her throat muscles relax enough to swallow anything that was put in her mouth.
But, without the dragon horn, she was in unfamiliar territory.
Nevertheless, because it was now important to her that the seer should be deeply satisfied by this encounter, she urged her throat to accept him and she tried to guide his end deeper into her mouth.
‘Damn,’ he gasped. The exclamation came out in a hoarse croak. There was honest reverence in his tone. ‘You know how to pleasure a man, don’t you?’
She said nothing as she pushed her face closer to him.
She was inhaling the musk of his pubic curls. Her throat ached from the pressure of his swollen glans. She fought the gag reflex that made her want to wretch his shaft from her mouth.
But, throughout the month that had passed since she first tasted dragon horn, Tavia did not think any sexual encounter had ever been more satisfying.
She kept the seer at the back of her throat and then swallowed. Her throat muscles clenched down on the bulbous end of his length. For him, she thought, the pressure must have been both exquisite and unbearable.
Alvar groaned. His hands clutched tightly at her scalp.
She felt him pull her face close. And then his length was trembling with the explosion of a climax. The eruption tore itself from her throat as his length pulsed and shivered and then pulled free. A spurt of white-hot ejaculate slathered her tongue and washed the inside of her mouth. She was only just registering the taste, and the rush of cloying wetness, when his length pulsed and spurted again.
‘Damn,’ he croaked.
The whisper of his word was a stark contrast to the power of the ejaculate erupting from his loins.
He spurted a third time.
And a fourth.
Tavia almost choked trying to swallow all the spend he was shooting into her mouth. As soon as she had closed her throat on one thick and creamy mouthful it felt as though he had already filled her cheeks to bulging. She could taste him with every breath and knew the flavour of his climax would be with her for the rest of the day. It was a scent she would happily inhale later when she gently frotted herself to sleep.
That thought made her realise that her fingers had stopped sliding in and out of the wet crease between her legs. Rather than trying to cajole her own pleasure with subtle manipulation she realised there were three fingers jammed deep into her sex. The tips were pushed firm against the deliciously sensitive pad at the front of her innermost muscles.
Tavia squeezed her palm hard against the throbbing nub of her clitoris.
It was as much as she needed to push her body beyond the precipice of pleasure. She gasped and relished the rush of satisfaction as it rippled through her body.
And, although she had tried to maintain her balance whilst she squatted on the floor to suck the seer, an involuntary twitch of her leg muscle sent her sprawling. She cried out in protest, surprised by the way her body was trying to dump her so unceremoniously on the dungeon floor. She snatched her hand hurriedly from her sex in a bid to stop herself from falling.
Alvar caught her with one hand.
She stared at him, surprised to find him holding her wrist.
‘Here,’ he said, helping her to stand. ‘Thank you for pleasuring me so efficiently, Tavia of Blackheath.’
He raised her wrist to his lips and kissed her hand.
It was the hand she had just used to finger herself to climax. His kiss lingered on the wet knuckles. His eyes studied her as his lips continued to caress the oily flesh of her fingers. Slowly, once she was safely standing up, he lowered himself on one knee. At no point did he ever let his lips leave her hand.
‘I pledge my fealty to Tavia of Blackheath and her quest for the dragon horn,’ he declared. ‘Is that what you wanted to hear?’
She allowed him to continue kissing her knuckles, excited by the way he seemed to be lapping the flavour of her sex from her fingers.
‘Your pledge of fealty will do for the moment,’ she allowed. ‘Although I’d appreciate it if you could also tell me how I shall find the source of the dragon horn.’
‘Petition for my release,’ he insisted. ‘Once I’m free from these dungeons then you can put me on the birlinn that the castellan will have waiting in the west harbour. That vessel will transport us both to the source of the dragon horn. But I won’t say any more until you’ve petitioned for my release.’
He climbed up from his knee and kissed her on the lips.
His tongue explored her mouth and she knew he was tasting the remnants of his own ejaculate from her kiss. She was not surprised to feel a stiffness return to his loins as their tongues intertwined and he drank his own flavour. She wondered if he was more excited by the passion of their kiss or his narcissistic delight in tasting himself. It was a cruel and uncharitable thought, she supposed, but that did not mean it was any less accurate.
‘Will we find the source of the dragon horn?’ she demanded. ‘Is it really within our power? How long will it take? And will we be able to get dragon horn into the North Ridings without upsetting my father the castellan?’
Alvar, son of Erland, patted Tavia gently on the rear. He bent down and pulled up his braies, cinching the drawstring tight around his waist.
‘Go and petition for my release,’ he told her. ‘Once I’m a free man I’ll give you all the answers you want.’ His smile was broad with lewd meaning as he added, ‘I’ll give you all the answers you want, and anything else you desire.’
She said nothing.
Although she knew he was a seer, and bound to tell the truth by virtue of his vocation, Tavia was suddenly struck by the worry that it might be unwise to place all her trust in Alvar, son of Erland.
Chapter Two – Caitrin the Dark
Caitrin stole into the mage’s private offices with the stealth of a noble Greek hero on a bold and daring quest. She was Jason retrieving the Golden Fleece from Colchis; she was Odysseus plundering the harbour of the Laestrygonian’s island; she was Theseus venturing into the labyrinth at Crete. Caitrin quivered with the excitement of what she might achieve.
She had slipped past the mead-asleep guard at the base of the stairs and tiptoed up the stone steps of the tower. She had kept to the shadows of the unsconced stairwell, wary that her errand would be hard to explain if she met the wrong pair of eyes. Softly, she whispered to the gods that protected Blackheath with a prayer that her actions would be fruitful but unnoticed.
And it was as easy as sunset.
The lock on the thick oak door was no trouble. She used the pin from the brooch on the breast of her kirtles to force the tumblers into an easy acquiescence. The brooch showed three maids carrying water: gold on an enamelled crimson background.
The tumblers clicked noisily as she worked them into submission.
Accompanied by the sigh of the age-old hinge as it complained about the door’s movement, Caitrin crept cautiously into the mage’s lair.
It was a room she had visited many times before, but never alone. The air was sweetened by scents of cinnamon and spent candles. A brass spyglass stood in one window. She saw a crystal ball, an astrological chart and the paraphernalia of divination tools cluttering a central counter. Wooden shelves lined the walls. All of them were filled to the brink of catastrophe with jars, books and ancient scrolls.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Not for the first time that month, she was touched by the thrill of knowing she was engaged in a forbidden act. The blood rushed more quickly through her veins. A heated longing surged in her loins.