Chapter 3. Wicked Tomcat

f Pendaran were a cat, he would be purring contentedly about now.  The embers of the evening’s campfire had burned down as he lay beside Uriel beneath his mink cloak, delighting in the warmth of her dusky flesh.  He stretched, enjoying the feel of the smooth fur against his bare skin as he rolled onto his belly. His jaw rested upon her shoulder and he smiled as she shuddered with desire. The tickle of his breath against her throat was deliciously maddening.

She was quite lovely and she had been kind enough to put up enough resistance to make the game interesting.  He ran his fingers along the line of her delicate collarbones and she moaned softly, rolling over to gaze down upon him propped up on an elbow.  Her lustrous black hair, free of its plaits and diadem, cascaded around her heart-shaped face in gleaming waves, tickling and taunting his shoulder and chest.  Gazing up into her chestnut eyes, he admired the sweet curve of her thin black brows and her wine red lips.  Her dimpled cheeks belied her age, for she was in the summer of her years, mature and experienced.  He was grateful that he had not needed to waste his time luring her with honeyed words or subtle gestures.  He drew her down into a long greedy kiss and they enjoyed a third round of boisterous lovemaking to the chagrin of Morisedd and Lemony.

Expended, they lay in one another’s arms.  He clasped Uriel against his chest like a fine mandolin, and he fancied he could play her just as well.  Now, if she just went to sleep instead of boring him with idle prattle, he would be completely content.  So many of his paramours ruined a good evening filling the time between sleep and love with talk.

How lucky he was, he mused, thinking about the next three nights that lay ahead.  He could have made the trek alone, of course, but this arrangement was so much sweeter.  If she proved willing, he might stay with her a while longer.  Until he grew bored.  He needed variety and monks did not interest him.  Sister Lemony clearly admired his body, but he had made it a rule to distance himself from priestesses.  It was a challenge he had learned early on to avoid.  One always grew too attached to them and that just would not do.  Not with his appetite.

Uriel yawned and stretched in his grasp and he fingered her silky black tresses, enjoying the feel of her hair against his cheek.  He touched the clasp of her necklace, wondering how much she had paid for the enormous sapphire that rested in the hollow of her throat where the alluring lines of her collarbones met. 

“Do you like my jewels, beloved?” she sighed and he frowned, annoyed that his touch had elicited speech when all he wanted to do now was sleep off the evening’s entertainment.

“The sapphire is beautiful, I will admit, but not half so fair as thee,” he purred.  That usually worked.

She rolled onto her back and gazed up into his face so that he could see the stone clearly now beneath the pale starlight.  It lay cold and black against her throat, a faint glistening of light rippling over its tiny facets as she breathed.  It had to have been cut by dwarves to be so perfect and he trembled slightly as she grasped his hand and pressed his fingers over its cold edges.

“I know what you are,” she whispered.

“Really?” he said, intrigued and awaiting her praises for his evening’s performance.

“Indeed,” she sighed, smiling up at him, “You’re exactly what I needed.”

He fingered the jewel as she spoke, trying to gauge the number of facets.  Two carats at least, maybe even five.  Albrict would certainly pay a bundle for it.  And she was his, so compliant and hungry he might not have to steal it.  He may be able to convince her to lavish it upon him.

But not yet.  There was no sport in drawing her in too quickly.  Lyssa had smiled upon him yet again.