Impulsively, I embrace her as I would my own mother. The two of them would get along, I think. They both understand the pain of outliving a mate. They share the pride and fear at seeing their children elevated in station. Honhura might not scrub pots or breed braxas, but she could appreciate the peace of farm life, too. Maybe I’ll send her here for some of Saana’s no-nonsense cures.
“We are family now,” I tell her. “Of course we’ll bring our greenlings.”
I can imagine them running in the fields, following each other’s scents as they hide in the grass as Pravil and I did. Chasing the baby braxas around until Saana scolds them. It’s an image I like very much and one not so far out of reach.
Saana shoos me out of the cooking area, so I go curl around Rose. The ever-present, distracting ache in my chest when I’m away from her fades to something tolerable now that she’s in my arms. She’s so slight from her captivity, there’s plenty of room for me even on the narrow pallet. I have doubts she will build enough muscle to walk by the time we return to the palace, but all we can do is try.
After all, I had doubts when I left that she’d be able to speak the words of joining, but she has already proven those unfounded. Seeing what she’s accomplished in mere days? I think she will have no problem ruling a planet even if she can’t walk. I’ll carry her anywhere she needs to go.
Rose sighs and turns in her sleep, pressing closer to me, and my cock jolts in response. I’ve dismissed its complaints since Iclaimed her in the grass, but now it won’t listen to me. It’s enjoying the feel of her soft warmth too much.
It was probably for the best that we had to spend time apart, or I’d have worn her out. My Alara has made a remarkable recovery during my absence, but she’s still weak in certain ways. Neither of us would have accomplished anything if I’d carried her off into the grass twice a day.
My stupid cock likes the idea of that, too, and prods the seam between her thighs again. Muttering a curse under my breath, I try to twist my hips away. The movement wakes her up and I hear her breath blow out in a quiet laugh when she realizes what’s happening.
“Forgive me,” I murmur, putting a hand between us to spare her the pressure. She tugs it away and slides her small, curious hands down my belly to grip my hardening shaft through my trousers.
“No apologize, Oljin,” she says, my name on her lips as electrifying as it was the first time she said it. “Jara and Alara, beautiful.”
I freeze, surprised she knows my title. I’ve been wondering how to explain it to her. “Jara, you understand what that means?”
“No,” she admits in a whisper. “Understand you and me. Oljin and Rose, together. No share.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. She is perfectly correct. Our titles mean we are bound together forever, our souls intertwined with the divine. On the other hand, I will have to share her with the entire planet.
But not like this. This is just for us.
“Yes,” I hiss when she gives me a tentative stroke over the fabric. She hums, pleased with herself, and does it again. It takes my warrior’s will to keep the groan in my chest to avoid waking Saana.
I run my fingers through Rose’s wispy mane and down her neck until I find the tender spot where I made my claim. Tracing a circle around it, I murmur in her ear, “Someday we will not have to be quiet. Someday I’ll make you sing my name.”
“Quiet,” Rose agrees with a shiver, and then slips her soft hands inside my sash. Her wrists are so narrow she doesn’t even have to untie it, and I like how that restriction binds us even closer together, even if it makes the angle awkward.
I let my pigment flow unchecked in the dark, every exhilarating slide of her fingers coaxing out fresh samples of my seed until we’re both slippery and panting. With jerky movements, I slide my hands under her sveli, parting the fabric and her legs so I can feel the arousal that is perfuming the whole room.
Careful of my claws, I explore her tender, clenching core. When I add a second finger, she sighs and grinds against my hand, squeezing my cock to let me know when I hit the right spot. I focus there, increasing the speed and pressure until she wraps one leg over mine, her strength surprising as she shudders a long release.
Making her feel good is more satisfying than any time I’ve ever spilled my seed.
“I missed you,” I murmur against the top of her head, my fingers still stroking inside her but slower now. Gentler. “Missed having you in my arms. Missed feeling your skin against mine. We will not be parted again, I swear to you.”
She squeezes my cock in reply. “Word?” she whispers.
I swallow the desire that has thickened my throat. “Cock,” I choke out, smiling inside at my little scholar-mate, so dedicated to learning that she never stops. She repeats the word studiously until her pronunciation is flawless, still stroking me.
“Good girl. Beautiful,” I praise when she gets it right. She whimpers, her channel squeezing my fingers in response.
I could not have picked a more erotic fantasy to play out. Certainly, I have envisioned such a scene while studying in the archives: a female finding me among the solemn stacks of scrolls, asking for my instruction, then following it—eagerly, quietly to avoid drawing notice of the other scholars, her diligent practice giving us both pleasure as I gain the satisfaction of teaching her well.
But this is real life, and this is my Alara. This isher, not some imaginary female. And her eagerness to learn is not an act. Neither is our need for taking our pleasure silently.
I untie my sash, releasing my cock and her trapped wrist. Placing my free hand over hers, I slide her fingers through the seed she’s already squeezed from me, naming it. Her breathless repetition only makes more leak out.
When she masters the word, I move her other hand to cup my balls, doing the same. She learns so quickly, her mind as responsive as her body.
“Perfect, Alara.” I stroke my fingers in and out of her, a reward for getting it right. She moans, a fresh tide of her arousal flooding my palm. “What a good student you are. Will you write these new words in your scrolls? Will you repeat them and think of me, of this moment with your hand on my cock and my fingers filling you?”
“Quiet, Oljin,” she pants, and I nearly spend in her grip.
