Under Distan Moons Read online

  At last I moved my hands back to his right thigh, very hesitantly resuming the massage. Energy coursed out of his muscles now, threatening to overwhelm me. He leaned back onto the table again and lifted his left hand to stroke my breasts while I massaged him. I breathed in sharply as my nipples stood up in response.

  I could not help looking at the massive cock that had blossomed between his legs. I thought of all the tiny dicks I'd had in me—the eldest of the serving boys was only seventeen—and my core ached to be invaded by this king. I recalled the captain of the guard—he had been large, but King Demiant was larger. The time in the guardroom had hurt, because it had been the first time. The king would hurt as well, I knew, but in the manner of a perfect massage.

  I longed for him to conquer me.

  My breathing quickened as he moved to fondle my other breast, and I gave a muted cry as he pinched the nipple sharply. I felt, rather than saw, his satisfied smile, and my fingers danced across his thigh and lower stomach, forgetting entirely to put the pressure of massage into the touch.

  The king propped himself up on his right elbow and reached up to touch my hair. I always kept it tied back in a loose knot when I was working, but his fingers slid into my hair, knocking the knot out of place, and gripped the back of my head, pulling me down toward the table, my face aimed squarely between his legs.

  I took my king into my mouth, nearly gagging on his size, using my tongue to massage where my hands could never reach. The king's hand remained on the back of my head, pressing me to him, and I sucked and squeezed, tasting the sweet juices of the High Priestess, mingled with a heady, salty taste I knew was the king's musk alone. He writhed beneath me soundlessly, and I moved my hands against his thighs and stomach, my breasts pressed almost painfully against the edge of the table. My skirt swished against my legs, every sensation begetting a thousand tremors, and the place between my legs grew hot and slippery. My own juices had begun to drip down my legs when the king tightened his hand in my hair and pulled me roughly off of him.

  I thought I had offended him somehow, and I quickly knelt to beg his forgiveness, but he pulled me up by the arm and lifted me, not ungently, onto the table.

  I lay on my back, my skirts twisted around me, but the king climbed on top of me and hiked up my skirt, then planted his hands beside my head and met my eyes with his gaze of blue possession as he plunged into me.

  Stars exploded before my eyes, and I was vaguely aware of the distant music faltering in response to my cry. He moved above me and inside me.

  Pleasure...pain...pleasure. Pain that was pleasure spread from the center of my being to every inch of my skin. I was pressed flat to the table, trapped within his hot need, and my own need made me sink my fingers into his firm buttocks as he thrust deep into me, again and again, setting his own relentless rhythm that I was powerless to resist. My breath came in sharp gasps. He lowered his head to my neck and nipped at the soft skin with his teeth; next moment he soothed the hurt with his tongue. I gripped his ass and pulled him more deeply into me with each stroke, my mind reeling.

  I heard a sound to my left, and looked over to see the High Priestess awake. She had thrown off the velvet coverlet, and lay naked on the bed, her fingers working furiously between her legs as she watched me and the king with a glazed look in her eyes.

  The sight of her smooth pussy and plump breasts sent me over the edge. I let out a guttural cry as wave after wave of ecstatic pain coursed through me.

  The king went on, heedless of me, his glassy eyes fixed on the hearth behind me as he plunged into me again and again. I was a puppet for him, a vessel for him to fill, and several minutes later he did. His spasms rocked my bones. I thrust my hips hard against him, annoyed when the dress tangled around my waist prevented me from entirely reaching him.

  The king gave a satisfied moan and rolled off of me. My cunt throbbed, and I felt his hot juices dribble out of me. My thighs ached, but I do not think I could have moved if I tried.

  The king grinned at the priestess, who was moaning and thrashing on the bed, in her own throes of pleasure. He waited for her to finish, then said, "Licea, you must try this one. She is a fine physician."

  My skin flushed against my will, and the king grinned again, his blue eyes dancing.

  The High Priestess stood up and stretched like a cat, flicking her dark waves of hair out of her eyes. She had a narrow face and a slim frame, with small, plump breasts that were rosy at the nipples where she had been squeezing them.

  I watched her as she padded across the floor to stand at the end of the table. She swept her eyes over me appreciatively, then reached up and tugged the tangled dress down over my hips, until I lay completely naked under her gaze, and the king's.

  Without warning the High Priestess perched on the edge of the table and leaned over me, her hair tickling the soft places along my thigh and making me arch my back. Her tongue found my center, the softness of it a shock after the commanding thrusts of the king, and I moaned. She lapped at me—tasting, I knew, the king's juices mingled with mine as I had tasted hers mingled with the king's earlier. The thought sent heat coursing through my entire body. She curled her fingers around my hips and pressed her face into my crotch, lapping inexhaustibly like a dog at the river on a summer day.

  The King's shadow covered me, and next thing I knew he was bent over me, his kiss plowing deep into my mouth, his firm lips dancing against mine, stealing my breath. His hands moved over my breasts, teasing lightly, then pinching and twisting, and I rocked my hips against the High Priestess' face. The king moved his mouth down my neck and to one breast, where he soothed the pinched nipple with his lips and tongue, flicking his tongue lightly over it the way I had learned to move my hands over injured muscles. I arched my back, but he pressed against my breast with his mouth, and I was pinned under him and the High Priestess, whose tongue never stopped lapping and swirling into me and against my most sensitive places.

  I literally could not move now, and my skin hummed with the knowledge of it.

  When the spasms took me this time, they were deeper and longer, more gentle and satisfying in a wholly different way. The High Priestess' tongue dove into me as I arched and cried out, and the king's mouth disappeared from my breast.

  I lay breathing heavily for a moment, disoriented, and I felt the High Priestess climb down from the table. When I opened my eyes again, the king was standing beside me, gazing down at me with a detachment that I now found arousing. I looked beyond him, and saw the High Priestess on the bed again, sprawled out on her back luxuriously, her skin golden against the red velvet coverings.

  The king put out a hand to me, and I took it. He pulled me up from the table and held me close to him, his cock once again hard against my stomach, and he kissed me deep, his hands tangling into my hair and molding themselves to the back of my skull. I melted against him, powerless to resist anything he would ask of me.

  The king stood back from me, and smiled. He took my hand and led me over to the bed. Juices flowed down my legs, and my cunt vibrated with exhaustion. We stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at the High Priestess. She looked back up at us through her eyelashes. No wonder it was said she had seduced every novice who had come through her temple in the past ten years.

  "You were right, Your Majesty," she said in a low purr. "She is a fine physician."

  The king placed one hand on my back and pushed me toward the bed. "Lick her," he commanded.

  I hurried to obey. I climbed onto the bed and lay between her legs, lowering my mouth to her already-juicy cunt. In her own peculiar fashion, she had removed the hair there, and my lips and tongue luxuriated in the smooth skin—nearly as smooth as my hands. I licked carefully up the center of her slit and found the ball of pleasure that lay above it, and she moaned loudly. The music behind the screens faltered again, but went on. The High Priestess did not seem to notice; she only pulsed her hips against me and let out a string of curses that would have made any pious merchant of the city
blush.

  The king laughed behind me, and then smacked me on the rear. "Get that ass up in the air, where I can see it."

  I obliged quickly, balancing myself on my elbows without removing my tongue from the High Priestess' clit. My hair had long since fallen out of its knot, and I twitched it over her thighs and stomach.

  The king ran his hands up my thighs and dipped his fingers into the well of my womanhood, probing into me. He ran his hands over the smooth skin of my ass, massaging it in a way that was not exactly unskilled, and soothing the place where he had smacked me with his tongue. I bucked against him, and he laughed again, a low, satisfied rumble, and then stepped back.

  I glanced up at the High Priestess' face—her head was tipped back, her eyes closed, her mouth opened as she muttered hearty curses alternating with what seemed to be invocations to the gods.

  I knew the king stood a few feet away, watching in delight, and my skin grew even warmer.

  I curled my tongue into a hard spear and plunged it into the High Priestess' opening, then let it unfurl as I lapped against her. She clutched at my hair, the way the king had done, and cursed me to the twenty-six hells.

  The king's hands moved over my ass again and I realized they were slick. The scent of cassia and jasmine drifting around me told me he had gone to fetch one of my oil pots, and a moment later he began to massage the oil into my ass, poking his finger gently inside me.

  A nervous spasm flitted through my stomach. I was hardly innocent, as I have said, but I had never been entered like a boy before, and his enormous cock both captivated and frightened me.

  My tongue faltered, and the High Priestess swore and pressed my face against her harder. I resumed my licking as the king's finger went deep inside me, tickling my bowels in a way that made me buck against him once more. He gave a kind of grunt, then climbed onto the bed behind me and gripped my hips, pressing his dick against my opening gently. I shivered in anticipation, and he held me on the edge of penetration for a long agonizing moment, so that I found I wanted more than anything else for him to take me in any way he pleased.

  He dug his fingers into my flesh and pulled me to him, and entered me sharply. Pain like I had never known flowered though every part of me, followed by waves of pleasure as he rocked against me. Pain...pleasure...pain. Pleasure that was pain, radiating from my king, his energy flying into me with every stroke and threatening to drown me with its tidal force. He laid his open palm against the soft skin of my ass, hard, and I bit at the soft skin of the High Priestess folded between my teeth. She cried out in ecstasy, and the king moved against me more quickly, pain and pleasure now coupling at every stroke. The king moved his hands down to grip my breasts, binding me to him irrevocably, and my tongue quickened in the hot, wet cunt of the High Priestess. She arched and cried out, pulling at my hair, and I felt her spasms against my lips. I thrust my tongue into her to lick at the insides of her cunt as she came, and she went limp under me, breathing hard. The king's hands against my breasts lifted me backward toward him, as he slammed into me again and again, my oiled ass sliding against the skin of his stomach, the heady scent of cassia and jasmine and sex filling my nostrils.

  At last he came, hard, into me, raking his fingernails over the soft skin of my stomach. I collapsed onto the High Priestess, her breasts forming a kind of pillow for my head, and let my hands wander over her smooth skin.

  King Demiant rolled over onto his side on the bed, then pressed my mouth to his to taste her juices.

  He touched my forehead. "A fine physician," he murmured.

  I fell asleep there between them, my head pillowed on the High Priestess, the king's hand between my legs. My last thought, before I fell asleep, was that Meire would not have to get a scolding in the morning after all.

  Single-Minded

  I sensed the smile that went round the room below when Tomis and I slipped up the back stairs—they think they know what it means, for us to finally have this moment, but they don't, not really. How could they—Arris and Poul and Tamyra and the others? They are soldiers, and though they welcomed us into their company during the war, they know nothing of the separate war that we psychics fought in the king's service. They know nothing of having the enemy always at the gates of your mind. They know nothing of being afraid to open your mind to thoughts of your love for fear of even the least memories being taken from you.

  Now, with Tomis's fingers entwined through mine, the warmth of his flesh so near as he pushes open the heavy door to the room above the pub, it is hard to believe he is really here, though his presence looms at the edge of my mind. I am half-afraid to open to it, even though we are alone now, the press of minds below far enough away and familiar enough to tune out. Tomis has always been a heady presence for me, from the moment we met as students in the care of Marani Touris, the great psychic master. I recall how he used to distract me during lessons, and smile. Those days are long past.

  Tomis, sensing my amusement, turns and looks at me inquiringly. I shake my head, suddenly nervous as I see the four-posted bed piled high with furs, a fire banked in the hearth beyond. A decanter of wine sits on the table in the corner, along with a plate of strawberries and plums. Tamyra's doing, no doubt. She always said the fruits of the orchard inspired the passions.

  But neither Tomis nor I will eat that fruit tonight, I think. We have no need. Our hasty marriage in the midst of the last battle—before he left to ride north with the king's battalion, before I traveled east with Tamyra and her spies—seems ages ago. But there has been no time for this, our wedding night, until now, and surely our friends below will forgive us for sneaking out early from the feast.

  Tomis closes the door and places the wooden bar in place—though it's hardly necessary, as either of us would sense a stranger coming before they even reached the stairs. Still, I relax a fraction and go to warm my hands at the fire. Also unnecessary, as my body is now flushed with a heat that has little to do with the flames.

  Tomis comes to stand behind me—I feel the caress of his mind before his hands brush the sides of my velvet gown, and I tip my head back. Relax, he whispers into my mind. There are no enemies here.

  I know he's right, and yet long years of habit make it difficult to let down my mental barriers, even for him. I close my eyes and focus on the breath in my body, relaxing the physical presence to allow the mental to do the same. Slowly, Tomis's warmth fills my mind, the kindness of his spirit, the familiar trusting vibration of his energy. The war is over, and we are together, his spirit whispers to mine, and I shudder as his hands skim over my hips and his lips claim my neck. He runs his hands up my arms and pushes aside my hair to let his lips wander freely over the soft skin at the nape of my neck, and the nearness of his throbbing, wanting thoughts clouds my mind.

  In the midst of the swirling throng in my mind, one thought becomes diamond-hard and clear. I love you. I don't know if the thought is his or mine—or both at once. I let out a sob and turn to face him, my arms twining around his neck as his kiss claims me.

  I do not know how long we stand there, entwined before the fire, our lips engaged as if in battle, but when he lifts his head, I am breathless and dizzy, unsure of the source of the warm wanting coursing through me. Marani warned us, back in school, that powerful psychics had been known to have their way with young girls by projecting their own lusts upon them, and that we were particularly vulnerable to this. But I know and trust my Tomis, and I know, if I do not trust, myself. This want is not his alone.

  Tomis pauses and looks into my eyes, his fingers moving over my face, his gaze soft, and the last vestiges of my mental barriers wash away in the gentle flood of his love. I lift my fingers to his cheek—the barest hint of stubble is beginning there, after hours of feasting downstairs. He closes his eyes, and I know that he too has been pulled into the overwhelming tide of emotions running between us. I wonder for a moment if it will frighten him, if he will cut himself off from me, but my Tomis was always braver than I about letting down his
mental barriers, and he only opens his eyes again a moment later, a new, heady light in them.

  He leans forward and kisses my neck again, and the sensation of his hair whispering against my chin as his wanton thoughts whisper in my mind nearly makes me collapse on the spot. As if sensing this, he grips my waist, holding me steady, and lets his lips wander lower, over my collarbone and toward the plunge of my bodice. I tangle my fingers in his fine hair, inhaling deeply. His scent fills my senses as his emotions fill my mind—a scent spiked with musk and jasmine and something else, with a dangerous edge, his thoughts filled with things I would not dare utter in polite company.

  I am not aware of Tomis unbuttoning the front of my gown until he has reached the buttons at my waist. The bodice of my gown falls open, and air that should feel cold against my skin only warms me further. Tomis kneels and works his way down the row of buttons. I tighten my fingers in his hair. I can do nothing but wait for him, as I have been waiting for him through the long years of war, through battle after battle where our duties took us far apart and into separate and equally horrible dangers.

  At last he reaches the final button, and he grips my hips and stands. He pauses and looks into my eyes questioningly. I realize that I am suddenly cold, and that thoughts of war have driven the barriers back up in my mind. I knit my brow and focus on lowering them again, but the chill that has invaded my body distracts me, and my teeth chatter. Tomis wraps his arms around me and holds me close to him, his mouth close to my ear, though he utters no words. Shhhh, says his mind at the edge of my barrier. It is over now. It is over now.

  I let my forehead fall onto his shoulder, glad to rely on his strength to hold me up as I focus all my energies on eradicating the barrier between us. I focus on the warmth of his skin, on the hard knot of his belt where it presses against my stomach, on the physicality of him near me, and, ironically perhaps, it is this that allows me to open myself to him once more. The giddiness of the partygoers below plays at the edge of my mind, a pleasant undercurrent. There is no war here, I remind myself. There is nothing but Tomis.