Ajest, page 4
“Of what?”
“Why, your loins of course.” Had she overstepped the bounds of decorum? So hard to tell…
But no. He had initiated the rudeness.
So be it!
Rather than retreat, Persicaria advanced further into unknown territory.
“What are you doing, girl?”
“Have no care,” she reassured him. “Swollen as they are, your loins fall within my easy reach.”
Like the dancing Fae male, the mercenary should heartily approve of her boldness. And touching him would give him an additional cause to take her with him when he left.
“Then have at. In fact, be my guest,” he said, with a new gruffness in his voice, a gritty quality much like sand.
Taken with this change in him, which conflicted with his prior sardonic tone, she jumped at this opportunity to learn more about male/female differences…and, at the same, convince him she was worth keeping all to himself.
As the Fae female had done long ago, Persicaria stroked the mercenary, a slow and inquisitive fingering of his tremendous girth and length over his bulging hose.
The paid man-at-arms appeared quite open to her exploration. Taken with it, even. Such a tremendous relief! She feared what she had seen back then was particular only to magical folk, not to her kind.
When he groaned – a pleasured sound, not a pained sound – she became more convinced than ever that the route to gaining this mercenary’s championship of her was through his genitals, not through his belly. Though, she still believed bribery was a brilliant idea.
It was only that…a tasty meat pie inducement would only take a maiden so far.
Flexibility was everything in life. She would simply make the best of whatever came next.
She had a sneaky suspicion of what that might be when the mercenary rolled closer to her and nudged the cleft between her splayed thighs, rooting at the void in herself as if he expected her to allow him…
Entry? Was that even possible?
The mercenary thought so. Minimally, he appeared just as curious to explore that region of her body as she was to explore the corresponding region of his body.
Paid warriors traveled everywhere in the course of battling. As a result, mercenaries had to be adventurous, worldly and sophisticated.
Not this one. Not in this exchange. This mercenary appeared somewhat hesitant in his approach. Mayhap, like herself, he had led a sheltered existence when it came to the opposite gender.
This was working out soo much better than Persicaria had envisioned. Apparently, they shared similar deficits in their experience.
Unless…that was not it at all. The real reason he might have for holding back might be something else entirely.
He found her unattractive.
How would she know unless she asked?
Taking another leap into the unknown, she sent out a tentative invitation. “You like how I touch you, the comfort I bring you?”
“Yes.”
His reply was thread-thin. Clipped. His answer also sounded begrudged, as if she had pulled the words from his throat, letter-by-torturous-letter.
No matter. She sought a different truth, a truth of his body.
He gave it to her posthaste.
He moved his garbed hips hungrily against her lower belly, the action far more telling than any verbal response he might have made her.
But how curious! His rubbing struck her as satisfying. Oddly so. Coincidentally as well. What he was doing was much akin to her own self-rubbing down there.
“My time with those of your ilk is limited, girl,” he said gruffly. “And it’s usually catch as catch can. Feel me?”
“Why yes, I do. Never have I proven numb in that region you rub.”
Ignoring her encouragement, he said, “I’m always on the move, always in a hurry. Generally speaking, I never stay in one place for any too long, sweeting.”
Sweeting. How delightful! A nickname for her so early in their acquaintance.
As if in understanding, she meekly nodded – lest she frighten him away with her normal boldness.
To show her agreeability, she followed his lead, mutually rubbing him in a similar fashion as to how he rubbed her.
Milking his length over the cloth covering them, she purred, “This evening, I shall make your loins sing.”
Chapter Six
“Singing loins, eh?” Ajest laughed wearily. “What if my stones sing off-key? I can’t say you’d like that.”
“With you, I would like it all very much,” she panted. “And, with me, your loins would be far from discordant. Fear not! You would enjoy the song with me.”
“Thanks, sweeting. But I’m not in the mood for even tuneful testicles this evening.”
Or any evening.
This girl definitely wanted to tap his ass, but he lived for one single-minded objective:
Bringing down Drolan.
No way was he dialing back on the plan…unless it got in the way of returning home to Ria.
The warlord’s attack on the royal family had led to a shitload of deaths, the king and queen of the land among them. Drolan was also responsible for their newborn infant’s death. Maybe their little girl too.
For all Ajest knew, the royal daughter was dead. He’d botched her rescue badly. A pack of hungry wolves might’ve ended up eating her for all he knew. When he returned to her, as he’d promised he would, she was gone. The wild dogs must’ve dragged her away to their den…
He’d had nightmares ever since.
To escape those bad dreams…and maybe put a down payment on making his failing up to the kid…he’d decided to end Drolan’s reign of terror. Pursuant to that goal, he became a killer of no small renown in his own right, a warrior with a contingent of loyal followers, all of whom shared the same exact vision of being ruled by one leader, not divided up into many squabbling smaller realms easily conquered by the latest flavor of warlord.
Unlike Drolan, Ajest had no aspirations to take over this quasi-medieval universe. He wasn’t looking to throw his hat in the ring as the next despot. These backward folks were centuries removed from anything smacking of a democratic process. However, they were up for a united kingdom, like the one they’d enjoyed under the royal kid’s parents.
Enough about that. His head throbbed like a sonofabitch as it was without going all-political. He just wanted to hit the sack. Maybe getting his rocks off would’ve done the trick there, but some things were not to be….
Ajest reached into his pocket, pulled out a few coins, and dropped them on the dirt floor beside the lady of the evening. “Those are yours, sweeting. For the hand-job. Not your fault I didn’t come.” He rolled away from her. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“What inconvenience would that be?”
“My waking you up from a sound sleep.”
“No inconvenience,” she said all-breathless and sexy.
Like a smart little street hustler shooting for more coins than he’d already given her, she reached for him again.
She had some business acumen, he’d give her that. She was also a succulent little piece, bright-eyed and energetic, with a pointed chin and mischievous lips that hinted of a corresponding temperament. But here was the thing:
He needed to sleep even more than he needed to get laid, and they were mutually exclusive objectives tonight…regardless of how tantalizing his dick found her and how long it had been for him.
His warriors depended on him for clear-eyed, level-headedness. Sleeplessness compromised both. Sure, as a kid in college cramming for final exams, he’d stayed up around the clock. But that was then, and this was now. No more pulling all-nighters for him. If he hadn’t needed an hour or so to crash, he would’ve pushed on to Drolan’s camp regardless of the downpour. After all, he was a boring adult with boring adult responsibilities now…
Hey! Wait a minute. Boring?
How could a traveler through time, even if the time was faux, possibly be considered boring?
The tales he’d have to tell when he got back home were bound to bring him plenty of rounds of free beer at the local pub in town.
If he ever got back home…
Sizing up Drolan’s military effort in advance of their next battle would go a long way there. After riding hard three full days to get this far, rolling on the floor with this chick would’ve amounted to a bad, bad idea. No amount of beauty sleep would make him pretty, but rest would perk up his sluggish brain.
Perk-y.
Little whore was all that. The nipples that poked his chest were as jaunty as he was played out.
With the single exception of his dick. That part of himself wasn’t played out. Un-un. Not any more. His nine erect inches of wishful thinking were now rearing to go…whether the rest of him was mentally exhausted or not.
Made sense. No mind-body connection there. That region operated independently of his brain. And his ‘nads gave a great, big, mindless, shout-out to medieval good sense for preferring well-fed women to starving waifs, an all too common sight these days what with warfare interfering with food production.
Drolan had a nasty habit of torching farmers’ crops after he got done butchering their livestock, this while their agonized owners watched. Then, of course, when he finished there, he’d go on and kill the owners and their families too. A real nice guy was the warlord.
Good on her! This woman had somehow managed to avoid the skin-and-bone look. Wherever she was from, there’d been more than scorched earth to eat.
Ria was shapely, round in all the right places. Though, in an effort not to offend, he’d thus far resisted ogling her curves. Not so she’d catch him at it, leastwise.
Homesick as anything for Ria, similarly endowed, Ajest let go a dejected sigh.
Just his crap luck. A healthy and pretty woman puts the moves on him and he had to turn her down. “No time for fun and games, sweeting. Sorry.”
And he was…sorry. Genuinely sorry. Although he tried to sound disinterested. Uncool to let his disappointment show.
At his rejection, her mischievous lips turned pouty.
She was a stubborn one, all right. Those pursed lips had push-back written all over them.
He liked stubborn. Stubborn meant she had passionately-held convictions. That trait would carry over in bed.
His deadly exhaustion?
No longer insurmountable. His attitude had risen to the occasion along with his dick.
When was the last time he’d gotten some?
Too damn long.
What harm would a fuck do?
None.
He wasn’t talking an exhausting, emotion-laden, sex marathon here. A tempered fuck of moderate duration that would mean nothing was what he had in mind. It wouldn’t be as if he were cheating on Ria, who he’d loved platonically from afar for like forevah. He missed her so…
This would be just another survival tactic, as impersonal as polishing his sword…the one ramming against his hose for release. After doing the nasty, he’d slip into some post-climactic, therapeutic sleep, and maybe dream of Ria. What the hell, and why the hell not?
Maintaining a low profile was central to his success in stopping Drolan. And since he could tell this frisky fem couldn’t make out his face in the dark, no worries there! He’d be just another anonymous fuck to the prossie presently batting her lashes in his direction.
Comical in the extreme, her clumsy stab at seduction. In a backward kind of way, her unfamiliarity with flirtation also made perfectly good sense. Before the warring, she’d most likely been a wholesome milkmaid, turned camp prostitute now, one of the many new working girls he’d seen wandering around these parts, looking to jump some soldier’s bones in exchange for a few coins on the side. Unlike a court whore, the fine art of eroticism just wasn’t her field. Men-at-arms weren’t looking for wit or subtlety, just a way to forget the brutality of warfare for a few minutes.
A way to forget their loneliness too.
He knew how that went. Ria was always in his heart, more strongly here with this little whore than ever, as weird as that might seem.
“I know you need sleep,” she said. “Quick is fine with me.”
Drive-thru sex?
Hells, yeah. Afterwards, he’d crash. A few hours of rest, and he’d take off. The rain would’ve let up by then and he’d blow this hut and be on his merry way…
He nodded. “I’m okay with a little somethin’ somethin’ .”
Abstinence had been known to screw up a man’s concentration. Slowed reflexes too. Both could get others killed on the battlefield. He had to think of his men…
She winked up at him, the whites of her eyes flashing, then disappearing as they lidded in the dark, before reopening on a twinkle. “A little something something will make you fit for duty straightaway, every slash of your blade sharper than before.”
Damn, if he didn’t believe she’d deliver on her promise. Her saucy wink had him convinced long before she tossed off the fur and reached for him, yanking him close.
Normally, he didn’t go in for dominatrix types. Ballsy chicks with whips didn’t do it for him. But, in her case, he made an exception:
He sank into her arms without a whimper. He kissed her then, not something he usually did with a pro, but somehow felt right with her. Besides, he couldn’t help himself. Girl was provocative as all hell. Plus, she smelled good. Fresh, like dewy grass at dawn.
Or, Ria when he managed to get close enough to catch her natural scent. Perfume was not something she could afford.
Mustn’t forget this was faux medieval land. Bringing it up a few clicks on the reality scale was a good idea. Waxing poetic about a common whore could get him in trouble.
Was it already too late for concern? Was he already in too deep?
Each inhale brought with it the intoxicating fragrance of warm and willing woman. The kiss accelerated from carefully reserved to bruising hardness, all his considerable might behind it, the connection lasting longer than he’d intended.
Christ. He just about devoured her.
He unwisely spoke of his anguish against her lips. “You remind me of spring, full of unrealized promise.” Of Ria. Of the chance he’d never gotten with her.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He was no longer a geeky, pre-pubescent kid, playing at being a courtly knight. Nor was he just another spoiled rich college kid, impressed with his own sense of self-importance and figuring he’d land on both feet, no matter what. All that entitlement stuff had been beaten out of him when he’d first arrived. His punk ass had been whopped big-time back then. By loneliness. By the constant kills he’d had to do to survive.
By a little girl he’d failed to rescue.
Since that major attitude adjustment, he’d grownup. Now he worked hard and he owned up to his mistakes.
He needed to snap out of his smarmy reverie and get down to the business of staying alive, so maybe he could return home again. He’d get educated on how to be a big hit with the ladies some other damn time. Only one lady had ever mattered, anyway, and Ria had most likely moved on.
He mounted, knifed upward on his bent arms, his elbows holding his weight off her. But rather than resettle himself between her thighs, which should’ve been an efficient process, he got waylaid by her nipples. They jumped out and ambushed him. He never stood a chance.
Man, forget efficiency. Or anything close to it. Rosy and poking the air, her tits mesmerized him. At the touch of those double enticements, it was foreplay all the way for him.
Ajest took one of those perky beauties between his lips, drawing his tongue over and around the sharp point. And fuck if her sighs didn’t increase proportionately to his dawdling. Had they been inside a comfort tent, his stalling would’ve backed up the line outside and possibly prompted some impatient fella looking for love in all the wrong places to cut his throat.
Anger management hadn’t been invented here yet. Neither had vegetarianism, vegans, or nut allergies. Gluten-free anything didn’t exist. Ditto for lactose intolerance. Happy to have anything at all to eat, folks belched through their meals with nary a worry about cholesterol or the hostile environment of their guts. Here, when dudes weren’t beating the shit out of someone, they were pulling their blades and carving ‘em up.
Luckily, this was no pay-by-the-hour love hotel. His lodging for the evening – or eventide, in this faux medieval world – was a crude peasant hut of non-specific origins and timeframe. The walls were sound. Not air-tight, naturally. If not for the heat her closeness generated in him, he’d be freezing his ass off right about now.
The place was astonishingly water-proof. Not even the thatched roof leaked. For real, the only wetness to be found within the hut was her, a life altering surprise his finger accidently encountered.
When he hit pussy, man, both of them trembled.
He didn’t bother with the fancy stuff on a date with a camp whore. Foreplay? Who him?
Nope.
His dick was waiting-adverse, meeting any and all delays in its immediate gratification with nine-inches of thrust, squeezed between lulls in battling. All he’d cared about was getting off as expeditiously as possible so he could get some sleep.
As an adolescent role-playing geek out to save damsels in distress, he’d been far courtlier. Back then, he’d immerse himself in a fantasy world he could control, where he wasn’t an all-around disappointment to his mother and father, and everyone else in the universe.
He didn’t want to disappoint this little whore. Though this was only a hookup slated to end come morning, he’d like to do it for her. Tough break for both of them that he’d never learned how.
What the hell, he gave it his best shot. While circling the opening to her body, round and round, his digit sliding on her moist excitement, he mouthed her breast until she squirmed. And he did too. Then, he swapped sides. Writhing ensued, and not only on her part.
He lifted his head. “You’re awfully sweet, ya know that, sweeting?”
“Not ordinarily,” she huskily replied. “Some would say I am further than salt from sweet.”
He was about to say, all chivalrous-like – I’ll knock that lying creep’s teeth out – when he realized this was neither the time nor the place for romantic pronouncements.
