Daimodi, Eleventh of Sund'im, 445 A'A'diel
When Jarle met the soft moistness of Avaren's tongue, a heady thrill quickened his pulse. The breathless, dizzying rush he had felt when they had first kissed returned, along with the feeling that he had succumbed to an attraction he couldn't resist.
For a long time, they kissed, allowing the sensual dance of their lips communicate what words could not. Time slipped away as did the morning's downpour. Thunderclouds rolled off into the distance. protesting in roaring grumbles while shafts of brilliant sunlight pierced through openings in the cavern roof.
When the kiss ended, they were both breathless and out of sorts.
Gazing upon her, Jarle felt like a supplicant who had suddenly been granted the favor of a goddess. Avaren's eyes were sphinxlike—suffused with the color of the southern shallows, and her lips were swollen from their kisses. Beneath the crimson silk of her dress, the outline of her breasts enticed his touch.
Jarle traced the contour of Avaren's rib cage to cup a firm breast. He teased the peak of a nipple with his thumb, silently praying that Avaren would not stop him.
Beside him, Avaren let out a soft moan. She draped her thigh over his hip and swept her fingers over an old scar on his chest. "How did this happen?"
Jarle swallowed hard. Avaren was so close he could smell her arousal. The intoxicating musk and the perfume of her hair created an ambrosial bouquet that threatened to strip him of reason. His leather breeches felt like a sweltering prison. He was hot all over; drenched in sweat. "That was"—Jarle searched for words— "a close call."
"And this one?" Avaren guided her finger lower, to a scar above his hip bone.
In that intimate closeness, Jarle knew that Avaren was as aware of him as he was of her. His lips curled into the semblance of a smirk as he smoothed his palm under the fabric of her dress and groped her thigh. "That was a much closer call."
A coquettish smile danced on Avaren's face. She hooked her fingers in the front of Jarle's breeches and tugged the laces loose.
Ignoring the agony of his broken ribs, Jarle clasped Avaren against him. He stroked the length of her leg up to the curve of her hip.
"Allow me to guess"—Avaren breathed against Jarle's lips— "this is a much, much, closer call." Before Jarle could respond, Avaren shoved her hand inside his pants. With a sudden, stroking caress she closed her fingers around his manhood. Her touch sent a shock rippling through Jarle's body. His hips twitched and recoiled involuntarily, but as her hand pursued, he thrust into it with barely-controlled lust.
"Avaren by the gods, do not toy with me." Jarle ran his fingers through her mane of pale curls and brought her face to his. He kissed her cheeks, her chin, the long elegant line of her jaw. "What is it you wish?"
Avaren pulled her hand free of his pants and knelt over him. She unclasped the brooch that held up her dress and tossed it into the darkness. The silky fabric slid off her shoulders revealing her beautiful breasts. "I want this," she said, crawling over him.
Jarle's hands wandered along her bare arms, before turning inwards to lavish in the seductive softness of her breasts. He clasped the underside of the full globes, feasting upon the sight of her erect nipples. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse; trembling with desire. "Avaren, if we do this there is no going back. Are you certain?"
Avaren reached down and fumbled with the straps of her sandals, all semblance of grace and delicacy lost in her eagerness. "Yes, yes. What of your injuries?"
Jarle laced his arm around her waist and rolled over, taking her with him. The motion sent a stab of pain searing through his rib cage. "Consider yourself lucky," he gasped.
Avaren kicked off her shoes. "You are certain?"
Jarle sucked in his breath. Avaren was all around him, ensorcelling his senses until he felt sure he might explode. The touch of her flesh, the sight of her breasts, her round, naked hips beckoning beneath the silk; made him feel an almost nauseous, adolescent desire. Swooping down, Jarle nipped her neck before kissing his way down to her breasts. He sucked each of her nipples with gusto, before trailing his lips over her ribs belly.
"I've never felt better," Jarle lied.
With far more gentleness than he felt, Jarle eased the dress down over Avaren's legs. He covered her hips with kisses, following the crease of her groin to the top of her smooth, glistening thighs. He'd be damned if he didn't finish what they'd started.
⁂
With the first lash of Jarle's tongue upon her skin, Avaren let out a cry. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her father's admonishments rang out. Losing her nerve, Avaren turned on her belly and clenched her thighs shut. She ran her fingers through her hair and tried in vain to compose herself. "I'm sorry," she gasped.
Jarle crawled up behind her. He shaped the curve of her buttocks in a possessive caress. "You are so beautiful"—his teeth raked against her ear—"open your legs, allow me to pleasure you."
Caught in the buzz of the raska and the ecstasy of desire, her body felt like a raging furnace. Avaren dropped her face into her hands to hide her burning cheeks and spread her legs.
Behind her, Jarle slipped his fingers between the crevice of her thighs and stroked her velvety folds. The touch was so slight, so alluring that for a moment, Avaren wasn't certain if her strangled cries were of protest or encouragement. She wasn't sure of anything except for the tempestuous pressure that was building inside her. "Oh, gods"—Avaren grasped the woolen blanket and raised her hips — "that feels so good."
Jarle stroked her with deliberate slowness. His fingers swam in her slippery heat while avoiding the swollen pearl at her center. "Avaren, look at me."
Avaren turned to face Jarle. His eyes were dark and brooding—sparkling with an intimate intensity that shook her to the core. Her breath caught. "Yes?"
"Kiss me," Jarle said, his voice low and seductive.
Avaren crushed her mouth to his as her heart beat out the inescapable truth—she didn't care about her reputation or society's judgments. If pleasure could grant her a moment's reprieve from the grief and rage that threatened to consume her, then she welcomed it with all of her being.
Still kissing her, Jarle wrapped one arm under Avaren's belly and pulled her hips roughly against his groin. Once she was on her fours, he thrust against her until the length of his erection pressed thick and threatening between her buttocks. He caressed her supple body, wound his fingers into her hair, brought her gently up so that he could whisper in her ear. "Tell me what you want."
Avaren rose to her knees and turned her head to steal another kiss. Her body didn't know the difference between a prince and a criminal. "Make me not want to care," she begged.
Jarle released her and pushed her back down onto her belly. He scuttled behind her and spread her thighs wide with his shoulders. A rough, hungry groan escaped his lips before he plunged forward, thrusting his tongue into her sweltering cleft.
Avaren cried out. The man between her legs was surely a daevil from the deepest parts of Hel with an appetite to match. Jarle drove his tongue inside her; lapped and swallowed her juices like a starved wolf. He sucked and nibbled, massaged the flanges of her sex in ways that drove her mad. Never had she been pleasured in such a wanton way.
When Avaren finally found her breath, she let out a hoarse, raw cry that echoed in the darkness. She grabbed Jarle's hair; yanked and pulled him closer until the edge of her release peaked with spasms that sent tremors racing through her body. Her thighs tensed and her hips bucked with a passion which was no longer timid but demanding.
Not waiting for her to recover, Jarle thrust a finger inside her and crooked it, hitting a spot that melted her insides. Moans turned into desperate, delirious cries. Under him, Avaren shuddered and quaked; her nails raked the bedding.
When she tried to escape, Jarle held her captive. He teased her with long, slow licks that curled at the hard center of her pleasure; that forced her hips to lift and surrender to his remarkable mouth. Disheveled and breathless, Avaren endured climax after climax, until at last, she reached back and pushed Jarle away. "M-mercy, please," she pleaded.
Jarle eased her back to sanity with slow caresses and reverent kisses. Riddled with lust, but somewhat recovered, Avaren rolled on her back.
Before her, Jarle sat back on his haunches and clutched his thighs. He gave her a smile, but there was no mirth or comfort in it. His eyes were dark and wicked; full of eroding restraint. Between his legs, barely contained by loosened laces, his manhood jutted—proud and thick.
Staring at him, Avaren saw Jarle for what he was—a man she barely knew; a curskin with a dangerous past; a thief; an amoral animal. What outraged her the most was that the observation didn't frighten her. It excited her. She longed to quench the ardor in his eyes and banish, once and for all, the shackles of her chastity.
Cel help her. She wanted to control the man, but felt barely in control herself.
Avaren caressed the length of her body with her fingertips, leading Jarle's gaze to the apex between her thighs. She parted her legs in invitation, before dipping a finger into her slick heat.
Jarle's face darkened into a mask of lust. He pushed his breeches down over his buttocks and sank over her. His mouth claimed hers in a passionate kiss while his hands worshiped her curves. "Avaren, you have stolen my sanity. I want you more than I've ever wanted anything," he said huskily.
Avaren swallowed hard. Between them, there fell an unsettling silence—the sort of calm that comes before the storm.
Jarle's arms trembled as he braced himself above her. "Do you wish to stop?"
Avaren knew she had nothing to fear and much to gain, but reprimands and warnings filled her mind all at once. Voices from governesses, tutors, and court braggarts joined her father's thundering rebuke of the entire male gender. Bedding Jarle—a curskin—would debase her, and make her something worse than a whore. She would be unmarriable; shunned by all respectable members of society.
Rebelling against the phantom chorus, Avaren curved her hands over Jarle's buttocks and pulled him close. Any plans of an honorable union had shattered the night of the murder. "No, we mustn't stop. Don't stop."
Jarle hooked the back of Avaren's knee with the crook of his elbow and flattened her leg against her chest. He slipped his free hand between their bodies and grasped his cock. Once flush with her entrance, he thrust into her with a hard, decisive stroke.
Thoughts fled. Together, they let out a long, strangled gasp, then grew still. "You feel divine," Jarle confessed, struggling to keep from moving.
Avaren gritted her teeth. Her heart hammered inside her ribcage as she endured the splitting sensation that scourged her loins. "It hurts," she whimpered.
Jarle released her knee and smoothed back her hair. He kissed her lips and cheeks; as he pushed into her with agonizing slowness. "Only the first time," he assured.
As though she were caught in the clutches of a dream, Avaren watched Jarle's mouth cover one of her nipples. With each slow stroke of his hips, the sting of penetration melted into a dull, quiet ache. She closed her eyes and ran her hands down his back, feeling as if she had, at last, stumbled into the mystery of her own body. Jarle's skin smelled of sun, salt, and sweat. He was hard and male—everything she didn't know she was missing and suddenly craved.
"Don't hold back," Avaren coaxed, her words barely audible.
Jarle's nostrils flared, and his lips pulled back to reveal his teeth. He gripped the supple globes of her ass and spread her thighs with his knees. His hips pulled back, then slammed forward, impaling her with bruising force. In that position, eyes locked on hers, he speared into her, time and again until a sheen of sweat broke upon his body.
Avaren's face twisted in torment. Her cries rose into the darkness. Jarle's cock was like a battering ram that seemed to surge past the constraints of her loins and into her belly. It was a feeling she had never felt before, an inexorable fullness that made her fear the end of her life was near. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks as she clung to him, defenseless against the domineering rhythm of his body.
Together they clashed, over and over, until Jarle could no longer stave off his release. Every forward motion caused an involuntary expulsion of breath. His stomach clenched and his muscles strained. He drove into her hard and fast, until, with a final, ecstatic thrust, he pulled out, and emptied himself on her belly.
Avaren caressed Jarle as he collapsed, trembling and breathless into her arms. When his mouth met hers, his lips were soft and indulgent, lacking the fury that had swept through him only moments earlier.
Avaren buried her face in Jarle's neck and closed her eyes.
For a time they held each other; listening to the sound of the gushing waterfall and the splatter of raindrops. Contented kisses and surprised smiles passed between them.
"There was a moment when I thought I would die," Avaren confessed.
Jarle held her. He stroked her hair. "I have no words to explain how I feel."
"Is that good?" Avaren asked.
"It's better than good, better than wonderful."
Avaren wiped her tears on his skin. Shame mingled with satisfaction as she wondered if the enchantment was complete. "Thank you for not"—she pressed her belly against his— "you know."
Jarle kissed her. "It was hard, believe me, but I'm a curskin, and you are—" Jarle offered her a smile. "A child will only complicate matters." Jarle rolled off of her and lay at her side. The motion ripped an anguished groan from his lips. "I am sorry I hurt you."
Avaren bit her lower lip. Her loins yet glowed from the exquisite ache of penetration. "Seems you are already paying for it."
"Curse these ribs."
Avaren propped herself on one elbow and looked down at the sticky mess between them. To her surprise, Jarle's erection had not waned. His organ was still engorged and tainted with her blood. She opened her mouth to speak, then fell silent. Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment.
Jarle followed Avaren's gaze, then frowned. He squeezed her thigh with a reassuring caress, then slowly crawled to his feet. He cast off his boots and took off his pants before staggering to the pile of treasure. He picked up a tattered shirt, and waving the garment in the air, walked to the sparkling cascade.
Avaren laughed when Jarle flung his head into the frigid water and let out a high-pitched howl. The man was shaking off the water as a dog might after a dip in a pond. "You are positively harebrained; you know that?"
Jarle cleansed himself with the old shirt, then wrung it out. He swaggered back to the sleeping pallet and paused to pose for her. "Certainly, you meant positively charming," he said flexing his arms. When she smiled at him, the corners of his lips curved into an endearing boyish grin.
Crawling back to bed, Jarle began to dab her clean with the wet cloth. Avaren winced when his hand dipped between her legs but did not stop him. The coldness of the water felt divine. Despite her ache, she wanted more.
Not waiting for him to finish, Avaren grabbed the shirt from his hand and tossed it. She rolled to her hands and knees and crawled over him like a stalking lioness. The look of surprise on Jarle's face tickled her.
"I should really spare you further torments," Avaren teased.
Jarle let out a moan when she circled one of his nipples with her tongue. "Torment me at your leisure," he gasped.
Avaren kissed her way down his belly while stroking his muscular thighs. Pausing just shy of his sex, she looked up at him. "Are you sure?"
Jarle grabbed a fistful of her hair and looked into her eyes. "Avaren," he breathed, "I am in danger of losing all that has up to this point distinguished me. I want you to know that I've never felt as I do now."
Avaren licked her lips. It was time to show Jarle that she wasn't entirely innocent when it came to pleasuring the opposite sex. "Men always say such things at such times, do they not?"
"Yes," Jarle said, guiding her head back down. "Sometimes, we even mean it."
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