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Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
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shoulders of the palla, and whisked it upward, swinging it to let it fall on the couch behind him. “What about your mani and fascae? Shall I—” She was already loosening her underclothes. “I’ll tend to them,” she said, and stepped out of her mani, leaving the fascae for last. “You can help me with this, if you want to.”
He stepped behind her and untied the flat knot between her shoulder-blades, sliding the Egyptian linen slowly free of her breasts. He felt a faint quiver go through her, and he put one knee on the bed. “Would you like to recline?”
“No. I’d like to make love,” she said, turned a little, and fell back, landing with arms spread on the lower half of the bed. She wriggled up to the array of pillows at the head, holding out her arms to him as she settled among them. “Work your way up from where you are. Begin with the soles of my feet.”
“The soles of your feet? Very well.” He sat down on the side of the bed, leaning as if reclining for a feast; taking her left foot in his hand, he bent and playfully kissed the sole, then lightly ran his tongue along her toes.
She gave a sharp laugh; she was ticklish. “That’s … fine.”
He rolled a little nearer to her and repeated his ministrations to her right foot; this time her toes curled in pleasure, and she gave a long, luxurious sigh. With a feather-light touch, he slowly moved his fingers up to her knee, shifting himself so that he could glide between her legs.
The disparate urgency that had been taut within her began to give way to an exhilarated repose. Her flesh seemed bathed in a warm tide of increasing passion, her skin growing more and more sensitive to his most minuscule attention. Because Sanctu-Germainios did not demand an intense reception from her, she began to feel one build within her; his gently coaxing kisses summoned an ardor from her that was greater than her sorrow at their parting. Her senses heightened, she all but held her breath as he continued up her body, finding centers of pleasure as he went, lingering where she responded most, anticipating his caresses to the soft folds at the joining of her thighs. She shivered as his fingers awakened the nub of pleasure between her legs, and as his fingers probed more deeply, she shuddered in anticipatory rapture while his tongue took the place of his fingers.
Continuing to arouse her with his hand, Sanctu-Germainios moved up her body, meeting her lips with his own, touching her breasts as she hovered on the edge of release. Answering her ecstasy with his own, Sanctu-Germainios nuzzled her throat as her first cries of fulfillment, hushed with awe, and her glorious spasms enveloped him in the gratification that exceeded all she had longed for.
“God and the Archangels,” she whispered as she came back to herself. She felt him slip off her, lying close beside her while her heartbeat and breathing slowed, and she succumbed to sweet languor, drifting at the edge of sleep. “Stay with me a while?”
“Yes; a while,” he told her, leaning to kiss her forehead. “Lie quietly.”
She pulled his arm across her body, smiling muzzily. “And you didn’t take off your clothes,” she said. “You never do,” she breathed, letting her attention float with her into delicious sleep.
By the time Sanctu-Germainios left Rhea’s bed, the room was deep in shadow and the air was cool. As he rose, he wrapped her blanket over her, then went and lit the single oil-l amp at the door before he left to bathe—his mind still full of her—and then to make the last arrangements for her departure.
Text of a letter from Priam Corydon of Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit monastery between Ulpia Traiana and Apulum Inferior to Gnaccus Tortulla, Praetor Custodis of Viminacium, Moesia, written on vellum, carried by a Roma-bound band of pilgrims and delivered sixteen days after being dispatched.
To the most esteemed Praetor Custodis, Gnaccus Tortulla, the respectful greetings and faithful prayers of the
He stepped behind her and untied the flat knot between her shoulder-blades, sliding the Egyptian linen slowly free of her breasts. He felt a faint quiver go through her, and he put one knee on the bed. “Would you like to recline?”
“No. I’d like to make love,” she said, turned a little, and fell back, landing with arms spread on the lower half of the bed. She wriggled up to the array of pillows at the head, holding out her arms to him as she settled among them. “Work your way up from where you are. Begin with the soles of my feet.”
“The soles of your feet? Very well.” He sat down on the side of the bed, leaning as if reclining for a feast; taking her left foot in his hand, he bent and playfully kissed the sole, then lightly ran his tongue along her toes.
She gave a sharp laugh; she was ticklish. “That’s … fine.”
He rolled a little nearer to her and repeated his ministrations to her right foot; this time her toes curled in pleasure, and she gave a long, luxurious sigh. With a feather-light touch, he slowly moved his fingers up to her knee, shifting himself so that he could glide between her legs.
The disparate urgency that had been taut within her began to give way to an exhilarated repose. Her flesh seemed bathed in a warm tide of increasing passion, her skin growing more and more sensitive to his most minuscule attention. Because Sanctu-Germainios did not demand an intense reception from her, she began to feel one build within her; his gently coaxing kisses summoned an ardor from her that was greater than her sorrow at their parting. Her senses heightened, she all but held her breath as he continued up her body, finding centers of pleasure as he went, lingering where she responded most, anticipating his caresses to the soft folds at the joining of her thighs. She shivered as his fingers awakened the nub of pleasure between her legs, and as his fingers probed more deeply, she shuddered in anticipatory rapture while his tongue took the place of his fingers.
Continuing to arouse her with his hand, Sanctu-Germainios moved up her body, meeting her lips with his own, touching her breasts as she hovered on the edge of release. Answering her ecstasy with his own, Sanctu-Germainios nuzzled her throat as her first cries of fulfillment, hushed with awe, and her glorious spasms enveloped him in the gratification that exceeded all she had longed for.
“God and the Archangels,” she whispered as she came back to herself. She felt him slip off her, lying close beside her while her heartbeat and breathing slowed, and she succumbed to sweet languor, drifting at the edge of sleep. “Stay with me a while?”
“Yes; a while,” he told her, leaning to kiss her forehead. “Lie quietly.”
She pulled his arm across her body, smiling muzzily. “And you didn’t take off your clothes,” she said. “You never do,” she breathed, letting her attention float with her into delicious sleep.
By the time Sanctu-Germainios left Rhea’s bed, the room was deep in shadow and the air was cool. As he rose, he wrapped her blanket over her, then went and lit the single oil-l amp at the door before he left to bathe—his mind still full of her—and then to make the last arrangements for her departure.
Text of a letter from Priam Corydon of Sanctu-Eustachios the Hermit monastery between Ulpia Traiana and Apulum Inferior to Gnaccus Tortulla, Praetor Custodis of Viminacium, Moesia, written on vellum, carried by a Roma-bound band of pilgrims and delivered sixteen days after being dispatched.
To the most esteemed Praetor Custodis, Gnaccus Tortulla, the respectful greetings and faithful prayers of the
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