Touch of Gypsy Fire

by Shiloh Walker

  She had been pierced through her clitoris. When her head lowered in shame, he knew it wasn’t of her own choosing. If it had been, Aryn would have no problem with it, but having something so personal forced on a woman, and in such a tender spot… “Ah, you poor thing,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. “I’ll kiss it and make it better.”

  Aryn slid his tongue gently around the golden ring that ran through her clit and nuzzled her, taking the engorged flesh in his mouth in a gentle, suckling kiss that had the woman arching up off the bed against his mouth with a scream that echoed off the walls. Pumping his fingers in and out of her pussy, he waited until she was coming before he moved up her body and rose to his knees. Freeing his cock from his breeches, he came down on top of her, pushing inside her with one slow, deep thrust that had her lashes fluttering and a soft, low purr falling from her lips.

  Falling into a slow, steady rhythm, he waited until she had climaxed before he moved away and reached for Keely, guiding her onto her hands and knees and driving deep inside her as Eira lay gasping for breath and smiling in blissful pleasure.

  Tyriel waited until nearly midnight.

  He hadn’t yet returned from the house.

  Clenching her jaw, she slid into bed.

  “If ye would just na’ be so stubborn, little elf, I could help—”

  “I’m not touching you. There is no reason that you should be able to speak to me,” she said coolly.

  “I can speak t’ ye at any time I choose, so long as ye are near,” Irian murmured huskily as his body shimmered into view. He moved to lie beside her, studying her with dark, fathomless eyes. “I can bring him t’ ye, whenever ye want him.”

  “Hardly. Because I only want him if he wants me in return,” she said. “Leave me be.” Then she rolled onto her side and wondered if maybe she shouldn’t just pack up and head back to the Kingdoms with Jaren when he arrived.

  “If you don’t, at least once, they will wonder why you came at all,” Eira whispered as she plastered herself against Aryn under the guise of kissing his neck.

  Aryn’s jaw was rigid, as it had been for the past half an hour. They had told him, repeatedly. It was expected that he tie up at least one of them, and spank them, or force one of them into submitting, or let the other woman spank or whip…something…to give credence to why he was interested in a house of painful pleasures.

  If it wasn’t for the fear in Eira’s eyes, or the resignation in Keely’s…aw, damn it all to hell. He tumbled Eira off his lap, and reached for Keely, shoving her to her knees in front of him and urging her mouth to his cock. She opened eagerly, her wide eyes locked on his face as he threaded his fingers through her hair and pushed his cock a little deeper.

  “Eira, get the wrist bindings for your friend,” he said gruffly, before he lost his nerve for this game.

  ’Twas a dangerous game they played. If he wasn’t convincing, these two young women were likely to be beaten when he left. “Tie her wrists behind her back, then get the toy from the wardrobe, the glass one,” he ordered, trying not to think about the eyes he knew were watching. He had spotted the spy holes. And his gut told him the mirrors over the bed weren’t truly mirrors…not just mirrors anyway.

  As Eira approached, her eyes nervous and hesitant on his face, he pushed her gently to her knees and said, “Fuck her with it.”

  Aryn watched, his heart stuttering in his chest despite himself as the mirrors afforded him a wonderful view of the thick golden glass dildo being slowly pushed inside Keely’s tight’s pussy. “More than that, Eira. Harder, make her moan,” he ordered.

  Glancing at Keely, he said, “You like that?”

  Her eyes fluttered open and she nodded awkwardly as she slid her head up and down and swirled her tongue around the head of his cock. He pushed inside her mouth, grasping her hair and wrapping it around his fist, pushing deeper. “Suck on me, sweet, I like the way that mouth feels.”

  Keely gasped around his cock as the cool dildo pushed inside her swollen sex. She whimpered as Aryn pushed his cock deeper, nearing her limits, bruising her lips, her throat as he started to pump his hips, moving roughly back and forth inside the wet embrace of her mouth.

  Eira plunged the glass dildo deep and high, staring wide-eyed as Keely deep-throated Aryn’s cock and started to shudder. “Play with yourself, Eira. No need for you to get left out,” Aryn teased, before looking back down and watching as his cock, red and wet slid back out of Keely’s swollen mouth.

  Her body was starting to shudder and her nipples were getting tighter, harder as her breathing picked up. “You want to come, don’t you? No, love,” he purred. “Can’t have that. Not yet.” Then he pulled away and bent Keely forward, gripping her hips in his big hands and driving deep inside her bound body, lifting one hand and smacking her ass sharply.

  And through the mirror, those watching sighed, some in satisfaction, some in pleasure.

  One with a bit of disappointment. The madam had been looking forward to punishing those girls.

  * * * * *

  She smelled it on him as he walked in, very early the next morning. Sex and sweat, rich, pungent. But something was different.

  She smelled two different women.

  With a snarl, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood, gathering her clothes and striding out of the room wearing nothing more than her hair and a sullen sulk while Aryn stood staring at her naked ass with bemused eyes, and wondered why the half-elf had been sleeping naked.

  Jaren arrived later that morning.

  Tyriel was wiping down a table when she felt his presence. And his anger. “Elvish Princesses do not act the menial,” he hissed, standing rigid in the doorway.

  If he hadn’t had years and years of deference to her father bred into him, he probably would have crossed the space between them, jerked the cleaning rag from her and paddled her ass. Not that the last idea didn’t hold a little bit of appeal. She turned her head slowly and winked at him.

  Jaren Everess, Lord of Remme, one of the legendary De Asir, vengeance killers, narrowed his dark, glittering green eyes at her audacity. His skin was pale, almost translucent ivory that glowed against the emerald of his eyes. His high, arched brows, his carved cheekbones and pointed chin, all were the defining features of the beautiful elvish race.

  But Jaren was…more.

  Long and sleek muscled with thick wrists, broad shoulders and a chest that tapered down to an impossibly narrow waist and a tight ass that Tyriel had studied a number of times before. She had sighed quite dreamily over him a time or two in her youth, and while he had trained her in the halls of De Asir. Strong powerful thighs, muscled legs…hmmm, her mouth was watering. Up until she had met Aryn she had always thought Jaren was the most sensual, desirable man-creature she had ever met in her life.

  He was certainly the most arrogant.

  A muscle in his jaw ticked as he continued to stare at her, enraged that a Royal dared to clean a table.

  And for mortals.

  “Jaren don’t be such an arrogant bore. I’m not doing anything that bothers me. Do not let it bother you,” she said softly. “And stop acting so dangerous. You aren’t supposed to attract too much attention.”

  The rigidity slowly left his shoulders and he forced the anger in his eyes to bank, but she could still feel the rage pumping off of him in waves. And something she had not felt in far longer than she cared to think about…desire. For her.

  With a slow, pleased smile, she turned back to the task at hand as Jaren moved into the tavern and made his way to her table, shoving back his hood. He would act as though he were an old counterpart of Aryn’s, and she would act surprised to see him.

  And later…maybe she would do something about this aching in her loins. She allowed a slow, heated smile to curve her lips, and some of the heat to reflect in her eyes as he moved toward her.

  His response sent a thrill of excitement racing through her, and need tightened in her belly, her cleft going hot and wet.


  Jaren’s lids lowered as he scented her, a slow, careful breath leaving him.

  “What a very…pleasant surprise to see you,” she said.

  He took her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “The pleasure is all mine.” His tongue slid out, caressing her hand before he released it.

  Aryn was half asleep when Tyriel left the bed. She wore a white shift that ended just at her thighs and she smoothed it down, smiling a cat’s smile as she slid her hands through her hair.

  When she left the room in silence, he knew exactly where she was going. He saw the smile curving her lips and wanted to grab her, pin her against the wall and drive his cock inside her until she screamed out his name.

  Until she forgot where she was going.

  The elf’s room.

  The door closed behind her, leaving him with the image of her rounded, tight little ass and he groaned.

  Jaren was a long, impossibly slim elf with straight, raven-wing hair that fell to his waist and eyes that glowed greener than a cat’s. And like every other bloody elf Aryn had ever met in his life, he was as beautiful and sexual a creature as anything the Sacrificed God had ever created. His shoulders were wide and strong, arrogantly proud, tapering down to a narrow waist and long legs. His pointed ears he kept hidden by keeping his hood up. His skin was pale—pale as snow it seemed. He oozed danger and menace, unless he was looking at Tyriel and then he oozed loyalty and a fierce possessiveness that had Aryn wondering. And just the slightest bit jealous—which made no sense at all.

  And he watched Tyriel with a hunger that seemed to match Aryn’s. But Jaren would get to sate his appetite.

  He closed his eyes and sighed grimly.

  “Life sure as hell got complicated all of a sudden,” he muttered.

  “Life has always been complicated,” Irian said with a sleepy chuckle as he roused long enough to puzzle out what had Aryn disgruntled. “You’ve just now started t’ live, thas’ all.”

  * * * * *

  “Too long,” he purred against her neck as he caught her hair in his hand and wound it around his fist. “Too long since I have touched you, held you, felt your sweet body against me.”

  Tyriel shuddered as his hands moved up from her waist, cupping her breasts, plumping them together, plucking the nipples, milking them, as he lowered his mouth to her neck and raked it with his teeth.

  “I’ve been aching for the sight of you, the taste of you again, milady,” he rasped, moving one hand down to her belly and pressing her back against him, cuddling his cock against her ass. “Dying inside from it.”

  She shuddered as he reached down and plunged two fingers inside her pussy, her knees nearly giving out beneath her. “Jaren—”

  He laughed softly. “So you do remember my name,” he teased. “I thought perhaps in your obsession with a mortal you had forgotten me.”

  “Jaren,” she teased, wiggling her butt, leaning her head back against one broad, strong shoulder. Here, this was the one place, in all her years that she had always felt truly safe, truly desired, truly wanted. “Never forgotten. Hmmm, oh!” He flicked her clit with his thumb as he breathed a breath of magick down her body, sending hot little licks of illusory fire over her skin, playing with her nipples, teasing her.

  “So you say now,” he whispered somberly as he urged her to the bed, reaching for the back of her chemise.

  It fell from her in shreds as he tore it away, his face set in harsh lines as he hunkered over her, his knee moving between her thighs and spreading them before he drove inside her. “Soon, I’ll become little more than memory to you.”

  Tyriel screamed in ecstasy as Jaren slammed into her from behind, his long hands gripping her hips and holding her still as his cock tunneled through her wet, swollen depths.

  The shield of silence they had placed around the room also contained the wild magick that was breaking free. Rainbows broke over her skin and she sobbed out his name as he pounded into her, groaning her name and digging his nails into her hips.

  One long, muscled forearm jerked her up, pinning her slim body against his longer, powerful one and his other hand speared through the small, neatly trimmed nest of curls between her thighs. His fingers caught her clit, pinching it, and she flew off into climax with a sob as he sank his teeth into her shoulder and pummeled her, his cock jerking as he pumped her full of his seed.

  She was sighing with bliss as he rolled them onto their sides and cuddled her against him.

  “Are you staying?” he murmured in elvish, stroking her damp hair from her neck and kissing it.

  “Lower the shield so that I can hear when the humans wake,” she muttered, reaching up and linking her hand with his. “I’ll stay ‘til dawn.”

  He slid his knee between hers. “Then I’ll lower the shield later. I’m not done making you scream yet.”

  He saw her leaving Jaren’s room as he left theirs. Her hair was sexily tossed and tangled from sleep and sex, her mouth swollen and red from the night’s pleasure. A faint red mark marred the golden perfection of her neck and her white shift was gone, replaced by a laced man’s shirt that barely hid the shadow of her nipples.

  Jealousy, red and ugly, raced through Aryn and he clamped it down.

  Not for me—she isn’t for me, he reminded himself as she sleepily rubbed her eyes, looking innocent and sexy and so damned sweet as she leaned back against the door, still half asleep, and totally unaware he watched her.

  “There’s people about,” he said softly.

  Her lids lifted slowly and she smiled sleepily at him. “G’mornin,” she mumbled as she padded toward him, yawning.

  He could smell her, sweet, always so damn sweet, but now there was another scent on her, the scent of another man’s body, sweat and seed clinging to her. Aryn clenched his jaw as she passed by him, her soft curls grazing his arm.

  All he wanted, all, was to push her into the room and erase that scent and replace it with his own. His cock throbbed, blood pounding heavily within it as the image of doing just that haunted him, augmented by Irian’s damnable magick as the enchanter roused and caught a hint of Aryn’s need. She would be wet, swollen, her pussy full of her cream and another man’s seed. And after Aryn had filled her full of his own, he’d bathe her clean and then taste her—he’d been aching for just one taste.

  “Then do it. Taste her, fuck her, love her.”

  The door closed behind Tyriel as Irian murmured encouragement into his mind.

  With a snarl, Aryn stomped down the stairs, away from temptation.

  “Ye want her. Take her. She’ll welcome ye wi’ open arms.”

  Aryn flung up a wall against Irian’s compelling voice, grabbing the axe from the wall and heading for the pile of wood. His hands closed convulsively around the wooden handle, sweat covering his body in the cool morning air.

  Bloody hell.

  * * * * *

  Aryn was drawn outside two days later. It was nearing sunset. Moon dark was tomorrow. Tyriel was busily serving food, but she had talked Jaren into playing his flute for the crowd.

  The elf had not been happy about it either.

  Aryn wasn’t happy about a number of things, namely the fact that she had not slept in their room once since the elf had arrived. It bothered him and there was no reason for it.

  Irian’s husky chuckle echoed in the back of his mind. “Are ye truly so blind, Aryn of Olsted? Have I an imbecile wielding me?” the enchanter asked dryly as Aryn left the warmth of the tavern for the cool night air.

  “Must you speak in riddles so much?” Aryn asked nastily.

  “’Tis simple enough, if you opened your bloody fool eyes,” Irian responded as Aryn propped his back against the wall.

  And froze.

  Irian felt it as well.

  Blackness…

  “It searches for an offering,” Irian growled menacingly. “Tyriel did not make herself known to it. It looks for a weaker, more visible target.”

  Aryn moved to shove off the wall. And found he
was frozen. “I thought we’d agreed you’d not be taking over my body anymore,” he growled out.

  “Aye, that we did. But if ye go plunging neck deep into yer death, the elf willna be forgiving me,” Irian said coolly. “We wait for her and the cold one.”

  “I’ve been fighting without her a bloody long time,” Aryn hissed.

  “But not anything like this,” Irian said with certainty. “If I canna take over yer body, then I can only work so much enchantment. And you’ve no magick to call your own yet. We wait.”

  But they didn’t have to wait long.

  Jaren appeared first, moving out of the shadows like he was one of them, his dark, gleaming eyes assessing Aryn without a blink, without a word as he waited for Tyriel. Irian released his hold once the dark elf appeared, saying on a sigh, “You will wait for the Jiupsu, Aryn. You’d hate for that one t’ have t’ take ye down.”

  Aryn growled out a vile curse and wished again the bloody enchanter could take form so he could knock him down. At least once. Irian chuckled. “Until the scales are balanced, the sword is the form I have, unless I take yours,” he added with a shrug as his misty body shimmered into view.

  The question, “What scales…” faded from his mind as Tyriel landed between them on the balls of her feet, clad not in her serving girl’s skirt, but in black leather like the other elf wore, her hair woven into a tight braid, her own blade lying snug in its sheath down her back, her amber eyes glinting. “It’s time?” she asked quietly.

  “Something pulls us,” Aryn said, unable to explain beyond that.

  It was enough. She waited for Aryn to take the lead and then she followed him.

  Jaren fell into step behind her, his long cloak fluttering around his ankles as he moved soundlessly. Aryn’s hearing was sharp, especially for a human’s, but while on occasion he could hear Tyriel’s light footfalls, if he hadn’t looked back from time to time and seen him, he would not have known Jaren was there.

  “A deadly one, that,” Irian murmured as Aryn met the elf’s eyes in the dim light and they took the final corner before the street opened up to the Inferno—the neighborhood where the Whore’s Guild had chosen to set up their trade. The elf’s mouth curled up slightly at one corner as he caught Aryn’s eye, but then he broke contact and stood studying the buildings before them.