TWENTY-EIGHT

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The lack of a room for the night did somewhat disrupt our plans to tend to Rebecca then and there; she assured me, though, that she was not so far along that she could not wait another day if need be, although she would need to avoid the rites and ceremonies and preparations for more of the same – “It wasn’t for my sake alone that I needed to get away from all of that,” she confided with a grin.

We were going to retire to a room at the castle anyway, never mind the objection that the servants might have to our coupling, when, on the way there, I saw a familiar face at the market. I started to move toward it, but hesitated; Rebecca, seeing the direction of my interest, gave my shoulder a push. “Go,” she urged. “Tomorrow’s soon enough for me, as I said; get settled into your new home, and I’ll happily be your guest again.”

Thus reassured, if still somewhat giddy and anxious from her presence, I left her side and made my way through the crowds and stalls. I caught up to that face around the bakers’ stalls, looking over the wares with some uncertainty, some trepidation.

“The spice buns there are excellent,” I said by his ear. He whirled to face me, his eyes going wide, unbelieving.

His expression grew no less incredulous when he took in the second gem now twinkling on my right ear. “I… I thought I’d had my last night with you,” Zachariah Martin said.

“Well, now.” I slid an arm around his unresisting body, signalling the baker for a pair of spice buns and depositing a few coins on the counter for them. “I’ve the night to myself as yet, it happens, before I return to my old trade. I might find myself with enough time for my own interests, not only the ones those of my lot usually tend to. And I wouldn’t want our final encounter, should there even be a final one soon, to be one so marred as that one by what came after.”

Once I’d confirmed that he’d only come for a bite of food, I guided him out of the market, away from the bustle. Rebecca and her escorts were already out of sight, which helped to make things somewhat less awkward. “Have you a place for the night, yet?” I asked him.

“Well… yes,” he admitted. “I’ve been staying at the Two Crows until I’m assigned to a barracks – the innkeeper was kind enough to give me a private room for a very nice rate.”

“Then let’s go there,” I suggested. “Not as the course of a transaction, but simply to enjoy each other, mmm? I want to know what manner of man you are when you aren’t paying me.”

His ears tilted back somewhat, their insides flushing. “Goodness. I didn’t realize I’d made such a good impression.”

“Heavens, Zach – er, may I call you Zach?” I’d realized that I’d never addressed him by the shortened form of his name before, but at his quick nod, I went on. “You proved yourself a true friend when you sought out my companions. And you accompanied us on the ride here, and did a great deal to limit the discomfort of the journey for me. By what measure are you not a friend?”

“I yield, I yield,” he laughed. His arm slid around me in turn, and he guided me along the streets.

The Two Crows was most certainly the better sort of inn; perhaps not one that would be frequented by the nobility, but the more successful merchants would likely have had few qualms resting in its lavish quarters. It may well have been that the room which Zach had been given was the smallest and simplest of the lot. Certainly it was more subdued than the lobby. That let it be a touch more comfortable, though – neither of us needed to feel entirely out of place, and with both of us there, it didn’t feel overlarge.

Not that I had much interest in the room. I’d spent the afternoon in the company of a woman on the edge of heat, and there had been some anticipation there; my need was still running high. Zach wasn’t quite expecting me to be the aggressive one, to judge by the soft gasp he let out when the bolt had slid home and I started tugging at his clothes, sliding my snout along his jaw, inhaling the rich masculine scent of him and trailing licks and nibbles in my wake.

He’d had some opportunity, it seemed, to get some supplies locally; as he stumbled back toward the bed, he grabbed a carved flask off of the nightstand, keeping it near him as I finished stripping him down. “Fill me,” he gasped, reaching up to cup a hand behind my neck as I started to slip onto the bed with him. “I’ve wanted to know what you’d feel like, thus, since that first night I saw you.”

Well, that was a confession and a half, for one who’d seemed so much more confident being the penetrating party. Oh, I knew he’d enjoyed riding me, but I’d thought that an isolated moment, when he’d already reached his pleasure and wanted my own to be from a somewhat more intimate source than his own hand. But it was a request I was only too eager to grant.

He curled up under me, panting in anticipation, his own manhood quite rigid on his stomach, thick and plump as ever; but for the moment, I put it out of mind, applying a quick coat of oil to my own manhood and bringing it into place, easing up under his tail. He let his head sink back against the sheets, whining with urgent need, his legs wrapping around my hips.

He was a quite properly limber man, in addition to his other attractive qualities; when I might have gone a little slow, to let us get a feel for each other, he tightened his grip around me, on my shoulders and around my hips, and he pulled me in to the hilt.

Charged as I was, it was quite likely the most vigorous pounding I’d ever given a man, and Zach just writhed under me and tried to press into it harder still.

The obvious pleasure he took from it was itself a delight that spurred on my own; I’d be setting no records for stamina that afternoon. I had a surprise yet to come, though, when I tried to touch his mind, to learn how I might bring him to his own pleasure before mine forced me to come to a halt; I found that he was already seething on the raw edge of release, each shove rocking him on the precipice, threatening to send him spilling over.

And then, without so much as a finger laid upon his manhood, it surged to life, gouts of sticky white jetting over his pelt, all the while he cried out under me, his claws pricking at my shoulders.

The rich scent of his seed was likely all I needed, the touch of his claws merely an accent to it; I felt something give inside me, and suddenly I was feeling his pleasure, feeling the same fullness he felt – even as my own resolve gave way, pleasure racing through me, I could feel his own sense of my wet heat pulsing deep under his tail.

I’d not been trying for nearly so intimate a connection; to have it happen by mere accident left me reeling. My pleasure seemed uncommonly, almost unnaturally long; at some point my manhood had no more seed to offer, but still it kept bucking inside him, still my hips twisted against his, still I panted over his jaw. It was nearly a full minute before the rush faded from us both, and it was with no small amount of reluctance that I drew myself out of him, shifting upward slightly to brush my lips against his.

“That was… exquisite,” he sighed over my chin, giving it a lick. “Is that what it means, to make love to a… a telepath?” He didn’t seem entirely comfortable with the word, but the tight grip of his arms certainly suggested he was comfortable with me.

“So it would seem,” I said, and couldn’t help but laugh, nuzzling at his cheek, letting our whiskers mingle a moment. “Make no mistake, I’m rather new to that sort of thing myself.”

“It feels good, that’s for certain,” said he, trailing his fingers along my spine. “I wonder what else we might be able to enjoy together? We’ve the night yet, don’t we?”

That, I conceded with another laugh, we most certainly did. We retired to the adjoining bath, spending more time caressing and fondling each other than actually bathing; we dressed, afterwards, and went downstairs to enjoy the fine roast pig prepared for the patrons. And then we returned to his room, fingers drifting into intimate places before we were entirely up the stairs, never mind behind his door.

In truth, I’d have missed him, had he returned to Wafret. He was a delight under my fingers; he pressed into my touch with an unashamed croon, letting me trace the outline of his manhood as it stiffened under his breeches, and he twisted about to nibble at the base of my left ear, up and around the edge of it, then moving on to the right. And then he drew back somewhat, grinning at me.

“I wonder,” he said. “If you can feel my pleasure, and I can feel yours… what might it be like if we did so from the start?”

This time, I was the one to ride him. It was as delicious a pleasure as he’d seemed to expect – even as I sank down onto him, I felt the ghostly sensation of snug heat enfolding my manhood; when I pressed down against his hips, I felt that heat gripping the whole of my member, felt a tail sliding against my balls just as mine slipped by his.

Not content with that, he pushed his shoulders off the bed, supported by a hand behind him, curling up tight so that he could draw my manhood into his muzzle.

It was a curious feeling, sharing the feel and smell and taste of it, and knowing that it was my own, just as he was experiencing it. His pleasure, though, kept soaring ever higher – not only was he surrounded by my body, but so far as he could feel, I was tonguing at his crown as well, slipping a hand down to fondle his balls – all at the same time as I was stirring under his tail, also.

Neither of us was going to endure long under that assault. Perhaps half a minute after the first touch of his lips to my crown, our pleasure surged in unison; I clung desperately to his shoulders, riding the cresting wave of bliss, feeling a pulse of my own seed course over his tongue – from both aspects of the sensation – in perfect synchrony with his seed pumping under my tail.

This time, at least, I managed to keep my senses, but it was an utterly exhausting experience; I barely had the energy left to me to stretch out alongside him, and it was all he could do to seize my hand.

We lay right there, atop the covers, each giving the other all the warmth we needed. One of my arms over his waist, one of his over mine, the fingers of our lower hands meshed together, each breath gently stirring the other’s whiskers.

I slept more soundly than I had since Bergen.

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