Her hands now plunged down farther under the robe, pressing against the flat muscles of his rib cage and stroking the fiat stomach. But they did not stop there. They plunged farther down and grasped Blade's swollen maleness. It had already risen to meet them as they came down to close around it, so that it hardly needed their gentle warmth on it. But incredibly it stiffened still further as Brigeda's hands touched it. Blade began to feel as though he had a rod of steel jutting from his groin.
Before they did anything permanent, though, Brigeda's hands left Blade's groin. They rose to undo the belt of the chamber robe, so that Blade could shrug it off and stand naked, and Brigeda could press herself hard against that nakedness. Blade wasted no more time, but went to work reducing the Sister to the same nakedness. Perhaps it should have been a long, slow, luxurious job. But Blade was too impatient and too aroused not to be clumsy. Nor did Sister Brigeda mind the sound of tearing cloth. In fact, as her last garment dropped away, she bent to nuzzle her face into Blade's groin. Then those full lips closed eloquently around his swollen phallus.
Blade could almost wish she had not done that. Not only was it a horrible strain on his self-control, it distracted him from admiring her naked beauty. And there was too much of it to admire. Blade forced his attention off those skillful lips and looked down.
Everything about Sister Brigeda's body suggested the girl she felt like, rather than the woman she was. The line of her neck was perfect, with just the smallest hint of the cords. That line flowed smoothly into slim, slightly freckled shoulders, with little hollows below the shoulder blades. Those hollows rose and flowed with exquisite grace into the breasts-small, perfectly rounded, with enormous long nipples now thrusting far, far out in their red-black splendor.
Below those breasts a board-flat stomach, curving gracefully down to a patch of fine blue-black hair between the freckled thighs. Long lovely legs, small arched feet-the catalogue could go on for hours.
Perhaps the catalogue could, but Blade knew that he certainly could not. If he stood and submitted to those lips much longer, something irreparable was going to happen. He bent slightly, locked his fingers in Brigeda's hair, and gently pulled her head back from his groin. Her lips slipped once warmly along his maleness, then they were gone.
Before his erection could complain or falter, Blade had lifted Brigeda and laid her down on the bed. But she wriggled to one side as he descended. Half dazed with his arousal as he was, he found himself being turned around and turned over on his back. His erection jutted upwards as Brigeda came down onto it. She was a snug, maddening fit.
The madness rose in both of them more rapidly than before, as Brigeda twisted and turned and gyrated, up, down, and around. Sometimes she would pull back until she was almost free, then shove herself downward until Blade wondered how much room she had inside.
A lot, obviously.
But no matter how much room Brigeda had within, what she was doing was driving her steadily higher and higher. Her eyes were glazed when they weren't entirely closed, her breath came in gasps, her nipples were impossibly stiff and jutting, her skin was flushed and running with sweat. As for Blade, he found himself having to grit his teeth as glorious agony filled him. It rose higher and higher within him, and within Brigeda. It was going to overflow.
It did. Brigeda went as rigid as a statue, and let out a scream as though she were being impaled on something much sharper than Blade's maleness. Then she sagged forward, her eyes closed and her mouth open and slack. Before she could collapse on Blade, his own spasm tore through him. He rose to meet her, and they thrashed together in a tangle of writhing arms and legs for a long time, until they were both completely empty and exhausted. Still entangled, they drifted off to sleep.
Chapter SEVENTEEN
Again Blade was prowling through the dark streets of Mestron. This time he was down among the warehouses along the waterfront, and he was not alone. There were nine men with him-three of his four sailors and six picked fighting men from the households of various Sisters of the Night. The whole Sisterhood had an interest in tonight's affair. They wanted to make sure Durkas was not only taken, but kept.
With six of their picked guards against Blade's three sailors, the Sisters no doubt thought they had taken care of the matter. Under other circumstances they might have been right. But Blade had laid plans of his own.
That was why he had only three sailors with him. The fourth had gone south to Clintrod, Gershon, and Sea Fox. If he got through with his message, Durkas wasn't going to be the only person in Mestron getting a surprise tonight.
A whisper reached his ears from off to the right-Fturn, Brigeda's chief guard.
«Nearly there, Blade.»
«Good.»
The ten men slipped catfooted into the shadows of a warehouse loading dock. Eight of them drew their swords and flattened themselves on the damp, filthy stones under the dock. Blade and Fturn remained standing, to keep watch for Durkas.
The steward was supposed to arrive in a few minutes, not suspecting anything, his mind on picking half a dozen prime girls for his amusements. The story that had gone to him was that these were kidnapped free girls, some still proud and resisting. That was the kind he liked most but found hardest to get, for he could only obtain them illegally, by such nighttime deals as this. And because the whole affair was illegal, Brigeda was sure that Durkas would not bring a strong guard. At least not one so strong that ten picked fighting men couldn't dispose of it quickly, thoroughly, and silently.
Blade hoped Brigeda was right. Otherwise he was risking himself and his men and wasting time for nothing. And if Durkas was not as much in Tymgur's confidence as rumor had it
Footsteps sounded at the top of the street; four or five men were coming along at a brisk jog as though they owned the waterfront. Perhaps Durkas thought he did. He was about to discover differently. Blade pulled his mask down over his eyes and forehead. He wanted to make the first move himself. That meant getting close to Durkas unrecognized.
The footsteps were louder now. Was it his imagination, or did Blade hear a gleeful chuckling? If he did, that could only be Durkas. And if the steward's mind was so filled with anticipation of future pleasures
Five hooded figures rounded the corner of the warehouse at a trot. Blade stepped out of the shadows and went down on one knee in a ceremonial bow.
«Greetings, Master.»
The five stopped dead but did not spread out. Blade noted that and smiled thinly. This might be very easy. His eyes searched the group, picking out one man stouter than the others and standing a little to the fore. Durkas.
«You have the wares?»
«We do.»
«In there?» A thumb jerked up, pointing at the warehouse door.
«Indeed, Master.» Blade took a deep breath. «And we bid you enter.»
That was the signal for Fturn and the men under the loading dock to lunge forward. They came out swiftly, silently, with only a faint padding of feet to give warning, swords and daggers blackened to give no betraying flashes of light.
Blade did not pay them any attention once he heard them on the move. His goal was Durkas. And he did not run. For a man trained like Blade, the steward was in easy range. Blade covered the six feet between them in a single leap.
His sandaled feet drove into the steward's stomach in a blow certain to disable the man but unlikely to kill him. The steward doubled up, then toppled to one side. Blade twisted in midair to avoid landing full force on the toppling man's chest, went down on the pavement, rolled on his shoulders, and came up.