“Ach,” someone said,hesaid — and abruptly the world juddered back into place again, rippling out around them. And when Gwyn blinked up, again, again, she found Joarr’s dripping-wet face, looking back down toward her, his eyes almost as stunned as she felt.
The lightning flashed again, followed a breath later by another peal of thunder, but surely fainter now, further away. And somehow Gwyn could breathe again, dragging in deep, gulping breaths, while above her Joarr did the same, the sound rattling like a burn in his throat.
“Ach,” he said again, his eyes squeezing shut — and in a swift, jerky movement, he yanked himself away from her. Sparking a splutter of thick, molten heat in his wake, surging out from where he’d been inside her, pouring onto the moss below. Feeling, suddenly, far too familiar, the tree briefly blurring with a chimney, a fire, a room of watching witnesses…
And Joarr knew it too, his eyes still squeezed shut like that, his head twitching back and forth. His body shifting slightly away, sagging down to the moss beside Gwyn, his arm rigid and heavy over her bare chest.
And in the blare of her thundering heartbeat, the tingle in her fingers and feet, the light still dazzling behind every blink — it only felt right to slip her hand downwards, to feel the hot, sticky truth of what he’d given her. And perhaps, even, to coat her fingers in it, making it hers — and then streaking it upwards, onto her bare belly. Where the rain was still pattering, lighter now, tickling against her skin.
But it didn’t wash her gift away, it wouldn’t — and Gwyn heard a harsh, husky groan beside her as she did it again. Streaking the slick warmth even higher this time, painting herself with it, while — she glanced toward him, caught — her orc watched with hooded, fluttering eyes, his teeth biting white at his bottom lip.
And then, oh gods, he did it too. His hand slipping downwards, swirling close and thrilling against her, and easing back up again. Palming gentle but purposeful against her breast, painting her peaked nipple, covering her in his scent.
And when her own tingling hands stopped, spent, he kept going. Covering her other breast, her neck, her cheek. And finally even slipping his long fingers into her mouth, wanting her to suck, to taste, to swallow. Toknow.
The rain was still pattering, but even softer now, and blended with the earth’s fresh scent there was now Joarr’s, too. Deep and rich and sweet, upon her, inside her, forever tainted, consecrated. And as bizarre, as unbelievable, as this was — whatever the hell it was — Gwyn somehow felt impossibly light, languid, alive. At peace.
“You know, Joarr,” she murmured, once he’d finally stopped stroking, and gathered her close against him. “I think your new goddess really likes you.”
His answering laugh in her ear sounded wry, oddly choked. “No,” he said, with a strange lilt to his voice. “I ken she likeyou.”
Gwyn’s body gave a tingly shiver against him, as if savouring that truth — which was ridiculous, because she didn’t even believe in deities, did she? Especially ones that required lewd, lust-driven sacrifices on ancient public altars?
“So you no go home,” he whispered, very quiet. “No yet.”
Oh. Right. Because yes, that had been Gwyn’s intention before all this, hadn’t it? And — another tingle snaked up her spine, less pleasant this time — even if thishadbeen some kind of inexplicable sign from the heavens, it still hadn’t answered even her most fundamental questions, had it? Hadhe?
“Ach, woman,” Joarr added, just as quiet. “If you ken I no mate you in the mountain this day because I no wish to, you are wrong in this, ach?”
What? Surely that hadn’t been the problem here, in any shape or form — right? But even so, Gwyn had shifted to better look at him, searching his eyes in the near-blackness.
“But you were all business, all day,” she replied, her gaze dropping, her voice far too tenuous. “You went straight from thatfunin the hammock — in which you barely touched me, by the way — to barely evenlookingat me, either. And then —”
She couldn’t hide her wince, her thoughts darting back to that moment with Simon and Maria — thatgood woman— and suddenly Joarr’s hand was on her cheek, dragging her eyes back to his. “I no mate you in mountain,” he said, harder this time, “for there are few places where this is sure to be free of witness, ach? And when last I do this, you weep. You suffer. You makepain. I no risk again.”
Oh. There were still important counter-points to this, surely — he could have damn well asked, for one thing — but instead Gwyn swallowed hard, and looked away again. Until Joarr’s hand shook her chin, wanting her eyes on his, wanting her to listen. To know.
“And this morn, in my bed,” he continued, even flatter, “If you wish for more from me, why you no say this, when I ask? Iseekto grant what you long for, ach?”
Oh. Gwyn’s bewildered brain was blankly flicking backwards, catching on how, yes, hehadasked. Hadn’t he?You speak what you wish, he’d said.Speak more, and then I tend you, as you wish.
And gods, what had she said?Closer.Inside me. Again. Telling him, maybe, that that was all she’d wanted. All she’d needed from him. Something casual,fun, and nothing more.
“And,” Joarr added, with a sigh, “when I say Maria is good woman, I mean she is good forSimon, ach? My father whelped Simon beside me, after his own father’s death — and thus, Simon is the nearest I have to blood kin. He was long alone, and long grieved this — so I find good woman for him. I bring her to him. Iwishto see her kneel and plead and open for him, for hedeservethis.”
Gwyn swallowed again, and felt herself nod, short and furtive. While something that had still been prickling, hot and distant inside, seemed to somehow soothe, softening, settling. So Joarrhadn’twanted Maria, then. Hadn’t thought her superior. But…
“But Maria is,” Gwyn heard herself say, foolish,shameful, “very beautiful, don’t you think?”
Joarr’s brow furrowed, and he barked a hoarse, abrupt laugh. “Maria also need ceaseless tending,” he said. “Simon work for many nights before she even mate him outside tiny room, or away from soft fluffy bed. She oftreekof fear for no cause, and next cling to Simon like helpless orcling until he soothe her. You ken I bear this in my mate?”
In hismate. A new, flickering warmth was pooling in Gwyn’s chest, and she actually chuckled, the sound husky and low. “Do you evenowna soft fluffy bed to mate in?” she asked, before she could stop it. “Or is it always tables, or trees, or sacred Bautul altars?”
Joarr’s mouth had quirked up as she spoke — but then stilled at the last bit, his brow again furrowing. “This isno,” he said firmly, “sacred Bautul altar.”
“Of course not,” Gwyn replied, but she couldn’t seem to keep the smile from stealing across her mouth. “Just like this isn’t an ancient Bautul garden, either.”
It was almost too dark to see Joarr’s eyes now, but that was surely a hint of a rueful smile, even as he shook his head hard enough to spray water drops at her. “No,” he said. “Mygarden.”
