a spark of something akin to jealousy came to life deep in her belly. It made her voice stronger, with a bit of a snap, when she spoke. "What kinds of things would a lover such as yourself never do? Surely there cannot be many?"
But when he replied, his words doused the flame of her anger, even as they ignited a flash-fire of passion.
"For you, with you, I would do everything, give you every liberty over my body, take whichever you would give in return. There is nothing I wouldn't try in my quest to give you pleasure, to satisfy you, to make your desire burn so hot it incinerates us both with the ecstasy of our joining."
There was no need to ask what he meant, for in her mind she saw them together, in flickers of images conjured by his imagination. He was bent to her breasts, lips curved to receive her straining nipple—kissing her back, hands stroking her belly—kneeling between her legs, his hair dark against her thighs—curled around her from behind, the head of his cock poised for entry into her hungering body. She was tied, naked, to a bed—then he was likewise held immobilized for her pleasure. He was behind, in front, between—in her quim, her mouth, her hand, her arse. She was over, under, beside him, her hair unbound, trailing over his skin. Gentle here, masterful there—in control and ceding control—kissing, stroking, licking, sucking places Myrina never thought another would touch.
She pressed trembling palms to her cheeks, trying to rise, wanting to flee, but finding her legs too weak. The images were so real they left her gasping, burning—titillated and confused.
"I've shocked and frightened you." H is voice was rueful, but filled with such harsh longing the desire rampaging through her body climbed even higher. "I'm s orry. You are more innocent than I realised. Please—" h e added, as Myrina once more tried to rise, "—d on't go."
She subsided, quivering, drawing her cloak closer around her as though it could protect her from the unfamiliar swirl of emotion between them. His words and images were like an iron chain, binding and drawing her further into an unknown world she desperately longed to explore.
But there was also a sense of shame for being so ignorant. Jecil had been her only lover, coaxing until curiosity and the knowledge he would soon be leaving convinced her to accept his attentions. She had been tired of hearing Elawen's stories and not having any of her own to share. Tired too of not knowing what it felt like to be held, caressed, loved. Now she realised she was still almost as naive as before Jecil breached her maidenhead.
"You think me silly—like the old biddy Elawen accuses me of being."
"No, Myrina." Sincerity gave his words a gentle edge. "Y our inexperience is not something to be scorned."
"How can you say that when I could hardly understand what you showed me?" Tears prickled behind her eyes, and she hugged her knees beneath her cloak. "When I can hardly understand what I am feeling?"
"What do you feel?"
How could she describe the heated sensitivity of her body, the need washing through her in rough, tempestuous waves? How to explain to Ryllio just the sound of his voice, the vision of his fantasies, had ignited a passionate conflagration within? In its light all other sensation dimmed, cast into insignificance.
Gently, as mist creeps over the warmth of a slow flowing river, he cast a picture into her mind. Holding her cheeks, he tipped her face up so the deep green eyes with their slumberous lids and amorous gleam looked deep into hers.
"So lovely," he murmured, fingers tracing the lines of her brows, the curve of her lips. " So beautiful."
The feathery sensations came from her own hands, but still Myrina allowed the love-dream to pull her deep, gladly sinking into the drowning pleasure, leaving reality
But when he replied, his words doused the flame of her anger, even as they ignited a flash-fire of passion.
"For you, with you, I would do everything, give you every liberty over my body, take whichever you would give in return. There is nothing I wouldn't try in my quest to give you pleasure, to satisfy you, to make your desire burn so hot it incinerates us both with the ecstasy of our joining."
There was no need to ask what he meant, for in her mind she saw them together, in flickers of images conjured by his imagination. He was bent to her breasts, lips curved to receive her straining nipple—kissing her back, hands stroking her belly—kneeling between her legs, his hair dark against her thighs—curled around her from behind, the head of his cock poised for entry into her hungering body. She was tied, naked, to a bed—then he was likewise held immobilized for her pleasure. He was behind, in front, between—in her quim, her mouth, her hand, her arse. She was over, under, beside him, her hair unbound, trailing over his skin. Gentle here, masterful there—in control and ceding control—kissing, stroking, licking, sucking places Myrina never thought another would touch.
She pressed trembling palms to her cheeks, trying to rise, wanting to flee, but finding her legs too weak. The images were so real they left her gasping, burning—titillated and confused.
"I've shocked and frightened you." H is voice was rueful, but filled with such harsh longing the desire rampaging through her body climbed even higher. "I'm s orry. You are more innocent than I realised. Please—" h e added, as Myrina once more tried to rise, "—d on't go."
She subsided, quivering, drawing her cloak closer around her as though it could protect her from the unfamiliar swirl of emotion between them. His words and images were like an iron chain, binding and drawing her further into an unknown world she desperately longed to explore.
But there was also a sense of shame for being so ignorant. Jecil had been her only lover, coaxing until curiosity and the knowledge he would soon be leaving convinced her to accept his attentions. She had been tired of hearing Elawen's stories and not having any of her own to share. Tired too of not knowing what it felt like to be held, caressed, loved. Now she realised she was still almost as naive as before Jecil breached her maidenhead.
"You think me silly—like the old biddy Elawen accuses me of being."
"No, Myrina." Sincerity gave his words a gentle edge. "Y our inexperience is not something to be scorned."
"How can you say that when I could hardly understand what you showed me?" Tears prickled behind her eyes, and she hugged her knees beneath her cloak. "When I can hardly understand what I am feeling?"
"What do you feel?"
How could she describe the heated sensitivity of her body, the need washing through her in rough, tempestuous waves? How to explain to Ryllio just the sound of his voice, the vision of his fantasies, had ignited a passionate conflagration within? In its light all other sensation dimmed, cast into insignificance.
Gently, as mist creeps over the warmth of a slow flowing river, he cast a picture into her mind. Holding her cheeks, he tipped her face up so the deep green eyes with their slumberous lids and amorous gleam looked deep into hers.
"So lovely," he murmured, fingers tracing the lines of her brows, the curve of her lips. " So beautiful."
The feathery sensations came from her own hands, but still Myrina allowed the love-dream to pull her deep, gladly sinking into the drowning pleasure, leaving reality
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