Once Grenda had gone grumbling off to arrange for the horse, Bloduewedd dismissed Beteria to pack some belongings. Even her plainest clothes were far too grand to go with the fiction she had devised and she spent the evening removing buckles and beads and other decorations, and replacing fancy buttons with plain. The slave who did the shoemaking was able to provide her with some stout boots with no embellishment, and she even found an abandoned hat that was suitably sweat-stained and very plain. All in all, she felt her disguise was convincing.
When she finally sought her bed, she was too excited to sleep. She had so seldom been allowed to leave the confines of her fortresslike home and lands, and she was finally getting to do something that would help her mother. Something even Grenda had been unable to do, she thought with satisfaction, just before she finally fell asleep.
At dawn’s first light, Beteria rushed through a hasty breakfast and hurried to ready herself. Her mother was not an early riser, but Beteria had awakened with the fear she would change her mind and not allow her to go. When she arrived at the stables with her small bundle of spare clothing and a few personal items, she saw she had not been mistaken about Grenda’s intentions regarding the horse she was to take.
The boy minding the stable was apologetic when he indicated the knock-kneed, half-blind horse Grenda had led in the night before with instructions she be saddled with the oldest, shabbiest saddle he could find. Beteria assured him that she did not blame him. Once mounted, she found the horse was willing enough, and moved more quickly and smoothly than appearances indicated, and she shivered more with anticipation than cold as she headed in a direction that would allow her to reach Delinda’s estate while avoiding the village.
“I will make my mother proud of me,” she said aloud to herself. When the horse snorted in response, she laughed. “I guess Grenda thought she was doing me a disservice, but I think you and I are going to get along just fine.” She patted the creature’s neck. “When we get home, I will give you all the apples in the cellar just to see the look on Grenda’s face.” So saying, she rode off into the foggy morning, vowing her mission would be a success.
Chapter Nine
For the second time in two days, Delinda found herself sitting in a warm bath opposite Jeryl. This time, she had hurried to get into the tub first so she could have the pleasure of seeing his entire body before her view of the more interesting parts was obscured by the water. To her disappointment, he had modestly turned his back—although that view had been far from unpleasant—and then slipped into the water so quickly she caught only the briefest glimpse of the darker hair between his legs and the tantalizing object it surrounded.
Delinda listened to the low splash of the water overflowing into the lower, cooler tub. It seemed to be the only sound in the empty house. Other than the rush of blood in her ears, thrumming to the cadence of her heartbeat, which was unmistakably moving with a faster rhythm than usual for someone enjoying a relaxing bath.
She searched for something to say. The easy give and take with Jeryl, the only man she had ever known who would speak his mind before her, was one of the things she liked most about him. Usually, ideas tumbled to her tongue almost more rapidly than she could articulate them. Now, it was as if an invisible gag silenced her.
“The water is very hot,” he said suddenly.
“Yes, it is.
It appears I have not lost the power of speech after all. But why are we talking about bathwater?
In school, her business instructors had taught that the best way to engage someone in conversation was to introduce a topic that required a complex response. She searched for something, but her mind was vacant.
“I hope Letta and Ostyn can get all of their tasks done in one day,” she ventured.
“Yes, their lists were long,” replied Jeryl, and again they lapsed into silence.
Oh well, if I cannot speak, then I must do something. Delinda looked around for the long-handled brush she used to wash her back. She had to leave her seat to reach for it, and brushed against Jeryl’s leg. He jumped, making a splash, and she returned to her former position, hiding a smile. He is as uncomfortable as I am. Could it be for the same reason?
“I really hate using this thing.” She indicated the brush. “My mother and I always washed one another’s backs. It was much more pleasant.” She waited to see if Jeryl would recognize the opening. He did not disappoint her.
“I could wash your back,” he suggested. “And perhaps you could wash mine as well.”
“How nice of you to offer.”
She handed him a cake of scented soap and turned her back to him. The water lapped around her as he positioned himself behind her.
He is about to touch me. Delinda realized she had stopped breathing and made herself inhale slowly, resisting the urge to draw her breath in sharply at the moment of contact. He will feel me tremble.
Suddenly it was important that Jeryl not know how nervous she was, although Delinda could not have said why this was so. As the slippery soap—and his hands—began to move over her upper back and shoulders, sensations that were at one time unknown and as familiar as breathing arose in what seemed like every part of her body.
All he is doing is washing my back. And yet parts of her body—long untouched and seldom considered—quivered and tensed. Again, she had to regulate her breathing.
The hands slowed. Delinda feared he might stop. Perhaps I am holding too still, and he does not know that I like what he is doing.
“That feels nice,” she breathed. Actually, that feels so amazing that if you stop I may scream. She stifled a giggle.
The motion of the hands resumed. “I am glad you like it.” Jeryl’s voice sounded different—deeper, more resonant. It sounds like desire. It was the first time she had heard the tone in any voice, and it sent a quiver through her body she had no chance to suppress. There was no way it could have gone unnoticed.
Was it her imagination or did the manner of Jeryl’s touch on her back change? Cleansing no longer seemed the object of his hands. If felt more like…caressing.
Can I really do this? Men enthusiastically coupling with women was the stuff of tawdry novels giggled over by teenage girls. Her experiences in the breeding houses had dashed the images portrayed in those books. In her own fantasies about the men liberated by her plan, she had imagined no more than encouraging a shy but willing partner to accept the idea of mutual pleasure. Delinda squelched another nervous laugh. The idea of Jeryl being described as shy was absurd. But is he willing?
“Let me wash your hair.” His lips were close to her ear. She felt the air brush by and the hairs on her neck stir in response. Nevertheless, there was a twinge of disappointment at his request. Delinda had often had her hair washed and dressed by men in the city shops operated for this purpose. It had never been an especially sensual experience. Nevertheless, she reached languidly for the jar of petal-scented soap she had brought from the city, and saw Jeryl’s sun-bronzed hand reach from behind her to take it from her grasp.
She shifted so she could lie back and dip her hair into the water. As she looked up, she saw Jeryl’s face above her, smiling.
“You look like a mermaid.”
“What is that?”
“A creature that is half-woman, half-fish. They lure unsuspecting sailors to watery graves with the sound of their singing and their great beauty.”
Delinda laughed and sat up. “If any of them ever heard my singing voice, they would no doubt drown me instead of themselves.” But as Jeryl poured the petal soap into his palm and began to lather her hair, she felt warmth suffuse her face. “‘And their great beauty’. Does he find me beautiful, then?
Strong fingers slowly massaged her scalp and the back of her neck. When he reached around and captured a bit of foam from her temple before it could drip into her eyes, Delinda knew this was like no hair-washing she had ever experienced.
“Now rinse.”
As instructed, she pulled away and again tipped he
r hair back into the water, moving closer to the tub’s drain so the soap could swirl away. She lifted her arms and ran her fingers through the hair to aid in the rinsing, suddenly aware the movement had caused her back to arch and her breasts and belly to rise above the surface of the water. The cool air licked her skin and the warm water supported her, and the thought of Jeryl watching her made her nipples harden and throb.
She turned her head to see his face and froze. His stare was like the rahnta made visible. She could almost feel it physically. He wants me as much as I want him. When his gaze moved from her face to her breasts, it was almost a relief. He left his side of the bath and moved toward her purposefully.
“I do not think I am done washing you.”
She lifted her head and he pulled her around to face him. He was kneeling on the bottom of the bath, the water hitting him at the level of his navel. She followed suit, facing him. Water glistened on the hard planes of his chest.
The soap in his hands again, he began to wash her breasts. As his fingers slipped against slick flesh, an ache began between her legs that seemed to throb in rhythm with her increasing heartbeat.
Jeryl splashed clear water against her, washing away soap. He cupped one breast, lowered his head and placed his mouth on her nipple—and began to suck.
This time there was no chance she could stop the gasp that burst from her throat. Nothing in Delinda’s experience—no books, no visits to the breeding houses, no hints from her mother—had prepared her for what was happening to her body. It was like the rahnta beginning to flow, but somehow more elemental, more basic. She had needed to learn to call the rahnta. The magic that now pulsed and coursed through her very bones was as familiar as breathing and as strange as—
Jeryl’s teeth fastened on the hard tip of her nipple and tugged gently. If she had not already been on her knees, Delinda would have fallen. She threw her head back, closing her eyes and arching into the pressure of his hands and lips and tongue, and grasped the back of his head and neck to pull him closer.
Something hard poked her in the belly, and Jeryl groaned aloud. She opened her eyes and started to protest as the pressure on her nipple ceased, but the words never left her mouth.
His fully erect cock was clearly visible, its tip breaking the surface of the water. Fascinated, she reached out to grasp it, wrapping fingers around the shaft and touching the rosy head with her thumb.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Jeryl said, pulling himself from her grasp and taking her hands. “Not yet. I will not be able to stop myself and you are far from ready.” He got to his feet, pulling her up and against him. He put his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her as if she were a child. He set her on the edge of the tub and returned to his knees, spreading her legs apart to kneel between them. “Lean back,” he commanded.
A stack of what must have been the last of the clean drying cloths sat on the sturdy platform that extended to the wall. Reclining against them, Delinda did as he bade, not knowing why. As she watched, he lowered his focus from her face to the place between her legs. An involuntary spasm ran through her body as her most delicate parts seemed to be penetrated by his very gaze.
“Perfect,” he said. He placed one hand on the inside of her thigh and the world seemed to slow down as his other reached to touch the red curls at the bottom of her belly. With his thumb, he traced the slit between soft folds that felt oddly swollen. Her legs shook convulsively.
“Shhh,” he said, although she had not spoken, and the hand on her thigh stroked her as if gentling a skittish horse. “Relax, Delinda. Enjoy this moment.” A finger slipped into the cleft and probed along the inside of the lips, sliding upward to catch softly on the bud where they joined. When he took it between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed, all rational thought left her.
She closed her eyes, pictures flashing across her eyelids. A fountain bloomed in her mind, cascading light instead of water. Light and heat and pure, blinding sensation. A single narrow stream shot straight up into the air, bursting into a thousand tiny droplets that fell toward a shining surface.
Again and again it spouted, the water-magic cresting and falling like waves against a shore. A sound tore from Delinda’s throat, feeling like a scream but sounding more like a whimper.
The sudden cessation of the movement of Jeryl’s fingers was like plunging into cold water. She opened her eyes, out of breath as if she had just run up a long flight of stairs. Jeryl’s eyes, crinkled at the corners, gazed up at her.
“What?” she gasped. “Why did you stop?”
“You are the most amazing woman.” Jeryl reached up and pushed a curl away from her forehead. “You carry yourself like a queen, but you respond like a wanton.”
“A wanton?”
“Like you cannot get enough.”
He smiled, and the places he had been touching throbbed and spasmed in response. She certainly had not yet had enough. How can I tell him what he is doing to me?
“I have never…no one ever…” Words failed her.
Suddenly his lips were crushing hers. Her mouth parted in surprise and his tongue slipped between her lips. As he pulled her toward him and her breasts rubbed against the hair on his chest, she realized his tongue tasted delicious and it felt right for him to penetrate her—in any way. She sucked greedily on his tongue and gently bit his lower lip.
He climbed from the water now, and held himself over her on the pile of drying cloths. He took away his lips and she would have protested but his kisses did not stop, moving to her ear, her throat, her neck, then between her breasts. His lips and tongue traveled to her navel and he licked her belly.
Surely he will not… “Ohhhhh!” Placing his hands beneath her buttocks, Jeryl had slipped his tongue into the opening where only moments before his fingers had teased. He spread her open like a flower and heat bloomed through her as he bent to taste her.
When his teeth closed on the tiny knot of flesh, the spraying fountain in Delinda’s head returned, this time joined by a variety of similar jets. It was like the house of mirrors Delinda’s mother had taken her to as a girl—the sparkling gems of her pleasure dazzled her in every direction, reaching back and scattering forward at the same time.
This time, her body continued to shudder and spasm so that when Jeryl withdrew, it was a few moments before the cessation of motion reached her consciousness. She opened her eyes, which she had not even realized were closed, and found Jeryl poised above her.
“Delinda.” His voice was husky and his breath rapid. She could see the moisture of her body on his lips. “I must take you now. I can wait no longer.”
“Take me?” She looked down at his engorged member and felt a flush spread across the surface of her skin from hairline to toenails, like molten silver. Fully erect and without the distortion of the bathwater, Jeryl was enormous.
“As a man takes a woman, Delinda.”
“Yes.” While her mind screamed a warning that such a violation would be painful, if not impossible, her body said the opposite. Fill me. Fill every bit of me. She started to move, expecting Jeryl to roll onto his back and wait for her to mount him. Instead, he grasped her hands in his and spread her legs wider with his knees. Her eyes opened wide as the head of his cock probed the cleft, now definitely swollen and distended, and she could feel it slip easily, oiled by the wetness he had left with his mouth and the juices that had burst from her body.
He is going to impale me. She stared directly into his eyes and their gaze was a beam that stretched between them. The smooth head of his member teased and searched, finding what it sought, and her muscles tightened with thrills of anticipation and apprehension as its tip slid into her.
“Let me in, Delinda.” His mouth was only inches from her own, his breath sweet. “Let me come inside.”
With a final shudder of protest, the muscles relaxed and she felt the enormous, wonderful pressure as he pushed farther inside. His gaze did not falter, but something flickered in the depths of his green eyes. He was trem
bling, she realized.
“Come inside then, Jeryl,” she murmured. “Farther.”
Shuddering, he did as she bade. Beads of sweat appeared on his brow as he pressed more deeply and glided yet farther into her depths. His shaft felt hot, warmer than her welcoming flesh.
“All the way, Jeryl,” she said, knowing from the way his muscles quivered he was still holding himself in check. She lifted her knees, changing the angle to one that felt more accommodating. “Now!”
At last the gaze between them broke and, with a cry, he plunged into her.
Starbursts of light bloomed in her skull. It was like the joining of the Rahnta—they were no longer two separate beings but a single creature that writhed and pounded and sang with pleasure. She clung to Jeryl, screaming for him to come in to her farther, deeper, harder, faster.
Delinda had lost all sense of time and place—indeed, she and Jeryl seemed to float in an uninhabited universe, devoid of anything but the sensations that came from their own bodies. Then she heard Jeryl’s voice, shouting her name as if from a great distance.
“Delinda!” She was not sure if it was the second or thousandth time he had said it, but he stiffened and shuddered and let go of a great whoosh of breath. The hot spill of his seed jetted into her with an unexpected pressure, and she wrapped her legs around him and squeezed, savoring the final spasms of his member as his long release rolled over and through them.
“Delinda,” he said more quietly as he lowered himself upon her, pulling her to the side so all his considerable weight was not upon her.
Gradually, Delinda returned to the familiar surrounding of the bathhouse. The water still trickled in the tubs and the light still shone through the windows. They were lying on the wooden platform that surrounded the tub, only half on the tumbled pile of drying cloths. She lifted her head. The various sponges, brushes, soaps and other bathing accoutrements were scattered on the floor and in the tub itself, the precious jar of petal soap upended into the water where its sweet scent was already washing away.
Men In Chains Page 16
