Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [80]
"Phèdre." Joscelin leaned in the doorway. "Ti-Philippe's like to die of impatience if you don't come down to supper, and Clory's dropped a plate of sliced melon in Eugenie's geraniums. What have you done to overexcite the poor girl so?"
"Me?" I looked up at him. "Nothing."
"No?" He grinned. "It doesn't take much, with you. Come on, let's eat. I understand young Hugues has composed some few dozen poems in your honor, too. You'll not want to miss them."
TWENTY-FOUR
AFTER AN excellent meal—and indeed, a number of dubious verses—we talked long into the night, Joscelin and Ti-Philippe and I; I daresay we'd have stayed up until dawn, if not for the fact that Ysandre had left standing orders for me to report to her presence upon my return.
In the end, I went short enough of sleep as it was. Mayhap it was folly, but thus is ever the case in matters of love. I was reminded, with each homecoming, how precious was the life I had been given, how scant the time in which to cherish it. I was Kushiel's Chosen, yes; but Naamah's Servant, too. And she sees fit to reward her servants from time to time.
Moonlight filtered through the garden window into the bedchamber, the fine-spun linens soft and welcoming, scented with dried herbs. I dropped my robes standing in a square of moonlight, reached up with both hands to unbind Joscelin's braid when he had shed his own clothing. The tips of my breasts brushed his hard chest and his unbound hair spilled like flaxen silk over my hands, over his shoulders. I pressed my mouth to the hollow of his throat, tasting the salt of his skin, tracing his collarbones with my tongue.
"Phèdre," he whispered, lifting me onto the bed.
I used my art, yes; it was not the first time. I had, for this moment, a respite from Kushiel's unbearable presence, the demands of his choosing. It was a full moon that hung over my garden—Naamah's moon, a lovers' moon, round and silver. I let it take me, take us both, the tides of my blood matching its draw. A yearning of heart and loins, simple and sweet. I performed the languisement upon him until his phallus leapt like a fish on a line, taut and straining, a shimmering drop of seed forming at the tip.
And he—Joscelin smiled, heavy-lidded in the moonlight, infinitely patient with the long training of Cassiline discipline, raising me to capture my mouth with his, a languorous dance of tongues, his hands tracing my marque, molding my flesh out of Naamah's night, his fingers parting the petals betwixt my thighs. I sighed at the touch of his lips, his mouth at my breasts, suckling my nipples, his tongue tracing a path lower, probing the folds of my flesh to seek the hidden pearl.
Until I pushed him flat on the bed, straddling him, guiding his phallus into me with a shuddering exhalation, slick and aching with desire. Joscelin laughed softly, hair spread like moonlight on the pillows, hands on my haunches as I rode him, wave after wave of pleasure washing through me. "Some anguissette."
"Are you complaining?" I gasped.
"No." He sat up without dislodging me, arms coming hard around me. I wrapped my legs about his waist, taking his face in both hands and kissing him. "I take such gifts as they come," he murmured when I lifted my head, "and ask no questions."
Nor did I.
One day, mayhap, I will be wise enough to understand the ways of the gods. For now, it was enough to take what was offered, mercifully devoid of pain's cruel yearnings; pleasure, Naamah's coin, pure and unalloyed, graced with the presence of love.
Blessed Elua's presence. Hold this near to your heart, it whispered.
I did, and did, until we lay sated and exhausted, my head on Jos-celin's chest, the soft breeze cooling our sweat-dampened skin. Still awake, he toyed with my hair as it mingled with his, lazily braiding our locks together. "See." He stroked the cabled length of it, sable and blond. "Dark and fair, intertwined as our lives."
It gave me an unexpected jolt of memory. I had done that very thing—twelve years ago, it must be—in Anafiel