CHAPTER TWELVE
“She messed around
with a bloke named Smoky;
she loved him,
though he was cokey.
“He took her down to
And showed her how
to kick the gong around.”
- Cab Calloway
The enticement had ceased…
…and the act had commenced.
When a courtesan, Parihn had,
at various times, been compelled to steel herself against dismay, discomfort
and even disgust.
Fortunately—and unfortunately, she thought—this wasn’t one of those times: Even if she wasn’t particularly
drawn to him, she could acknowledge
with a certain objectivity that Jerrell was an attractive
man, physically speaking.
That was proving to be a
problem.
For someone whose pace the
rest of the evening had been almost lackadaisical, she'd been startled at how
swiftly he'd acted to divest her of clothing—sparse a defense though it was,
considering that Parihn’s only garment had been the gown of translucent black
Tholian silk he'd given her, and made clear she had to wear, only hours before.
He'd had but to remove its sole adornment—a delicate, spidery broach of pure kivas—and it had whispered delightfully across her flesh
on its all too swift journey to the floor.
He raked her with his gaze.
Parihn had endured that look from the eyes of ten thousand men, and more. She'd
also seen it from Javin Koortas only days before, directed at another… and, for
Aedra's sake, she bore it now from Jerrell—in the hopes that her friend might
not have to see it every day for the rest of her life.
He was practically drooling.
For a moment, a certain possibility sprang into being: Parihn knew, as few
women did, that men who talked a good game didn't always play one. If he was choosing now to rush, his skills and
patience might not be what she feared they would.
After a few moments, though,
that wishful notion was dispelled: He'd hastened only to the point where he
could then focus on taking his time. Parihn realized that the hope had been a
silly one; after all, nine years ago, he’d slept in a bed with her for an
entire night and never even made a move. She’d thought that a remarkable
event—then.
Now, well… that wasn’t likely to recur.
He removed his shirt,
exposing his lean, sleek form, then tossed it aside, before moving to embrace
her.
Parihn didn’t move, didn’t
react at all. Striving for composure, she managed not to break the embrace, but
did nothing to contribute—not resistant, but not particularly responsive,
either.
I can’t just
let this happen, she
told herself…
…but knew there was no viable alternative.
She was all too aware of his
warmth in contrast to the cool air of the room. He kissed her shoulder and
neck… and she flushed at noting that his lips felt even warmer.
Get away…
before…
Still, though, she remained
motionless…
…but not for very long.
Soon Parihn, with her usual
honesty, was forced to allow that his arrogance was partly justified; he was patient, adroit… and doing precisely what she’d hoped he wouldn’t: Attending to her instead of allowing her to seize the initiative,
hasten things along… and thus, retain a distance from what was happening. More
than once, early on, Parihn tried just that; each time, he’d gently commanded, “No,” and continued to explore her body. Jerrell was
clearly more interested, for the moment, in her
pleasure—for they both knew it suited his ultimate purpose.
His hands were knowing, and
his mouth practiced… and, to her disquiet, she was responding to each of his
forays more than the last. For a time, and to a certain extent, she resisted
the inevitable, but her instincts were extremely
strong: He was finding, and doing, some of the things from which she'd always
received pleasure…
…and Parihn, unable to avoid
them, couldn’t help but react.
He gently exhaled warm breath
into her ear; she stiffened… then trembled.
He kissed her, his tongue
tracing a delicious path along her own, and she softly growled in the back of
her throat—a growl that was part protest, part appreciation.
He cupped her round bottom
with his hands, and what she'd intended as a protesting jerk of her hips
settled into a gentle gyration.
He caressed her small
breasts, fingers rolling and softly teasing the gradually hardening nipples;
she gasped, and what she’d thought would be an attempt to pull away became,
instead, a slight, almost approving arch of her back.
I shouldn’t like
this—any of this.
The admonishment, though,
didn’t change what she was feeling.
Though this was not the man she would have selected, given a choice,
Parihn was being forced to experience having, for one of the few times in her
life, a man making all the effort during
sex…
…and incrementally,
inexorably, she was being drawn into the moment.
He hadn’t needed any special
clues, any particular insights; she’d protected her mind as best she could, but, as had all too often
happened in the past, her animal woman’s body
had begun to betray her—this time, at the worst possible moment. Only one other
time in the four years before had Parihn spent the night with a man, and it had
also occurred while she was taking her pheromone and hormone suppressants.
Then, the rush of feeling—and more, the fire of their mutual passion—had seared
them, in the span of a few heartbeats, completely from her system.
And though it was happening far more slowly this night—over long minutes, or even
hours, instead of seconds—it was still gradually happening… and Jerrell wasn’t
about to allow her another dose. T'Vaar's mental disciplines were the only
thing between Parihn and complete surrender…
…but even they weren’t enough
to prevent a certain acquiescence.
At last, he laid her back on
the bed, and parted her thighs with what she acknowledged was significantly
less effort than such an action would have required even a short time ago. A
single pleasing caress with a slyly inserted finger told them both she was
moist; and despite herself—despite how the usually strong-willed Orion wanted to feel…
…Parihn knew she was ready
for more.
He positioned himself astride
her with calculated slowness, drawing out the moment. She barely noticed him; her eyes were focused instead on his lengthy,
slender erection, now poised to claim its prize. Though Parihn tried again, she
couldn’t dispel, or even disguise, the subtle reactions of her body.
There was now no avoiding
what came next…
…as he slipped easily, almost
effortlessly, into her.
It wasn't in the least
uncomfortable physically—in fact, somewhat the opposite. She watched, strangely
rapt, as he glided in and out… and as those first few seconds became minutes,
and his graceful, deliberate motions remained fluid and regular, Parihn grew
gradually more amenable to his performance.
Eventually, her eyelids
fluttered closed of their own accord; with a small, resigned sigh, she laid her
head back on a pillow and finally, truly, began to relax.
In what had been from the
outset an impossible struggle, Vaerth Parihn at last conceded defeat.
She was finding it a little
difficult, though, to be extremely sorry she'd lost: Over time, as Jerrell
maintained his efforts, moving himself ever further inside, her once
determinedly neutral expression evolved slowly into a languid smile, and her
regrets continued to disperse.
Parihn felt almost
tranquilized. She had missed this—the very deed
itself—but had struggled mightily rather than concede such a thing.
Now, she knew it was true.
“Heh.”
With an effort, Parihn
momentarily drew herself partway back from the realm of sensation, and examined
his face through her half-open, all-too-heavy eyelids. She recognized Jerrell's
expression as a playful smile…
…laid rather carelessly over
a self-satisfied, triumphant smirk.
Even though she was for a
moment somewhat disturbed at his attitude, her body continued to express its
approval… and the newfound concern she’d just experienced also gradually
drifted away. In a fleeting instant of troubled clarity, Parihn’s mind again
recalled that Roman axiom; but set against what she was doing and, more, feeling…
…even it didn’t
make much of an impression.
Abstractedly, she watched as
he lifted her lean, sculpted dancer's legs from where they’d lain on either
side of him. Careful to keep himself well within her while so doing, he moved
them together and raised both into the air… holding her trim ankles in one
hand, pointing her small round heels at the ceiling… gently pressing the now
straightened limbs back towards her. Using his free fist for balance, Jerrell
then increased his pace, and artistry: delving into her, drawing back with a
calculated movement that provided a surprising, agreeable friction, then
sliding home again.
Parihn closed her eyes once
more, felt him subtly raising her hips off the bed to meet his, stroke after
stroke—deliberate, rhythmic… and rather to her liking.
For a moment, on a downward
thrust, he paused, resting his slight frame; the weight settled Parihn more
cozily into the cushions… and implanted his shaft more fully into her. Now
almost completely sedate, she noticed herself lacing fingers, hands behind
neck, to more comfortably let him have his way…
…and his way, she
acknowledged, was quite a pleasant one.
After a while, and from what
seemed to her a great distance, Parihn heard her partner inquire, “Having a good time?”
She could still vaguely note
the victorious timbre in his voice… but, right now, it just didn't seem very
important in the face of current events.
When there was no immediate
reply, however, Jerrell chuckled, asked, “Well?”…
…and, as he did, plumbed her as firmly and deeply as
he yet had, and could.
That got him an answer.
Within, Parihn quivered.
A moment later, her lazy
smile returned; almost inaudibly, she sighed an approving, “Mmm hmm”…
…and meant it.
It had taken a while, but
Parihn had finally come to appreciate Jerrell somewhat more than she had.
Chapter Eleven Chapter Thirteen