The Unseen Hand

Ch 22: Bat Surprise

Daimodi, Eleventh of Sund'im, 445 A'A'diel

The summer gardens along Via Elgabarr were a blur of color as the carriage made its way to the palace. Heat rose to Avaren's cheeks as Paulo drew the carriage curtains closed.

Paulo flashed Avaren a mischievous grin. He tossed his plumed hat on the upholstered seat and dropped to his knees. He slipped his hands beneath Avaren's skirts, grasped the back of her knees, and pulled her until her buttocks slid off the seat. "You did what I asked?" Paulo asked.

The inside of the carriage felt like a brick oven. Avaren nodded. She ran her fingers through Paulo's dark curls. "You should have seen the look on Dannia's face when I told her I only needed garters."

Paulo bunched Avaren's skirts over her waist and spread her thighs. He licked his lips as he inhaled the musky scent of her arousal. "So sweet," he whispered, then buried his face between her legs.

Avaren's heart raced as his tongue made contact with her flesh. "Oh," she gasped, "that feels so good. So good..."

⁂

Avaren's heated susurrations roused Jarle from his slumber. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find Avaren curled against his side. The girl's bare thigh was draped over his groin, and her arm lay across his chest. She was warm and inviting; the corner of her lips curved slightly in a smile.

Jarle closed his eyes then opened them again, half expecting the beauty at his side to vanish in a wisp of mist. Beneath the weight of her thigh, his erection felt like a steel cudgel in his pants. Merciful gods. Avaren was so close that he could smell her arousal and the smoke and brine that clung to her hair. For a moment, Jarle summoned the image of her rising naked from the pool. He imagined what it would be like to lay claim to all her pale, glistening flesh; to swallow her moans; to hear his name shouted from her beautiful lips.

The thrill of impudence was short lived. Jarle ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. The girl made his blood boil and clouded his ability to think—a wrong move on his part risked inciting her wrath and justifying further distrust.

Jarle raised his head and peered over Avaren's shoulder. Ashes were all that remained of the cooking fire. Avaren's cup lay on the sand; its inside stained with the mysterious ruby vintage they had so copiously imbibed. Jarle was grateful for the alcohol and whatever Seh'nahiel witchery had been trapped inside the bottle. They had both deserved pleasant dreams and a good night's rest.

Gazing upward, Jarle watched clouds spread like ghostly fingers across a charcoal sky. The morning was damp, and a chilly wind howled through the cavern like a lovelorn specter. A brilliant flash flickered and died as thunder rumbled overhead. As the first, fat drops of rain pelted the pool, Jarle was glad that he'd built the fire below an overhang. 

Careful not to wake her, Jarle angled free of her embrace, and drew the blanket over her. He stood and walked into the pouring rain, gratified by the sobriety brought on by the cold. The raindrops felt like flechettes against his skin as he relieved himself against the wall. With his bladder drained, desire returned with a fury. Looking down between his legs, Jarle shook his head. He was as rigid as a flagpole.

With a glance over his shoulder to ascertain that Avaren was still asleep, Jarle slipped deeper into the shadows. It was likely that he was wanted for the murder of the Vise and the kidnapping of his daughter, grave offenses that would cost him his neck, yet all he could think about was rutting. Jarle's heart thundered in his chest just as flashes of lightning lit up the cave. He pulled his pants down with an urgency he hadn't felt since he had first discovered his cock. He handled himself with desperate, hurried strokes until he climaxed in a fit of trembling convulsions.