After she had soothed his fear that she might stop him from enjoying intercourse with her, he had sunk into her with the intention of showing her some of the skill he had learned back in Mandare. While his older brother Kennal had treated his women as mere tools to pleasure
him
, Eduor had been fascinated by the ways he could make his own concubines react, depending on what he did to them. Giving them pleasure had been fun, even if it wasn’t expected of him.
The philosophy back home was that male pleasure was paramount, the most important thing in a sexual act, and female pleasure merely an incidental adjunct. Or perhaps something to be given as a reward for good behavior. In contrast, the philosophy in Midalla’s household was that her pleasure came first, her niece’s second, and that her war-slave wasn’t allowed to have any sexual pleasure in her presence. In the privacy of his own bed, yes, but not in her presence.
As cruel as we were to our women, that was even worse. At least, as far as I know, my father and brother didn’t punish their concubines for experiencing pleasure in their presence, and I know I encouraged it myself. But I also know that there were times when I didn’t bother to please my own war-slaves ... like I didn’t please Chanson, just now.
Except she seemed to understand I couldn’t help it,
he reminded himself, trying to soothe the guilt of that conflict.
She is just so beautiful, so different and wonderful ... and it had been too long. Just ... too long. I know she doesn’t demand pleasure, but she
should
have it, too. Though her comment about women being able to have it five or six times to a man’s twice or so, that fits with my own observations. I should ...
No
. He arrested that line of thought.
I should
not
feel obliged to “make it up to her” for the rest of our lives together, however long that may be. Not in the sense of being
obliged
to do it.
Wanting
to do it, yes, but not obliged, like it was a chore or an expectation, a demand. That’s what she means when she says “later” and what I believe she means. I believe it.
But ... I
do
want to give her pleasure,
he acknowledged, sitting up and looping his arms around his knees.
Even if part of that wanting is guilt-prompted, I do ... and I’m still wearing my sandals, aren’t I?
A chuckle escaped him. Looking around her room, he took in the wooden furnishings, carved in the local geometric patterns, but otherwise of modest quality.
This place is so simple and plain, compared to Father’s estates. But I love it here. As ... as I love her.
That was another piece of conditioning he would have to overcome, hearing his father’s voice in his younger ears telling him that men should never love a woman, nor especially admit to loving one, because women were treacherous creatures who would use that information to weaken and ruin them.
But if there’s a treacherous bone in Chanson’s body, I have yet to find it,
Eduor reminded himself.
Gods! These people are so straightforward. They’ll play practical jokes, yes, but they’re too opinionated to keep their feelings to themselves for long. And I am not my father, nor my brother, nor any sort of Mandarite at heart anymore, thank the Gods. I like these people, I especially like Chanson, I love spending time with her, and I want to spend the rest of my life here in Oba’s Well. It’s a good life. Hard, but I feel like I’m accomplishing something good when I work Falkon’s farm.
That was the only flaw in his life; the farm wasn’t his. Not its donkeys, its mare and her foal, its chickens, its wheat fields and ground nuts and acacia trees. None of it was his.
Yet. And I can’t . . . well, I
should
tell her how I feel, but I have nothing of my own to bring to her as a husband.
... Alright, enough lolling in bed. Hopefully you’ll get the chance to show her all the things you
do
know about making sure a woman enjoys herself in bed, too, but that’ll be later. Right now, you need to get yourself downstairs for the midday prayers.
“Oh, Eduor ... Oh ... ohh, Eduor ... Ohhhh, ohhhh,
yes
!” Arching her back, pressing her breasts closer to his suckling mouth, Chanson came.
Feeling her flesh, hot and slick, spasm around his first two fingers in time with her shudders, Eduor wanted nothing more than to sheathe himself inside his lover. But he had learned over the last month that it was better to let her rest for a little bit, if she was to fully enjoy intercourse. That meant gentling the pressure of his tongue and lips on her nipple, and meant sliding his hand up to her belly, letting it rest over her trembling muscles while they calmed back down. The scent of her pleasure filtered through the cool, predawn air, and the sound of her panting breaths eased into quiet breathing.
They lay side by side on Falkon’s bed. At least, the frame and mattress belonged to the absent owner; Eduor had since earned his own linen sheets and the light quilt accompanying them through his work in the village, helping his neighbors on their own farms and teaching the children. That had happened before the harvest season; now it was every man and woman and even the older children striving to bring in all that they could from their own fields. Eduor would have loved to help his fellow villagers, but Falkon’s farm was all he could manage during the daylight hours.
The long hours meant spending time with Chanson mostly in the late evenings, snatching as much rest as he could, and making love in the mornings. When they had woken and started, he could barely make out the shape of his hand on her stomach. Now the gray of twilight was picking up the colors of the day, and the golden brown of his fingers contrasted with the deep brown of her skin. She covered his hand with her own, pressing it to her belly for a moment, then dragged it up to her mouth and sucked on the two fingers he had used to please her.
Watching her do that, Eduor felt each suckle like a line tugging on his groin. This time, instead of wanting her lips to wrap around his manhood, he felt the urge to suckle her. Part of him still flinched a bit at the thought, but it was a smaller part than back at the start of the harvest season.
Much smaller; the beautiful woman lying next to him never demanded more than he wanted to give, and usually only just before the deepest moments of her pleasure. She gave as good as she asked, and then some. He wanted to do for her the one thing she had never asked for, though he wasn’t sure if he could, given his learned aversion. Or even if she’d want him to do it.
Her hand lifted to his face, bringing with it a hint of dampness and scent from his now-clean fingers. “I love waking up with you,” she murmured, giving him a warm smile. “Even if all we do is sleep, though this is very nice, too. And I love being with you. Everyone else demands so much of my time, as
dyara
and priestess, but you ... I know you spend time with me because you want to spend time with
me
.”
“I love you.” The words escaped him easily, surprising him. They hadn’t been on his mind, exactly, nor had he intended to say them this soon, but he didn’t retract them, either. Eduor twisted his head and kissed her palm. “I’d want to spend time with you even if you milked goats all day long. And I know how precious your free time is to you, busy as you are with the needs of the village. So when you want to spend it with
me ...”
“I do,” she agreed. Pushing up on one elbow, she kissed him. She started to curl up further, to kiss her way down his chest as usual, but Eduor didn’t want that.
“Another time,” he murmured, urging her back down onto the bedding. When she complied, he rose and pushed back the linen curtaining the lattice-framed window. Eastern light filtered in, promising another bright, hot day as soon as the sun rose. Returning to her, he climbed onto the bed between her calves and lowered himself to his stomach. It left his legs dangling past the bed, but it wasn’t too uncomfortable. At her startled look, he managed a smile. “I
want
to do this. If I can. I just ... need to
see
you while I ...”
She pushed up onto her elbows, concern pinching her brow. “Eduor, you don’t
have
to. Really.”
“I want to,” he repeated. A thought occurred to him, making him eye her warily. “Unless
you
don’t want me to?”
Her concern melted away, dissolving in an almost-shy smile. “I’d like you to. But if at
any
point you feel uncomfortable, you must promise to stop. I don’t want you to feel like, well, like you used to. That you
had
to do it. I’m quite happy with everything else we do.”
“Thank you.” Knowing she meant it, and that she wanted it, he settled himself into position. The sight of her young, firm thighs, short, nubbly curls, and dark rose flesh were all very different than before. Her scent was different, appealing to his senses because it was hers, and because he had learned to associate it with his own pleasure in the last handful of weeks, not just with hers.
Still, it took him a few moments before he extended his tongue. Just the tip of it brushed against her folds, but she jumped and quivered as if he had tickled her ribs. The sharp intake of her breath, followed by tight-muscled silence, warned him she was anticipating his reaction. Shifting just a little closer, he flicked his tongue a second time. Again, she trembled.
She also tasted good. Better than good, clean and sweet. Dipped from the source, she tasted divine. Scooting closer, Eduor pressed his mouth to her nether lips and licked, slow and deep, before settling in for some serious loving.
Chanson moaned and clutched at his hair. At her request, he had unbound his braids last night so that she could play with the long, soft curls, and now buried her fingers in the strands, holding him close. A few moments later, she gasped and jerked her fingers free. “Sorry!”
He didn’t get it for a few moments. Swirling his tongue around her pleasure peak, he realized belatedly why she wasn’t touching him anymore.
She must think her hands in my hair is too much of a demand—she’s always careful that way.
Loving her thoughtfulness, but not wanting to inhibit
her
reactions—his own inhibitions were more than enough—Eduor fumbled for one of her hands. It wasn’t easy since he couldn’t exactly see what he was doing without stopping, but he managed to catch one by the wrist and drag her fingers back to his scalp. Her happy sigh, heard between moans, heralded the return of her other hand as well.
Humming in encouragement, he returned to his task, until her moans grew embarrassingly loud, and a freshet of liquid told him she was on the verge of another crux of pleasure. Abandoning her loins made her groan in disappointment, but it didn’t take much for him to crawl fully onto the bed. The hands that had tangled in his curls now clutched at his shaft, positioning him for a perfect sheathing.
This time, the slick, inner trembling of her flesh clasped more than just his fingers. This time, as he drove into her, his name echoed off the plastered walls of the little bedroom, far more than a breathy moan. This time, he knew he was able to get over his aversion to suckling her; his tongue would no longer get him into trouble with this wonderful woman.
“Ohhh ... Chansssson!” He shuddered and buried his face in her throat, spending himself with a groan—and flinched as she tugged hard on his locks. It seemed his tongue might not get him into trouble anymore, but his hair definitely would.
“Goddess,
yes
!” she shouted, bucking and bowing her back underneath him, before slumping and panting heavily. Rearing back to ease some of the pressure, he flexed his hips a few more times, watching her enjoying herself. Her eyes, strained shut during the peak of her climax, fluttered open. She stared sightlessly at the ceiling for a while before she finally focused on him again.
Her warm smile, clearly seen in the light of dawn, made him want to melt into her and never leave.
“Thank you,” she murmured, gently untangling her fingers from his locks. Stroking his hair back from his face, she gave him a somewhat lopsided version of her smile. “Sorry about pulling on your hair, there. And for screaming so loud. I think your neighbors know what we just did.”
“If they haven’t figured it out by now, they haven’t been paying attention,” he quipped, though he blushed as he said it. Then he felt his skin from forehead to chest burn as the voice of his nearest neighbor, Frandon, wafted through the open window.
“Oh,
believe
me, we know what you two have been doing. That you even have the energy for it during harvest tells me you’re not working hard enough.”
Grateful the windows were placed too high for anyone to look inside, Eduor eased off his lover and pulled the sheet up over her body. “I’ll get the crops in.”
“Yes, you will.”
That wasn’t Frandon’s voice. That was Marison’s voice. Instinct had Eduor grabbing a corner of the sheet and whipping it over his groin, even as Chanson clutched it to her breasts. They fought for a brief second, then managed to cover themselves. Not that anyone could see inside, but it was the thought of being seen that was enough to make them cover themselves.
“Mother?” Chanson asked as she gave up half of the sheet to Eduor. “Um ... what are you doing up so early?”
“Nothing like what you’re doing.” The humor in the older woman’s voice was evident. “But we decided we like you, young man, and we want you to stay. That means ensuring you have a place to stay, and something to do ... aside from spending time with my baby girl.”
There’s the hint of matronly censure I’d have expected,
Eduor thought.
But—thank Sundra—only a hint of it.
Clearing his voice, he asked, “And that means ... ?”
“Helping you with the harvest.” That was the voice of another villager, alarming Eduor and his lover.
Kedle added her voice, startling both occupants of the bedroom anew. “You’ll have time for settling all of that later, children. Get up and get dressed, you two. Marison brought you breakfast, and the whole village has decided to help bring in every last fruit and grain they can from your fields. And you’ll have Jimeyon to thank for it, too.”