Against all odds, the horse stopped.
“Oh! I didn’t know you could issue your horse instructions!”
“You can’t.”
“But he stopped? Periwinkle, let’s—”
I was off of Bram and holding Periwinkle’s reins before Pip could say more.
We redistributed the weight, putting the luggage on Periwinkle, who accepted the panniers and saddlebags with a cheerfulness that bordered on relief. Pip went behind the nearest tree and emerged wearing a short skirt made out of a pretty blue brocade and long, off-white stockings with a blue hem at the top. It looked like something a fashionable person might wear to a garden party in a realm where garden parties involved sex.
“I can breathe again,” Pip announced.
“How can your legs breathe in stockings but not trousers.”
Pip rolled his eyes. “The stockings are soft, thin, and breathable. Perhaps that’s what I’ll wear if we encounter winter.”
“Not likely, even in Stonedeep. It’s nearly June.”
Pip looked at Bram, who had drawn himself up to his full height and was radiating the smug satisfaction of a warhorse who had been selected as the superior mount.
“Bram looks pleased about this.”
He did, and if a horse could preen, Bram was preening. He stood taller, his black coat gleaming, his neck arched with the proud awareness of his importance.
I lifted Pip into the saddle and swung up behind him, settling him into the cradle of my thighs. He fit there perfectly, his back against my chest, his head tucked under my chin. I gathered the reins with one arm and looped the other around his waist, looped Periwinkle’s reins to a ring on Bram’s saddle. The gelding fell into step behind us, content with his new role as a large, very expensive cart.
The Guard were well ahead. The road stretched empty before us, cutting through low hills and patches of forest where the spring canopy was dense enough to turn the light green and gold. Bram’s hooves found their rhythm on the packed earth. Leather creaked. Somewhere in the trees a bird was making a sound I didn’t know the name for. Pip’s weight settled warm across my thighs.
Pip in his short skirt, his thighs warm against mine, his body shifting with each stride of the horse. He was relaxed now, adapting to the horse’s gait with boneless trust of a creature comfortable in someone else’s keeping.
The problem was the bouncing.
Bram’s trot was smooth for a warhorse, but it was still a trot. Pip shifted. His backside pressed into my groin. He shifted again.
“Stop squirming,” I said.
“I’m not squirming. The horse is bouncing me. Blame Bram.”
He pressed back again, and I was no longer convinced it was accidental. I tightened my arm around his waist and he made a small sound and my blood ran hot, my cock hardening.
We were alone on the road. The Guard were out of sight. The forest pressed in close on both sides and the canopy above filtered the light into something private and dappled. Behind us, Periwinkle followed on his lead rein, his steps muffled by the packed earth, and ahead the road curved into shadow.
I slid my hand down his thigh and found a seam on his upper thigh. He was wearing drawers under his skirt, and they were fashioned from a silky fabric that clung to his skin, nothing like you could find anywhere in Qoksmere. He’d started sewing underthings for himself, cheeky little scraps of fabric that forced me to fuck him the moment I saw them.
I hooked a finger into the seam and pulled. The thread gave with a soft rip.
“Aeldryc!” Pip twisted to glare at me. “I made those!”
“You’ll make more.”
“I hand-stitched that seam! It was very—oh.”
The “oh” came because I had freed myself from my riding leathers and was now lifting him—one hand on his hip, the other supporting his thigh—and positioning him over me. The ripped seam gave me all the access I needed.
He reached back, stroking my length with a soft moan, distracted from my objections as he dragged my cock head against his hole. “Lube?” Pip whimpered.
I slowed Bram to a walk. Pip reached into the satchel at his side and produced a small vial of the oil we used on his hole. He leaned forward, an awkward but determined motion, and worked a finger inside himself before slicking the rest over my cock. He was whimpering, a needy sound in the quiet woods, as I drew him down onto me.
