by Anny Cook
“What?”
“If you and Samara wish to play bed games, then you should do so indoors. Panther saw you.”
“Fuck.”
“Yes, I believe that is what he saw,” Arturo agreed. “Unfortunately, he is not old enough for the bonding classes that are required for all youngsters in the valley. At the moment he is puzzled and feeling a bit squeamish.”
“Fuck.”
“You repeat yourself. In the meantime, I will simply point out that you are treading dangerous trails. Though Samara is a woman, she is relatively innocent. If you hurt her, whether emotionally or physically, her father is quite capable of removing that kzusha you’re so attached to. And there are many others in Lost Market who would willingly hold you down for the process.”
“Okay, now I’m feeling squeamish.” Bishop stalked over to the window. “She is a delightful woman. I think… I believe that she is taking pleasure in exploring her sexuality. From things she’s mentioned, she was feeling smothered and stifled by everyone around her. She said no one wanted her.” He turned to look at Arturo. “I think that wounded her deeply—that no one wanted her because she won’t be allowed to have children.”
“And because they still feel that she’s tainted from the rape.”
Arturo’s bittersweet mocking smile reminded Bishop of the rumors he’d heard about Arturo’s attack. “You would have some personal experience with that, I guess.”
“Oh, yes. Your guess would be correct. That is the only reason I will stand by and say nothing for the moment. I will not take this opportunity from Samara. But I will be watching, Uncle.”
Bishop turned and faced him unflinchingly. “Fair enough. Now, if you don’t mind, I believe I will go see the lady in question and warn her. What should I do about Panther? I don’t want him to have to deal with this.”
“I will talk to Panther. He is already approaching his shift to manhood. It is time for him to have a mentor. If he will accept me as such, I will take that responsibility. He needs someone who will see him for who he is, rather than who he appears to be. And after our rapport today, he has no current secrets from me.”
“It must be very difficult for you,” Bishop commented. “At first, I underestimated you but I think you’re probably far stronger than I thought.”
“Let us hope so. There are changes coming to the valley. All of us will have to be stronger than we know.”
Silently, Bishop left him there contemplating the events of the afternoon.
* * * * *
On his way to see Samara, Bishop tried to imagine actually living in the valley forever. It just didn’t compute. There wasn’t anything familiar—from the food to the clothing to the technology. His friends, Trav and Dancer, were involved in their own lives. Dancer was engaged in some weird sexual activity with his bond mate. The few moments of lucidity that Trav had were taken up with Wrenna. Merlyn, the long-lost brother he should have been spending time with, joyfully catching up on the past, was nowhere to be seen. Bishop was uncomfortably aware that in the midst of a boisterous family, he was alone.
The only person in the valley who actually seemed to be aware of him was Samara and he wasn’t sure whether that was because she genuinely liked spending time with him or whether he was a convenient stud. Instead of his normal iron control over his place in the world, he was living at the whim of fate. The off-kilter, displaced feeling irritated him, leaving him on the edge of control. He had no place of his own, no purpose in his life and no future.
He almost chose to just keep walking until he ran out of valley. But he was unarmed. Though aggravated, he wasn’t suicidal or stupid. That was an option for another day. In the meantime, the one thing he could control was whether or not he finally fucked Samara. They would talk first. And then he would decide what to do.
When he reached Samara’s dome, he started to walk in unannounced but at the last moment he stopped and knocked. She came to the door, blushing a delicate shade of lavender when she saw him but readily invited him in. “Samara—”
“Samara? Who is it?” a feminine voice inquired from the kitchen.
“My mother. They just returned from Andrew’s house at Rebaccah’s Promise,” she whispered fiercely under her breath.
“We’ll handle it.” Bishop nudged her in the direction of the sunny kitchen. He had known it would only be a matter of time before he met Samara’s parents. For the moment he had the advantage of surprise and he planned to use that advantage ruthlessly. “Hello, Rebaccah.”
As a matter of purely clinical interest, he had wondered what the blue skin tones of the valley inhabitants looked like when a person flushed or looked faint. Here in mere seconds he had his answers on both ends of the spectrum. While Samara continued to flush from embarrassment, Rebaccah’s face turned a pale, pale blue while she stared at him in shock. “B-Bishop?”
“As ever,” he confirmed cheerfully while he pushed Samara back into her chair and went to help himself to tea. “Been here a little over three days with Dancer’s brother, Traveller.”
“T-Traveller?”
“Uh-hmm. Apparently, he’s Wrenna’s bond mate.” He deposited his steaming mug on the table and casually walked over to the cupboard where he found a plate and fork for himself. Returning to the table, he set them down and watched Samara cut him a generous wedge of sweet pie while he pulled out a chair and sat down. “Thank you, darling. Yummy. So! How have you and Hamilton been doing?”
Samara had never seen her mother so flummoxed in her entire life.
“G-good.”
“That’s wonderful! You look like valley life really agrees with you. Samara told me you have several kids and even some grandkids.” He shook his head. “Hard to believe you’re a grandma, Bac.”
“Oh my God! You’re really here! Is your father with you?” Rebaccah demanded as she finally gathered her wits.
“Hell no! Why would he be with me? I haven’t even talked to him in years.”
“What?”
“My father,” Bish waggled his fork in her direction, “is under the impression that everyone around him is an idiot. Since I didn’t want anything to do with him, I made sure to impress upon him how hopelessly stupid and useless I was.” He shrugged. “So he left me alone.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously.
“I came with Traveller. He was hurt and I was looking for help. This is where we ended up.” Bishop polished off the pie and stood up. As though he did it every day, he gathered up the dirty plates and deposited them in the sink before dipping out a bit of soap from the soap jug on the counter and running the hot water. Briskly, he washed the dishes, setting them on a towel to drain.
“No,” Rebaccah clarified. “What are you doing here, at Samara’s?”
Turning to face her, he crossed his arms over his chest and smiled pleasantly. “How old is Samara?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Then don’t you think that should be between me and Samara?”
Rebaccah floundered, looking for an answer. “I, uh…”
“Samara is a big girl now, Rebaccah. It’s time for you to let her go.”
His implacable posture left Rebaccah with no defense so she stood up, bent to kiss Samara’s cheek and announced that it was time for her to go home. Before Samara had time to usher her to the door, she was gone. Samara stood in the kitchen doorway and stared at Bishop with awe.
“That was wonderful!” she declared before rushing over to fling her arms around his waist.
Immediately at the touch of her soft curves against his body, his cock took note, poking against the front of his sharda, seeking the warm home hidden between her thighs. He slid his arms around her, palming her ass with his big hands and tugging her closer.
“I should be shot.”
“Shot?” She tilted her head back to look him in the eye. “Why?”
“Oh, because I came here specifically to stuff my cock in your pussy and fuck you until we pass out from e
xhaustion.”
“How long must I wait for you to begin?” she teased as she pressed her hips closer to the hard cock outlined beneath his sharda. Then she found the tabs that fastened it and released them, brushing the fabric out of the way. “Ahhh. You’re so hard and soft at the same time, Bishop.” She wrapped her hand around him and stroked and squeezed. “I love your kzusha.”
When she would have stooped to take him in her mouth, he stopped her. “Turn around and bend over the table,” he commanded abruptly.
She did so at once, wondering what he had planned. He tweaked the fastenings on her meerlim and slid it down her body, leaving her naked except for her house sandals. In a moment, his feet nudged her legs farther apart until she was totally exposed. The cool air whisked across her slick folds, setting off new sensations. She shifted restlessly and his palm came down sharply on her butt.
“Do not move.”
Immediately she froze. Why did he strike her? It stunned her when the heat from the blow spread to her pussy.
He trailed a finger over her soft, wet petals. “Hmmm. I think you might like to be spanked, Samara. You were hot and wet but that just made you wetter. Shall we try again?” He smacked her other butt cheek with his open palm before massaging the sting and heat away. Her scent taunted him until he could bear it no more.
Inexplicably Samara realized that she was torn between wanting him to continue and needing him to slide his cock inside her at once, filling the emptiness that she had never been so conscious of before. How did he make her need him so much? On the heels of that shocking question she felt the hot, blunt head of his cock pressing at the entrance of her vagina and she rocked her hips back, helplessly greedy for his hard shaft.
Though he had gently finger-fucked her as they played since that first day in the garden, she was still incredibly tight. Bishop knew that he needed to go slowly. She didn’t make it easy, poking her ass out demandingly. He pushed. She pressed.
Suddenly, she cried out in frustration, “Fuck me!”
“I don’t want to hurt you!” he said grimly.
“Now! I need you!”
“How do you want me, Samara? Slow and soft or hard and deep?”
“Hard and deep—and never-ending!”
On his next thrust, he filled her completely stopping only when his belly was against the soft curves of her ass. For a long moment he was still, amazed at the sensations of wet heat and the tight clasp of her pussy. He’d never in his life had sex without a condom. Never had he experienced the astonishing sensitivity of skin touching skin.
He bent over, surrounding her with his body, pressing his warm, damp chest to her back. His hands twined with hers on the table. He laid his cheek against hers and asked because he had to know, “Are you afraid?”
He felt her smile when her cheek moved against his. “No. I’m not afraid. I feel… I feel secure. And cherished. And filled with wonderful pleasure.”
“We’re only beginning.”
“I can’t imagine more pleasure than this.”
He kissed her cheek before nibbling on her shoulder. “Allow me to demonstrate.” Reluctantly, he lifted his chest away from her and stood up. Withdrawing until only the head of his cock was still inside, he thrust back in. She quickly caught the rhythm of his thrust and withdrawal and added her own counterpoint to the melody. “Play with your clit, Samara! I want you to come!”
Immediately he felt the small rolling contractions as she peaked with a ferocity he would never have expected. The strong tug of her inner muscles robbed him of his legendary control. For the first time since he was a very young man, his climax was controlled by someone other than himself. He stood panting, knees locked to keep from melting in a puddle at Samara’s feet as he faced the uncomfortable realization that each day she was gaining more power over him than he was ready to give away.
Silently, he withdrew and patted her butt. “Stay there. I’ll be back.” Padding into the bathing room, he located a tiny washcloth and used it to clean himself before he went back to Samara. She was exactly where he’d left her with a dreamy smile on her face. She lay still, permitting him to gently cleanse her well-used and very happy pussy. Then he helped her stand up and led her into the bedroom. There were so many other things to teach her and he was a thorough man at heart.
Chapter Ten
Midsummer Gathering
The next day the Midsummer Gathering began. It was a bright sunny morning that glittered with the promise of heat to come. Bishop walked hurriedly toward Samara’s dome through the cool woods. She had agreed to be his guide. Neither of them thought that the polite fiction would last long but Bishop suspected that it would deflect the first few questions. He still didn’t understand why it was such a big deal for Samara to have a lover, though he was more than willing to take whatever steps would protect her reputation—short of bonding.
When he reached her yard, she was waiting on the porch with two neatly packed baskets. For the first time since he’d met her, she had a filmy embroidered and beaded cap covering her beautiful golden brown hair. The dark brown and gold embroidery on her beige festival dress matched the cap’s embroidery. She wore dainty dark brown sandals with bits of gold leather peeking through the cutouts.
For a long moment, he stood staring at her with a small smile on his face, thinking that all the makeup and sexy clothes in the world wouldn’t make her more beautiful than she was right at that moment.
“What?”
“You’re beautiful, Samara.”
“Me?” She stepped down into the yard and touched his pale green shera. “I am merely pretty. But you are most handsome. I like this shera and sharda.”
“A festival gift from Llyon and Tyger.” He bent his head to kiss her, taking his time, tasting and savoring her mouth. “You are beautiful to me. What the other idiots in the valley think isn’t important. Now I suggest that we get moving or I’ll carry you into the dome and remove that gorgeous dress and cap.”
“Ummm.”
He tapped her rear. “Get the baskets. Now.”
“Oh, all right.” She flounced over to the porch, retrieved the baskets and handed them to him before picking up her festival shawl and beaded bag.
“Something smells delicious,” he observed, sniffing at one of the baskets.
“That’s my contribution for the feast. Everyone brings something to share.” They set off for the village, walking the path with the visitors streaming up from Broken Pine and Goodspeed’s Delight.
“Where is everyone coming from?” Bishop muttered just loud enough for Samara to hear.
She giggled. “You’ve only seen the people that live in Lost Market. Wait until you get to the practice field. There will be people from all over the valley. This is the annual market gathering so people will bring their wares to trade. And the valley council will meet and enact the new laws for the valley. Papa even prints extra copies of the paper to hand out at the gathering.”
“What are you taking for trade?” he asked.
“Beaded bags.” She held up her own bag so he could see. “I make them in my spare time.”
“You made that? All those tiny beads? That’s incredible!”
“Thank you.”
“How many credits do you charge for one of them?” he asked curiously.
Samara smiled at the way Bishop cut right to the heart of the matter. “Fifty credits if it’s one of my standard designs. One hundred credits if they want something special like a name glyph.”
“What?” Bishop yelped in shock. “Who has that kind of credits?”
“Young men buy them as a bonding gift.”
“Oh? And what do the young women give them in return?”
“Usually? Many of them gift their men with a slith.”
Bishop stopped walking and sent her a hard stare. “You made that up. I know I’m an easy target but I’m not that stupid.”
She turned to the young warrior who was patiently waiting to pass them. “Luka, may I
see your slith for a moment please?”
With a light shrug, Luka unhooked a small ornament from the braid that hung along his cheek and handed it to Samara.
“Actually, will you show Bishop the blade?” she requested as she returned it to Luka.
“Sure.” Luka released the tiny latch and slid the small blade free from the fancy case, displaying them both on his palm.
“Why such a tiny knife?” Bishop asked. “What in the world would you use it for?”
“Normally, it is used at a bonding or declaration of warrior’s vows. It is not intended as a weapon, though in the hands of a master it could kill.” Luka’s grave answer surprised Bishop. With the speed of familiarity, Luka sheathed the blade and hooked it on the braid. “If you will excuse me, I must get to the field. I have second watch today.”
“Of course. Thank you for your time, Luka.” Samara nudged Bishop to the side of the path where they waited for several people to pass before they resumed their walk.
“Samara, why would you need a knife to bond?” Everything about Bishop’s hesitant question demonstrated just how uncomfortable he was.
“During the final act of bonding, the couple joins physically for the first time on the altar stone while clasping their slashed palms together to signify their joined lives. The slith is used to make the cuts on their hands.”
They walked quietly for a while as Bishop contemplated that nugget of information. He tried to picture either one of his ex-wives taking part in such a ceremony. Of course in the valley, neither of them would have been eligible, either. With surprise, Bishop wondered if that would have made a difference in the end. He had never looked for a virgin, never even thought about it but now he wondered if he had undervalued himself when he was young. What did he have to show for his life so far? Two divorces and no children.
When they reached the bridge over the river, he was jolted back to awareness. “We’re already here!” He looked around blankly, wondering how he could have walked the length of the village without saying a word or noticing his surroundings. “You should have poked me or something!”
