Gift of Flesh

by Diane Lau

  Naissun nodded and let her scamper off.

  Miakaela was then treated to a tour of the house, which was furnished in an elegant but slightly old-fashioned way. The rooms struck Mia as cozy and comfortable; but then again, after the previous day it was just good to be back in civilization and the most modest accommodations would have pleased her.

  The upstairs rooms were sleeping chambers, and Naissun showed Miakaela to her room. Laid out upon the bed was a new gown, with boxes that held slippers and jewelry, no doubt gifts sent by King Regit for her presentation on the morrow. Both of them looked at the clothes in silence for a moment. Then Naissun said, “I’m sure the clothes packed on my horse are quite frozen through; I’ll ask Faisli to warm them by the stove while you take your bath.”

  “That would be most kind,” said Mia.

  Naissun set his hand upon her arm and looked earnestly down into her eyes. “There will be supper in the kitchen whenever you wish to eat. I’m going to take my meal in my study and wash later. I have some matters to attend to.”

  Miakaela felt a sharp twinge of disappointment in her belly. She had expected they would dine together, and spend as much time as possible in each other’s company. She blinked back tears and nodded to him.

  The rest of the evening proved quite sorrowful. The warmth of the bath should have been comforting, and the feel of having her hair and body clean again should have been a delight. But Mia felt abandoned and confused. As she dressed and dried herself before the fire, she pondered. Perhaps Naissun was just concerned about propriety, about making sure the servants suspected nothing. Perhaps it hurt him too much to be with her now, knowing they would be separated so soon. These excuses made sense, but did nothing to ease the hurt. Worse still, she knew this was just a taste of how it would feel in the morning when Naissun placed her hand in King Regit’s and left her.

  Faisli brought up her clothes and invited her to come down to dine. On her way to the kitchen, Miakaela passed Naissun’s study. The curtain in the doorway was drawn.

  She passed a pleasant enough meal with Faisli for company. They talked about the journey, and then about various domestic topics like canning and cleaning. Mia knew nothing of such matters but Faisli was an amusing conversationalist and distracted her with her smiling voice and sparkling laugh.

  Finally Miakaela said, “I wonder what Lord Naissun is doing in his study. I had hoped we would see something of him at supper. But I suppose when he is away a few days, there is much business to attend to.”

  Faisli, clearing the dishes, said, “I don’t know…it’s rather peculiar. Usually when he comes back, he wants to spend a few hours with Stowan hearing all the news. But he sent him home as soon as the horse was tended to.”

  “Oh,” said Miakaela, rising to help.

  “Oh no, miss, I can take care of it. Won’t take me but a bit to get all in order here, and then I’ll be off myself till the morning. You take your rest, I’m sure you wish to be at your best for the King.”

  “Of course, thank you,” said Mia. “Do you suppose I might interrupt Lord Naissun just to bid him goodnight?”

  “Certainly, he’s never one to mind that.”

  So Miakaela went to the curtained doorway to the study and called softly through it. “My Lord, may I say goodnight?”

  “Come in, Fair Tribute,” came his voice.

  She entered, letting the curtain fall back shut behind her. She found Naissun seated at a huge table, surrounded by parchments in disarray, and several large volumes in leather covers. A lamp stood on the table, its flame turned up high, illuminating some writing which the Envoy bent over intently. He did not look up.

  “Have you eaten, my Lord?” she asked softly.

  He glanced up. “Pardon? Oh, no—not yet. I imagine Faisli will bring me a plate when she goes. Are you well? Did the food suit you?”

  “It was very good, thank you. And I am…I am fine, my Lord.”

  “I know it won’t be easy for you to sleep…ask Faisli for a cup of wine.”

  He looked at her, he spoke to her, and yet he did not. In his amber eyes she saw no emotion, but something else intense and preoccupying. “Perhaps I will,” she told him, then gave a little bow. “Good night, Naissun.”

  He extended his hand and gave her arm a squeeze. “Good night, Mia.”

  She turned from him just in time before the tears spilled down her cheeks. She ascended the stairs quickly and dashed to her room, falling on the bed to weep.

  Miakaela cried for a long time, burying her face in the bedclothes so she would not be heard. At last she was wrung out of tears and sat up to catch her breath. She heard the front door close downstairs. Out the window over the bed, through the tumbling snow, she saw the figure of Faisli departing up the street. For a moment she considered going to Naissun, but the possibility of experiencing his preoccupied politeness again was too repugnant. So she dried her face and put on her sleeping shift, realizing suddenly how cold she had become. There had been a fire in the room but it was out now. She sought comfort under the blankets and after a few moments her body began to warm the bed.

  She wished she were back in the tiny pine bough shelter in the Lakelands, warm in Naissun’s arms. The thought made her start to cry again, so Miakaela turned her mind instead to the morrow. She must begin to prepare herself for her new duties. It would be challenge enough with a positive attitude; she did not dare set out upon her new life in this frame of mind.

  The crying bout had left her drained, and much to her relief, sleep overcame her quickly.

  * * *

  “Mia…”

  She felt a soft warmth caress her cheek. She forced her eyes open to meet candlelight. It was still nighttime, and Naissun was seated next to her blanketed body on the bed.

  “Naissun?” Her only emotion was pure joy to see him again, to find he had come to her.

  He lowered his chin. “Mia, I believe all will be well. I’ve come to ask if you will trust me, even though there is risk…”

  She sat up. “My Lord, tell me what you mean. All will be well?”

  He seized her hand in his two. “Do you still wish to stay with me?”

  Her heart doubled its pounding. “I would give anything—”

  “As I say, there are risks…”

  “Will we make our escape? I have no fear of fleeing, regardless of the risk…”

  Naissun smiled. “No, my lady—I’m in no mood to give up my house and my good servants, my honor and station.” He stroked her hand. “I prefer to keep them all, and add to my fortune by—well, let’s wait and see if we are successful.”

  Even in the dim candlelight Miakaela could perceive Naissun’s excitement, and it was infectious. “What must I do? Just say the word and I will.”

  Naissun lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her in the palm, fervently. She shivered to feel his face again against her fingers, and quickened longing added to the speed of her pulse. “Mia, this is what I ask of you: that you give me yourself again, this night, and that tomorrow in the Court of King Regit you testify to have done so.”

  Her eyes went wide. She smiled. “Sweet command, my Naissun! However this can be part of your plan, I do not fathom, nor do I care for I am eager to comply.”

  Naissun laughed. “I have no wish to make it a chore for you, dearest Mia, so I ask you, warm my bed while I bathe. In my haste to tell you this news, I have still not availed myself of the hot water Faisli left for me.”

  Miakaela looked at him shyly. “If I may made a suggestion, good my Lord, permit me to bathe you.”

  Naissun’s face broke into a slow but thorough smile. “Even better,” he said, his voice suddenly husky.

  The bathing room was next to the kitchen, and a huge kettle of scalding water still stood on the stove. Naissun hauled it to pour into the cool water already standing in the marble tub. Miakaela selected soap and soft towels from the chest against the wall of the small chamber. As Naissun disrobed, she did likewise.

  Thi
s time Mia made no effort to conceal her examination of his nakedness. She deliberately let him see her eyes fix upon each part: his magnificent shoulders, broad chest, long and muscular arms…his flat belly and sweetly curved buttocks, and even his erection. Last night had been lovely, but this time she would give Naissun every little attention she knew how to give.

  He stepped into the bath and settled down into the water. Miakaela knelt next to the bath. “Close your eyes and pay no attention to me,” she told him calmly. She had been taught to do so, for most men found the experience of being bathed almost too intimate at first. It was better to make little of it than much.

  Naissun closed his eyes. Mia watched his face as she wet and lathered her hands. By the gods, he was beautiful. She could barely breathe looking at him. Carefully, she lay her soapy hand upon his shoulder, stroking round it. She imagined she could feel the power laying dormant in the firm flesh. She was in awe touching him, feeling his skin as her palm slid over it, watching his face in repose…perfect, he seemed perfect.

  “Mia,” he said softly, his voice resonating against the water and the marble, “what if I were the man to whom the Monarch of Taelorea gave you? When you first laid eyes on me, in his Court, would you have been glad?”

  Miakaela lathered his other shoulder. “When you first touched me, I rejoiced at it, though I knew not why. Your hand was warm and comforted me. When I first looked at you I found you most pleasing to the eye. And you frightened me a little, which is not at all contrary to love.”

  He laughed, but kept his eyes closed and his head tipped back. “Do I frighten you a little still?”

  She soaped her hands again and placed them on his chest. “I am frightened of the power you have to make me want you,” she said, relishing the hard muscle.

  “I do nothing to exert myself in that regard…I wonder at what power you believe I have.”

  “Your magnificence,” she said, and to emphasize the point, caressed the sensitive side of his waist.

  Naissun turned his head in a little shudder of pleasure, and his amber eyes opened halfway. “What a curious creature you are,” he said. “Have you not noticed the scars I bear, not to mention the ruin that was once my nose?”

  “Magnificence,” Miakaela repeated. She soaped his left arm and indeed found the long pucker of an old stab wound across his bicep. “See here how the scar adorns your splendid arm?” She traced her fingers around the band of muscle. “It is like jewelry on a woman, it draws the eye to a place of perfection. Ah Naissun, my heart wants to stop when I look at you.”

  He lifted his hand out of the water and caressed her face, painting warm wetness down cheek and chin. “By all means then,” he said, “look and touch to your heart’s content.”

  She washed his other arm. The dark, wet hair in the hollow of his armpit was oddly beautiful to her and she realized as she touched him there that her womanhood was swelling and moistening. The first pangs of hunger stirred within her.

  “Ah Mia…” Naissun sighed luxuriously. “Were it summer and not winter, I would draw you into the bath and take you here. But I think the bed will be preferable. Oh, you do know how to touch a man…”

  Miakaela smiled. “My will to please you is inexhaustible.”

  She set to washing his legs, starting carefully with his feet. She knew at this point his yearning would be becoming quite acute. Naissun fell silent but she could plainly see his emotions on his face. He smiled beatifically. Bathing his calves she turned her attention to the muscles there; they were rock hard and perfectly proportioned. Then she washed his thighs, working her way slowly to the inside. She could imagine how it felt to him and her own thighs began to quiver in sympathy.

  “Unless you have the desire to be seized and pulled into this bath, you must leave off, Mia,” said Naissun, the pinch of arousal in his voice.

  Miakaela was dying to lay her hands on his erection, but could not refuse his command. Ah, but he was so large and beautiful, and the sight reminded her again of her fullness of the night before. “As you wish, my Lord,” she told him. “But your hair…”

  “All right, yes, my hair,” he agreed reluctantly.

  Naissun’s hair had become tangled on the journey and he had not bothered to comb it out as yet. Miakaela found combs in the chest and set to freeing his hair of knots. It was a joy to her to touch it so, study the colors of it. Then she washed and rinsed it with a small pitcher, and dried it immediately with a towel so he would not catch cold. Then she combed it a little with her fingers, indulging her fascination just a little bit more.

  Naissun snatched at her hand with his. “My sweet, if you believe your touch upon my hair has had no effect upon me, you are mistaken. Leave off.”

  The look in his eyes paralyzed her. He held her pinned with it and took his hand to his mouth. Mia watched him kiss her fingers and the sight of those beautiful lips pressing her skin made her weak. It took a supreme effort for her to reclaim herself and stand up next to the bath.

  Naissun stood likewise, and Miakaela laid a towel on the floor and helped him step out. As he took another towel to dry himself, he kept his eyes on her until she trembled with fear and desire. Suddenly he swung the towel and caught her in it, pulling her to him. She lost her balance and started falling back, and took a few steps backward, seeking equilibrium. But Naissun seized this momentum and followed it, carefully but assertively moving her until her back fell against the wall. He pressed her naked body with his, firm into the wall.

  She was trapped—marvelously, deliciously trapped. The feeling of being pinned by his huge body against the wall was intoxicating. Naissun raised one of his arms and braced himself with his forearm over Mia’s head, making the prison of his flesh more secure and powerful. His other hand cupped her breast possessively. His feet were planted outside her own on either side, and his penis had come to rest against her belly. Naissun shifted so that it folded against her, hot and hard and pressing into her flesh. It was a form of possession Miakaela had never experienced before, physical possession that mimicked what she perceived in her soul.

  She felt her whole body drained of will, like water coursing out of an upturned bottle. She raised her face to beg for Naissun’s kiss and was not denied. His mouth fed wildly upon hers. She let one of her hands slide around behind him and dusted his buttocks with her fingertips. Naissun responded by piercing her with his tongue and leaning to crush her more desperately into the wall. It hurt, but wonderfully.

  Naissun broke the kiss, gasping. “Your wiles will be my undoing, Miakaela,” he said in a low, wild voice. “I cannot bear waiting the time it takes to carry you to my bed.”

  “Take me on the marble then, my Lord, I care not where we are if I can have you inside me.” Indeed, Mia’s loins were tight and trembling to receive him.

  He gathered her up in his arms, towel and all, a damp and quivering bundle. “A compromise,” he said, and carried her out of the bathing room and into his study but a few steps away. The fire still burned there, and the floor was covered in thick carpet. He collapsed with Mia on the rug before the fire, and she stretched out under him.

  Again she marveled at the sheer size of him. But not for long, for in the next moment he was kissing her, deeply and sensuously, and the palm of his hand circled over her nipple, the sensation driving out all rational considerations.

  She simply could not perform as a concubine with him. All her studies escaped her, all the practice failed her. She could not think to make the correct moves. Now, for example, when she should be focusing her attention on how to touch Naissun, what sounds to make, what gestures, she could do nothing but dissolve beneath him and let her thighs fall open. She had been taught a concubine was all mind, but he made her into all flesh, into instinct and urge and mindless delight.

  Naissun’s mouth was near her ear at that moment, and he murmured softly into it, “In the harem did you learn anything of your own pleasure, or only of men’s?”

  Miakaela found her voice with
difficulty. “No, nothing of my own, at least not…intentionally.”

  He gave her earlobe a gentle bite. “Then let me teach you,” he whispered.

  He shifted off her body enough to access her with his hands. His palm continued to caress her breast, while his other hand danced faintly down over her belly, then teased her sides. His touch was light and slow, and seemed to bring individual nerve endings into blissful awakening. Miakaela moaned and lay her hand upon Naissun’s wet hair, stroking it absently. He leaned to kiss her and fed upon her mouth as he caressed her below. His fingers had traveled to the inside of her thighs and her most tender places ached for his touch.

  Which happened at last…

  Mia tensed up as the bolt of pleasure tore through her. She arched and gasped, “Oh Naissun…”, which made him laugh behind the kiss. She was slick with wetness, and his fingers spread it everywhere, exploring, probing, reading her reactions and determining the most sensitive place. His finger stayed there, playing the spot, and Miakaela found herself grasping his hair, squeezing her eyes shut, tensing violently in response to it.

  She had never been so selfish in her life. All desire retreated except for one: to feel this, to feel more and more of this, to have it spread all over her and multiply in intensity until it consumed her. And Naissun, bless him, did not stop, did not break the rhythm, until she was convulsing wildly in his arms, wailing, shuddering, melting. Then and only then did he cover her and pierce her.

  To Mia’s disbelief, the penetration of his organ into her utterly conquered flesh felt so good, so sweet and delectable, her body began to tense again at once. She wrapped her legs around his calves and spread wider, the better to feel it. Yes, there was more tension left in her body, she found it and lay it in consecration beneath Naissun’s pounding. Her hands gripped his buttocks and pinched, which made him quicken his thrusts even more. Another orgasm was budding in Miakaela’s loins; she raised her throat so Naissun’s damp hair fell upon it, and with that sensation she climaxed again. She was unfolding softly into it as Naissun himself reached orgasm, crushing her in his embrace as he did so. He squeezed the air out of her, then slowly let it back in as he relaxed. Mia felt on the edge of consciousness, not so much for lack of breath as for her sudden comprehension of the extend of Naissun’s strength.