“Really, my dear,
I’m fairly certain neither he nor Christine are under the impression our
relationship is celibate.”
“Well,
no, but that’s in general.” Whyborne flapped his hand vaguely. “This
is…specific.”
He sat
near the stove, on one of the log chairs. I dropped to my knees in front of
him, and rested my hands on his wool trousers. He’d already stripped off his
parka, sealskin boots, and fur stockings, and hung them to dry. “And?” I
prodded. “Does it matter so very much? Shall we leave the cabin and follow
along behind Iskander, when we could be doing something far more entertaining?”
His gaze
went to my lips, and he licked his own. “No,” he said, and lunged forward to
kiss me.
I
returned his passion. The long days and nights in close proximity, without so
much as a caress, left us both wild with longing. He bit at my lips, and I shoved
him back, plundering his mouth with my tongue as I straddled his lap. I sank my
fingers into his spiky hair, which hadn’t fared well trapped beneath the
fur-lined hood.
“God,”
he mumbled when I let him have the breath and space to speak. “Let’s get out of
these clothes.”
We
stripped hastily. Although the inside of the little cabin was warm compared to
the air without, the chill still stung my exposed skin. But it was worth it to
see him, pale and long and beautiful. The scars running from the fingers of his
right hand all the way to the back of his shoulder had faded slightly over the
course of the year, but still traced patterns of pink frost on his skin.
I’d been
with men and women whom society would consider more attractive. But I’d wanted
him from the moment I’d first seen him, and his gangly limbs, slender build,
and absurd hair never failed to move me.
I
scrambled up the short ladder to the top bunk. As Iskander had been polite
enough to offer us some time alone, it only seemed right to leave him the more
convenient of the two. Whyborne climbed eagerly after me, ducking beneath fur
covers heated with stones.
The feel
of his skin on mine again after so long drew a moan from me. He pressed tight,
flinging one leg over my hip, sliding his arms about me. His cock pushed
against my belly, hard and hot.
“I
missed this,” I murmured to him.
“As did
I.” He kissed me deep, and I clung to him, our bodies rubbing together.
I slid
my hand down his back to clasp one buttock, pulling him even tighter. We both
stank of the trail, but I breathed deep, letting the scent of salt and
ambergris fill my lungs. I’d never understood why he always smelled of the
ocean, until I’d learned of the inhuman blood in his veins.
I loved his
scent. The feel of his skin. How he gasped and shuddered when I put a hand to
his cock.
I loved
him.
It had
been too long for either of us to want something slow. We rutted against one
another, kissing and caressing, drinking in one another’s feel and taste and
scent. His fingers threaded through my hair, gripping gently, and he kissed me
hard. I parted my lips, let him fuck my mouth with his tongue, even as his hips
ground his cock into my belly. He was heat and passion and magic-scarred skin,
my lover, my husband, and the world narrowed to only the two of us here in this
bed. All of my worry and grief, that Jack would discover us, that the umbra
might prove to be something too powerful for us to face, vanished. There existed
only this moment, and us.
I bit
back a shout as I spilled, all of it too much. His grasp tightened on my hair,
forcing me to look at him as I spent between us. The intimacy of the act wrung
a second, smaller burst of pleasure out of me. His kiss-swollen lips parted,
and for a moment I thought he’d speak. Then he hauled me close, teeth biting
hard into my shoulder to muffle his cry as he gave himself over to his own
climax.
We lay
in each other’s arms for a long time, just breathing and drinking in the
sensation of being together. But gradually the heat faded and the
I’m fairly certain neither he nor Christine are under the impression our
relationship is celibate.”
“Well,
no, but that’s in general.” Whyborne flapped his hand vaguely. “This
is…specific.”
He sat
near the stove, on one of the log chairs. I dropped to my knees in front of
him, and rested my hands on his wool trousers. He’d already stripped off his
parka, sealskin boots, and fur stockings, and hung them to dry. “And?” I
prodded. “Does it matter so very much? Shall we leave the cabin and follow
along behind Iskander, when we could be doing something far more entertaining?”
His gaze
went to my lips, and he licked his own. “No,” he said, and lunged forward to
kiss me.
I
returned his passion. The long days and nights in close proximity, without so
much as a caress, left us both wild with longing. He bit at my lips, and I shoved
him back, plundering his mouth with my tongue as I straddled his lap. I sank my
fingers into his spiky hair, which hadn’t fared well trapped beneath the
fur-lined hood.
“God,”
he mumbled when I let him have the breath and space to speak. “Let’s get out of
these clothes.”
We
stripped hastily. Although the inside of the little cabin was warm compared to
the air without, the chill still stung my exposed skin. But it was worth it to
see him, pale and long and beautiful. The scars running from the fingers of his
right hand all the way to the back of his shoulder had faded slightly over the
course of the year, but still traced patterns of pink frost on his skin.
I’d been
with men and women whom society would consider more attractive. But I’d wanted
him from the moment I’d first seen him, and his gangly limbs, slender build,
and absurd hair never failed to move me.
I
scrambled up the short ladder to the top bunk. As Iskander had been polite
enough to offer us some time alone, it only seemed right to leave him the more
convenient of the two. Whyborne climbed eagerly after me, ducking beneath fur
covers heated with stones.
The feel
of his skin on mine again after so long drew a moan from me. He pressed tight,
flinging one leg over my hip, sliding his arms about me. His cock pushed
against my belly, hard and hot.
“I
missed this,” I murmured to him.
“As did
I.” He kissed me deep, and I clung to him, our bodies rubbing together.
I slid
my hand down his back to clasp one buttock, pulling him even tighter. We both
stank of the trail, but I breathed deep, letting the scent of salt and
ambergris fill my lungs. I’d never understood why he always smelled of the
ocean, until I’d learned of the inhuman blood in his veins.
I loved his
scent. The feel of his skin. How he gasped and shuddered when I put a hand to
his cock.
I loved
him.
It had
been too long for either of us to want something slow. We rutted against one
another, kissing and caressing, drinking in one another’s feel and taste and
scent. His fingers threaded through my hair, gripping gently, and he kissed me
hard. I parted my lips, let him fuck my mouth with his tongue, even as his hips
ground his cock into my belly. He was heat and passion and magic-scarred skin,
my lover, my husband, and the world narrowed to only the two of us here in this
bed. All of my worry and grief, that Jack would discover us, that the umbra
might prove to be something too powerful for us to face, vanished. There existed
only this moment, and us.
I bit
back a shout as I spilled, all of it too much. His grasp tightened on my hair,
forcing me to look at him as I spent between us. The intimacy of the act wrung
a second, smaller burst of pleasure out of me. His kiss-swollen lips parted,
and for a moment I thought he’d speak. Then he hauled me close, teeth biting
hard into my shoulder to muffle his cry as he gave himself over to his own
climax.
We lay
in each other’s arms for a long time, just breathing and drinking in the
sensation of being together. But gradually the heat faded and the
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