Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [83]
Unexpected tears stung my eyes. " 'Tis hard to do, my lady!"
"I know," she said gently.
I drew a harsh, ragged breath. This was neither the scene of tender romance nor torturous passion I had envisioned. "What must I do?"
"Be still," Emmeline murmured, "and trust." She laid one hand on my breast, splaying her fingers over my hard-beating heart and gazing into my eyes. The air in the room seemed to thicken, and I felt the presence of something—Naamah, or Blessed Elua himself—hover over us. "Can you do that?"
"I think so," I whispered. "I will try."
"Good," she whispered in reply. "It is all any of us can ask."
And there, in that room of fretted shadows, Emmeline of Balm House stripped me bare. She did it slowly, with an adept's grace. Her delicate fingers undid the buttons on my velvet doublet, and she removed it with care. She teased my silk shirt loose from my breeches, sliding her hands beneath it. I hissed as she eased it over my head, her hands sliding along my ribs, over my shoulders. Her touch was gentle and warm, not yet meant to arouse. It might have been soothing were I not strung tighter than a harp-string.
"This is sacred, Imriel." Her fingers, dipped in scented oil, annointed my chest, tracing a line toward my navel. "You; all of you. Do you understand?"
I stood, shuddering like a fly-stung horse while she moved around me. "Yes," I said helplessly. "Yes."
Emmeline's fingers found the weal-marks on my lower back, the faded scars of Daršanga. "Oh," I heard her murmur, and then I felt the touch of her soft lips, and the tip of her tongue tracing them, learning them. "And this, too."
Something knotted deep within me began to ease, almost painfully. My body began to respond to her touch. I unclenched my fists and gazed at the flickering lamps.
"There is no part of you that is not sacred." Emmeline rose before me, her hands sliding over my oil-slick breast. "And there is no shame here, only love. This is a benediction. Do you understand?"
"I am beginning to," I said, breathless.
She laughed. "Ah, Elua!" Her pupils were dilated. "You are a beautiful boy!"
I swallowed. "There is more."
I didn't want to have to explain; and I didn't need to. Emmeline nodded. She sank to kneel on her heels, removing my boots and undoing my breeches. My phallus, freed, sprang erect, straining. She annointed me with oil, murmuring a blessing. At the touch of her lips, I gritted my teeth and stared at the ceiling.
"This."
Emmeline's fingers found the brand on my left buttock; Jagun's brand. I looked down at her, seeing tears in her wide grey eyes.
"Oh, my love," she whispered. "Oh yes, this, too."
I started crying when she kissed it; and once I started, I could not stop. I wept as she led me to the bed, that big vast bed with all its white pillows. And there I lay and watched, tears trickling from the corners of my eyes, as she stripped off her silken gown, bare skin gleaming in the lamplight, and came to straddle me.
"Here," she murmured, grasping my phallus, guiding the tip to her hidden aperture. I could feel it parting her inner lips, dewy-moist, emanating heat. "Here, there is healing and Naamah's grace."
She lowered herself, and I gasped. Inside, her flesh was as slick and hot as blood, and as soft as silk. It was more intimate than anything I could have imagined.
Inch by slow inch, she sank down onto me.
Ah, Elua! I was sheathed in her to the hilt, and it was heaven.
"Is it not so?" Emmeline asked softly.
"Yes," I whispered through my tears. "I understand." And suddenly, there was tenderness and ardor, too. Emmeline leaned forward, her hair falling to curtain our faces. She kissed me; kissed away my tears, kissed my tear-swollen lids, kissed my lips. Her hips moved, only a little. If it had been more, I couldn't have stood it. I took her face in my hands and kissed her back, sinking my fingers deep into her shining hair. Her lips