Warlord (5 page)
Perhaps it was to take this more slowly. Fuck that. That was insane. She had a timeless connection to this man – to Arystan – that transcended rationality. She did not understand why, but knew it to be true in the depths of her soul. It was right to be here.
It was right to be with him.
He ran his tongue almost savagely up the side of her face as she closed her eyes and tried to step back. He tightened his arms around her, holding her firmly in place.
“You are not going anywhere. You like my touch,” he said, taking the side of her chin in his teeth and pulling, biting just softly enough not to break the skin.
He licked at her lips brusquely and she opened her mouth to him, but he did not accept the kiss. Instead, he wrapped one hand in her hair and tilted her head back slightly, bringing his tongue and teeth to her ear, tracing it sharply and then biting around the delicate shell. She writhed beneath his touch, crying out, but he held her immobile.
“Yes, I think you like my touch very much, woman,” he growled.
Sara could feel wetness gush from between her thighs, unable to control her responses to his handling of her. She realized abruptly that she had nothing on under the leather skirt, as she felt the slipperiness roll down the inside of her leg.
Arystan stopped. “I can smell your arousal and it is like ambrosia to me. Nectar of the spirits. Before we are done, woman, I will taste it, swallow it, drink the honey from your fountain. Be sure of it.”
Sara’s knees buckled and he yanked her back up by her arms, letting go of her for a moment to reach toward her throat and unclasp the cloak. “You won’t be needing this for warmth tonight,” he said, tossing it carelessly toward the back of the tent.
He began to writhe against her body sensuously, his hands roaming over her curves, lifting her skirt and letting it fall back, pushing up her breasts, running his hands over her belly and hips, then grabbing her buttocks and pulling them forward forcefully. Sara moved against him, emitting little cries of pleasure, reason having abandoned her, the only thing that mattered now the dark god in the firelight, devastatingly handsome, passionate, intense, ready to have her, take her, fuck her senseless.
Arystan begin to back Sara up toward the large pile of furs against the wall of the tent.
She felt the back of her legs brush against the bed and he stopped for a moment. He looked down at her hungrily, his eyes locked to hers, and then he fiercely kissed her.
Sara felt she would explode with his ardor, his deep hunger, it was almost as if he was trying to consume her, his tongue forcing its way past hers deeply into the recesses of her throat. She couldn’t breathe, but didn’t want to, as she tried to kiss him back, Arystan all but taking over, controlling the speed, the depth, the possession of her mouth. Then he pulled away abruptly, looked down at her, his black eyes glinting, and pushed her back forcibly onto the bed.
Sara felt herself falling and then her body landed on the pile of furs, bouncing jerkily, as she stared up at Arystan, her legs falling open slightly. His black eyes gleamed as he watched her skirt ride up higher on her thighs and he licked his lips. Sara’s eyes were hooded, wanting him, almost impatient now, wondering why he did not follow her down to the bed.
Instead, he turned away and walked a few paces to the table, slowly unfastening the bronzed bands from his biceps. He removed them carefully and set them down on the table. His torso was fully exposed now, the sinew of his arms apparent as he worked at his sword belt, removing it and laying it on the table as well. Then, he turned to face Sara and released his loincloth, letting it drop to the furs. He stepped out of it, his mouth turning up seductively.
Sara’s mouth fell open as she looked upon Arystan’s glistening organ for the first time. It was fully erect and had to be at least ten inches long. It was so enormous, she didn’t think she would even be able to fit her hand around its girth. The uncircumcised head was purpled and leaking fluid, blood coursing through it, turning it a darker shade than Arystan’s skin. John had always been proud of his maleness, but god, he had nothing . . .
nothing, on the man standing before her who looked absolutely ready to pounce on her.
Arystan strode forward, his cock bobbing somewhat as it pointed toward her out of a thick nest of black, curling hair. He stopped next to the bed of furs where Sara lay, undulating, her hands pulling up at her skirts, running over her own breasts, looking up sexily at him, moaning, more than ready for him. His eyes glinted for a moment and then he moved to the bottom of the bed, crawling up and kneeling below her.
She continued playing with her breasts, her hands toying with the chains that bound her outfit together and when he made no move toward her whimpered, “Arystan.” She was aflame with need. “Please.”
“I see you’ve finally recalled my name, woman,” he said, reaching for her legs and thrusting them apart forcibly. Sara gasped, feeling more lubrication slide out of her opening. She really did have nothing on under the leather skirt.
Arystan reached under her dress, feeling the curves of her ass, grabbing both buttocks firmly, and then continued sliding his hands around, reaching her sex. He mashed one thumb down hard on her clit and Sara screamed, buckling underneath him, writhing in ecstasy and agony as he began to work his roughened fingers over her, drawing them down through her labia and then plunging one finger up inside her. She choked back a scream again, arching, desperate for more than his fingers, muttering a stream of obscenities as she pleaded with him to take her.
Instead, he wrapped his arms around her thighs, jerking her ass up onto his knees and pulled her up higher so that her back was in the air and her shoulders pressed down into the thick furs. He wasn’t going to was he? Good god, John had never done this – he refused to do this. He might brush his hand down there a few times but then it was back to him, all about his pleasure.
Arystan looked down at Sara’s wide blue eyes, his features masculine, stern, and yet something in his eyes told her how much she meant to him and she knew this was no passing dalliance, no one-time tryst. She must have a history with this man. A history of desire. Her greatest desire. Shit. Sara started to panic, her situation flooding back, snippets of the being’s voice in the chamber floating before her.
If you give in to want,
you shall die
. Oh god, no. She tried to fight what was happening to her – the powerful emotions, the need coursing through her, the feel of Arystan’s hands wrapped around her thighs, his eyes hard as diamonds staring at her. This was a dream, it had to be. She had to wake up – or leave – or resist. Something. Yes, resist. That was it. She had to resist him.
Arystan took one more look at the woman under him, her long, honeyed hair spread behind her on the furs like a halo around her head, a melek, a devaduta, his angel, fallen to earth from some distant land, for him and him alone. Then he tightened his grip on her thighs and lowered his mouth to her core.
Sara screeched, pushing and pulling at his black hair futilely, Arystan not budging as he lashed her clit mercilessly with his tongue, applying pressure, then releasing, pulling on her sensitive bud with his mouth, his hot breath threatening to burn her to ash. He took her small button gently between his teeth, almost snarling, and then soothed it with his tongue, as she howled and pleaded, begging for him to stop, the pleasure too intense, all thought and logic gone from her. He moved his tongue lower, parting her labia and then dipped it into her center, tasting her sweet juices flowing freely, drinking of her nectar and then swirled his muscle into her, causing her to shriek his name over and over as she gasped and writhed, tears now flowing freely from the corners of her eyes.
Sara was coated in a sheen of perspiration, rivulets running down her neck, pooling in her cleavage, gliding over her bare torso, collecting in her navel, as if her entire body had been heavily oiled. Still Arystan did not stop, teasing her ruthlessly, stroking in and out of her with his tongue, thrashing her clit, sucking, biting and drawing it up higher, up into the furnace of his mouth until Sara felt something growing and building within her, an unendurable throbbing that sweetened then grew even stronger, until it was almost unbearable and still Arystan continued, showing no mercy as the ache built on itself, a whirling, pulsating sensation and then Sara was abruptly flung upwards, screaming Arystan’s name, somewhere distant far beyond the realms of earth, clutching for the stars and then sliding down their gentle, soothing brightness, caressed by them as she glided slowly, softly back down, slipping first into the tent, then toward the hide bed and at last into her body, a roaring in her ears allowing only to feel, but not hear, as she came back to herself.
Arystan stayed with Sara as she came down, lapping at her spring, drinking down her essence until there were no more drops to be had. He loosened his grip on her thighs and gently lowered her soaked body to the bed, moving up the skins until he rested on his elbow next to her head, watching her, her eyes closed, still panting, her golden skin suffused with perspiration in the torchlight.
She turned her head to him, locking her blue eyes to his black ones, which went soft for a moment as he traced his hand lightly up her belly, over her breasts, up the chain from her cleavage to her neck, his fingers lightly encircling her throat for a moment. She watched the sinew ripple on his arms, the light black hairs dancing as he moved, his muscles powerful, yet sensual, able to kill a man, but yet make passionate love to a woman. Then Arystan wrapped his hand around the chain to her breasts and jerked Sara to him, his eyes hardening. He crushed himself to her mouth, rolling on top of her and kissing her brutally, his organ swollen, thick and hard, throbbing heatedly against her. She whimpered, ready to receive him, the yearning building within her again, lost to everything but the black-haired god above her.
He broke the kiss and pulled back slightly, his eyes, magma burning a hole into hers.
“And now, woman, I possess you. All of you,” he breathed, positioning his enormous cock at her entrance, dripping with fresh lubrication of desire and residual juices from her orgasm. He raised back his hips to thrust into her.
Something far in the back of Sara’s lust-crazed mind was desperately screaming at her, frantically trying to get the attention of the woman, all but turned into a sticky, gooey mass of wantonness.
Death
, the voice whispered.
Death comes. It comes for all
eternity. You must resist, Sara. You must resist or all will be lost. Arystan is real, but
not this way, not here, not now.
Her hands rested on Arystan’s powerful forearms; she felt the heat from his flesh, the strength in his body, the dominance in him, taking over her body and mind. It was too much. She had to have him.
You will be lost, Sara. You
will die an everlasting death for one moment of pleasure, one act of passion. Resist Sara,
and you can have Arystan in life, in flesh and blood, as you are meant to.
She let out an anguished scream of torment and flung herself from under Arystan, falling heavily from the bed and rolling to the wooden bench. Arystan’s eyes followed her, his reflexes normally quick as a cat, dulled by passion, overwhelmed by his own ardor and the nearness of plunging his cock into the willing, wet orifice of the woman he loved and who, he had assumed, loved him.
Without thinking, Sara grabbed Arystan’s short sword, pulled it from the scabbard and half-crouched, looking back at the bed for a brief second. Arystan rose in all his nakedness, his muscled body glistening, his cock erect and swollen, a mixture of surprise and fury darkening his expression.
He knew what drawing a sword meant and in the next half-second leaped toward the bench, intent on seizing Sara. But her mind was running on automatic and she sensed somehow that was what he would do. As he leapt, so did she, except for the back of the tent, the sword raised above her head, stabbing the razor-sharp blade through the thick skins and placing all of her weight on the sword as it slid down, slitting the hides open cleanly. Without looking back, she darted through, running through a conglomeration of smaller tents, barefoot over the hard, snowy ground. Arystan clearly had the largest dwelling in the encampment. It was dark and she heard snatches of indistinct conversations, both inside and outside of the tents as she ran, but no one tried to stop her.
She made it to the edge of the camp, pulled herself onto the back of a large, black horse and hit it hard on the flank with the broad side of the small sword, kicking it with her heels as she did so. It whinnied and reared and she barely hung on to its mane, but then it jumped from a cold start into a fast gallop. Sara took one last look behind her, her hair streaming over her back, and saw Arystan silhouetted against the split in the tent, watching her flee, not chasing her. Then his image seemed to ripple and she twisted forward again, panic rising in her throat as the dark landscape shimmered and dissolved and she blacked out.
* * * * *
But the setting had been exciting to watch – better than most. True, there had been a bit of grumbling among the other mists when the woman escaped, just as the scene had been getting good. At least with the desire scenarios, they frequently were able to watch the mortals fuck each other. And what fucking it usually was, being the product of the greatest desire of one, or sometimes both, mortals involved in the scene. Of course, once they physically engaged, no one, absolutely no one, ever stopped, and so they all died rather quickly, albeit painfully. It was not known whether the mortals experienced climax before they died. It might have softened the blow of death.
