Guardian's Patience, page 17
part #5 of Guardians of the Race Series
There was that other time, when her body was just about perfect, but the dream was far different from the reality and ended in disaster. She tried not to think of it, but it was always there in the back of her mind. She gave herself a mental shake.
She was what she was and she made the best of it. But what if her best wasn’t good enough for Broadbent?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she whispered.
Broadbent blinked and his eyes returned to her face. “I’m thinking that’s a lovely ensemble you’re wearing, but I’d rather see you naked.”
It was Pinkie’s turn to blink and blush. “Naked?”
“I do apologize,” he said, looking a bit surprised by his own words, “That sounded quite crass, but you did asked me what I was thinking, didn’t you?” He wasn’t quite sure. He cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. He took a giant leap of faith and told her the rest of it.
“You’re always covered in yards of fabric and clouds of color. I find it quite fetching under normal circumstances, but at this moment, I should like to see the real you. I should like to know every inch of this delightful creature who has deemed me worthy of her seduction.”
“I...I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”
“As did I of you, but...”
“Why would I change my mind?” they said together and they smiled, saying everything each needed to know.
“Might I pour you a drink?” Broadbent asked, sounding like a poor imitation of the suave and debonair George Sanders, who was another of Patience’s movie favorites.
“Kiss me and I won’t need one,” she purred like Mae West and then she laughed and threw herself into his arms.
Broadbent lifted her as she leapt and carried her through the small parlor to the bedroom beyond. The sound that issued from him fell somewhere between a laugh and a roar, but there was no mistaking the pleasure and relief it contained. Pinkie had heard him chuckle on occasion, but she’d never heard him laugh like that and it did something wonderful to her insides knowing she was the cause of it. They fell to the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and laughter that ended in another long and passionate kiss.
“Why did you leave me?” he asked, bracing himself above her. “I thought I’d done something wrong.”
“You?” Pinkie asked breathlessly. “No, you were wonderful, too wonderful. It was just that it was moving too fast and your hands were under my shirt and you were going to take it off and...”
“Am I moving too fast now? Did I offend your modesty?” Broadbent asked seriously. He rolled to the side and studied her.
The other Guardians were right. Women were a mysterious and confusing lot. Patience seemed to be enjoying his ardor and the gown she wore, while delightfully alluring, could not be called modest. It revealed a great deal more than the clothing she’d worn. “You must explain,” he said, because he liked neither mysteries nor confusion and he wanted to understand. His confusion increased when she blushed a deep red, since he didn’t think she was the type to be easily embarrassed, either.
“Can we just leave it alone?” she asked.
Broadbent considered the request and then shook his head. “No, I think not. I don’t wish to offend, embarrass, or make you uncomfortable, but I cannot meet my aspirations if you do not tell me what causes these discomforts.”
He was distracted for a moment by the press of her breasts against his chest as she heaved an exasperated sigh. Fearing he might offend her again, but willing to take the chance, he brought his mouth to one rounded nipple and drew it, along with its silky covering, into his mouth, marveling at how it stiffened with his attentions.
She made a sweet little sound of pleasure and he made note of her closed eyes and blissful look when he looked up at her face. She liked it as much as he did.
“Will you do that again, please?”
She whispered it in such a seductive tone, that he was tempted to do just that, but there were other things that needed to be addressed first.
“I will, with great pleasure, after you tell me what I did to make you run away.”
She sighed. “Has anyone ever told you, you can be a pain in the ass sometimes?”
“Frequently,” he answered truthfully, “but that is neither here nor there. We’re speaking of you now, Patience, and I need to know.”
She closed her eyes and rolled onto her stomach, speaking into the mattress. “My body, um, isn’t exactly perfect.”
Broadbent slipped his hand beneath the gown and up over the silken skin of her back. With his finger, he traced the line of her spine back down to the panties that matched the gown. He ran the finger along the edge, then slipped his hand over the silk covered mounds of her rear. Carefully, he turned her to face him. Boldly, he pressed his hand to her breast.
Her body was soft and supple and round, the perfect counterpoint to his hard angles.
“I see no imperfections here,” he whispered before he kissed her again.
“You really mean that, don’t you?” Even as she said the words, Pinkie knew that it was true. Broadbent didn’t lie.
“I do not say what I do not mean. I find your hips and derrière immensely appealing, your breasts tantalizing, and your face is the face of an angel. You, dearest Patience, make me feel something I’ve only dreamed of.” He spoke against her lips. “But I’m afraid,” he said simply and with his usual honesty. “Kissing you, touching you, brings out something in me I’ve never felt before. It seems a beast has been unleashed within me and I am afraid that beast won’t wait. Your pleasure is paramount to me, and I think...”
Pinkie pressed her fingers to his lips. “You think too much, Guardian. We have all day to pleasure each other. As long as we both get there in the end, who goes first really doesn’t matter, does it? So bring on the beast, Pookie.”
“So be it,” he said quietly.
Reassured, he suckled her breast through the silk of her gown again, using his tongue below and the gentle scrape of his teeth above. Patience arched her back and this time, when his hand slipped beneath the gown and raised it above her breasts, her soft sigh was like music.
When she opened her lips to his invasion of them and offered her tongue, he groaned and made another beastly noise when her hands slid through his hair and down his back, her nails tracing fine, delicate lines against his skin. Circling around his sides, she brought her hands to his chest and the heat of them snapped whatever good intentions remained.
He no longer thought of what might be right or wrong. He raised himself above her and, holding himself on one extended arm, reached between them, sliding his roughened hand along her soft belly to the juncture of her legs. The moisture he found there, the slight shift of her legs to accommodate him, and the thrust of her hips to meet him, were all the encouragements he needed.
All rational thought fled. Previous fears of the discrepancies in their size disappeared. He wanted. He needed. Freeing himself from the confines of his pajama bottoms and using that same hand for guidance, Broadbent drove himself into that sweet, moist, center of desire, marveling, if only for a moment, at how easily her small body received his large one.
Her hiss of pleasure that formed the word yes had him rearing back and thrusting again, just to hear the satisfying sound of it. He was rewarded, and rewarded further when her chants of “Yes, yes, yes” changed to, “Oh God, oh God!”
This was no woman enduring his advances because of the lucrative alliance a mating with his family would make. This was no paid companion who felt obligated to fake her reaction. This was Patience, and what he saw in her eyes as he pounded his flesh into hers was almost too much to bear.
She made him feel like a god and when he felt her whole body tighten with her impending orgasm and his hand slid between them to touch that tiny button of flesh which would detonate the explosion within her, he became the master of the universe. He felt her body constrict around him as the paroxysm shivered through her, gripping him and holding him to her. And then she called his name, not his proper name, but the silly one she’d made up for a beloved stuffed animal from childhood.
Broadbent was rocked by the force of his own exploding orgasm that was so much more than a biological release of procreativity. As his body climaxed, his mind was consumed by a sense of overwhelming protectiveness. As he crested the peak, he was overcome by emotions that were as frightening as they were exhilarating and for which he had no name. This was what he saw in the eyes of his fellow Guardians when they looked at their mates.
He rolled to the side so as not to crush her with his collapsing weight and, instead of turning away, she rolled with him, sliding her body up along his side until her head was resting on his shoulder. This, too, was something new to him. Her breath, coming in short, deep pants, warmed the skin over the markings of his calling. That soft breath, the smell of her shampoo in the curls beneath his nose, and her finger drawing lazy circles at the center of his chest had his now flaccid penis jumping to attention, ready for round two. This was another first.
Patience, too, noticed this attempted rejuvenation of sexual interest and she giggled into his chest.
“Split second recovery time. Guess that’s the appetites of the flesh part of the story, eh?” She patted his chest affectionately. “I loved the beastie in you, Pooks, but you’re going to have to tell him to give me a few minutes in recovery, here.”
“I beg your pardon,” he began his apology, but Patience’s little thumb and finger gripping his jaw in a surprisingly strong clasp, stopped him.
“Don’t you dare beg my pardon,” she snapped rather sharply, “That was the hottest thing I ever experienced and that little circle and bump thingy at the end nearly drove me out of my mind. I just need a minute to collect what’s left of my wits and then maybe I’ll teach beastie a thing or two.”
Broadbent was desperately trying to remember what circle and bump thingy she was talking about. When he finally caught on to the movement she referred to, he felt his face stretch into an unaccustomed grin of male pride.
When Pinkie saw that look on his face she was tempted to laugh, because she knew exactly what it was, but she held the laughter and only smiled at his smug grin. He had a right to it. In spite of their beginning awkwardness, they’d come together pretty darn smoothly and she’d caught a glimpse of the beast.
It was the same beast she saw in the alley that first night and again when she helped him up the stairs after the demon attack behind her store. His skin became a paper thin disguise for the steely and unearthly countenance beneath it. As before, two gleaming white fangs dropped from his upper gums and the faint snick of their hitting the teeth below sent a thrill through her that she couldn’t explain. Those glowing eyes should have been frightening, particularly since they seemed to look into her very soul when they locked with hers. Instead, she found them to be the sexiest turn-on she’d ever encountered.
Yes, she’d seen that inhuman face before in what she now knew to be Battle Rage, but there was no rage in Broadbent’s eyes when he looked at her, only deep and seething desire. It was a look so hot, her insides felt scorched. That look made Pinkie feel something she’d only dreamed of, too. It made her feel beautiful.
The thought warmed her and he must have felt it in her skin or seen it in her face, because he said the word she thought and he said it with a reverence that brought tears to her eyes.
“Beautiful,” he sighed, and held her to him as if she was the most precious thing in the world.
They lay quietly for several minutes, each with their own thoughts, until Pinkie felt him take a deep breath and knew he was about to speak.
“I have been thinking...”
“Oh, oh. I thought we already covered the thinking thing. You think...”
This time, it was his finger against her lips. His tone was laced with a bit of sternness.
“Patience, you really must learn to practice the virtue for which you were named. Hush now, little dove, and listen to what I have to say.”
Little dove? Doves were soft and round and beautiful, symbols of peace and love. Did he think of those things when he chose that name? Of course he did. This was Broadbent who thought deeply about everything.
“Little dove, your mind is wandering again.”
It was, wandering, and wondering at the new tone of his voice. She found she liked this sound of confidence and command. She snuggled up a little closer.
“I’m listening.”
His fingers played a lilting tune down her spine and over her rear end. “I have been thinking about the learning process. One can read everything about a given weapon, know its origins, its uses, and easily understand the written instructions for its handling, but it is only through observation, practice, and controlled experimentation that one can truly come to know the weapon.”
They were lying in bed, basking in the glow of great sex and he was talking about weapons? She picked up her head to look at him and opened her mouth to interrupt. The hand that had been lightly skimming over her ass, suddenly stopped and flattened against it, which she took as a warning, and an intriguingly sexy one at that. She closed her mouth.
“Thank you,” he said quietly before continuing on. “I have held a great curiosity for the female gender, largely because I do not understand them. While I have read a great deal about the female’s physical response to stimuli, I have had little opportunity for first hand observation, practice, and experimentation.”
Pinkie didn’t comment. She was too busy clamping her lips together. She was beginning to understand what she thought of as Pookie-speak, and knew he meant no offense. Still, she wanted to tease him just a bit.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Well what? You only want me as your test subject?”
“I’d thought of you more as a willing participant,” he said thoughtfully, “but since you are the female in this relationship, you would be by necessity, the test subject.”
“And what if I had a little curiosity of my own about the male’s physical response to stimuli?” she asked primly. “Would you be my test subject?”
“I think that only reasonable,” he said soberly.
She knew he’d caught her in her teasing when the corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes glinted with humor. She rolled to a sitting position and then curled forward onto her knees, grasping his erection which now pointed stiffly toward the ceiling.
“Good,” she cried, “Me first.” She was laughing as she took him into her mouth and continued to laugh when he replied.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Chapter 17
The outside world was still there, and as much as Pinkie tried, she couldn’t ignore it. Thanks to Broadbent’s ‘practice’ and increasing skill as a lover and his seemingly insatiable appetite for her body, her days were filled with great sex and sleep. Her nights, however, were becoming longer and longer as everyone else seemed to have a place within the workings of the House. She tried to help where she could, particularly with the housekeeping, but things would run just as smoothly without her. Broadbent was back on duty, patrolling with the other Guardians or training with the few remaining recruits. Pinkie was quietly going crazy with the inactivity. She needed a job.
She knew she was being cowardly in not returning to the shop. She told herself she was going to close anyway when she left town, but the truth was that she was too frightened to return. Abyar was out there somewhere with a witch who could easily spellbind anyone within her sight. Without the interference of the little cat, Pinkie had no doubt she would have succumbed to whatever the woman asked even if it meant returning to the monster she once fled.
The twins had made it too easy for her not to return, bringing her clothes and feeding her cats. They even delivered her scooter in the back of the van, since neither would be seen riding on it.
“We have our reps to uphold,” Col explained, “What chick would be impressed with a guy on a pink scooter?”
Pinkie almost said that she could think of one who would, but she changed her mind. Broadbent wasn’t ashamed of their relationship, but there were parts of it he wouldn’t want known. The scooter ride was probably one of those parts.
Dov or Col fetched anything she asked for, though sometimes it took them several tries to find the things she needed. Having half her store room blown into oblivion didn’t help.
It had taken them two tries to find the ingredients she now had assembled on the counter; tiny vials and miniature flasks containing the potions that took hours of diffusions and long, complicated chants to create. In the proper combination, along with yet another lengthy spell, Pinkie thought she might be able to bring some clarity to the elderly Manon’s increasingly foggy mind. It would be her good deed for the day. Her only hesitation was that the magic necessary was not the kind these people would approve of.
Her timing was perfect. The men and JJ were out of the House, as were the recruits, who were celebrating their final days in Guardian Boot Camp in some bar downtown. They were led by the twins who claimed their training wasn’t over until they learned to pick up girls. Hope was in her office doing quarterly taxes and Grace was in her room supposedly napping, but probably reading a romance novel. There was no one to see Pinkie work her magic except the cat.
“It isn’t wrong to use blood magic if it will do some good. I mean, don’t doctors use the stuff that causes botulism to cure migraines? It’s almost the same thing, isn’t it?”
The cat sat on the counter watching her hands mix and stir. Her ears were up and she swayed to the music of her purr. The tip of her tail flicked happily to a completely different beat. Pinkie took it as a good sign.
She found a pot that was perfect for her purpose and added the right amount of water. She needed no measure. When she was still learning, too little or too much brought a painful slap to the back of the head until she could measure perfectly. By trial and error, Pinkie also learned that the metals used in most pots tended to interfere with the outcome of certain spells, like the time her calming potion turned into one of uncontrollable tears. Now, she always used enamel lined pots or the handmade copper bowl she’d bought from the shop on the corner of Fourth and Beechwood. Unfortunately, the bowl had gone the way of most of her supplies when she blew them to who-knew-where.
