough wind outside.

  Miakaela had curled up between the blankets when Naissun crawled in, securing the opening well behind him. “Hold the candle,” he said, “I tend to be clumsy in small spaces.”

  “I love the smell of pine…I should sleep well in a bed like this,” said Mia.

  “Are you very cold?”

  “I admit I am, but less than at first. You were right about the candle.”

  “I’m fortunate to be able to undress when the room is already a bit warm,” said Naissun, likewise taking off his clothes to the closest layer. Miakaela wanted to watch but had no wish to embarrass him. So she looked at the candle, placed on the floor above her reclined head and steadied by her hand. When she felt his weight shift the blanket and needles below her, she lifted the top blanket to assist. “This is good. I’ll need to blow out the candle now and it will be very dark, Miakaela. Are you settled?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  His hand took hold of the candle but she did not withdraw her fingers. He raised his head and blew out the flame, plunging them into darkness so complete it assured the thorough barrier of the shelter walls.

  Naissun drew back his hand from the candle and Mia withdrew hers as well. She felt him settle in between the blankets. Then he said, “Lift your head.”

  She obeyed and felt his arm slip above her shoulder. Trembling, she let her head come to rest on his upper arm. He pulled her close, and she found her hand pressing his firm pectoral muscle, and her legs running the length of his, and his body heat pooling around them.

  Miakaela, for all her training, had not been prepared for this. Enveloped in this sudden cloud of masculinity, she seemed to have lost the ability to breathe. Her body absorbed warmth and power and shimmering strength, her head filled up with the scent of him. The rush of pleasure and emotion, of tenderness and fire, drove out of her every rational thought.

  She raised her face to his in the darkness.

  Naissun’s mouth took hers ravenously. One of his hands buried itself in her hair and pulled so her head would tip up further; it was a little painful but excited Miakaela even more. She arched shamelessly into him, working her body so his erection pressed as close as she could get it. She whimpered under the kiss, staggered that he could make her feel so good with so little effort. She was already frantic with lust for him.

  Her free hand found his hair and her fingers reveled in it. Meanwhile Naissun’s rough chin burned her skin as he kissed her. For some reason the simultaneous sensation of his roughest and softest parts made her even more aroused. She let her palm run smoothly over his hair, letting it soothe her flesh, while her mind focused on the chafing he worked on her lips and chin. It made her wild, so wild that her imagination rushed ahead of her, envisioning him piercing her body and thrusting, taking her completely…

  We mustn’t, we mustn’t, she thought. It would no doubt be inviting a death sentence, for both herself and Naissun.

  But how little she cared in that moment, with his huge body overpowering hers, and his lips feeding so deliciously, and his voice making such sounds of pleasure and hunger! In spite of all her knowledge of the male animal, she hadn’t expected masculine aggression to be like this, so potent and intoxicating. Her body seemed to be swelling up with it, she was growing tight and hot inside her own skin, and could feel every pulse of her blood. It drove out everything but the urge, the urge became touch and taste and smell.

  Naissun was kissing her throat now, and his large hand had worked under her blouse and wrapped halfway around her waist in a tight grip. The way he moved felt like a kind of rage to her. He was always so stoic, so controlled…that made it all the more thrilling to feel his abandon, the harshness and recklessness of his touch. Blind as she was in the dark, she might have thought him a different man; but she knew his scent and voice too well. He was indeed the man who had ridden for two days between her knees, but so frantic, so ferocious.

  His hand moved up to cup her right breast, and covered it entirely. Naissun lifted his face a little so his nose traced up the edge of Miakaela’s ear. His palm caressed her nipple; she felt his breath, moist and warm, fill her ear.

  He spoke, in a whisper: “Miakaela…what we do could bring death upon us both.”

  She shivered, not with fear but with desire. If he had meant the words as discouragement, he failed, for breathed thus into her ear they were the sweetest seduction.

  “Welcome, death,” she whispered back.

  At this Naissun lifted his body and brought it down upon hers. Mia felt swallowed up in conquering bliss. She opened her legs to welcome his erection against her tender parts, and wrapped her arms over his immense back. He kissed her mouth again, this time trying to be gentle. His mouth could be shockingly soft when employed in this way, caressing, suckling, first pleasuring her lower lip and then the upper one, smooth as satin, full and deep. The kisses soothed her, made the tension in her body give way to a sudden wash of lethargy. Her hands slipped dreamily, slowly down his back, and came to rest on his buttocks.

  Miakaela wanted to feel his bare skin there. Her fingers worked under the fabric of his leggings, then elected to pull them down. Naissun’s hands joined in this task until his organ was free, and once that was accomplished, he set to undoing the tie on Mia’s loose trousers and lowering them as well, just past her knees so she might be free to part her legs for him. When he laid back down she felt the satin head come to probe her opening, the touch of it sending a bolt of ecstasy
up through her womb to her spine to the very center of her brain. She let out a wail of anguished lust. Then her mind began chanting, welcome death, welcome death, welcome death…

  She felt Naissun hesitate. She could tell he was fighting it, but also that he would lose the battle. She lifted her hips to beg him, and his organ slipped against her wet folds, massaging bliss into her flesh. Her hand, with a will of its own, slipped between them and took hold of him. She stroked herself with him until he moaned and convulsed from the sensation. As he twitched his hair brushed across her cheek and the feeling was murderously sweet, destroying the last vestige of her rationality.

  They shared equally in the crime. Miakaela’s hand tugged and Naissun plunged. His penis slipped inside her and she gasped in welcome. Her hands seized his buttocks and clung to him, and her ankles wrapped around his. Naissun found greater depth in her flesh than she knew she had. She spread her legs as wide as she could so he could go even deeper. She opened herself like the ocean, vast and liquid and immeasurably deep, and his power made her surge in higher and higher waves, rapture rolling through her, shimmering on her surface and stirring her to the very bottom.

  They were past the point now of evading death and the thought was wonderfully liberating. Mia heard herself laughing, or weeping, and couldn’t tell which for she was too far lost in the throes of pleasure. Then she became silent, and ceased breathing, because her climax was almost upon her and became more urgent than anything else in all the world. She stared wide-eyed into the blackness, feeling her body start to shudder, then convulse, then rock frantically under the magnificent body of Naissun, and several seconds of it passed before her mind could even grasp what was happening. Then all the crippling tension melted like a pile of sugar poured over with milk. Miakaela was sweet milk through and through…such sweet, sweet milk.