by Anny Cook
Normally a shower man, he’d never understood why women found the idea of a bath so attractive. Was this what they did when they were in the bath? Did they finger themselves to orgasm in the warm embrace of silky scented water? He thought again of the valley woman who had stared at him and wondered if they had sex toys in the valley. Would she fuck herself with one while she lounged in her bath? Were her nipples the same dark blue color as the bare-chested men he’d seen that day?
His cock swelled in his hand. Did the woman use the blue salve on her pussy? Was she bare? Or did tawny brown curls that matched the sleek braids on her head cover her soft slick folds? He didn’t know why but he was certain that she was very, very soft and swollen between those long legs. He squeezed his cock as he slid his hand up and down the length more rapidly. His balls tightened and drew up close to his body. Fiery strands sparked up his spine to the base of his skull.
Then with a low groan, he came, hot semen spurting over his fingers into the bath water. He slumped back against the sloping tub, sprawled in replete ease until he realized he was in danger of dozing off in the warm water. Reluctantly he quickly finished bathing and climbed from the tub. With a swift twist he pulled the plug and placed it in the basket where he found it.
Minutes later his body was patted dry and the bathroom was straightened up. With a weary sigh he staggered into the bedroom and stretched out on the bed. Before his head touched the pillow he tumbled into a deep sleep.
* * * * *
In the dome that Robyn and Wrenna normally shared, Dancer and Eppie lay spooned together in a hanging bed, gently rocking as Dancer slowly thrust his cock in and out as far as her schela permitted. “Hmmm. You’re tight this afternoon. Your schela is squeezing my cock like a vise.”
“That’s what you always say,” she teased as she pressed her soft ass closer to his groin. “Surely you’ll get used to it soon and it won’t be a novelty anymore.”
“I don’t think so.” He panted and shoved his cock deeper in her hot, wet pussy, straining to reach farther than ever before. He didn’t understand but every time they made love there was an incredible urge for more, a deeper, harder connection with the woman he was bonded with. He couldn’t recall ever having the same need to link—almost on a cellular level—with any other woman. Only Eppie had ever generated this soul-deep drive for communion.
She burrowed closer and sighed. “Traveller looks a lot like you did when you came to the valley. I would have known he was your brother.”
“Yeah? Even though he’s not a pretty shade of blue like I am?” He nuzzled her ear and gently nibbled at the point. “And he doesn’t have neat pointed ears or fangs.”
“Well, I’m sure that Wrenna will help him get past those handicaps.”
Dancer nipped her ear. “I’m sure she will. You Llewellyn women are relentless.”
“And you love that. Tell me about your friend,” she said softly. “I understand why you were angry this morning but now you’re not?”
He snuggled closer, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly. “I, uh, I don’t know why I was so angry. Maybe on some level I felt betrayed. I wasn’t very rational this morning when Wrenna came to tell us that Trav was in the valley.” He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent, finding a deep comfort in her closeness. Her breasts filled his hands as he squeezed before catching the tight nipples in his fingers, plucking and tugging them while he moved with increasing intensity. “Bishop has—had a little undercover gig going.”
“Gig?”
“Job. He was gathering information about Mama and Papa’s murders. I thought he was a good friend. Then when he suddenly appeared in the valley and turned out to be related to you… I had to wonder if he was really just stringing Trav and me along.”
“And now? What do you think?” she asked.
“Now? The poor son of a bitch ended up in the valley because Trav kidnapped him. Of all the places he could end up, this place is probably the worst place for him to be. On every level, he’ll find it hard to adjust to the valley culture. And sexually? I can’t even imagine how he’ll deal with the valley laws. Can. Not. Imagine.”
“Dancer?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and fuck me. Hard. I need to feel your cock stretching me, filling me.”
“Oh, well, your wish is my command.” He rolled with her until she was on her knees, ass up in the air. Kneeling between her spread legs with his cock deep in her pussy, he bent over her, covering her back with his chest. “Are you ready for me to pound your greedy pussy?”
“Yes! Now!”
His scope of movement was limited by her schela’s lock but that didn’t prevent him from thrusting powerfully against the tight grasp on his cock. It didn’t stop her from grinding her ass in the cradle of his groin, gasping and moaning with pleasure. The glide of nerve-rich skin against silky skin impelled them toward the inevitable climax.
Abruptly, he stopped and wrapped his arms around her belly, pulling her back against him as he rested his ass on his heels. “Sit up on my lap!”
“What? Now?”
Wondering what he was doing, Eppie did as he directed with her knees planted on the soft bedding on each side of his thighs. When she was in position with her back brushing against his chest, he cupped her breasts in his hands. “Play with your clit,” he demanded roughly. “I want to watch you touch yourself while I feel you gripping my cock with your schela!”
“Yes. Are you going to play with my nipples?” she teased as her slender blue fingers delved into the slick bare folds of her pussy. She lightly tickled the base of his cock before pressing the small nub of her clit and massaging it with slow circles.
“You’re part sorceress,” he declared with a groan as her schela clamped down around his cock. “Damn! Pinch your clit!” He tugged and pinched her nipples as he thrust up inside her.
Eppie rocked down, savoring every sensation as he swelled and grew harder in her slippery passage. She could feel his body gathering itself for climax. With fierce concentration she plucked and massaged her clit, desperately needing to come with him, needing to be the one who lured him to completion. Then with a flash of heat and rippling internal muscles, she came, calling out, “Now! Come now!”
He shouted her name as he surrendered to the insistent tugging contractions deep within her sheath. She moaned and gasped as she wallowed in the erotic aftermath, savoring each pulse as his hot seed spurted against the subtle movement of the mhital as it sucked at his cock.
“I love you.”
The incredible tenderness in her voice brought tears to his eyes. With a deep shuddering sigh, he rested his head on her shoulders. “Oh God, Eppie. I love you so much it hurts.”
Chapter Six
Lost Market—Bishop wears a sharda
Samara leaned against the counter in her sunlit kitchen and peered out the big round window at the butterflies that flitted among the flowers in her garden. Bees droned in the sweet clover. The sunflowers lifted their bright faces to the late afternoon sun.
It was a peaceful scene so why was she so restless? Her mind went to the stranger, sitting with Dai on the Llewellyn steps frowning at her. Why did he frown? It wasn’t as though she had done anything to him.
She went back to her chopping and dicing. Peppers, garlic cloves and one precious dracka she’d spied in the woods near her garden were sizzling in the pan while she minced the rich rowan meat cubes she’d fetched from Eron the butcher. There was a rumor running through the village that Dancer had brought seeds with him from out-valley. Part of the rumor was that there was a type of dracka called an onion that would grow in a garden. How wonderful it would be to have them all the time!
After stirring the pungent vegetables, she tossed in a handful of the minced meat and smiled when she inhaled the heady scents that made all the work well worth it. Yes, this was exactly what she needed—chili and barbahla bread and time to contemplate the rapid changes in the valley.
She added
the rest of the meat and when it was browned, a pot of her chopped stewed tomato preserves from the year before and the black and white harlequin beans that had simmered all day in the heavy bean crock. While the chili bubbled gently she cleaned up the kitchen and then sat at the table to work on her beadwork.
Soon it would be time for the Midsummer Gathering and her beadwork bags were usually in great demand. The tiny jewel-colored beads were fashioned from the same material as the chinkas. Years ago, her father and his partner, Nathan, had devised a way to make the beads from the leftover scraps from chinka production.
A small grin crept over her face when she thought of the other things they’d invented. Singing stones, jeweled bottles for precious oils and the tiny jewel-handled knives called sliths. Men and women all over the valley spent barter credits on the baubles so they could gift their loved ones—especially bond mates. Samara just happened to know that Eppie had commissioned a special slith for Dancer with his personal glyphs on it.
She snickered. Dancer had commissioned a beaded bag for Eppie for the Midsummer Gathering. Who did they think they were fooling? It was a silly dance they had led each other to the bonding circle, to be sure.
For a brief flashing moment, pain tightened her chest when she wished for her own silly dance but she pushed away the heartache and bent her head over the painstaking beadwork, following a pattern she carried only in her mind’s eye. In a little while she realized she was squinting in the growing dusk and she rose to twist the light stones on and taste test the chili.
After adding a pinch of the spicy herb mix that Robyn Llewellyn prepared for her, she stirred the chili once more and removed it from the fire. She inhaled deeply, savoring the sharp scent of spice and meat.
Gathering up her beadwork, she put it away for the evening. Tomorrow would be soon enough to finish the tiny bag. Then she set out a heavy soup bowl and a plate for her bread. The barbahla bread was warm from sitting near the fire. She sliced several narrow strips from the flat bread and set them on her plate. Everything was ready except for a quick dash of hot water to freshen her tea.
She froze in the act of pouring the hot water when a sharp knock reverberated from her front door. It was late for visitors. Setting her kettle back on the stove, she went into her living room and twisted on a light stone near the door.
“Who is it?”
“Mali and Arturo.”
Puzzled, she opened the door. Mali stood on the porch, while Arturo waited down on the walkway. “Mali? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” he hastened to assure her. “I’m sorry if we alarmed you. I volunteered to bring you this from Mama.” He held up his arm and she watched a heavy metal wind chime jangle into place. “It’s her housewarming gift.”
Down in the yard, Arturo chuckled at her dumbfounded expression. “It took a while for Micah to finish it. Then he hung it up in the shop and forgot about it.”
“And he remembered it this time of night?”
“No. He broke his leg this morning. Hoel and Jago were checking the shop to see what will be needed to be done before he’s fully healed. Jago spied it hanging from the rafter.”
Arturo leaped up onto the porch and examined the hanging plants in the deepening gloom. “Do you have an extra hook, Samara? If so, I’ll put the wind chime up for you.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. Since suffering a brutal attack earlier in the spring, Arturo seldom volunteered anything, even words. “I believe I have several of the hooks left. Just a moment. I’ll fetch the hook and a light stone.” In a few moments, she returned with an assortment of cast-iron hooks, a hammer and a bright light.
After a brief deliberation, Arturo chose a hook and pounded it in the porch roof with her hammer. Mali solemnly hung the wind chime and gave it a small nudge. The deep ringing tones drifted in the evening air.
“Oh, it’s lovely! Please tell your mother I will stop by her shop tomorrow to thank her properly!” Samara leaned her head back and closed her eyes, listening to the cheerful ringing as a gentle breeze set them moving again.
“Of course.” Mali hopped down from the porch, patiently waiting as Arturo gravely returned the hammer to Samara. Things had gone well, he decided. Arturo had resisted accompanying him out to Samara’s but it had turned out very well. Very well, indeed. Mali had a notion that Arturo would be most comfortable with Samara since they had suffered similar experiences and apparently his notion was correct.
Arturo joined him and they made their goodbyes. They were nearly out of the small yard when Arturo remembered a bit of news that surely would please Samara. He turned and faced her as she stood silhouetted in the doorway. “I almost forgot to tell you! Llyon and Tyger are moving out to Eppie’s cabin. So soon you will have neighbors once again!”
“That will be wonderful! I must admit that it is far lonelier out here than I anticipated. Who could dream that Dancer would suddenly arrive in the valley and sweep Eppie off to the bonding circle?”
Arturo snorted in disbelief. “You have it the wrong way around, I think. Surely Eppie was the one who dragged him to the bonding circle? The way I remember it, he was barely in the valley before she had him wound around her finger.”
Mali snickered in the darkness. “I don’t think that’s what she captured him with.”
Arturo gave him a hearty swat. “We must go. Have a good evening, Samara.” And then they were swallowed in the darkness as the evening insect chorus resumed. She closed and locked the door, suddenly eager to get back to her dinner.
* * * * *
A perfunctory knock on the door was all the warning Bishop received before Dai bustled in unencumbered, followed by several of Bish’s nephews toting the boxes and bags from the cave. Though not inherently modest about his body, Bishop was used to a modicum of privacy and therefore the sudden invasion left him feeling out of kilter.
Without even thinking about it, he found the sharda, still lying on the bed, and tugged it over to cover his groin. Dai hid a grin that threatened to sneak out. Bishop was going to find the valley a difficult adjustment to be sure.
When everything was piled against the wall the boys left, eager to get cleaned up for dinner. Robyn and Arano were serving a rare treat—country fried rowan steak with rice and creamy white gravy. The scent of honey-glazed carrots and mako, the vegetable normally used in sweet pies, wafted through the domes, filling the air with the hint of sweet spices.
Dai placed a small basket on the chest in the corner. “There are a few personal items for you in the basket. You will be more comfortable with your own things, so the brush and toothbrush and tooth cleaner are yours to keep.”
“You always just barge into people’s rooms when the door’s closed?” Bishop asked grumpily.
“Frequently.” Dai trotted over to the door. “How else would I catch the children when they’re misbehaving?”
“I’m not a child.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about, do you? Hurry up and get dressed. Dinner will be served shortly.” Dai went out, softly closing the door behind him.
Bishop scowled as he tossed the sharda to the side and rolled from the bed. His mouth tasted like an old sock and it aggravated him no end that Dai undoubtedly knew that. Irritated and cranky from not finishing his nap, he grabbed the basket and stomped into the bathroom. Maybe a splash of cold water on his face would work.
His wild reflection in the black glass mirror had him hastily twisting the cold water tap. He dunked his head under the rushing water and groaned. While rubbing the worst of the damp from his hair with a small towel, he studied his grim reflection in the mirror. The stubble on his chin and cheeks plus the wild bits of hair poking out at all angles from his head gave him the appearance of a demented serial killer. He found the blue salve and covered his stubble. A few thorough swipes with a warm washcloth and a hearty pass or two with the brush and he was almost a new man. But it was going to take several hours of uninterrupted sleep to deal with the burning red eyes.
>
Next he doubtfully eyed the odd toothbrush and small pot of tooth cleaner. Something told him this was going to be the least of his adjustments to the valley but he wasn’t anxious to put unknown substances in his mouth. He dipped a fingertip in tooth cleaner and tentatively tasted it. Some type of minty herbal mix. With a tiny shrug, he poked the toothbrush in the tooth cleaner and set to work on his teeth. Surprisingly he found the tooth cleaner was quite refreshing.
By the time he finished with his ablutions, he had almost resigned himself to wearing the sissy skirt. Almost. Bishop examined the tabs closely, making sure that they would fasten securely. Then he flipped the sharda around his hips and fastened the tabs. He stared down at his bare calves and shook his head. Thank goodness it wasn’t winter because there was definitely a draft. Just the idea of his balls and cock swinging free beneath the fabric had his cock poking at the fabric. Now that was embarrassing. What was he supposed to do about that?
He snatched up the shera and shrugged it on over his shoulders. The sensual feel of the soft silky fabric caught him by surprise. He pinched the material between his fingers and speculated about the source of the fine threads. It didn’t quite feel like silk but certainly something close to it.
A sharp thump on the door heralded the arrival of yet another of his nephews, this time a very young one with a pair of sandals in his hands. “Uncle Bishop, Dai said to bring these to you ‘cause you need shoes. Why do you need shoes?” he demanded with a puzzled scowl. “Did someone steal your shoes?”
Bishop took the sandals from him and slipped them on, unsurprised to find them a decent fit. “Something like that. What’s your name, son?”
“Cougar.” He gave Bish a considering glance from dark eyes very like his father’s. “I don’t think I’m your son, though.”
