Oria's Gambit (25 page)

“Yes, yes, yes.” She ached there as never
before. “Touch me please.”

He dropped to his knees, eye level with her
sex and she watched him, rapt, abruptly aware that he’d never
undressed. “Take off your shirt,” she told him.

With a half-smile, he complied. “As you
command, Princess.” He picked up another scarf, threading it
between her ankles and holding the ends in each hand, one in front
of her and one behind. Working as slowly as before, he wisped the
silk up the inside of her thighs, tantalizing her into edging her
feet apart. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he dragged the
scarf between her slick nether lips, sliding against her so she
whimpered at the intensity of it.

“This is my hand, parting your folds,” he
whispered. “There, yes?”

She had no words, only moans of encouragement
as slipped against her, making her move her hips with it, just as
he’d promised. “That’s it my hot little princess,” he crooned,
“take your pleasure from me. My hand stroking you. You feel so
good. Here’s my mouth on you.”

He imagined it, inhaling her scent, and she
groaned at the sight of his dark curls between her thighs as the
silk worked her. The tension built and she struggled against the
mounting pressure. “I want,” she panted. “I need.”

“Take it then,” he rasped. “Let go. Let go of
all of it.”

“No.” She closed her thighs around the silk.
“I want all of it. Take me, all the way.”

“It’s easier to give you pleasure this way
and—”

“I don’t care. The first time, I want this
with you. Make me yours, Destrye.”

He rose to his feet, expression intent, ardor
swirling about her as if he ran his hands over her flesh indeed.
“Shall I plow between your pretty virgin thighs? Take your
innocence and make you mine forever more?”

“Yes!” she urged him, all concept of dignity,
of reserve in
hwil
vanished. She’d become a wild thing.
“Take me. I’m yours to ravish.”

He lifted a hand to hover near her cheek, but
checked himself from touching her. “So beautiful, my powerful
sorceress. So helpless before me.” His hand dove into her hair,
winding it around his fist and tugging remorselessly so her head
tipped back exposing her throat. “Spread your legs for me,” he
growled.

With a sob, she complied, the opening rocking
her apart, with all of her so vulnerable to him. Something touched
her thigh, cool and smooth, making her tense. What was it? He
tugged her hair and slid it between her nether lips, making her
moan, making her forget.

“This is my cock.” His voice came harsh and
uneven. He pressed it against her aching flesh and pictured
crawling between her spread thighs and pushing back her knees,
positioning himself at her entrance. “I’m going to take you, my
lovely Oria.”

“Yes. Lonen. Yes.”

He nudged it into her, spreading her slowly,
working it back and forth, so she adjusted to the invasion. “This
is me, fucking you.” In the fantasy he turned her over, holding her
hair like the reins of a horse, making her arch her neck even as he
pulled her hair in reality, pushing the thing in and out of her.
“Keep those pretty thighs spread wide,” he cautioned, “or I’ll tie
them apart. Don’t make me hurt you.”

Or his hand could brush her skin there, even
as carefully as he moved. It felt so good, the filling and
stretching, her body quickening, picking up where it had been. She
moaned. “I don’t care. I want you in me for real. Fuck me for real,
Lonen. I don’t care if it hurts.”

He breathed a wild and ragged laugh. “You
would tempt the purest of men to such depravity. Sweet as it will
be to sheath myself in you, that day has not yet come. But you’re
mine just the same. Tell me so.”

“I’m yours.” She felt it, too, in the syncing
of their bodies, the fantasies he fed her and she drank in, pumping
back to him with her cries of need and the undulations of her naked
body. “With me.” The words cracked, so she repeated the demand.
“Take yourself in hand and be with me.”

With a muttered oath, he released her hair,
reaching to undo his leather pants. Avidly she watched him grasp
his cock, fisting it as he pumped a like phallus in her. She caught
his gaze, the gray catching silver sparks, and poured some of her
sgath into him, just a taste, enough to feed his fires. He snarled
and pumped harder, a spur of the phallus in her grinding a
sensitive spot.

Eyes locked on his, she let go of all
reserve. He grunted as he came and—just as he’d promised—she
screamed his name when her world split apart.

L
onen fell to his knees
with the power of the climax, Oria shuddering with the aftershocks
of her own orgasm, gleaming like a goddess of fire, her body slick
with sweat and sex. His goddess. His queen.

Carefully he slid his dagger hilt from her
sweet sex, beyond glad that the wide guard had shielded his hand
from her intimate tissues. He’d forgotten himself there at the end,
in his excitement, slamming it into her. No blood on her thighs,
though, so he’d been right on judging the size. Smaller than his
own girth, so easier for her than if he’d penetrated her for the
first time. Perhaps by the time they found a way for her to
tolerate contact with him, she’d be accustomed enough that he
wouldn’t hurt her. A good thing, as he’d promised.

Oria smiled at him, stray wisps of hair
plastered to her cheeks and temples, her face a perfectly erotic
blend of sensuality and satisfaction. Setting the dagger aside, he
rose to free her, releasing her from the bed post so she could sit,
then untying the bonds around her wrists. She sighed as she plucked
the ribbon ties from her nipples and wiggled out of the binding
scarves, then flopped back with a gusty breath. Bemused, he watched
her as he wiped himself and then the floor where he’d spilled his
seed.

Perhaps his seed once parted from his body
wouldn’t hurt her, but he hadn’t been sure. A man’s seed contained
a great deal and who knew how it would affect his sensitive Oria.
Something they could test, however, in judicious amounts. He might
be able to spill his seed on her and work it inside. With something
better than his knife hilt. Perhaps he could speak to one of her
glass forgers to create a phallus for the purpose. Several of
various sizes would be useful, to determine which best pleasured
her.

That would be an interesting
conversation.

Still, the thought of Oria bearing their
heirs lit a fire of hope in him. They would find a way.

Moving carefully, he edged himself onto the
bed around her. Lazily, she turned her head, her coppery eyes
owlish and sated. “Why aren’t you naked?” she asked.

Raising his brows at her, he sat up, shucked
off the pants he’d just fastened, along with the boots he’d never
gotten around to removing, and rejoined her, obligingly naked as
she.

“Lie on your back,” she commanded, and he
did, bemused, watching her look at him.

“I thought you’d already seen me naked,” he
reminded her.

“Yes, well.” She gave him an impish smile—a
delightful one he’d never before seen, that curved her luscious
lips and brought dimples to her cheeks—and returned to her
scrutiny. “I may have exaggerated. I tried not to look.”

“And now?”

She raised her gaze to his again. “I like
looking at you. I understand now why you wanted to see me.” She
gestured at his flaccid cock. “Good thing you didn’t have a wound
there to tend after all.”

He winced at the prospect. “I’ll do it, but I
won’t say I’m not savoring the reprieve.”

“I think I could do what you did to
yourself,” she said, a hint of shyness in her smile. “Maybe by
wrapping cloth around my hands or some such.”

His cock stirred at the image. “In Dru we
have thick garments for our hands, called gloves, that we wear for
warmth. I’ve thought of that for both of us.”

She cocked her head with interest. “I’d like
that.” She sobered then. “I thought about using grien to touch you,
but ….”

“Yeah.” He grinned and picked up a lock of
her trailing hair, winding it around his finger. “Maybe after
you’ve practiced a bit more. I wouldn’t want to be emasculated by
my sorceress bride. Think of what the other guys would say.”

“Good incentive for you to mind your smart
mouth, Destrye,” she replied in a tone so arch he wanted to pull
her down and drown it with a kiss. She read it in him, her eyes
wandering over his face. “I know you don’t want me to apologize,
but I’m sorry you can’t do that, kiss me and touch me for
real.”

“This is real,” he returned. “And it’s more
than I knew to hope for. You are the burning fire in my heart,
Oria.”

Her gaze went dewy. “This is more than I
imagined to hope for, too.”

“Even if I’m not a perfect match for you?” he
teased.

She shuddered lightly, a delicious sight on
her naked form. “I can’t even imagine being like this with anyone
but you. Thank you for making this so good for me.”

“It’s all you, Oria.” He fingered the lock of
hair. “This would be when we’d cuddle. I’d pull you close against
me and hold you in my arms. I’d whisper how sweet and lovely you
are, and you would tell me what a huge cock I have.”

She burst out laughing and hit him with a
pillow. “How about something to eat instead, and then sleep?”

He grinned at her, delighted in everything
about her. “Sounds great. Big day tomorrow.”

She stilled in pulling on her chemise. “What
are we going to do about the contest?”

“Our best.” He tugged her hair. “Between the
two of us, that’s not inconsiderable.”

In the morning, they descended the stairs together.
Oria rested her hand slightly on Lonen’s sleeve, where he’d created
padding by wrapping his forearms in leather strips. Both for
Chuffta to land on and for her to touch, he’d explained, muttering
something about similarly sharp talons on each of them that she
ignored. Chuffta, riding on her other shoulder, wryly agreed.

She felt too relaxed to rise to Lonen’s
teasing. Too replete. Though she was sore in places, the slight
pain made her feel smug, rather than injured. And not at all
fragile. She’d married a man who pleased her well—and with great
inventiveness. To her surprise, she discovered she’d begun to
believe his assertions that they could triumph over anything.
Perhaps they
could
win the contest and the end of the day
would see her crowned Queen of Bára.

He’d been right, too, about their increased
intimacy. After all they’d done with each other, she felt more at
ease with him. Even at his greatest extremity he’d been careful of
her, taking her on that wild ride of pleasure beyond anything she’d
imagined. He’d relaxed, also, just what he’d declared good sex
would do. Even with shadows of caution threading through his
thoughts as he contemplated what they faced, his aura radiated
satisfied happiness and he shone with confidence.

Also, an idea had occurred to her.

“So,” she said quietly, though their voices
could hardly carry out of the tower and her sgath revealed no one
nearby until the guards at the bottom. The sheer audacity of the
idea had her reluctant to speak it too loudly. “I’ve been thinking.
If we’re to demonstrate a partnership of sgath and grien, perhaps I
can do both. Any grien tricks required of you, I can do, and you
can pretend to be generating them.”

He gave her a sideways look. “They’d never
believe I can work magic. They’d have to know it was you.”

She shook her head. “That’s it—a woman with
grien magic is even more unlikely than a Destrye with it. If they
see, they’ll believe. There won’t be any other explanation.”

“Too much risk. We don’t dare expose that
talent of yours.”

“
I agree. Too dangerous,”
Chuffta
chimed in, unsolicted.

“This is worth the risk,” she argued with
both of them. “Otherwise we’re certain to lose and I won’t be able
to wrest control of the Trom from Yar, and both Bára and Dru will
be doomed.”

Neither of her men liked it, but neither
could come up with a better solution.

“Maybe it won’t come to that,” Lonen said,
but the words lacked his usual optimistic confidence.

“I’ll save it for a last resort only, I
promise.”

“I never thought I’d wish for magic,” Lonen
muttered, then subsided into increasingly brooding thoughts for the
remainder of their descent.

Yar and Gallia met them in the courtyard
between the palace and temple, along with Priest Vico and a
considerable assembly of onlookers from all walks of life.
Apparently everyone wanted to witness the show. Juli, who’d been up
to help Oria dress and braid her hair, bowed and came to stand
behind her as an attendant. No sign of Rhianna, if the former queen
had even been told what was going on.

Just as well if not. Even with her
aggravation with Yar and disappointment in Oria, it would have to
be impossibly difficult to watch your only remaining children duel.
For that reason, Oria hadn’t sent a message. No matter how this day
turned out, their mother would face grief, which she had no ability
to withstand.