by Dara Joy
Her hair tickled his thighs. He lifted his head. "What are you about down there?"
She smiled against his curls. "Should I show you or tell you?"
The edges of his lips curled up. He rested his head back on the pillow, folding his hands behind his head in a waiting posture.
Green chuckled. "I see."
"What?" he drawled. "I am merely resting. Which as you know I need after the ordeal you have put me through."
"You're right. You do need to rest." She stopped her ministrations and scampered up the length of him.
His face fell. "I was teasing." He paused. "You need not stop, Green."
"Yes, I do. You are sore and raw. It would not be right of me to continue."
"I'm fine, I assure you. Do not stop on my account," he offered graciously.
Green gave him a look.
"And what brought about this change of attitude?" She rested her chin on his chest, waiting.
He stared at her, realizing what he had just admitted. Not only had he liked what she had done to him, he liked how she had done it. In fact, he was hungry for more. Even so, he wasn't ready to admit that. Especially since she had bid for him against his will. He was not going to get over that so easily.
"Hmm? I didn't hear you."
He fumed. "I think you heard me very clearly awhile ago."
"Yes, the entire estate and probably half the countryside heard you, my wild one." Her finger played with his nipple, circling and rubbing. "I liked it."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "I was not referring to that." He paused. "I don't think half the countryside heard me."
"You may be correct."
He gave her a cautious look, waiting for the other boot to drop.
She obliged. "No doubt the entire countryside heard you."
He snorted. "You mistake your own yells." The look he gave her was so engagingly sweet that Green felt her heart warm.
"Tomorrow, I'll make sure they hear you all the way to Capitol Town."
He sucked in his breath. "You think you could do that?"
"Oh, yes." She pressed her lips to his in a deep kiss. This rare part of him was so sweetly artless. She realized that he had become vulnerable with their lovemaking. It surprised and moved her.
"Mmm," Jorlan breathed into her mouth. "I like your kisses, Green; I always have."
"I know." She slipped her tongue inside, tasting him.
Jorlan's pulse speeded up. "That does not mean I am any less disposed to this situation."
"I know." She suckled on the tip of his tongue.
Jorlan hardened instantly. "You know, I am not that sore, Green..." he assured her again. Just in case.
She pulled back. "You are more sore than you think, and if we continue in that way, you will be very uncomfortable tomorrow."
"Perhaps I will endure this soreness if—"
She placed her hand over his lips. "There are other ways. I will show you."
His pupils flared. "More than what we have done?"
"Oh, much more." She grinned.
"What ways?" He laved her fingers, letting his tongue curve around and between. "Tell me."
"Tell you?"
"Show me," he mouthed.
She rolled off him and left the bed, heading for the bathing chamber.
"Is this something we are to do apart?" he joked, calling after her.
She laughed. "Nooo. I am getting a basin of water." A basin of water? His agile mind played with the possibilities. What could his name-giver do with that? She returned, carrying the water bowl and some cloths.
He looked at her skeptically. "What do you do with those?"
She chuckled. "Well, nothing too serious. We need to clean you off, blaze-dragon. There is always blood the first time."
He hadn't realized that. He glanced down, seeing the smears streaking the length of his manhood.
He paled. "I did not realize."
"No, of course you didn't. Men are worried enough about the fastening. There is no sense in scaring someone silly with talk of blood." She carefully dabbed the smears with the water-soaked cloth. The cool liquid felt good on him. Her soothing care felt better. She was being very thoughtful. Again, he realized most name-givers would not be so.
"Will the bleeding continue?"
"No. It is from the membrane. Once it is ruptured, it is over." She finished cleaning him up. "There; good as new."
"Maybe better," he drawled. "Thank you, that was... kind of you."
She looked at him surprised. "You are my name-bearer, Jorlan. I will always take care of you."
He was not happy with her response. "I see."
"I doubt you do, but I hope you will in time."
"Green?"
"Yes?" She placed the bowl with its pink-stained water on the table beside the bed.
"What did you mean earlier when you said it would be more painful for me than others? Why did you say that?"
Green walked back to the bed and sat down on the edge. She took his hand in her own. "Jorlan, have you never noticed anything different about yourself?"
His brow furrowed. A sudden angry expression clouded his features. "I have told you—I am not a Santorini."
She was not sure about that, but decided to let that go for now. "Perhaps, but I am speaking of something else."
"What?"
"The way you respond to touch, for instance... "
"Not all touch." He gazed at her. "You do not have to tell me I am acutely susceptible to your touch; I have already learned this."
Green paused. He had just admitted something to her that he was not even aware of. He was not just affected by her touch, he was susceptible to it. She put the revelation away to contemplate later, when she was alone.
"What?" He watched her carefully.
She took a deep breath. "I believe you are a Sensitive."
"A Sensitive. You have mentioned this before. What pray tell, is that?"
"We're not sure, exactly... " she hedged. He waited. Silently, patiently. In control. The very qualities that many had observed in lyrical exposition about Forus. The enigmatically beautiful moon they lived on had often been cited as having mystical, arcane depths. The methodologists had indulgently agreed—in the poetical sense only.
Green wondered. It struck her that Jorlan was a strange combination of naïveté and ancient wisdom. In certain practical matters of life, he seemed to have little or no knowledge; yet in deeper things, he seemed to have an abiding intuition, an almost uncanny sense of the collective consciousness. He reflected attitudes beyond his years.
There was true, innate strength within him. She was not sure if he recognized it—or, was well aware of it yet hid it from others.
"There have been very few Sensitives that we've known of to study."
His expression froze at that and she reassessed her earlier supposition. He knows something is different about him. He protects himself.
She cleared her throat. "We do not know why, but on rare occasions a male is born who seems to have certain extrasensory abilities."
"What are these abilities?"
She shrugged. "They appear to be completely different for each individual. One was seen to have a pre-knowledge of the coming of arc storms... " She watched him carefully. No hint of expression crossed his features to give away his thoughts.
"Another," she continued, "knew where the underground rivers flowed across the desert plains to the west."
"These seem like very innocuous abilities, as you call them. Why the interest?"
"Regardless of their particular areas of strength, there are three attributes all Sensitives seem to have in common. One is a superlative receptive ability with anything involving aesthetic perception."
His eyelash flickered.
"They also have an elusive beauty about them."
"So?"
"So this makes them a very rare and sought out—you'll excuse the expression—commodity by the Top Slice. Such males have urgent, profound desires; they
are entwined with all things sensual. Once introduced to pleasures of the flesh, they become master and slave to passion at the same time. In short, they are phenomenal lovers."
A strange smile played about his lips. "And you think I am like this?" He laughed softly.
Green arched her brow. "I think you have the capacity for this, yes."
A flash of white teeth showed her what he thought of that. "I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or not."
"It is not about feeling flattered. It is about what is. Your bed price would have been enormous, if it was believed you were a Sensitive. I might not have been able to afford you."
His face darkened.
"Sensitives from aristocratic families are seldom seen. Ironic, isn't it—if you thought to hide this attribute to prevent the bidding. You probably would not be here right now. In all likelihood, you would have gone to the House of a Duchene instead."
"I was already in the House of a Duchene." Green viewed him thoughtfully. He wasn't as opposed to this fastening as he would have everyone believe. She wondered if Jorlan was more opposed to the concept of the fastening itself rather than the idea of being with her. He had more than enjoyed the coupling. "Yes, you were."
He rubbed his lower lip with his forefinger. "What was the other trait you spoke of regarding these Sensitives?"
"They all have a strange connection to Forus. It almost appears transcendental, really; it is not well understood."
"How is this transcendence displayed?" He sat up in bed and rested back against the twining columns of sheensui bark that made up the crafted piece. The sheensui had been twisted and formed around the bed. Over the years, it slowly continued to grow, taking its moisture directly from the air. Eventually, the columns would bend and meet, forming a lovely latticed arch over the bed; a cocoonlike haven for its occupants.
"We've only observed fragments. Their ambient mood cycle mirrors the path of the moon around Arkeus. Intense introspection at apogee, illuminating insight at perigee."
"Perhaps it is coincidence."
"No, it is more. The observations have been too profound. There are some methodologists who have gone so far as to say that Forus seems to respond to these people in some arcane—"
Jorlan snorted.
"I know it sounds absurd, but I tell you the phenomena have been observed on more than one occasion—and with different Sensitives. The methodologists have no explanation for it."
"And you think this describes me? A deviant who enigmatically resonates with the spirit of Forus moon?" He laughed hollowly.
Green gazed at him sharply. She hadn't said anything about the "spirit" of Forus. "What I think is that if there existed a Sensitive of strong attributes, who was also powerfully linked in some way to Forus, he would do his best to hide it. After all, he would be constantly walking a dangerous line."
Jorlan's lids lowered. Aqua sparks glinted between black lashes. "Perhaps you simply wish to think you got an exceptionally good bargain for the bed price, Marquelle."
"Perhaps. Time will tell."
"And if you are correct in your assumptions—what then?"
Green toyed with the edge of the coverlet. "If such a person were also of strong temperament, then it could be argued that he could be a threat to our way of life."
"Would you see it that way?"
"No. Such a person would need a strong name-giver to temper his rash emotions while guiding his strength to its full potential."
"Are you such a person, Green?" He spoke softly.
It was as close as he would come to revealing himself and she knew it. "I am such a person, Jorlan. But, regardless of what may or may not be, know this: I will allow you freedom here on the grounds of my estate, where you may explore your own thoughts. However, I expect you to behave civilly and always to respect the traditions of the House to which you now belong."
His nostrils flared; he hated to be hemmed in by these foolish rules of society! Hated it. "How could I not keep your blessed traditions?" he snapped.
"Jorlan," she said in warning.
He folded his arms across his chest and gazed up at the interlocking branches above. "How like these sheensui we are, Green. Entwined by another hand, we now grow inexorably together. What final pattern will we make?"
"What, indeed, Jorlan."
It did not escape her that he had neither committed to the rules set before him nor admitted to anything of a more personal nature. He was a shrewd, astute debater, better than many so-called masters on the floor of the Septibunal.
A tiny smile graced his face, an acknowledgment of her own cleverness. He interlaced his fingers and stretched his muscular arms out. "So, name-giver, what were these 'other' ways you spoke of? To experience pleasure differently?"
"Didn't forget that, did you?" She gave him a wise look.
"I simply am curious to seek knowledge." He attempted to appear innocent. "Of course."
His eyes gleamed with amusement. "Show me how it is we can achieve pleasure 'other ways,' " he whispered, "or I will forever doubt that such a thing is possible and—"
He lost his voice because Green's mouth was already showing him and had come very close to his oversensitized manhood in the process.
He could feel the heat of her breath on him. Moist and searing.
All she did was breathe over him, yet to that tender skin it became so much more. Hot streams of air embraced him like a sultry breeze, stimulating the responsive tissue. Like Forus breath...
Jorlan closed his eyes; his private vision one of connection and continuity with cycles of rotation and life.
Then she suddenly blew on him, cool, moist puffs that contrasted sharply to the steamy heat. Uninhibit-ediy, he moaned as his responding arousal invigorated every pleasure center in his body. Shivers coursed through him. "You can do this to me without physical touch," he rasped. "How is it so?"
"You are a Sensitive, Jorlan. Your ability to feel is not rooted simply in the tactile perception, it is more, deeper. This pleasure I will give you will awaken many responses."
"I am not what you think," he groaned hoarsely, already losing himself in the erotic stimulation.
She ignored his denial, paying more attention to his response. "This will not irritate the tender area, for there will be no handling or rubbing."
He was surprised. "You think to bring me to release without touch there?" His breathing deepened, thickened.
"Yes." She pressed her soft mouth to his groin, kissing and laving him everywhere but where he most wanted to feel her lips. As expected, his response was stellar. The low sounds rolling from deep within his throat told her what she needed to know. Jorlan was giving himself over to the passion.
She slid up the side of his body, her warmed skin like the finest, supplest coverlet over him. Jorlan's entire body shook with his awareness. He lifted his head to kiss her. She pulled back, lifting her breast for him, sweeping it against his mouth in invitation.
His pupils blazed with desire and he quickly took her into his mouth, suckling greedily on the sweet, hardened tip.
He was an adept novitiate. Soon his drawing actions changed, became subtler, his tongue flicked over the hardened peak, he let it skim over his face, his eyes, and to his lips again. It was as if he had delved into the sensation and lost himself in it.
And by his wanton actions, he was drawing her right along with him.
Now it was Green who cried out in pleasure. She ran her hands through his hair, feeling the soft strands slide between her fingers. Never had she experienced such an exquisite sense of response!
He called out, a low, rumbling ache of sound that vibrated to her toes. The outcry was so erotic, so sensualistic, that she cried out with him.
"You taste intricate, Green. Like the variations in a Ramagi web... " Imitating her earlier actions, he pulled back to gently blow a stream of cool air over the protruding, moistened tip. Green trembled in his arms.
He glanced up at her through his lashes and smiled slig
htly. A combination of age-old knowledge and new delight.
Emboldened, he breathed hotly over the same spot, making her sigh his name.
That was when Jorlan discovered three very important things. He discovered that he loved provoking this response from her; he loved watching her as he showed her his response; and he loved the sense of power all of it made him feel.
In that moment, Jorlan Reynard broke free of a thousand years of male sexual conditioning.
He became the aggressor.
Shocking her, he wrapped his arms tightly about her waist, bringing her down on top of him on the bed so that they were flush against each other. His fingers skimmed along her sides, brushing back and forth, up and down as his mouth once more laved her breasts. Taking the tip and a good portion of the plump breast into his mouth, he drew heavily upon the globe. He experimented by flicking his tongue across the swollen peak. And then his teeth.
Her moaning reaction was all he needed. He feasted on her then. Showing no mercy, he laved and flicked and suckled and bit. His hands cupped her under her arms, easily lifting her higher so his mouth could find better access to her chest, the underside of her breasts, the satiny plane of her torso.
"Jorlan," Green gasped, placing her palms on his shoulders. She tried to think, but it was impossible! A familiar dizziness assailed her. Something about what he was doing was...
She blinked. He said she was as intricate a Ramagi web, but he was spinning it! "You—!"
He quickly interrupted to shift her focus. "Do you not like what I am doing, name-bearer?" His teeth captured the tiny bud in an abrasive graze. He tugged sharply, slowly letting the firm tip slip from his grasp.
She lost her breath completely and tried to wiggle away from him.
He held her fast.
He discovered his revenge. He rediscovered his capture. In a sense he felt as if his true shield had been broken, and with it, he felt himself come alive. It was strange yet wondrous. Powerful yet humbling.
For he was neither hunter nor prey yet both at the same time. She had pierced him, but he thought he just might have the ability to shatter her.
Sexually, at any rate.
Jorlan came to the revelation that what he had initially viewed as his surrender may in fact become his release.