The Sword And The Pen (14 page)

He groaned and shuddered. "Not nearly enough. Keep that up and the damn thing isn't going to be necessary. It's been a long time."

"For me as well." Long, barren, lonely years. I leaned over him. My breasts, heavy with desire, the nipples sensitized, brushed against the firm wall of his chest. Pleasure slid down my spine like honey down my throat, sweet and smooth.

He reached for me.

"No. Let me play." When I pushed his arms above his head he didn't resist.

Determined to make our encounter last, I began my exploration of his body. I tasted the hollow behind his ear then circled the tip of my tongue inside the shell. His breath grew short and ragged. Sweat moistened his body. I trailed my lips down his throat to his chest.

"You're killing me." The firm muscles of his chest tensed beneath me as he fisted the bed sheets in his hands. "Let me touch you."

"Not yet." I laved the flat disk of his nipple then blew gently. It pebbled to a hard nub. I suckled it. The salty taste of him flooded my mouth. Warmth unfolded inside me. Moisture seeped between my thighs, readying my sheath for his sword.

Inch by inch I stroked, kissed, and licked my way over him, learning his shape, texture and taste. I knew my dominion over him was an illusion, one he granted me out of consideration. Still, his surrender pleased and amazed me.

Donoval, for all his bedroom skill, had never allowed me to direct any of our encounters. Our couplings, though they provided physical release, were more battle than love play. They oftentimes left me discontented and angry.

With each touch, Brandon's control stretched nearer the breaking point. Soon the need inside him would burst and he'd seize command. I anticipated it, but wished to delay as long as possible. Being in charge excited me more than I'd believed possible.

Crisp hair tickled my nose as I nuzzled his heavy testicles. Like fresh-mown hay, his warm earthy scent filled my lungs. His sheathed cock bobbed enticingly before my eyes. I captured it in my hand. A slippery substance with a sharp unpleasant odor covered the sheath. Wanting to touch and taste his flesh, I stripped the sheath away. Before he could protest I took the thick, hot, hard length of him into my mouth.

He gave a strangled groan. His hands clasped my head, whether to hold me to him or push me away I couldn't tell. As his hips began their ancient dance I followed.

"Seri, have mercy. I can't stop."

Warm and salty, his seed filled my mouth. Enjoying my power over him, I drank in his essence. He shuddered and went limp.

After a few minutes, he pulled me up alongside him and smiled.

*** *** ***

Limp and sticky, Brandon's cock lay against his thigh. Breath stuttered through his lips. He'd thought he knew what sex was all about. Damn, he'd written more than a few love scenes, but nothing in his life or fiction came close to what he'd just experienced with Seri. The feel of her hands and mouth on his body had burned away rational thought, left him paradoxically drained and energized.

He wrapped his arms around her. Her breasts pressed flat against his chest, her nipples hard points of pleasure. Laughter lurked in her eyes as she met his gaze; a smug smile hovered on her moist lips. He kissed her and tasted the salty residue of himself.

In moments, to his astonishment, his cock swelled. He felt her lips widen in a grin under his.

He pulled back and smiled at her. "Pleased with yourself, are you?"

She tilted her head and lowered her eyelids as she rubbed herself against him. The moist hair at the juncture of her thighs felt damp and rough against his sensitized flesh.

"Aren't you satisfied?" She curled her fingers around him.

Those cool fingers against his heated flesh made him jump. "Not quite."

"So I see." She chuckled.

The feel of her hand alternately squeezing and stroking sent shudders through him. Before he lost it again, he captured and removed it. "My turn," he said as he rolled her beneath him.

"Your turn for what?" Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

"This."

He covered her mouth with his in a long, leisurely kiss of exploration. With the tip of his tongue he stroked the closed line on her lips, teasing and tasting until they parted on a sigh of surrender, releasing the citrus scent of the orange juice she favored. He delved within, enjoying the tart, sweet flavor, and her eager response and the tension building between them.

While they kissed, his hands ventured lower. Beneath his searching fingers the skin of her throat and shoulders felt like warm suede, smooth and supple, throbbing with vitality. Inch by inch, with hands and mouth he continued his exploration. With the backs of his fingers he stroked the soft curves of her chest. He cupped the warm heavy weight of her breasts in his hands. The feel of her nipples pressing into his palms demanded his attention.

She gasped as he sucked one swollen nub into his mouth. He rolled it between his lips then rasped his tongue across its pebbled areole. To grant him easier access, she arched her back, and when he finally pulled his mouth from her breast she gave a moan of protest.

With his tongue he next probed the damp hollow of her navel. She shuddered. He caressed the small swell of her belly then threaded his fingers through the warm damp curls between her thighs. Beneath his hands her muscles quivered. Her soft sounds of pleasure urged him on.

When he bent his head to taste her, she squeaked in surprise and tried to clamp her thighs together. He held them apart and used his lips and tongue to explore her intimate secrets. The earthy smell and taste of her filled his nose and mouth. Slick with desire, her body easily accepted the finger he inserted. A flood of warmth flowed over his hand. She made a mewing sound and fine tremors coursed through her, but she no longer tried to stop him. Instead she clutched and twisted the bedding.

Using his finger, he stroked in and out while he sucked the center of her pleasure. Her fine tremors turned to thrashing. Then she cried out and went rigid as she climaxed. Still, he continued.

"Enough!" She jerked away.

He didn't protest as she pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. He was more than ready. His cock stood at attention. Without warning she plunged down and enveloped him.

As much as he wanted to make the moment last, the sight of her flushed cheeks, hungry eyes and swollen breasts as she rode him hard and fast drove him over the edge. Pleasure grabbed him in its silken talons, ripped him from his precarious perch and plunged him into an unknown realm of ecstasy far beyond the physical.

From her cry of triumph he knew she followed.

He also knew his life would never be the same: He loved her.

*** *** ***

Drained of passion we lay together, our bodies spent and content to be so. Brandon slept, but my thoughts kept me awake.

I'd selfishly taken what I wanted: control, power, sex. But had I given him what I sensed he wanted? Commitment? Love? Physical release was easy, but the rest? Could I stay with him? Could I become the real woman he claimed? Was my wanting him enough to justify abandoning the world I knew? Abandoning those that counted on me? Abandoning duty? Abandoning honor?

Though Brandon's passion and the details of this strange transportation to his world suggested that my own reality didn't truly exist, that the people there were not living, breathing beings with existences to live or lose, I discovered my heart did not agree. I lived. I breathed. How could I believe that they did not do so as well? Donoval? Mauri? How could I not trust my experiences and my relationships? And once again, there was another consideration: If I stayed in this world, would their lives continue or end? I couldn't afford to take the risk. No. Despite what I might desire, honor decreed my destiny lay in Barue, that I return there no matter what. To an existence without true consciousness.

Brandon's eyes opened to regard me with male satisfaction. He stroked his hand down my arm to my hip and tugged me against him. The feel of his arousal pressing into my belly weakened my resolve. What did it matter if I stayed a few more minutes. . .or hours? Barue would wait.

Or, would it? How did time elapse there, compared to here?

As if he sensed my mental pulling away, Brandon's hand stilled. He searched my face. "What's wrong?" he asked.

I sat up and mustered my nerve. "I don't belong here," I said. "Send me back to my world." My words fell between us, a rain of ice.

"You're wrong." He sat beside me, took my face between his palms and forced me to meet his gaze. "There is no other world. You're a real person. You've always been a real person. You're not a fictional creation of mine. You have a problem, sure, but we can get you help. I think that--"

I pulled away from him. "Why can't you see the truth?

"Why can't you?" His tone grew heated. "I won't let you retreat back into your fantasy. Believe me, I know how hard it is not to. I've been trying to escape the real world all my life. It's taken me a long time to realize the truth. It can't be done, though. This is all there is, all any of us have. Stay here. With me. Deal with real life. I'll help you. I. . ."

He didn't say the one thing that might have swayed me to stay. "Why did you bring me here?" I asked.

He jerked his hands away. Deprived of his heat, my cheeks grew cold, along with my heart.

"For the last time: I'm not a wizard. I didn't bring you here. And you're not a fictional character out of some damned book! You're a living, breathing woman." Anger and exasperation dripped from his voice like blood from a sword. "And you're driving me as nuts as you are."

"I'm not like Wanda or Hillary. I don't belong. I'll never belong," I growled. "Not here." I had to make him see, to understand.

"Well, you're damned well stuck here, because even if I did believe your crazy delusion I have no idea how to send you anywhere but the loony bin." And with those words, he stomped into the bathing chamber and slammed the door.

I sighed. I'd have to find another way back.

*** *** ***

A familiar odor from the past woke Brandon, Wanda's specialty: burnt bacon, scorched eggs, blackened toast and toxic coffee. He'd lied to Seri, it wasn't that Wanda wouldn't cook; it was that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't cook. And, he admitted grudgingly, she had tried. But during their marriage, her cooking skills never improved.

He buried his face in his pillow to block the smell and recapture the memory of his night with Seri. Her scent, rich and honeyed, lingered on the bedding. How many times had they made love after he'd returned from the bathroom? Four? Five? He'd lost count. A stupid, macho grin crept over his lips. He pushed aside the thought of how they'd fought, just as they hadn't spoken of it again last night.

"Brandon? Are you awake?" Hillary asked, rapping on the bedroom door.

"Go away. I'm still asleep."

As he spoke, memory dissolved into guilt. And not about his book or Hillary. Despite her willingness, he'd had no right to make love to Seri. And not using protection was more than wrong, it was criminal. What if she got pregnant? Although somehow the thought of Seri's taut belly growing round with his child didn't horrify him the way he thought it should, the way it had with Wanda.

Well, he'd deal with that situation if it happened. First he had to find out who Seri was. Make sure she was free and sane. And convince her to stay.

"Wanda made breakfast." Hillary's voice punched through his musings. His head started to pound.

"I can smell it."

She rapped again. "Come on down. We have business to discuss."

"Alright already. Give me a minute."

Five minutes and four aspirin later, he made his way into the kitchen. Seven pairs of eyes, all female--three human, one dog and three kittens--turned on him. The acrid smell of estrogen hung in the room; or maybe it was smoke from the burnt toast.

"Morning," he muttered.

"Brandon, I'm getting married, but first you need to sign these." Wanda shoved a sheaf of papers at him.

"I said it on the phone, but the publisher is getting antsy about the delay in your manuscript. And the film company needs your screenplay by the end of next week or the option expires."

Wanda and Hillary spoke together. Seri remained silent. Lips twitching around the edge of the cup she held, she looked up at him. The look of resolve and sadness darkening her eyes set Brandon's already frayed nerves to jangling.

The phone rang. The phone? Seri had destroyed it; how could it ring? Brandon looked around. A new cordless phone sat on the counter. It rang again. He picked it up.

"Hello?"

It was Rich at the garage, telling him he'd picked up the SUV. Brandon listened to the details then said, "I appreciate you letting me know. Thank you." Then he hung up. "Where did this come from?" he asked.

"Wanda and I picked it up last night. You don't get cell phone reception here and there's no way I can be out of contact," Hillary explained.

The phone rang again.

"Hello," Brandon answered, listened then handed the phone to Hillary. "It's for you."

She snatched the phone from his hand and began a heated conversation as she headed out into the living room.

"Brandon!" Wanda snatched the papers from where he'd laid them on the counter. "I need you to sign."

"Coffee. First I need coffee." He started toward the coffee maker. Something sharp pricked his ankle. "Ouch!" He looked down to see two of the kittens, one grey, and one black clinging to his pantleg. The third kitten, the white one who'd crashed his car, sat a few feet away, carefully cleaning its paw and watching him. "It's going to be a long day."

Seri chuckled. His own lips twitched in response.

Two cups of strong, black coffee and ten minutes of silence later, Brandon felt nearly human. His body still ached, but his head no longer throbbed like a pounded bass drum. He sat at the kitchen table. Muffin lay on his bare feet and two the kittens, the grey and black ones, snoozed in his lap. He absently stroked their soft fur as he sipped his coffee. For one glorious moment he felt at peace.