His Sacred Incantations, page 5
“The sounds you make when I touch you, my sweet boy, I drink them in like water.” She pauses her hand, slides her thumb back and forth at the sensitive spot under the head of his cock, and Lucían moans out loud, shaky and out of control. “Yes, Lucían, let me hear you,” Glory hisses in his ear, running her tongue along his jaw, and her hand moves again, a little faster, her grip a little firmer. “I love to watch you come—” Lucían moans again, and then can’t stop, every breath coming out audible and raw “—and I love to see your face when I bring you pleasure. If I had my way I’d keep you in my bed for days and fuck you until neither of us could walk.”
There’s nothing he can do, he’s completely under her control, he’s trembling all over and he’s close, he’s so close, he’s not making sounds anymore but that’s because he’s he’s not fucking breathing. “Glory,” he manages, a strangled, broken thing, and she presses closer, her armor pinching his skin, her hand speeding up just enough to bring him to the edge.
“Come for me, my sweet Lucían,” Glory demands, tightens her hand on him on the upstroke, and that tips him over, the order bypassing his mind, burning down his spine and straight into his cock. Lucían snaps his head back into the bed, cries out low and shattered, and Glory keeps moving her hand as he comes hot and hard, over her fingers and onto his stomach and chest. It keeps going, rolling through him, unstoppable as a rockslide, until he finally collapses, wrung out and useless. His body feels very far away, distant, like his orgasm has knocked him out of himself, the pleasure so intense it destroyed his ability to observe the outside world. There’s some movement that he’s vaguely aware of, maybe Glory’s not on the bed anymore, and he can hear the sound of water. More movement, and a hard surface under his back, and then soft skin sliding against his, settling him against a body he knows, hard muscles and soft curves.
Lucían blinks his way back into his own body and slowly realizes he’s in the bathing room. He’s in the tub, to be exact, and he’s pressed up against Glory as she leans against the cedar rim. The soapy rag in her hand passes over his chest, down his stomach, back up and then over one arm. It’s warm, and he’s spent and sex-drunk and exhausted and there’s a beautiful woman washing him, so he just sighs and slumps further back against her, tips his head bonelessly against her shoulder, and looks at her face. She smiles at him, her green eyes darting to his, and Lucían smiles helplessly back.
“Was that good for you, my love?” she asks him, rolling him slightly to the side so she can soap up his back. Of course, of course he blushes, damn his ridiculous face, and he presses his cheek harder into her shoulder and nods.
“I like it when you praise me,” he realizes too late he’s said aloud, whispered it into her skin, and he starts to panic before he feels her satisfied breath under his ear. She sets the rag aside and maneuvers them under the spigot, rinsing the soap from his skin with single minded intensity, and when he’s spotlessly clean she leans over him to claim his mouth for a languid, all-consuming kiss.
“I meant every word,” she says against his lips when she finally pulls away, “Every single word, Lucían.” Before he can try to argue her mouth is back on his, long enough for him to forget that he was going to protest something, and when he’s happily limp under her again she moves him out from under the spigot, scrubs up and rinses herself efficiently, and turns off the water. Lucían blinks and finds himself on the stool outside the tub, a towel wrapped around him as Glory dries herself off, and the next time he blinks he’s cleaning his teeth on muscle memory alone, and then he’s settled in their bed as Glory rubs facial oil into her skin, almost glowing in the light of the single lamp.
Everything is so wonderful, indistinct and warm and he’s so tired and so comfortable that it takes him a while to notice something’s bothering him, like he’s missed something, and he finally realizes what it is as Glory slides into the bed with him. “You didn’t—” he says, his tongue feeling slow and clumsy in his mouth “—I should—” He rolls over to press against her and runs one hand down her abdomen, his fingers just grazing the patch of hair between her thighs when she captures his hand with her own and brings it up between them.
“Tonight was for you, my sweet Lucían,” she tells him, gently kissing each of his fingertips in turn before clasping his hand to her chest.
“But—” he tries to protest, and she silences him with a kiss.
“Sleep, my love,” she tells him, rolling onto her back and pulling him in so his head settles at the junction of her shoulder. Lucían wants to argue, he does, but then she pulls the blankets up around him and everything is so soft and warm that all he can do is exhale one last sigh and drop off into unconsciousness.
Chapter 4
Consciousness twines around Lucían like a cat around the ankles of an unsuspecting monk, but he refuses to be tripped into true wakefulness yet and instead presses closer into Glory’s back, hiding his face in the nape of her neck and ignoring the sunlight in the room. He can’t hear the courtyard bustle of a Guild heading to breakfast, so it’s either too early for that or too late, and if he can judge from behind closed eyelids, the light doesn’t seem strong enough for it to be too late. That means it’s still early, and he doesn’t need to get out of bed yet, and therefore he can stay here, curled against the most beautiful woman in the world, breathing in the pine-rosemary-salt smell of her, and just enjoy. He wraps his arm more firmly around her waist, rubs his face against her neck, and presses a light kiss to just below her hairline. Glory’s breath hitches a bit and she snuggles against him before lapsing back into the slow, even rhythms of sleep. That, more than anything, nudges Lucían into opening his eyes. Squinting against the dawn sunlight, he lifts his head and tries to get a decent view of her face, and yes, Glory is still sacked out asleep, her eyelids fluttering occasionally as she dreams. Normally she’s up before he is, either to drag him out of bed or to wake him up so she can fuck him in it. It’s a novelty to have the situation reversed, and he watches her sleep for a bit until his neck complains about the awkward angle and he has to settle back down on the pillow. As he does his lips brush her neck again, and her breath hitches again, and Lucían’s normal morning erection starts to be interested in the proceedings from where it’s pressed against the small of her back. He smiles, kisses her under her ear as an experiment, and yes, this time her breathing hitches and she shivers a little. Idly wondering what will it take to actually wake her up, he slowly slides his free hand up her stomach to cup one breast. Lucían rolls her nipple gently between his fingers as he continues to drop kisses on the back of her neck, below her hairline, on the junction of her neck and shoulder. She shivers against him, presses back against his cock, but doesn’t actually wake up until he bites into the muscle at the side of her neck. It’s not a hard bite, but it’s enough to roll a shudder through her and make her blink into the morning light.
“Luciaaaaaah,” she sighs, the word turning incoherent when he bites her again, tugs on her nipple a little, and her hips roll against his erection where it’s pressed against her back.
“Good morning,” he tells her as he kisses back up to the nape of her neck, feeling her shiver again at the touch of his lips, and Lucían slides his hand over to her other breast, circles the hard nub there with his fingers as she squirms.
“It certainly is now,” she says, voice sleep-roughened and breathy, and when he bites her this time her exhale comes out a moan. Glory slides her free arm back around him, digs her fingers into his ass for a firm squeeze, and then forces her hand between them so she can wrap it around his cock. He pants a hot breath against her skin, lets himself fuck into her fist for a few strokes, and then tears himself away with a shudder, shifting further down her body so when he takes his hand off her breast he’s low enough that he can slide it between her thighs. She’s already wet enough to coat his fingers, and he teases at her entrance for a few long moments before moving his hand up so he can circle her clit with two fingers. Her exhale has an audible catch in it, and when he nudges his thigh between her legs she lets him in, settling her thigh on top of his to give him better access to her pussy. Glory’s hand comes back around him to clench on his hip, her fingers flexing against him whenever he does something especially good, like, for an example, when he separates the two fingers he’s been teasing her with and runs them on either side of her clit, almost but not quite a pinch. That gets him a hard squeeze of her hand and a desperate, “Ah—fuck—” as she grinds against his fingers.
“Lucían,” Glory grits out, her thighs starting to tremble, and that’s his cue to slide his hand down, bury his two middle fingers in her cunt and fuck her with them in earnest. Lucían keeps the heel of his hand pressed against her clit as he moves his fingers, has to use all the strength in his arm to keep her hips pinned against his as she writhes and ruts against his hand. She could break his grip easily, he knows that, but she doesn’t want to, and that’s the point. Glory’s close, he can tell now, her breath coming shallow and quiet, every muscle taut and defined as she clenches up around him, and he keeps his hand moving, curls his fingers up inside her like he knows she likes, and for a long moment she stops breathing, the only sound in the room their racing heartbeats and the frantic, wet sound of his fingers—
And then the wave crests, and Glory crashes down around him, crying out her pleasure as she fucks his hand so hard she almost tears away from him entirely. Lucían has to move with her to keep his fingers inside her, his dick hard and leaking against the curve of her ass, and when she’s finally no longer rutting against him, breathless and trembling on the bed, he shifts his hips a bit and uses his wet hand to slot his cock into her. His hand goes immediately back to her clit, rubbing circles around it as he fucks her from behind. The sound that comes out of her mouth is a broken collection of vowels, and she opens her legs, tosses one over both of his to give his fingers more room to work, and rolls her hips back to take him deeper.
“I love the way you fuck me,” she tells him, her hand roaming up his side, down his thigh as far as she can reach before coming back to rest on his hip, fingers flexing against his ass as she wordlessly urges him deeper, faster, for more. Lucían shifts his hips, knows he has it right when she makes a little “Ah!” sound with each thrust, and grinds his fingers against her clit frantically. He’s been hard since he woke up and he doesn’t think he’s going to last much longer, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make her come again.
“I love making you come,” he confesses against the tattoo on her back, pressing a kiss to it, hips working furiously as he drives his cock into her again and again. “It’s all I want—I just want to give you pleasure—I want to serve you—I want—I want—” Lucían’s voice is breaking up, now, he’s desperately trying to hold himself back from spilling into her, but she’s close, too. He can feel her cunt clenching around him, and if he can just hold out a little longer—
“I’m yours, Glory, I’m yours, you can do what you want with me and I’ll be happy, I’m only yours—” he babbles, too caught up in her to keep his deviant secrets behind his teeth. He speeds his hand up on her clit, fucks her hard and fast, and her hand tightens on his hip hard enough to bruise as she freezes up, again, her breath stopped right at the moment before she falls, and Lucían doesn’t stop, will never stop until she asks, and one more hard thrust of his cock, a hard swipe of his fingers at her clit does it. She comes again, convulsing hot and hard around his cock, keening wordlessly into the pillow, and Lucían stops holding himself back, lets himself follow her into oblivion with a few more stuttering thrusts, spilling himself into her heat and letting the inferno of his orgasm burn through him unchecked. He shudders, the power of it licking all the way up his spine into his skull as he comes and comes and fucks her through it until he has nothing left. His hand falls limply away from her pussy as he collapses onto the bed, face nuzzled into her back and cock still buried in her to the hilt. Her thumb absently sweeps back and forth on the jut of his hipbone and she heaves a huge, contented sigh, ribcage expanding enough to lift his arm a little and jostle his head. Glory smells like sweat and sex and rosemary, and he breathes it in, pressed against her, sticky and just on the edge of too hot, and everything is perfect.
“Well,” she says, still a little out of breath. “Good morning to you, too.” Glory gives him a friendly little pat on the ass and cranes her neck around so she can look at him. “If you’re going to wake me up like that, maybe I should sleep in more often.”
“I’m just returning the favor,” Lucían says, pressing a kiss to her tattoo again. “I seem to recall several mornings when I woke up with your hand on my cock, I figured turnabout is fair play.” She huffs a laugh, which he can feel against his cheek (nice) but which also tightens all her abdominal muscles, sending his now-soft dick sliding out of her in a messy rush (less nice). “Shit, sorry—” he starts to apologize, but Glory rolls over, wraps one arm around him, and then rolls onto her back, taking him with her so he ends up draped across her body like a blanket.
“Do not,” she says, green eyes dark and amused in her still-flushed face, “ever feel like you need to apologize for giving me two spectacular orgasms before I’ve even left the bed in the morning.” The fingers of one hand spear into his hair and pull him down so she can kiss him, lazy and hot and with a lot of tongue.
It’s a fairly good distraction, as these things go, and when she releases him it takes Lucían a second to say, “But I made a mess.” He knows he doesn’t need to apologize, but some deep part of him whispers that maybe if she was angry she’d punish him. Maybe if he could convince her to be angry, she’d give him what he secretly wants. No such luck, though. Glory just shrugs one shoulder and gives his ass a firm squeeze.
“Go get a cloth, then, and if you have time today you can wash the sheets.” Lucían grins sheepishly, shoving down the part of him that begs for her discipline, and leans in to give her another kiss. She shoves at him gently and he awkwardly climbs out of the bed, trying not to drip on anything.
“If I have time?” he calls over his shoulder from the bathing room as he wets a cloth. Just a quick scrub does it, so he rinses the cloth, wrings it out again, and brings it to Glory. She’s tossed the blankets back and is stretched luxuriously out on the sheets, naked, muscular, and stunningly beautiful in the rose sunlight, and Lucían, not for the first time, thanks the Lord and every other god for sending him to her. He only realizes he’s frozen in place staring at her when she reaches her hand out for the cloth he’s still uselessly holding, and he shakes himself and hands it over.
“We need to properly update the Hammer on what we know about the undead,” Glory tells him, propping herself up on one elbow and cleaning herself up with the rag. “And then we’re going to need to figure out what preparations the Guild needs to put in order, and then this afternoon we have to go speak to Mother Geraldine about how you decided to defy years of secrecy among your order and started handing out magic like candy at a parade.”
Lucían pauses in the process of putting on a sock, mind suddenly reeling with yesterday’s events. “Oh, fuck,” he says, quietly, staring into the middle distance. “I did do all that, didn’t I?” He grins, fierce, unfamiliar pride welling up inside him, because he did it, he figured out the ritual based on instinct and vague memory, and Lord help him, he’s going to be able to do some real good now. He’s going to be able to break the choke hold the Abbot had on the region and no one will ever end up like Eileen ever again. The rest of her words register, and he frowns as he puts on his other sock. “Wait, do people hand out candy at parades?” It’s an honest question, he’s never been to a parade and now he’s much more interested in the idea.
“Yes, but don’t get distracted.” Glory grins at him as she rolls out of bed and heads into the bathing room for a quick rinse. “Undead first, and then if we’re lucky, there will be a parade after.” He’s mostly dressed by the time she comes out, and they orbit each other as they finish preparing for the day, him shaving while she re-braids her hair in the mirror above his reflection, her painting on her eyebrows as he sets out her weapons in a precise line on the bed. They make it to breakfast at a reasonable hour, and before morning has fully broken they’re in the Hammer’s office again, and she’s pinching the bridge of her nose with one hand.
“Undead.” It’s said flatly, without much emotion, and the Hammer takes a long, deep breath before she drops her hand and looks at them. “You’re sure?”
Lucían straightens his shoulders and nods. “Fairly sure. The only reason I have any doubts is because I don’t know every magical creature that walks the land. The evidence points that way, and the holy water worked.” The sketches from yesterday are still in his satchel, and he hands them over so the Hammer can page through them.
“Will it work against the creatures, as well as for healing the wounds?” the Hammer asks, spreading out his parchments on the table and setting her hands down flat on the wood. Her fingertips blanch as she flexes them, giving lie to the calm tone of her words. Lucían can recognize her worry, and he doesn’t blame her. The undead are rare, strong, and hard to kill. If she wasn’t concerned about it he’d think her a fool.
“It should?” Glory and the Hammer both shoot him a sharp look at the tone of his answer, and he shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know,” he says urgently, frustrated. “I’ve never actually encountered the undead before! Technically I still haven’t! I’ve just illuminated a lot of books, and I know for a fact some of those were wildly inaccurate so I can’t exactly trust everything I’ve read. I think they won’t like it, certainly, but I don’t know if it will kill them.” Lucían frowns. “Re-kill them? De-animate them?”
