Chuckling, he placed his palms on her back and started scrubbing. “Here, let me help.”
Startled at first, Rexei relaxed into his efforts with a soft moan of pleasure; it was the one spot she could never reach, and he was now soothing the madness that she had learned by necessity to ignore. “Oh, that feels so good . . .”
“My pleasure. I’m happy to assist,” he reassured her. His nails scraped lightly for a few strokes, then he shifted his fingers to her ribs. Rexei squirmed a little, until he firmed his touch past the point of tickling. Another happy sigh escaped her, drawing a chuckle out of him. “Hedonist.”
“Um, yes,” she murmured, blushing. Then felt his hands slipping around to cup her breasts, making the skin of her face feel rather hot. Those fingers wiggled and stroked, making the flesh gently caged in his grip ache with needs she hadn’t really known about before the last few nights. Remembering now how he had played with and kissed her curves, she sighed and leaned back against his naked frame. Only because it was him, Alonnen, did she feel comfortable enough to confess, “I like this part, too.”
“Mmm, so do I,” he agreed, plumping one small breast. “Barely a palmful, yet so wonderfully sensitive.” He kissed the side of her neck, and played with her other modest curve.
Being passive wasn’t in her nature. She might run and hide, or she might face down a foe and fight, but Rexei was still doing something about her situation when she did those things; standing still was just not in her nature. Taking care of herself, learning new guild skills, all of these things had taught her to step forward and grasp what she wanted.
She also wanted Alonnen, and she had the grace to admit that to herself.
Turning in his arms, Rexei slid her hands over his flesh, exploring every angle and curve. She nipped at his neck and licked along the raspy edge of his jawline, enjoying his musky scent. This felt right, and wonderful, and was exactly what she wanted. “This . . . is where I want to be. In your arms.”
Alonnen felt it, too, in an upwelling of love, need, and a deep-rooted contentment. He hugged her close, chest to breasts, and just breathed in the soft, slightly spicy scent of the woman in his arms. But when she wrapped her fingers around the heat of his erection, he twitched backwards. It was too much, too intense on the heels of the emotions she had raised.
“Easy! Easy, I don’t want this to end quickly,” he murmured, soothing her brief frown of disappointment. Beyond her shoulder, he could see the jar of pomade and the jar of preserves. “Actually, now would be a good time to experiment with the elderberry, yes? Which would you rather do, lay out the old sheet or open the jar?”
“Lay out the sheet. I can act like a young man all day long,” she added, stepping back so that she could pluck the folded linen off the table, “but my wrists aren’t up to the actual task of it. How about on the lounging divan?”
“That’ll do,” Alonnen agreed, picking up the preserves. He started to twist the cap off easily . . . and failed. Gripping lid and jar more firmly, he grunted twice, trying to loosen the lid. Finally, he got it off but not before provoking a small giggle from his lover over the effort involved. “Oh, very funny. You and I both know the Threefold God of Fate loves a good ironically timed joke.”
“Then I’m very glad we don’t have the Threefold God as our Patron,” Rexei soothed him, hugging him from behind. The more time she spent with him, the more that hugging—and touching, period—felt natural and normal to her. “Or it would happen much more often, I’m sure.”
“That does bring up a good point,” he said, turning to follow her back to the couch. “Does Guildra have a sense of humor, O High Priestess?”
“Guild Master, and of course She does,” Rexei pointed out. “How could She not? She is the Patron Goddess of all the entertainment guilds, as well as all the rest. Actors, Bards, Writers, Poets . . .”
“And Patron Goddess of Brothels,” Alonnen replied, lifting the opened jelly jar as if it were a glass for a toast. Lowering it, he tilted the mouth toward hers. “Would you like to break the wax and have the first scoop?”
“I don’t have a spoon,” she told him.
“You don’t need a spoon. Use your fingers,” he countered.
She wrinkled her nose and sat down. “But that’ll be messy.”
“That’s the point,” Alonnen said, and poked at the wax that had been poured on top of the preserve. Working out several chunks, he tossed them onto the small table, then offered her the dark red contents. “Scoop some out, pick a target on either your or my body, and apply it with your fingers—wait,” he added quickly. Stepping closer, he carefully made sure his feet were on a corner of the sheet that had draped over the floor. “Okay, now do it. The point of the sheet is to catch anything that falls, after all.”
“Right.” She dug her fingers into the cool, firm, slightly grainy jelly. It squished between her fingertips, and a glob threatened to fall off when she scooped some out. Catching it with her other hand, she hesitated, then scooted forward on the sofa and smeared a bit on Alonnen’s chest.
His muscles contracted under the cool, sticky stuff. Fascinated, she spread the jelly around a bit more, then awkwardly tried to lick it. Sitting, she was too short; standing, she was too tall. With a grin, Alonnen graciously sat down and let her settle next to him so that she could lean over his lap and lick.
The jelly was a bit strong. She loved it, but she usually ate it smeared thin on toasted bread, not gooped thick on, well, non-toasted man. Still, she tried a few more licks, then looked up at his face. “Is this . . . good for you? Are you enjoying it?”
He gave it a moment of thought, then shrugged and lifted his brows. “It’s not bad. Are you having fun?”
She debated, then bit her bottom lip in a brief grimace. “It’s a bit too tart, to be honest. Maybe I should’ve asked for the birch syrup—I’ll pay you back for the elderberry jar.”
“It wasn’t that much,” Alonnen pointed out. He nudged her into a normal sitting position, then he twisted to face her. “Here, let me try it.” Scooping out a bit from the jar, he carefully daubed bits of jelly onto her nipple. “Let’s see if you like being on the receiving end.”
The first few tentative licks felt good. The way he swirled his tongue, too . . . but then he pulled back. Wrinkling his long, pointed nose, Alonnen grimaced.
“Yeah . . . the flavor’s too tart for this. Let’s clean up and share that tub,” he offered instead.
Rexei sighed, but let him rise and head for the rounded alcove. “Sorry.”
“Hey, not your fault,” Alonnen said, shrugging and spreading his arms as he turned to face her while walking backward. “We try new things, and sometimes they work okay, sometimes they work great, and sometimes they fail. Hopefully not spectacularly—and this time wasn’t a disaster—but you’ll never know until you try. We can try the syrup another time, but for now . . . one hot bath, coming up.”
Rexei rose and put the cap back on the jar; it was still perfectly good jelly, and she would be having toasted bread with her meal when breaking her fast tomorrow. Pulling the old sheet off the couch, she wiped the smear off her breast, then bundled up the fabric and set it on a chair. Big Momma’s had members of the Launderers Guild—a sub-chapter of the Servers Guild—on staff who would take the sheet and the other linens, bleach and scrub everything, and hand it all off to the room cleaners to remake the beds and so forth.
She had done something similar in the temple, stripping priests’ beds and remaking them with fresh linens once a week, and dumping the dirty linens and velvet clothes into sacks to be taken to a nearby Laundry guildhouse. Here, though, she didn’t have to do any of that if she didn’t want; the staff were paid well, based on what the brothel owner charged for these rooms. Since this wasn’t an emergency, Alonnen had elected to pay for an entire night in one of these rooms for the two of them back when they had arrived at midday.