The Lone Warrior (35 page)

Mehcredi didn’t know how she knew, but for some reason she was completely assured he wouldn’t move until she signified she was ready. Gods, it was such a luxury to be able to stare into his face, close enough to count each fabulous eyelash, to drown in eyes gone the warm deep brown she loved, to know she could kiss his mouth until she died of the sheer pleasure. Wonderingly, she raised a trembling hand and laid her fingertips against the firm softness of his lips.

“Godsdammit,” he growled. “I have to—I can’t—” Turning his head, he blew out a breath and nipped her index finger. His hips shimmied the slightest bit as if he were powerless to prevent it.

Oh.
It didn’t feel so bad, not now. Cautiously, Mehcredi clenched her internal muscles against the intruder. If she concentrated, she could feel their heartbeats pulsing in concert, separated by only the thinnest of membranes. Being crammed with unyielding flesh was . . . interesting. His shaft was imperious, hot and hard and thick, throbbing against the muscular resilient walls of her sheath. When she gave an experimental wriggle, it kicked inside her, the most extraordinary sensation.

Walker made the strangest noise, deep in his throat, almost a whine.

“Fascinating,” she murmured, arching into him, running her palms down over the intoxicating sweep of a strong spine, from trim waist to taut buttocks. Beautiful, simply beautiful. She gripped, feeling quivering tension beneath her fingertips, the instinctive desire of the male animal to mate, to power into his female until he spilled.

Walker grunted, every muscle locked, the tendons in his neck taut. He could have been carved of cedderwood except for the pulse ticking wildly in his throat and the tremors that shook him, bone deep. Revelation burst in her brain, so bright that she blinked, awed. Gods,
this
was discipline, this was control. And it was costing him dearly. All because he didn’t want to cause her pain. Sister save her, on some level, the swordmaster must really care.

“I’m fine.” She smiled through incipient tears. “It can’t be harder than the
nea-kata
, can it?” Nuzzling his throat, she inhaled great gulps of clean male sweat and the dark spice that was uniquely Walker, building her courage.

Then she shot him a blazing all-out grin. “Welderyn,” she whispered. “Welderyn of the Shar. C’mon, show me what I’ve been missing.”

He didn’t speak, just dropped his head into the curve between neck and shoulder and flexed his hips, rocking into her slowly. Mehcredi gasped, startled by a wave of tingling pleasure. With each thrust, he increased the range of movement a little, the skin of his shaft sliding against clasping walls, caressing and finessing, a divinely dirty, slippery duet.

The sting of his first entry paled into insignificance in comparison with the rush of sensation building deep in her pelvis. Like a lover vine gone rampant in the first flush of spring, curling and twining, encasing her in coils of pleasure. Tilting her hips, she opened herself, one fist in the waterfall of his hair, the other in her mouth to stifle the moans.

“No.” Walker swiveled his hips, which changed the angle just enough to hit a sweet spot that forced a throaty cry out of her. Reaching up, he grasped her wrist, pinning it to the pillow. “Don’t.” Another couple of thrusts, deep and slow and luscious. “Let me hear you.”

“Oh gods.” Her neck went loose, her head rolling from side to side on the pillow. “What do I—
Ah!
What do I do?”

“Nothing.” Gradually, he increased the tempo, sweat beading his forehead and glistening on his shoulders. “Just . . . take me.”

Mehcredi opened her mouth, then shut it again. Smooth and hot, Walker was moving as if they’d both been oiled, each withdrawal a delicious drag against clinging tissues reluctant to release his girth, each push within filling her all the way to her womb with hot hard cock. Vestiges of the ache lingered, but overwhelmed by pleasure as she was, they no longer mattered.

“Good.” She gulped. “It’s good.”

Walker paused, buried inside her to the hilt, his balls a soft warm presence nudging sensitive folds. “You sure?” His shoulders relaxed. “Fuck, you’re tight.” A lock of raven hair flopped over his forehead, his bronzed face ruddy with passion and effort, and his teeth flashed in a smile so broad it qualified as a grin.

Mehcredi choked. Gods, this was the boy he’d been all those years ago, before the Trinitarians had robbed him of everything worth having—serious and reserved by nature, but with a well of sweetness and joy for those he loved. She thought she saw a shy mischief there, overlaid by the satisfaction of a randy lad who’d scored.

“Hold on,” he murmured, slipping his arms beneath her knees and splaying her open in a way that was positively embarrassing.

“Nngh.” She clutched his shoulders as he leaned into her, putting pressure on that sensitive spot at the top of her cleft. “Gods. Whoo. Aargh.”

Another glimpse of the grin that wrung her heart. “You make the best noises. Going to scream for me?”

“M-maybe.”

With a dark chuckle, he bent his head to lave the Mark, and she squirmed, cursing.

Abruptly, Walker tensed. “
Shit
. Mehcredi—” Gripping her shoulders, he pulled out and surged back in, the pace racking up until he was thundering into her, hard and fast, the bed rocking to the rhythm.

She had no breath to scream, though she wanted to—
needed
to. The new angle added an extra dimension, hitting her high with jolts of silvery sensation, while his cock powered into the core of her, a pumping counterpoint of lusty delight. Shocked, she recognized the dark blossom of energy suffusing her sex, her belly, her heart. Back in the House of Swords, when she’d brought herself to orgasm wearing his shirt, she’d feared she might die, but now she never doubted Walker would keep her safe, like a tall stalwart tree she could cling to in a storm.

Mehcredi dug her fingers into flexing muscle, her head reeling, her body hurtling toward a shattering climax. Was this what Magick was? What a shaman felt? A great vortex of whirling sparkling energy, fascinating and terrifying at once?

For an endless moment, she hovered on the edge of the abyss, whimpering, unable to fall, unable to look away. From very far away, she heard Walker groan. Then his voice, almost unrecognizable, muttering something in what must be Shar. His knuckles brushed her stomach, his fingers furrowing between the lips of her sex to the place where she burned.

When he pressed, she broke, crying out, clinging to his shoulders, while the room and everything in it spun away and she whirled among the heavens, a mote made of starstuff, as he’d said, perfect and beautiful. Her body bucked and writhed. Walker cursed, gritting his teeth.

But Mehcredi didn’t hear. Because strangest of all, as she quieted, panting, there was the same vivid sensation of the welcome shade of a great green tree, its branches a shelter that would never fail her. She’d never had a home—well, not in the sense of a place of her own, a refuge specially shaped for her heart and mind and body. But as she relaxed, she couldn’t help but wonder . . . Was this what it felt like?

“Ah, fuck!”

Mehcredi blinked. Walker threw his head back, the hair whipping about his shoulders. His rhythm remained powerful, but it had grown choppy.

“I’ve got you,” she said, wrapping her long limbs around him, as if he’d been a tree in truth, and she a lover vine.

The swordmaster groaned as if she’d reached into his chest and torn his heart out still beating. Then he froze, jammed deep, his cock rippling and jerking with the force of his climax.

Slowly, still breathing hard, he bent his elbows, until she could straighten her legs. Dipping his head, he snugged his nose into the curve of her neck, his hair brushing her cheek. Warm lips caressed the tender skin behind her ear. “Ah,
carazada
,” he murmured, no more than a thread of sound replete with satisfaction. “That was good.” His long body relaxed against her.

Mehcredi gathered up a fall of raven black and rubbed it against her cheek. So cool, so beautiful. “What’s that?”

“Mmm?”

“Cara—What you called me?”

“Nothing.” After a pause, he sighed and pushed up on one elbow. “Stay there.”

Her first impulse was to clutch him to her. Instead, she said, “Don’t go. This is nice.”

She got a heavy-lidded black stare, all swordmaster, but Walker didn’t speak. Gently, but firmly, he peeled himself away and went over to the water bucket.

Mehcredi shivered, the wash of his seed cooling on her thighs. The room reeked, a sharp, sweetish smell that must be sex. She wrinkled her nose, thinking about it, but no, she didn’t feel small or dirty, not this time.

The washcloth plopped back into the bucket, accompanied by Walker’s exclamation of disgust. “Godsdammit, the water’s cold.” He fixed her with a commanding eye. “Don’t get up.”

Even doing something as mundane as giving his genitals a casual swipe with a dirty shirt, he was a poem of long graceful muscle clad in gleaming bronze. Mehcredi drank him in, fixing every detail in her mind while she could. She’d known he had very little body hair, but her fingers itched to stroke the small glossy thatch that surrounded his cock. Would it be wiry, or as silky as the hair on his head? His scrotum was so close to bare she could see the plump curve of his balls nestled inside the tender rosy skin.

She mourned as he stepped into his trews, laced them up. “Where are you going?”

“Won’t be long.” With a single yank, he pulled the cover off the other bed and flung it over her. Another level stare. “Do not move.”

“Mmm.” Mehcredi yawned. The muscles in her thighs were complaining, but she was too boneless to be particularly bothered. As the door clicked shut, her eyelids slid down.

She woke to a cool rush of air, the dip of the mattress. Something wet and warm and soft traveled over her belly. Strong hands parted her legs. She forced her eyes open. “Nngh?”

“Only me.” He had a bowl of water on the nightstand and a clean soft cloth in his hands. As he stared down at her thighs, a frown gathered and his lips tightened. “Hold still. I won’t hurt you.”

Very gently, he ran the cloth over her inner thighs and up to her sex. When she hissed, he raised a brow. “Sore?”

Emotion closed her throat, so much so that the words emerged in a cracked whisper. “A little.”

The movement of the cloth stopped. “You’re crying!”

She sniffed. “No, I’m not.”

“How bad is it? I thought—”

Reaching out, she touched his shoulder with her fingertips. “It’s just—” She fought to regain her composure. “I’ve never had anyone . . . do anything like . . . look after me before.”

A long silence, but he rinsed the cloth out again, laid it between her legs and held it in place. His head was bent so she couldn’t see his face through the shining curtain of his hair.

“Walker? Would you—?”

He didn’t turn his head. “What?”

“Take off those stupid trews.”

That surprised a bark of laughter out of him. Mehcredi glowed with triumph.

A dark brow winged up. “You want to look?”

“You’re looking at me,” she pointed out.

“True.” Walker rose and shucked the trews with no trace of self-consciousness. He returned to the bed with a small towel in his hands. “You’re worth looking at,” he said, patting her dry.

He’d called her magnificent once. Deeply pleased, Mehcredi essayed a glance from under her lashes. “All men like to look at naked women.”

“Except your Trinitarian friend,” he said dryly. “Which, as you’ll recall, was the problem.”

Godsdammit, she’d wrong-footed herself. And it had all been going so beautifully. She pressed her palms to her hot cheeks. “Can we not talk about that? Please?”

Walker drew the covers up to her waist and turned toward the other bed. “Sleep. We have another long day tomorrow.”

Shit, he was disappearing behind his walls of ice and she couldn’t bear it! She’d thought fucking would make everything different. Wasn’t that how it worked? Rearing up, Mehcredi grabbed his hand and tugged. “No!” She swallowed hard. “Aren’t you supposed to stay here with me and . . . ah, cuddle? Or something? Isn’t that part of it?”

“Not necessarily.” His brows drew together, but his gaze had wandered to her nipples, which were puckering a little in the evening air. “Anyway, it’s a bad idea.” Though his voice was cool, his fingers curled around hers.

Heartened, she dropped her lower lip and arched her back. “I’m cold,” she said, as plaintively as she knew how.

Another brief chuckle, so rusty it sounded disused. “You’ll warm up,” he said, but he slid his lean length in beside her. “ ’Cestors, this bed is narrow.”

“Mm,” she agreed, closing her eyes in order to appreciate every smooth warm inch. But when she tried to wriggle closer, her elbow hit the wall. “Ow!”

“For the gods’ sakes, come here.”

A few seconds later, she was lying with her head pillowed on his shoulder, wide-eyed with shock. Sweet Sister of mercy, they fit together like two parts of a puzzle. Cautiously, she snuggled in closer, lifting one leg to rest over his. Her entire body humming with bliss, she drew wobbly circles on the hard planes of his chest with the very tips of her fingers.

After a few minutes, he laid a hand over hers, pressing her palm flat against him. “Tickles.”

His heart beat steadily, cupped beneath her hand like something precious, his nipple a fleshy pebble nudging her palm.

“Is fucking always like that?” she asked sleepily.

“No,” he said immediately. “Next time will be better.” The instant the words left his lips, his breath caught, but Mehcredi’s brain was too mazed, too warm and comfortable, to pay attention.

“I’ll die,” she said with complete conviction.

The only response was a grunt, but when she risked a glance, his mouth had softened. Those absurdly extravagant lashes lay against his skin like a delicate fan. Vaguely, she wondered if they were longer than her own and whether there was a way to measure. She was still considering it when sleep rolled over her.