“She canna go¼I am sorry for breaking my word.”
Aryn opened his mouth, unaware of what Irian was talking about, and not really caring. He wasn’t letting her walk out that door.
But he never said a word, never remembered anything beyond the sight of her slim back covered in black leather, all those wilds curls spilling down to rest just above her ass, the gay red of her sleeves moving in a silken whisper as she turned one last time to glance at him, her eyes glowing luminously.
And then Irian swarmed up and overwhelmed.
Tyriel glimpsed Aryn in those eyes, grim, determined. But then his eyes went blank. And then hungry, sorry, dark…Irian…
“Does your word mean so little?” she asked softly.
“You mean more.” His voice was deeper, slower, gruffer than Aryn’s, his eyes hotter, heavier. “You canna leave us, him. You are safe with him. You will stay.”
“Irian, nebaste…” she whispered, half-heartedly as he backed her up against the door. “Stop…please…this solves nothing. You are not Aryn. I am not in love with you.”
“But part of you wants me almost as much as you want him.” Irian aligned Aryn’s long, rangy powerful body against hers, his thick, throbbing cock fitting into the notch between her thighs. “Ye canna deny me that, girl…can ye?”
Tyriel’s words died in a moan as his hands fisted in her hair and arched her face up, his tongue pushed between her lips, bringing Aryn’s taste, his scent, but something darker, and different, something more primitive, wilder. Irian.
He rasped, “You will scream my name this night…before this night ends, I will hear it, I swear you that.” Tyriel wasn’t so certain that he was wrong. His hands, hard and callused, grasped the sleeves of her silken blouse and she gasped into his mouth as she felt him tear it away. Then from under the form-fitting leather corselet, until the silken blouse was lying in shreds at her feet and she wore only the leather corselet and her skirt and boots as Irian moved away, holding her back, one hand at her neck, the other at her hip. “Jiupsu…aakin su rrieul Jiupsu…” he crooned, staring at her.
Disconcerting, it was, hearing ancient, archaic gypsy flowing from Aryn’s mouth, especially as her vision started to waver and Irian’s image kept trying to superimpose itself over Aryn’s body. “Lovely lady of the Jiupsu.” His hands gripped her skirt and he pushed it down over her hips until she stood naked in front of him, save for her boots and the corselet, her cheeks flushing pink as he stared up at her, his dark eyes heating with an inner flame that turned Tyriel’s blood into lava.
Cream started to pool inside her cleft, and her heart started to beat with slow, pounding throbs. Irian’s nostrils flared and he scented her, his lips parting. His eyes focused on her body, clad in the corselet that rose to just under her breasts, pushing them up, two thin straps trailing up over her shoulders, and down her back. In front, the laces were pulled tight, revealing an inch of tanned toned flesh and Irian lifted his eyes to study her breasts so prominently displayed, nipples drawn tight and puckered, waist cinched down by the gleaming black leather. The corselet arrowed down to the hair that covered the mound of her sex, and the black boots that came up over her knees, elvish boots, form-fitting, tight, thin and tooled, gleamed against the gold of her skin.
“Lovely.” His voice was guttural, deep, and rumbled against her skin as he leaned forward and nuzzled her belly, licking her navel as he reached around her and cupped her ass.
“Irian…” Tyriel gasped out his name as he caught her in his arms before she could slide to the floor, and he spread the lips of her sex and licked her.
“Tasty little elf,” he said wickedly, carrying her to the bed. He spread her out, pushing her thighs wide, running his hands over the gleaming black leather before opening her with his thumbs and staring down at her, at the wet, pink folds, naked of hair except for a small neat little patch just at her pubic bone. “Pretty little elf.” He lowered his head and caught her clit in his mouth, catching her hands and pinning them down as she tried to squirm away and close her thighs.
Working two thick fingers inside her slippery, tight channel, he worked her ruthlessly to climax, suckling on her clit, fucking her tight, hungry body, and shuddering when she climaxed into his hand with a sob. Lifting up, he studied her, his face wet and gleaming from her cream. “You didna say my name.”
She was still shuddering and whimpering from climax as he quickly jerked his clothes off, revealing a long, pale body rippling with muscles and marked with scars from battle. His cock sprang free from his tight, laced up trousers, thick, ruddy, rising from a thatch of golden hair, a gleaming drop seeping from it as he advanced on her. Her eyes blurred and for a moment, she saw another man, broader, dark gold skin, long waist length hair, black as her own, tumbled with curls, a more battle-scarred body, gypsy-dark eyes.
Tyriel was still gasping for air, hardly able to breathe as he grasped her hands, jerked them over her head, pinning her down. He wedged a muscled thigh between her legs, spreading her thighs open and nudging at her cleft with his cock. “Who is touching you, lass?” he murmured as he lowered his head to take a reddened nipple into his mouth.
Straining against his grasp, a sob fell past her lips. He pushed her nipple against the roof of his mouth and suckled deep, rolling his eyes upward to stare at her. Hot and wicked, his tongue and teeth worked the nipple into one aching point of pleasure until she was whimpering and squirming from just the lightest touch of his tongue on her flesh.
She stared down into his eyes, and the other image superimposed on Aryn, and stayed this time—dark, dark eyes, inky black curls spilling across her body, his free hand cupping her ass.
A hair-thin scar bisected his left eyebrow, and another sliced down his right shoulder…scars she had never noticed before. He rasped, demanded, “Who touches you?” as he kissed a blazing line of kisses between her breasts and locked his teeth around the other nipple drawing it tight and listening to her gasp.
“Irian…”
With a ragged groan, he tore his mouth from her breast and positioned himself at the wet, swollen entrance to her pussy, staring down into her eyes. “Years, I have waited. Years without end.” Then he said nothing else as he slowly forged his way into her body, his thick, hard length slicing through her as she stared helplessly, fascinated, into his eyes, arms stretched overhead, ragged gasps falling from her lips.
She was begging by the time he was buried inside her, pleading and rocking against him, whipping her head back and forth. His cock jerked within her sheath and she whimpered, the muscles in her pussy tightening around him hungrily as she rocked against him. Slowing, Irian lowered his body down atop her, and why did it seem so much heavier? Aryn’s body was still there, wasn’t it? Everything felt so different, his weight, the feel of his body, the texture of his hair, even his taste. Her mind spun out of control and she sobbed as his mouth covered hers, feeling his cock jerk within her sheath. His hand released her wrists, trailed down the length of her arms, over the side of her breast, her ribcage and waist as he shifted his weight. She felt the phantom brush of his fingers on her clit and she screamed into his mouth as he started to ride her, filling her with hard, deep thrusts of his cock, a groan vibrating from his chest.
He shifted his angle, moving higher on her body so that each thrust hit that bed of nerves buried by the mouth of her womb. Tyriel’s pussy convulsed around him rhythmically and Irian growled against her mouth, rising up to his knees, grabbing her legs, spreading them wide, holding her open with one hand behind each knee as he stared down at her, watching as he pushed his thick, dark cock between the plump wet lips of her sex, his lids low and hooded over his dark eyes.
With short deep digs of his hips, he filled her, staring down into her eyes hungrily, greedily. “Ye canna know how long I’ve waited for ye,” he muttered. Her eyes locked with his, captivated, as he released one of her legs and trailed his hand down her body. “Days, months, years without end.” Thumb and forefinger closed ar
ound one dark rose-red nipple and he plucked it, smiling as she arched with a weak scream. “Such a pretty, pretty thing…wild, wild gypsy-elf. So tight, so wet, soft as silk, sweet…”
Tyriel’s head was spinning. Her heart pounded in her chest, heavy and hard, echoing the slow, pounding thrusts of his cock inside her vagina as he pushed into her. The tight wet clasp of her sex hugged his cock, clung to him as he pulled out and surged back inside. His hand slid further down her body and pinched her clit, then rotated over it in sure steady strokes until her pussy started to convulse around him.
He growled, bending low and wrapping his arms tightly around her, bracing her weight for his thrusts with a steely, corded embrace and banding her against his heavy length as he started to shudder. Against her hair, he started to groan. “My name…who am I?”
But Tyriel barely heard him as she fisted her hands in the silky skeins of his raven-black hair, the climax inside her womb exploding outward and arching her up until she was screaming and bucking against him, cream sliding from her, coating his cock, the muscles in her pussy locking down rhythmically around his sex and stroking him into climax as she screamed out his name.
Moments later, she sighed as he stroked her hair and soothed her into sleep. His name slid from her lips one final time as she slid into slumber. “Irian…”
The guilt in his gut faded away to a dull ache as he wrapped his arms around her and rested.
He didn’t really sleep, not even in this body. He hovered in a semiconscious state that charged his mind and magick, and allowed his soul to wander, his mind to remember. So much to remember, and so very little that was pleasant. When Irian dragged himself back to the present, he was aware of Tyriel’s firm little ass, snug against his cock, the sweet scent of her hair, those wild Jiupsu curls spilling all over his arms and chest, tickling his chin. His cock throbbed against her ass, a sweet ache, one he hadn’t had the luxury of feeling in years.
Ahhh…what was he to do? He could not allow the lass to leave. Such danger lurked for her. The blackness crowded at the very edges of Irian’s mind, his soul. Such a powerful thing she was…how could he force her into staying? If she wasn’t elvin, he could make her, physically, though such a thing sickened him. But the elf-kind were strong, stronger than mortal men.
She must stay safe…they needed her.
She murmured and sighed in her sleep.
The swordsman’s name.
A slow smile crept across Irian’s face.
She fled for fear the swordsman did not love her.
Aryn loved her well and truly, and even he knew it. It was his own mortality he feared.
If the daft fool would simply open his blind eyes…he lowered his mouth to Tyriel’s naked shoulder, the black curls tangling with and mingling with hers until he couldn’t tell where her hair ended and his began. Gripping one naked hip in his big, scarred hand, he pressed a hot, opened-mouthed kiss to her shoulder and started to pump his cock against the curve of her ass, using the heat and touch of his body to distract her as magick started to whisper through the air.
Blond hair spilled across Tyriel’s body, straight, thick, golden as the sun. Firm strong hands rolled her over and deep, deep blue eyes caught hers as those hands captured her face and his mouth found hers, his tongue pushing deep inside her mouth, bringing that unique taste. His body, lean, powerful, pale, covered hers and his thigh wedged between hers as he murmured her name against her mouth, that soft raspy voice, thick with sleep, sending chills down her spine. His hands raced over her body, cupped her breasts, pinched her nipples, plucked them. His hot, wet mouth closed over them and Tyriel sobbed out his name, reaching up, fisting her hands in his thick golden hair.
His teeth bit down on one nipple and she screamed, arching up. One hand cupped her, and one thick finger worked its way into the tight, slippery channel of her sex and she shuddered. His groan reverberated against her breast, sending another shudder through her body.
The fog clouding her brain was slowly, reluctantly lifting and she pushed at his shoulders. “Aryn?”
“Shh…”
His mouth covered hers again and he moved back up her body and gripped her thighs with his hands, pushing deep inside her body with one driving thrust. She moaned, the tight, wet clasp of her pussy closing over him in welcome as he surged forward, deeper and deeper until he was buried inside her to the hilt, the head of his cock resting against the mouth of her womb. She felt his fingers threading through her hair, his hands cupping the back of her head, magick whispering through the room, wild, and untamed.
“Aryn…ahh…all I’ve ever yearned…” She sobbed against his mouth as he ate at hers hungrily, his tongue sweeping and tangling with hers, withdrawing so that he could nibble at her lower lip. Pushing his tongue back inside, past her lips and teeth, he greedily took in as much of her taste as he could.
Wild magick…
Tyriel screamed against his mouth as he moved higher on her body, rubbing against the sensitized bud of her clit with each thrust of his hips. She reached down, dug her nails into the taut curve of his ass and pulled him more tightly against her, rocking her hips up, taking him as deeply as she could. She felt the rasp of his cock inside her, raking her swollen, wet tissues, the rounded blunt head passing over the sweetly hidden area inside, and she whimpered against his mouth, her head falling limply back.
Through the veil of her lashes, she stared up at him as he pushed up onto his hands, planting them beside her head, staring down at her with dark, hooded eyes of midnight-blue, that golden hair falling like silk around his strong, broad shoulders, raining down his back. Her eyes trailed down his body, lingered over his chest, the sculpted form of his pectorals, gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat before moving down to the bunching and flexing of his belly as he pumped his cock inside her.
Her breath caught inside her throat, staring down at it as he drove that long ruddy column of flesh back inside the wet well of her sex. A hungry, helpless whimper fell from her lips and she reached up, clutching at his shoulders, her eyes staring raptly at their joined bodies, his cock gleaming with her cream, slowly drawing out and pushing back inside.
On the third slow thrust in, she climaxed with a scream, the muscles in her vagina clamping down around his cock rhythmically, her hips jerking, her heart racing. Magick broke open inside and flooded the room.
His cock jerked within the tight grasp of her pussy and she felt the hot jet of his seed fill her as she started to drift back down.
It wasn’t until she was sliding back into sleep that something started to niggle at her mind.
Something wasn’t right.
There had been free magick before she climaxed.
Tyriel may lose control when she climaxed, but rarely. Now if she willingly dropped her control, that was another thing altogether.
And while the enchanter’s magick was slowly filling Aryn, it had not yet taken hold of him completely.
The magick had not been Aryn’s.
Irian…
You bloody bastard.
She knew he was trying to protect her.
If the darkness looming at her mind didn’t frighten her so, she might have been angry. But even with that blackness, Tyriel could not stay. Slowly, she sat up, wincing as muscles rarely used so vigorously went on vicious protest. Behind her, Aryn slept on, deeply. Irian forcing himself into Aryn’s body had drained both of them and that, at least, would work in Tyriel’s favor.
She reached up and stroked the amber moonstone between her breasts. Her nipples grew tight in the cool morning air as she rose gingerly, still stroking the pendant.
It was time to go home.
She’d visit the cousins in Bentyl first, pay her respects there.
But then…home.
To Averne, where she belonged.
Dawn wasn’t even a thought when she slipped out of the room, looking over her shoulder at Aryn’s nude body sprawled across the sheets. He was inhumanly beautiful, more than even the elvin kin
. The muscled curve of his ass, the long muscled lines of his back, his long golden hair hanging in a glorious tangle down his back and across his shoulder, one strand lying across the sharp edge of his cheek.
Damn you, Irian…what a memory to leave me with.
A hot, bitter wash of pain filled her chest and throat and she turned away, closing the door in silence. The heels of her hard-soled elvish boots were soundless on the wooden floors as she moved down the hall and the stairs.
Tears burned her eyes and a lingering ache throbbed between her thighs, inside her cleft. Riding wasn’t going to be such a pleasant act today. “Kilidare, you had best behave yourself,” she said aloud as she headed down the already busy streets. In her mind’s eyes, she could feel the mount’s interest, almost see his ears perk up.
And she never noticed the shadow moving up behind her.
Kilidare was worried.
His breed wasn’t horse.
And his breed was far more intelligent than a mere horse. He could run like the wind, track like a hound, puzzle and reason like a primate, but he needed a focus.
He needed his mistress.
And when his mistress didn’t appear right away, he forgot his worry after a time and he started to wander away.
The elvin steeds were originally wild.
What separated the elvin steeds from their wild forebears were their masters.
So he started to roam. But he waited and he remembered her.
Time passed, though. Their bond stretched ever thinner as he roamed the woods and plains of the area around the towne of Ifteril. She could still come. She would. She always did.
Chapter Nine
Her eyes were swollen, battered. Nearly impossible to open from the beating she had taken only hours before. An elf’s healing abilities made a human’s look laughable. Within three days, the marks from the beating would be all but gone. But it was draining.
Touch of Gypsy Fire Page 12
