“For that,” Amris said, trying not to pant the words and failing, “I should carry you there over my shoulder.” With an immense effort of will, he let her go and stepped back.
“I wouldn’t try it,” said Darya. She spun toward the door, then looked back over her shoulder at him. “You’ll need your strength.”
* * *
Darya thought they made it down the stairs and into the kitchen with a bit of dignity—at least, compared to a number of other couples she’d seen or been part of. They didn’t stop to kiss, and neither of them kept a hand on the other’s arse. Nobody passing tried to talk to them, though, and nobody asked why they were both wearing cloaks, so Darya suspected a few conclusions were getting drawn.
She didn’t care. Hunger was twisting between her legs, her breasts felt every minute motion of her shirt when she walked, and she would happily have taken Amris up against a wall like a drunken guard and a dairymaid in a joke. She resisted for his comfort, and because Hallis would likely have had her head for it afterward. That was all.
In the kitchen, she opened the small door downward to a narrow staircase that smelled of stone, wine, and old oak. There was no light, and she didn’t care. Amris couldn’t see in the dark, but he followed her with no hesitation, closing the door quickly behind them.
On that staircase, in the darkness, he followed closely enough that Darya felt the heat of his body behind her, and closely enough for her to smell the clean, sharp scent of his body fresh from the bath. She wanted to sprint forward and find the nearest stable surface, but she trusted her feet far less than usual.
Finally, after what felt like a week, they were at the bottom, surrounded by racks of casks and nothing else. Darya had already been undoing her cloak. As soon as her feet hit a flat surface, she cast it onto the floor, turned, and reached for the neck of Amris’s.
“Trust,” he said, catching her wrist gently in his off hand, “that I’m as prepared as you are. Not to mention eager.”
With his other hand, he spread his own cloak down on top of hers, and the two of them descended in turn.
Darya had thought the first time would be quick and hard, and upstairs hadn’t weighed against that impression, but once the darkness had closed in around them, it was like there was no time. She lay on her side, head pillowed on Amris’s bicep and one leg twined around his waist, and nibbled up the side of his neck. Beneath her shirt, he toyed with her breast, cupping with his palm and then lightly tweaking the nipple until Darya gasped and squirmed.
It was all exploration down there, all mystery, even though the subject in general had held very few secrets for Darya since midway through her fifteenth year. She stroked the tense muscle of Amris’s hips and thighs, savoring both the firmness beneath cloth and hand and the way he hissed and thrust against her, aware of every second as though it were new, and not only to them.
She was wet and open for him long before he slid her pants down over her hips and cupped her sex. When he slid one large finger into her, then another, she arched and groaned and begged for more—but there was none of the desperation of that point with other men, only sureness. By the end, Darya would have what she wanted. There was time to enjoy the journey.
As far as she could tell, Amris agreed. He hissed when she undid his laces and wrapped a hand around his straining cock, and her name left his lips like a prayer when she started to move her fingers, buthishands never stopped. The man had discipline, no question—but the extent of it, and the echoes of the spell around them, suggested that he felt the same confidence Darya did, the lack of any need to grasp or hurry.
Neither of them undressed more than they needed to—the air in the cellar had a chill edge to it. Amris’s tunic grazed against Darya’s thighs when he entered her, an additional point of delightful friction, and hers rucked up above her breasts. Her trousers were halfway down one leg and completely off the other, the one draped over Amris’s hips so that he could thrust his full, thick length inside her slick passage.
Back arched, she looked straight into his face. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes half-lidded: the picture of a man in rapture, and it excited her further. Darya was the one who began to move, unable to contain the urge, and she was by far the first to go over the edge, in a steady ascent made wonderfully almost unbearable by the flexing of Amris’s hips, the pressure of his fingers on her arse, and his mouth on one nipple, tongue teasing through wet cloth.
She let herself scream at the end. She so rarely got to do that, and this time, of all times, it felt right.
Once again Amris followed her lead. “Gods—Darya—you’re so lovely, so—” and then a sound between a groan and a roar, one that almost echoed in the empty cellar while he jerked and pulsed inside her.
She almost wished it had. It was the sort of noise she could stand to hear for a while.
* * *
Darya’s eyes shone in the darkness. In all other regards, she was a shape: warm, firm, and comforting in the lassitude that followed physical enjoyment. Amris listened to her breath near his ear and felt her heartbeat against his chest. He wouldn’t have traded the hard floor beneath him for a featherbed with anybody else living.
“Thank you,” he said, running a hand slowly down her side and back.
In the dark, he couldn’t see the lift of her eyebrows, but he knew it was there. “You’re, um, welcome. But I don’t think either of us meant it as a favor—unless I’m wrong.”
“No, not at all. But thank you for speaking the offer. My courage might have failed me at the last, with matters so sudden.”
“You can’t tell me you’ve never propositioned anyone before,” she said. Her laughter was sweet to his ears and warm over his neck. “Even bluntly—you were a soldier for years.”
“I was mostly younger, and often had strong liquor to give me courage. And for the most part, I didn’t believe that I’d see them again. Wagering is easy when you have little to lose.”
“That does help.” Uncertainty surfaced through the comfort pervading her. “This is the first time there’ve been stakes for me, really.”
Hearing that, even indirectly, sent a thrill through him. He tightened the arm around her waist. “Then you’re simply more daring than I am. I’m far from surprised.”
“Better at leaping before I look. Not sure it’s the same thing. Glad I did.”
“So am I.” Darya fit his arms easily, her weight against his chest a comfort. “And if you wish to continue as we are,” Amris said, “I would greatly desire that as well, and not only because we have Gerant in common.”
