5 comments/ 43364 views/ 11 favorites Loveplay By: Sabledrake Author's Note: this story is set in the world of my MageLore and ElfLore fantasy novels. The character of Tavelorn also appears on Literotica in "Ties that Bind." Written for T.M., as a Valentine's present. Feedback welcomed! * "No more fire spells," Tavelorn Ilhedrion said, fixing the two little boys with a stern look. "Is that clear?" Under his ice-blue gaze, they mumbled and blushed and shuffled their feet. The smaller of the two, the one who would need to see a domestic to grow his hair and singed eyebrows properly back, had a quivering chin as if about to burst into tears. The elder, his cousin, fingered the bandage that covered the left side of his face. "Leave it on," Tavelorn said. "The salve needs time to work, or you'll be left with a scar." "It itches." "Yes, it does." He shooed them out into the waiting room, where their anxious nanny shot to her feet. She wrung her hands. "Doctor, are they all right?" "They'll mend. My assistant took all relevant information? Excellent. The bill will be sent to the Household." He gave her a sheet of parchment and a small vial. "Here are my follow-up instructions. The bandage can come off in the morning. Give them each a spoonful of this with clear juice or water before bedtime to help with the pain." "Don't we get a sweet?" ventured the elder boy. "A sweet?" Tavelorn arched dark brows. "For being good." "If you'd been good, you wouldn't have set yourselves on fire." He closed the door behind them, took a deep breath, held it, and let it out in a sigh as he relished the end-of-day silence. Tavelorn kept his office in the Whitewillow Building, in a nice but not terribly upscale neighborhood of Perras Peliani. It was small, but adequate to his needs at this point in his career. His practice consisted primarily of cases just such as this – minor bumps and bruises, coughs, fevers, the occasional broken bone. And, of course, the endless malaise, ennui and anxieties of well-to-do matrons. They came to him for sedatives, or just to have the momentary attention of a handsome young man. They enjoyed having him hold their hands while he counted their lifebeat, or with his practiced light touch give them their annual ear exams. More than a few, he was sure, exaggerated or outright manufactured their complaints. Some, those with of-age daughters or nieces and little regard for the scandal surrounding his family, plied him with questions about his eligibility and prospects. Had he wished it, he could have been engaged a dozen times over already. But he was in no hurry for that, the gods knew. "We do have sweets, by the way," his assistant said, her voice drifting to him like the scent of flowers on a spring breeze. He glanced toward the half-open door that connected the waiting room to a private lounge. "We do?" "In the jar on the corner of my desk." Tavelorn saw the jar, which was smoke-green crystal in the shape of an apple. He lifted the lid and peered inside at a collection of candies wrapped in waxed paper. "So we do. Why?" "Didn't your mother ever take you to the doctor when you were small?" Vinkiri stepped into the doorway, fussing with her frilly skirt. "And you'd get a treat if you minded your manners and didn't cry?" "I never had to be bribed to behave myself," he said. He took a piece of candy and replaced the lid. "If I'd become a battlefield surgeon as planned, I wouldn't have taken chocolates and sugared almonds to placate the injured soldiers. And they, need I mention, would have far more pressing cause to complain than a child with a bee sting or a blister." "I know, I know. What a pity that the war had to go and end before you got your chance to wallow in blood and gore." She tossed her head, sending fluffy ringlets of flame-orange hair bouncing. "I didn't mean that," Tavelorn said, nettled. Except, inwardly, he almost did mean exactly that. He had been training to be a physician when the war between the Emerin and Montennor broke out, and had won his way into an accelerated surgical program with the express intent of being sent to the front to save elven lives. He had been anticipating the challenge of treating axe wounds and poison-gas inhalations and burns from acidic dwarven chemical weapons. Not to mention the inevitable accidents and friendly fire of the warmages – lightning bolts, fireballs, magical frostbite. Now here he was, treating foolish little children who no sooner learned Ignite Fire in school than they had to go and cast it on each other ... and that was the most exciting part of his entire day. Add to that the fact that his relative youth made many prospective patients reluctant to fully trust him, and was it any wonder he felt at least a touch disgruntled? Vinkiri, however, was never disgruntled. He didn't think that she could be. For her, a career as a physician's assistant was only a stepping stone to the life she truly sought. She had told him from the beginning that she would quit in a flash as soon as she met the ideal man. "He'll be older, wealthy, respectable," she'd said. "Preferably a widow, with an ailing child. I'll nurse the child to health, and the grateful father will marry me even though I'm only the daughter of glassblowers and a scholarship nursing student." And so she approached life with considerably less seriousness, which she now demonstrated by doing a little prance-twirl in front of him. "What do you think of the dress?" "There's not much of it," he said, after surveying her from head to toe. The dress was pale springtime-green, leaving quite a bit of creamy skin exposed. Vinkiri had a rounded figure for an elfmaid, and the skimpy bodice was hard-put to contain her buxom curves. Thin silk cords crossed in an X just below her collarbones, crossed again at the back of her neck, and attached to the low, scooped back of the garment. The skirt was a snug sheath of green overtopped by a cascade of white lacy ruffles, emphasizing her hips and exaggerating her already voluptuous bottom. Glittering high-heeled sandals brought her up to his chin. She favored gold jewelry, a quirk of hers in that most elves favored silver or truesilver, and fine-link bracelets and anklets jingled as she moved. She wore a delicate golden-wire filigree circlet set with tiny sparkling green gems. Two gold hairpins lifted some of her curls up and back, showing off a daring sweep of lower ear. "You look beautiful," he added. She preened and dimpled and batted her long lashes at him. "Thank you, Doctor." "You must have exciting plans for the evening." "As it happens, I do," she said. "You remember my friend Hilika, don't you?" "Oh, yes," Tavelorn said. "The actress." He remembered Hilika very well. Tall, slim, elegant, silvery-blonde ... she had come to the office one day claiming to have hurt her knee, and the entire time he'd been examining it – her long, long leg artfully thrust out from beneath a modest sheet – she had watched him with cool, amused eyes the color of a foggy night. If truth be told, he had perhaps spent a little more time than was strictly necessary in his inspection of that shapely leg. Holding the sides of her knee between his palms while directing her to raise and lower her foot, moving his fingers up and down her smooth white calf and thigh, querying whether she felt pain above or below the joint ... Yes, he remembered Hilika, indeed he did. "Her new play is opening tonight," Vinkiri said. "I promised her I'd come. It's only a little theater in Shamesa Square, not Peliani Grand Performing Arts Center by any stretch, but she's very excited." "What's the play?" "Aliona and Myerrus, one of those horrid tragedy things where everyone winds up stabbed or poisoned at the end." Vinkiri shrugged. "Personally, I prefer the happy ones that end in a wedding, but what do I know? Hilika's been rehearsing her big death scene for weeks." "Is she Aliona?" Tavelorn asked. "Her first starring role. You should come along." "I'm sure it's much too late to get tickets." "Tavelorn, this isn't the Elwyndas Festival, when everything's booked solid a decade in advance. This is a shabby little community theater in Shamesa Square. They're not about to be sold out." "Well ..." "Unless you were doing something else?" "I had mentioned to my mother and uncle that I might stop by the house," he said. "It'd be good to have a reason not to." "Then it's settled." Vinkiri put her hands on her hips, a movement that made her ringlets and breasts bounce again. "But you're not going dressed like that, are you?" "I thought you said it was a shabby community theater, not the Elwyndas Festival." "Still." He looked down at himself, at the long frost-white tunic with the emblem of the Emerinian Medical Association sewn on the right breast in blue and silver. "Give me a moment, then." "Gladly." She hopped up onto the edge of a table, crossing her legs and folding her hands on her knee. She smiled a bright, dazzling Vinkiri-smile. "You're going to watch me change?" "I don't have anything better to do." "There are six patient charts on your desk, the examination room cupboard to organize, and a letter to be written to the pharmacy." "Like I said, I don't have anything better to do." She dimpled again. With a low, half-rueful chuckle, Tavelorn went ahead and changed clothes. As always, it was a relief to put aside the clean white tunic. It always seemed to be reproaching him somehow, saying that if he had followed his proper career path, he would have ended each day splashed to the elbows with the blood of the lives he had saved. He donned trousers of a soft dark grey, tucked into straight knee-high boots. His shirt was high-collared and long-sleeved, the deep red of mourning, with many tiny spherical buttons of polished black jet. Somber colors, severe colors, and he knew that he sometimes got looks when walking down the street. The style since the ascendance of the new king had been aggressively bright and airy and frivolous – though the king himself did not adhere to that fashion – as if the entire Emerin wanted to put the past behind them. As if the war had been so long ago it ceased to matter. As if those who had fought and died were dim memories. Tavelorn Ilhedrion, for one, was not about to forget. He would wear the dark red to remind them. To let them know that he, at least, honored his uncle's passing. Perhaps the rest of the Emerin held Tiercel Reyes, brother of Tavalara Ilhedrion, in scorn and contempt. Perhaps even his own family did ... but for one loyal nephew. He had lost his father in the war, too, and yet he did not grieve so much for him. His father, an archer, had been absent through much of his childhood. It had always been Tiercel that his mother held up to him as a shining example. Tiercel the knight, Tiercel the hero. And then, Tiercel the traitor. "You're getting that look again," Vinkiri said. "What look?" "That broody look." She clicked her tongue at him. "If we're going to go out and see this play and have a nice time, you need to cheer up." "Didn't you say it was a tragedy?" "Yes, which is all the more reason to cheer up. If I have to sit through three hours of stabbings and poisonings, I'd like to enjoy it." "Apologies, then, for my broody look." He turned to the mirror, in which she had so recently been primping. His straight midnight-black hair was worn shorter than was fashionable. It could very nearly be considered provocative, though this was not his intention. He wore his hair thusly in honor of his uncle. Tiercel had been a knight, and knights of the Emerin tended to crop their hair short to better fit beneath a helmet. It occurred to him, as it so often did when he regarded his reflection, that there was precious little of his father in him. Body or soul, really, if he gave it pause to think. His father had been an archer, his hair worn long and tied back in a ponytail with a spare bowstring or strip of leather. He had been tanned, and rugged, while Tavelorn was fair-skinned, with classical features. No, they had nothing in common. The Reyes blood of his mother's line ran strong and true in Tavelorn. He had inherited his father's name, and little else of him. Throwing a short steel-grey velvet cape with black braid fastenings over one shoulder, he looked at Vinkiri. She had picked up a light silken wrap that would do little for modesty and less against any evening chill, but the Emerinian night proved mild enough as they walked out of the Whitewillow Building. The inn across the way had only just opened for its early supper hours, and the patrons were for the most part families and young married couples. The street was shaded by towering trees, the air heady with spring fragrance. High above, the sky was a dusky blue shading toward black. The lights of the city glimmered like jewels. Music and melodious elven voices drifted on the breeze. A host of carriages drawn by white or dove-grey or tawny-gold horses rolled by. Tavelorn hailed one, then held the door for Vinkiri as she scaled the short flight of folding steps. She showed a lot of leg as she did so, drawing many an eye, and gave him a saucy smile as she settled herself inside. Tavelorn sat beside her, and she promptly slid across the seat to nestle against him. "Ever done it in a carriage?" she asked. He chuckled. "Hasn't everyone?" She put her hand on his leg, walking her fingers slowly toward his belt. "Would you believe I haven't?" "Honestly? No." She trilled a laugh. "Good. I wouldn't want you to have the wrong idea of me." "I imagine," he said dryly, "that I have a very accurate idea of you." Vinkiri had been one of the first to reply when he had advertised in the Perras Peliani Gazette and the Emerinian Medical Association trade journals for an assistant. One of the first, and one of the few ... his family's scandal had broken shortly beforehand, and not many in the Emerin were willing to be associated with the Reyes name thereafter. Of the other applicants, most had been in a desperate situation, either bottom-of-the-class or dismissed from other positions, and unable to find more work. Vinkiri's marks had not been outstanding, but they had not been dismal either, and having grown up a glassblower's daughter, she was too pragmatic to be concerned about his reputation. She also saw nothing whatsoever amiss with a recreational as well as a professional relationship. Or, in fact, with combining the two. She had ended her first full day in his employ by seducing him in the examination room. Since then, they had enjoyed many a lively after-hours romp once the last patients had gone and the office was closed. Vinkiri was an adventuresome bedmate, liking to dress up and play games – although, granted, playing "doctor and naughty nurse" was not much of a stretch for either of them. She understood without it having to be explained that they were not in any way romantically involved. It was only sport, only informal fun. "So, when did you?" she asked. "In a carriage, I mean." "Hmm," Tavelorn said, thinking back. "The first time in a carriage, I must've been in my mid-thirties. Just before medical school." "Precocious bad boy!" she crowed, and flicked her tongue against his earlobe. "Who were you with?" "Nientha Halthmeris," he said. "There were several of us, eight at least. We'd all been to a concert out near the edge of Shanlen County. It started to rain, so we hired a carriage and all crowded inside. Nientha had to sit on my lap." "Like this?" Vinkiri snuggled her pert bottom down onto him. "Yes, like that." He slipped his arms around her. "Well, the ride was bumpy and we'd all shared some wine, and with one thing and another ..." "A purely natural reaction, I'm sure." She wiggled, bounced a little. "It was dark, out on that rainy country lane. We could barely see the other couples, though of course none of us were deaf and we all knew what was going on. The murmuring, the whispers, the giggles, the rustling. There was a tacit, unspoken agreement among us. No one said anything. We just ..." He moved his hands from Vinkiri's waist to cup her breasts. She arched her back, cooing. When she did this, he was able to capture the tip of her ear between his lips, and she gasped. He kissed her ear, blew into it. She squirmed on his lap again. "Just what?" she asked huskily. "Started touching each other," he said. "Nientha had been somewhat standoffish before – her parents were uncharacteristically strict about certain things – but being there in the dark like that, with everyone pretending nothing was happening even though we all knew better, she decided that it was all right. She stayed sitting like you are, but she managed to work her hands under –" Tavelorn's words broke off as Vinkiri did just that, working her hands under herself to grip him through the fabric of his trousers. She gave a gentle squeeze, then rubbed her palm over him in a slow, delicious circle. "Was she wearing a short skirt like me?" "No one wears a short skirt like you," he said, a little breathless. "But ... mmm ... yes, she was wearing a skirt. Knee-length, over silk stockings." "I bet you were able to reach under it readily enough," Vinkiri said, grasping his wrist and drawing one hand down from her breasts. "Actually," Tavelorn said, "I caught hold of the hem and pulled it up, slowly, bunching it bit by bit until it was around her waist. Like this." "And she let you?" "There was a moment I thought she would change her mind," he said. "I thought she might protest, or even slap me for my impertinence. But, as I said, the idea of everyone pretending we were all on an innocent carriage ride ... and being surrounded by couples with their soft moans and the other sounds ..." "It got to her." Vinkiri leaned her head back until her left ear was brushing against his right, and they both shivered. "It did. She raised up enough to let me pull her skirt out from under her bottom –" "Like this?" "And then I was able to touch her here." He slid his hand, then paused. "Of course, Nientha was wearing underthings." "The silly girl." Vinkiri squirmed again as his fingers parted downy curls and sank into a moist velvety heat. Her breathing quickened. So did her hand, rubbing him. "What did you do?" "Kept touching her," he said. "Through them, feeling her become more and more excited, until I thought she either wouldn't notice or wouldn't care when I tugged them to the side, out of the way." "Did she notice?" "Oh, of course she noticed." "Did she care?" "She didn't try to stop me, if that's what you're asking. Especially once I found the right spot." With two fingers inside her, he pressed the pad of his thumb against the small, firm bud of her clitoris. Vinkiri uttered a cry, then said, "And ... ooh ... what did she do?" "At first she didn't, or couldn't, do much more than sit there and make little whimpering noises," Tavelorn said. "Then she started trying to get her hand into my trousers. 'Let me touch you, too,' she said. But with her arm bent around, she wasn't having much luck undoing the buckle." "It's the belt," Vinkiri said. "Very difficult to undo a man's belt with one hand, behind your back. But I've had practice, as you can see." "So it seems," he said, as she deftly unfastened not only his belt but the top three buttons of his trousers. "Nientha wasn't so dexterous, and of course by then I was too impatient to wait. I worried we might come to a lighted section of road at any moment, or the driver would decide to stop, and we'd all lose the anonymity of darkness. So I whispered that she should rise up again and I'd make her job easier." Loveplay Vinkiri obligingly rose up, and helped him free himself from the close, confining cloth. "She was agreeable?" "I think there was another moment of hesitation," he said. "You must keep in mind that I was younger then, relatively inexperienced, and had all the impatience of youth. What I did next might seem a trifle despicable, but I was half-frantic at the time." "What did you do?" "I knew Nientha intended to take me in her hand, that we might mutually satisfy each other," he said. "But I also feared she might have second thoughts. So ... well ... instead of guiding her hand to me, I ..." He drew Vinkiri down onto his lap again, holding her firmly by the hips, impaling her on his erection. She responded at once, shuddering with passionate abandon. Her body rose and fell, burying him repeatedly within her warmth. "How wicked of you," she gasped as she rocked and bounced. "Yes," he said, his head flung back against the carriage seat. "Yes, it was." "And did she like it?" "She ... she was too shocked to object ... and then I started ... pushing up into her while ... while still pleasuring her with my hand," Tavelorn said, reaching around to do just that. "I could tell by the feel of her that she was enjoying herself, and ... mmm ... and soon she was ... quivering ... moaning and trying to stifle the sound ..." "The ... ooh ... the poor girl ..." A low, mewling cry interrupted Vinkiri. She writhed on his lap. "Oh, oh yes!" "The others ..." he panted, "had to know ... just as we knew ... what they were doing. Somehow the ... thought of that ... ah, Vinkiri! ... made it all the more exciting. To ... to be so close to them ... unable to see ... while we were ..." "Faster," she said, rocking her hips. He thrust more vigorously and rubbed with his fingers in a slick, demanding caress. His jaw was clenched. He willed himself to be strong, not to be done so soon, but Vinkiri was a flame that burned very hot. Only on rare occasions had their times together been the languid hours of elven loveplay ... she was one who craved indulgence and quick gratification, rather than a slow, gradual building of tension followed by sweet relief. And her fire fanned his own, so that by the time he felt her loins gather and tremble in climax, he was already on the verge. Nientha had, on that long-ago carriage ride, surrendered to her ecstasy with smothered cries, not that any amount of discretion had fooled their friends. Vinkiri loosed a turbulent shriek of delight, drowning out Tavelorn's throaty groan as he drove deep into her. When it was done, she slumped against him, resting her head in the cradle of his shoulder and neck. Her explosive sigh tickled his ear. "What else happened?" she asked. "Quite a bit of fumbling with clothing in the dark," he said. "By the time we did reach the next lighted way, we had all made ourselves passably presentable, though everyone was rather flushed and rumpled." "And Nientha?" "We never said a word about it," he admitted. "Not to each other, and not to anyone else until now, so far as I know. I went off to school a short while later. We still see each other at the occasional party or official function, or did when I went to parties and official functions." "Only an interlude, then? A single moment in the night?" "Essentially." They disengaged and straightened their clothes, Vinkiri using a magical cleaning-cloth from her bag to wipe away the evidence. "It's a good thing I wasn't there," she said. "I've never been any good at keeping quiet." "I noticed." The driver, of course, would have heard her. So would any nearby pedestrians. The carriage rolled to a stop in a bright square, the lampposts garlanded with vines and flowers, rainbow-hued curtains fluttering from open windows. Shamesa Square was lined with a succession of whimsical little shops, galleries and cafes, with rooms-to-let on the upper floors. It was a quaint older neighborhood, one of many odd corners tucked away from the main avenues of Perras Peliani, friendly and charming. Two buildings dominated the scene, facing each other across the square more like confidantes than like rivals. One was a concert-hall, the other a theater. Crowds of people milled in front of each, chatting as they bought tickets or waited for their companions to arrive. The driver, without so much as a hint of knowing smile, opened the door for them and unfolded the stairs. Tavelorn stepped down and offered a hand to Vinkiri. She, tucking an errant ringlet back into place, took his arm. His impression was one of agreeable chaos. The benches, planters, fountains and statuary did not seem to have been laid out in any planned pattern, yet harmonized into a pleasing unity. Vendors strolled to and fro, selling bouquets, sweets, ribbons, inexpensive jewelry and trinkets, carvings, miniature paintings. Three wineshops, an ice-cream parlor and a bakery were all open and doing a brisk business. Each corner of the square was staked out by a different street musician or entertainer – a piper in lively garb playing a sprightly tune for a group of children, a serene and beautiful harpist in a white gown that shone like the moon, a youth and maiden singing a love ballad in voices pure enough to make the very stars weep, and a handsome man performing one of the most famous Elwyndian soliloquies. "We have time for a glass of wine, if you'd like," Vinkiri said. "That would be nice," Tavelorn said. "Somehow I've worked up quite the thirst." "Yes, so have I," she said, fanning herself with the edge of her silken wrap. The window of the wine shop was stained glass, depicting the lovely and laughing goddess Shannia with flowers in her long hair, pouring streams of rich purple wine from a silver cup. A number of people called greetings to Vinkiri as she came in, which she returned cheerfully. "You're no stranger here, I see," Tavelorn said. "Hilika and I used to come to this part of town all the time while we were in school," she explained. "Neither of us could afford the big universities, so we went to Queensong first. We shared a flat not far from here. All my friends were artists, actors and musicians." "How, then, did you end up a physician's assistant?" She shrugged. "Two goldenwines, please," she told the shopkeeper. To Tavelorn, she said, "I had no talent for the arts. I probably don't have much talent as a physician's assistant, truth be told –" "You're a fine, capable assistant," he said. Vinkiri crinkled her nose at him and pinched his earlobe. "You're sweet to say so, Tavelorn. But, well, I had to do something with my life, and it's not like the Emerin offers much in the way of career choices for someone whose only interests are wine, shopping, and flirting." "No? How about the nobility?" he asked, not without some sourness. "I wasn't qualified," she said, laughing. "They're so picky about that ... wanting you to be born into it and all." Two tall crystal glasses were set before them. The goldenwine sparkled as if countless tiny flecks of diamond floated in the misty-gold liquid. It was light and flavorful, effervescent enough to enliven the tongue without a harsh tingle. Tavelorn's tastes normally ran to the heartier, richer varieties ... including, when he could both find and afford it, the deep indigo and amethyst wines imported from the southlands, though this was an affectation he had to hide from his mother and his professional peers. Still, he found the goldenwine quite palatable, and they had two glasses each before crossing the square to the theater. Tavelorn and Vinkiri stopped to purchase a bouquet of white, silver and pale blue lilies. then joined the crowd out front. It was a far cry from the majestic and imperious theaters and opera-houses at the heart of the city, but what it lacked in opulent grandeur, it made up for in comfortable intimacy. They had no trouble securing good seats, and made their way into the lobby. Here, too, the goddess Shannia was featured, in the form of an alabaster statue rising from a wide shallow scalloped basin rippling with clear water. A crystal-and-silver antique chandelier hung from the domed ceiling, surrounded by a faded summer-sky mural of puffy clouds and multicolored birds in flight. Twin curving staircases swept up on either side of this fountain, to a balcony entrance flanked by thick curtains. At the foot of each staircase stood a pair of young elves – students, Tavelorn was sure, from the dramatics department of Queensong College. They wore sashes of a vibrant blue color, and handed out folded programs as they collected tickets. The curtains were slightly shabby, old, exuding a musty scent as Tavelorn and Vinkiri passed. The carpets were on the threadbare side, too, and the walls could have used a fresh coat of paint. But Vinkiri seemed aware of none of this, consulting her program and squealing with excitement at the prominence of Hilika's name. The theater itself was a wedge-shaped chamber, the worn blue-velvet seats rising in terraced rows from a stage concealed by heavy tapestry hangings. The aisles were filled with people, many of them more students or friends and kinfolk of the performers. Vinkiri led the way to their seats. Tavelorn perused the program. He was passingly familiar with the play, which was an obscure Denoristian classic of forbidden love, misunderstandings, and murder. His grandmother had a fondness for such fraught, impassioned tragedies. The curtain rose on a stage set that was sparse for his tastes, accustomed as he was to the more lavish detail of the Grand. The costuming, too, proved simple ... almost plain. Clearly, the theater lacked the budget that came from royal grants and the generosity of wealthy patrons. Hilika appeared halfway through the first act, and somehow on her, the simple fashions looked good. Her beauty was of the ethereal sort that might have been dulled or overshadowed by bright colors, excessive patterns, or ornamentation. With her large expressive lavender eyes, her high cheekbones, and her perfectly-sculpted mouth, she was the elven feminine ideal. Her long moonsilver-blond hair was loose, spilling to her hips. A gown that recalled the pale pink-gold of a cloudy dawn lent a glow to her flawless skin. Its soft lines draped her tall, slender body. The flowing skirt was slit high on both sides and her every step revealed flashes of the exquisite legs Tavelorn recalled with such pleasure. The audience was captivated by her loveliness, breathless to hear her speak. In the moments before she did, Tavelorn dourly wondered if Vinkiri's friend would prove to be a terrible actress, if she would render up a performance that was painful to watch. But his pessimism was unfounded. Though Hilika might not be ready to tread the boards at the Grand, she showed none of the uncertainty of the other actors. She recited her lines not as if they were memorized, but as if they were her own words. Her voice was adequate but not particularly memorable – the girl playing Caliomine was a drab little nothing of a creature to look at, but her voice throbbed with such purity and intensity that every line was a marvel to hear. What mattered most was that Hilika was the doomed Aliona. When she confessed her love for Myerrus, her eyes shone with emotion. When she learned of his secret past, her heartbreak was so apparent that everyone was moved to tears. And when, at last, Aliona took her own life, her death throes were so believable that Tavelorn almost leapt from his seat to save her. Unfortunately, the actor playing Myerrus was not so skilled ... though dashingly handsome with a lot of dark wavy hair and a toned chest he displayed by removing his shirt at every opportunity, he spoke woodenly and kept casting skittish sidelong glances at the audience as if alarmed by their presence. Instead of a tragic hero, he came across as a cad most undeserving of the love of such a woman as Aliona, and his violent death was ultimately greeted with a scattering of vindictive applause. The play ended as Vinkiri had said, the curtain falling over a scene of stabbed and poison-wracked bodies. A favorable ovation filled the theater. The lights slowly came up, the murmur of conversation rising with them. "Well?" asked Vinkiri, turning toward him. "What did you think?" "She's really quite remarkable," Tavelorn said. "A shame she wasn't matched with comparable talent." "You mean Galdrian? The pretty-boy who played Myerrus?" "Do you know him?" She rolled her eyes. "He's one of the crowd. Thinks he's quite the thing, but the only time he seems to really know what he's doing is when they put a sword in his hand and choreograph a duel for him." Tavelorn always hated being hemmed in amid a large mass of moving people, so he waited until most of the rest of the audience had filed out before standing. "Shall we?" "I want to go backstage and congratulate Hilika. Care to tag along?" "I'd be delighted." "If we time it right," she added with an impish grin, "we could get invited along to the cast party." Taking his hand, she almost pulled him down the aisle. They skirted the orchestra pit, and then, with an ease that bespoke her being no stranger to either this theater or these people, Vinkiri marched boldly across the stage. She smiled and waved to the stagehands, who were collecting cups, vials marked with the bile-yellow symbol of poison, blunted trick daggers with paint-filled handles. As a youth, Tavelorn had been interested in the theater before discovering his affinity for medicine and surgery. So the labyrinthine backstage passages – costume racks, prop cabinets, scenery backdrops on pulleys – were not daunting to him. He nodded politely to the actors and musicians, most of whom were milling about discussing how the play had gone. In a way, they reminded him of himself and his fellow surgeons in the wake of a challenging operation. Charged with the thrill of success, but already replaying the events, thinking about what had gone well and what should have gone better. "She finally rates her own private dressing room," Vinkiri said. "Look, it even has her name on the door." She tapped. "Hilika? It's me!" "Vinkiri? Come in!" Vinkiri opened the door and poked her head through. "I'm not alone." "I'm dressed." "Too bad," Vinkiri said with a small pout, and winked at Tavelorn. "I brought the doctor." Hilika's dressing room was not spacious, but as the female lead of the production, she had it to herself. It was a corner room, with one small window overlooking a private, walled garden. The walls were papered with handbills, posters and programs from various theatrical productions. An old but once-expensive woven rug covered the oaken floor. A wardrobe stood open to display the various costumes she had worn during this and previous performances. The other furniture consisted of a bureau, a narrow couch, a washstand and basin, and a vanity table with bench and mirror. The gown she had been wearing in her death scene was piled in a heap by the door, in a basket marked 'Domestics.' It was stained with the red dye that had spurted so realistically from her bosom. She had said she was dressed, but Tavelorn was also familiar with the casual immodesty of many theater people. It was therefore no shock to him – in fact, a pleasant surprise – to see that Hilika's idea of 'dressed' meant that she was sitting at the vanity table wearing a misty-purple silk slip trimmed with silver lace. Those long legs he so admired were bare past the knee. Her long moonflax hair had been pinned up in a loose bun that left a few long wispy tendrils dangling over her shoulders. She had finished washing away her stage make-up, her normally fair skin a scrubbed pink-cheeked freshness. She put down a powder-puff, and rose to meet them. Vinkiri thrust the bouquet of lilies at her. "Hilika, you were wonderful! Wasn't she, Tavelorn?" "Exquisite," he said. "Your death scene was almost too convincing." Hilika accepted the flowers from Vinkiri, buried her face in them, and inhaled their perfume. "Thank you ... thank you both. You really liked the play? You thought I was all right?" "The star of the show," Tavelorn said. "I'm glad Vinkiri suggested I attend." "It wasn't hard," Vinkiri confided. "All I had to do was mention you, and he was grabbing up his cloak and heading for the door." Tavelorn made a protesting, defensive noise. "It wasn't quite like that. I always enjoy the theater. Though, of course, I remembered you at once from your visit to the office, as well as from all Vinkiri's stories." "Oh, no, what have you been telling him?" Laughing, Hilika put the bouquet aside and hugged Vinkiri. She was by far the taller of the two, but so lithe that with Vinkiri's ample curves, they were nearly the same weight. "Nothing outrageous. Only the truth." "That in itself is enough to worry me." They pressed their bodies together and exchanged cheek-kisses that seemed to be a bit closer to the corner of the mouth and linger a bit longer than was strictly customary. Tavelorn tugged fitfully at the high, snug collar of his shirt, and cleared his throat. The room was close and stuffy ... or it was the sight of the two of them embracing, both of them scantily clad – Hilika's slip, undergarment though it may be, was more demure than Vinkiri's little green dress. "If anyone should be worried," Vinkiri said, throwing a sly look over at Tavelorn, "it should be him ... after all, haven't I told you all about the good doctor?" "Oh?" he asked. "And just what have you told her?" "Well, I guess it's not everything ... I didn't tell her about the carriage." "What carriage?" Hilika asked. "The play," Tavelorn said, a bit louder than was called for, "was quite entertaining. An excellent job by you and your troupe." "Galdrian wasn't so good, though," Vinkiri said, looking solemnly up into Hilika's eyes. "I know. He's insufferable. At rehearsals, he struts about like he's Shannia's gift to the stage, but the moment anyone else is watching ..." Hilika sighed and shook her head. She released Vinkiri and turned to Tavelorn, extending her hands. "Doctor ... so good to see you again." He clasped them in his own. Her grip was firm but cool, powdery-smooth. He caught the scent of her soap, like heady lilacs. He brushed a brief kiss over the back of each hand, then let go. "Your knee hasn't been bothering you, I take it?" "A little twinge now and then, that's all." Though it was not necessary to do so in order for him to see her shapely knees, she raised the lacy hem of her slip a few inches. "There's no swelling." "I wouldn't say that," Vinkiri said, giggling. "Give him a moment. Or lift your slip a bit more. Or just get him to tell you about the carriage." Tavelorn raised an eyebrow at Vinkiri. She dimpled at him in her sunny, irrepressibly Vinkiri fashion. "Whatever is all this about a carriage?" pressed Hilika. Up close, the thin slip outlined her small, high breasts in vivid detail. "Vinkiri is teasing," Tavelorn said in a long-suffering tone. He averted his gaze, not without effort, from the firm peaks of Hilika's nipples, clearly limned by the translucent purple silk. "Teasing the both of us." "Well, I'm like that," Vinkiri said, tossing her head airily. "So, Hilika, is there a cast party tonight? Can we horn in?" Hilika grimaced. On her, even a grimace looked lovely. "There is one, but I was hoping to get out of it. Galdrian's father offered to host it at his restaurant. Open bar, buffet, the works. He's so proud of his son the actor. I think he always aspired to the stage himself, couldn't make it, and now just considers himself a big supporter of the arts. There's even going to be a band." Loveplay "That all sounds like fun to me," Vinkiri said. "Why don't you want to go?" "Galdrian's father owns the Newleaf Café," Hilika said. "And the band he hired is the one that his daughter, Galdanna, sings in. We saw them once at amateur night at the Echo Starsong, remember ... Far Eternity?" Vinkiri shuddered. "Say no more." "What's the Newleaf Café?" Tavelorn asked. "I've not heard of it." "They only serve all-natural vegetarian foods," Hilika explained. "Nothing created, nothing even grown with the help of plant magics. No meat, fish or fowl ... no eggs and cheese ... not even kofa. They claim it's supposed to be healthier." "I thought they didn't serve wine, either," Vinkiri said. "But there's going to be an open bar? With drinks?" "If you consider fresh-squeezed juices and clear spring water and herbal tea to be drinks, then, yes." "What about desserts?" A hint of desperation had crept into Vinkiri's voice. "Apparently, the specialty of the house is a dish of sliced baby plumfruit, sprinkled with shredded milknut and crumbled bits of honey-toasted almond." "That doesn't sound so horrible," Tavelorn said, but Vinkiri was aghast. He added, "And this band?" Hilika wrapped her arms around herself as if warding off a chill. This drew Tavelorn's gaze back to her breasts again, which were lifted by her crossed arms and jutted toward him. "Some things, my dear doctor, are best left unasked." "That bad?" "Not if you like droning hour-long tuneless ballads about how we're all insignificant specks, parasites on the earth, meaningless whispers in the vastness of time," Hilika said. "If you enjoy that sort of thing, then by all means, you should listen to Far Eternity." "I rather think I'll pass on that, thank you," Tavelorn said. "So this is to be your cast party? I begin to understand your reluctance." "You are not going to that miserable waste of an evening," Vinkiri said. "No. I won't allow it. You had a splendid opening night, and you need to celebrate accordingly. With wine. And chocolate. Good music. Maybe dancing. And sex. Lots of sex." "Is this your professional recommendation?" Tavelorn regarded her with arch amusement. "I thought I was the doctor here." Hilika leaned toward him, her breath a cool puff against his ear. "What, then, does the doctor suggest?" "The doctor was not disagreeing with his assistant," he assured them, as he at last understood precisely where this evening was going. "Indulgence, in moderation, in wine and fine desserts, is beneficial." "What about the sex?" Hilika asked. "I'm all in favor of it. Good for the nerves, good for the complexion, and good exercise as well." And he wondered – had they planned this ahead of time? Not that it mattered whether they had or whether it was only happy circumstance ... either way, he had no intention of passing up such a shining opportunity. "So you're only objecting with my presumption in prescribing?" Vinkiri asked. "Well, you're not licensed to prescribe." "But I can suggest a course of treatment to you, and you can recommend it to the patient?" "That is usually how it works. Need I remind you, however, Hilika is not currently my patient." "You know," Hilika said, lowering her eyelids and peering up at him, "now that I think of it, my knee does still ache a bit." "Does it? Perhaps I should take a closer look." "Have a seat, miss," Vinkiri said, adopting the brisk and professional manner she used in the office. Hilika sat down on the couch. Vinkiri set the stool from the vanity table in front of her and gestured to Tavelorn. Masking a grin behind his usual aloof bedside manner, Tavelorn took his place. "Which knee is it?" he asked. She extended a leg, paying no particular mind to her slip as she did so. It had ridden up, and its lacy hem only barely draped the slight mound between her thighs. He wrapped his capable and sensitive surgeon's hands around her leg, just as he had done on the prior occasion. Her skin was satiny, cool, flawless. He probed the area of the knee with his fingertips. "Well, doctor?" inquired Vinkiri breathily over his shoulder. Her breasts pushed against his back. "Do you feel anything?" "I must make a thorough examination," he said, and applied gentle pressure. "Does it hurt here?" "No," Hilika said, shifting on the couch. The hem rode higher. Fine wisps of downy spun-platinum were just visible through the lace. "How about here?" He ran his hands down her calf in a long caressing stroke. Hilika shook her head. He cradled her ankle, ran the ball of his thumb along the arch of her foot. Her toes twitched and curled. "Here?" "Maybe higher," said Vinkiri. She flicked the tip of his ear with her tongue, making him shiver. "Who is the doctor, here?" he reminded her. "You said I could make suggestions." "And it is a good suggestion." Tavelorn brought his hands back up Hilika's calf to her knee, and then began a mild palpation of the thigh. "Ahh," sighed Hilika, and slid lower in her seat. Tavelorn moved from the stool to a kneeling position, massaging Hilika's thigh. "Elevate the leg," he instructed Vinkiri. She complied. Hilika's other leg relaxed outward. The new posture, slouched languidly on the sofa, one leg up and extended, the other one bent, caused her lacy hem to hike up even farther and expose a silken-blonde triangle and the tender petal-pink lips of her sex. His fingers crept higher, making small circles on her ivory-smooth inner thigh. Hilika's eyes were half-lidded, her breathing quick and light. Tavelorn's own breath was uneven – Vinkiri, while obligingly holding up Hilika's leg, contrived to continue licking his ear – and he felt the blood rushing in his veins. "Shall I examine her as well, Doctor?" Vinkiri asked. "Yes, why don't you. It'll be good practical experience if you decide to go back to school." She scoffed, but smiled as she knelt beside him and placed her hands on Hilika's other leg. Hilika moaned and let her head loll back on the sofa. Tavelorn probed higher yet, very near to the warm center of her loins. Vinkiri mimicked his movements. Hilika parted her thighs more, granting them access. "I'm not feeling any abnormalities, Doctor," Vinkiri said. "It might be anxiety. The patient has been under such strain lately. Such tension. She needs to relax." "Wine and chocolate, wasn't that your remedy of choice?" "Two of them ... but we haven't either available at the moment." "I do feel very tense," Hilika said, a statement belied by her blissful expression and tranquil pose. "Some sort of relaxation therapy is definitely in order, then," Tavelorn said. "Manual relaxation, perhaps." "An excellent idea, Doctor," Vinkiri said. Together, they moved their exploratory fingers higher. Tavelorn stroked the soft silvery-blonde down. Hilika opened to him like a flower. His hand touched Vinkiri's as she, too, began a slow intimate caressing. Beneath these expert manipulations, Hilika was soon gasping with pleasure. Tavelorn and Vinkiri knelt side by side between her outstretched legs, each with their fingers buried in her heat. A half-turn to face each other and they were kissing, kissing as they brought Hilika to climax. Her back arched off the sofa, she cried out, and then she collapsed, limp and quivering. "The patient seems most relaxed now, Doctor," Vinkiri reported. "Yes, she certainly does. And without benefit of wine or chocolate." "Maybe," Vinkiri said, easing herself up onto the sofa, "the wine and chocolate can wait a while longer." She reached up and unpinned the loose, disheveled bun of Hilika's hair, letting it fall free over the cushions in a shimmer of pale gold. Hilika drowsily, dreamily opened her eyes. "Maybe it can," she replied, and plucked the gold pins and filigree circlet from Vinkiri's hair, spilling a tumble of fiery curls. The two of them embraced, sliding familiarly into each other's arms with the ease of long acquaintance. Vinkiri tipped her head back and Hilika bent to kiss her. Two pairs of soft lips parted hungrily. Their breaths mingled, their tongues touched. They melted against each other. When the kiss broke, Vinkiri sat up. Her sly gaze found Tavelorn. "I think we're neglecting someone, Hilika." "How rude of us. Doctor?" Hilika rose gracefully from the sofa and beckoned. He moved toward them, and the they enfolded him. His right arm circled Vinkiri's shoulders, his left slid around Hilika's waist. The two were so dissimilar in form, and yet both so lovely and desirable, that he barely knew where to turn first. Hilika settled his dilemma by lifting her lips to his. As he kissed her, Vinkiri leaned her head against his shoulder. He could feel the shape of her ear through his shirt and the curve of her smile, could feel her quick fingers already undoing his black jet buttons. Her bracelets jingled like tiny bells. The silk of Hilika's slip whispered beneath his palm as he stroked the long line of her back. Her hair was like the brush of fine feathers tickling over his arm. She pressed herself to him with a willowy swaying. Tavelorn shivered and pulled them close, holding them tight, one in each arm. He buried his face in the hollow of Hilika's neck, feeling the flutter of her lifebeat beneath her skin, losing himself in the spun-platinum softness of her hair. Their scents surrounded him. Hilika was powder and lilac, Vinkiri was spice and appleblossom, and both bore the musk of recent and renewed passion. He moved between them like a bee sampling different flowers in the same welcoming garden, kissing Vinkiri and then Hilika again. Vinkiri had opened his shirt from collar to belt, baring his chest. Tavelorn was by no means as muscular as some, but he prided himself on maintaining a general fitness regime and practicing regularly at swordplay. He was lean and trim, and both girls caressed the exposed skin with appreciative murmurs. They each took an arm, undid his cuffs, and the next thing he knew his shirt had been flung carelessly aside. Hilika combed her fingers through his short midnight-black hair. She flicked the tip of one ear, then ran her fingertip along the rim. He groaned softly, feeling more than a little bit light-headed. "A moment," Hilika said, and dashed fleet as a doe to lock her dressing-room door. She set her back to it, as if barring it against intruders, and smiled at them. "We wouldn't want to be interrupted." "No, we wouldn't," Vinkiri said. Her fingers were hooked over the top of Tavelorn's belt. "Would we?" "Absolutely not," he said. He took a bunched-up fistful of her hair and held her head in place while he kissed her again, with more force. Vinkiri's lush figure pushed against him, firm and warm and springy. Releasing her hair, he cupped her buttocks and held her snug against him, his erection pinned between them. When her breasts rose with each breath, they strained at her bodice and threatened to overspill or burst out of the confining fabric. Hilika sidled up behind Vinkiri, stooping and lifting aside the masses of flame-red hair to plant a line of kisses down the nape of Vinkiri's neck and spine. When she reached the thin crisscrossing cords that supported Vinkiri's dress, she untied them. All that now kept the garment from falling off was the fact that it was caught between Vinkiri's body and Tavelorn's. He moved back, and the springtime-green dress dropped straight to the floor. Vinkiri stepped daintily out of it, naked except for her jingling gold bracelets and anklets and her high-heeled glittering shoes. She stood without a trace of self-consciousness, shoulders back and breasts thrusting proudly. Her taut nipples were large and a pale blush-red. Her hips were wide but comely. Her moist folds peeked through the scarlet puff of her pubic hair. Not to be outdone, Hilika tugged her slip over her head and tossed it away. The lithe promise of her form was fully revealed, with small but exquisite breasts like pale doves, the nipples erect and the color of ripe berries. If Vinkiri was a robust flame, Hilika was a misty summer's morning. "Someone," Vinkiri said, "is overdressed for the occasion. And despite my shoes and jewelry, I don't think that it's me." "It can't be me," Hilika said. "I haven't a stitch." "Then it must be Tavelorn." They turned to him, and he looked down at himself with a deprecating air. "I seem only to have misplaced my shirt," he said. Hilika pointed to the sofa. "Then sit, and we'll take care of the rest." He sat in the very spot where, only a short while ago, Hilika had been sprawled in such demure indecency. Vinkiri knelt by his right foot and Hilika his left, and they had soon divested him of his boots. Then his belt. Then, working together, they whisked off the rest of his clothing. His arousal was prominent, rising eagerly from the dark tuft at his loins. "It may not be wine and chocolate, but we might have found a likely dessert after all," Vinkiri said. She licked his shaft in a hot, wet swipe from base to tip, sucked him deep into her mouth, then ran her tongue savoringly over her lips. "Mmm ... you try, Hilika." Hilika leaned across his lap, her long hair trailing, and took darting feather-light licks that nearly drove him mad. "Delicious," she said. They shared him then like two little girls with a sweet, alternating turns licking and lapping and sucking, sparing moments here and there to kiss each other with fervent passion. It was wonderful torture, agonizing joy. The sight of them, the idea of them, Vinkiri and Hilika together like some secret fantasy come true, was even more powerful than the feel of their mouths. For the second time that evening he found himself unable to hold back. He gripped the cushions, groaning, his breath harsh and ragged, as his crisis neared. When it struck him, when he shot forth, it was Vinkiri who held him and worked up and down in a slick grasp while Hilika drained him. When he was spent, he lay lolling on the sofa much as Hilika had done. A warm flush had spread over his fair skin, and he felt as if he were adrift on a mild sea. It would have been easy to float off into comfortable sleep, but the knowledge that the evening remained far from over made him lift his drowsy eyelids. They stood over him, the two nude beauties. Hilika had her arms crossed and one finger tapping thoughtfully at her lower lip. Vinkiri's fists were braced on her hips, breasts jiggling saucily. "This won't do," Hilika said. "It won't do at all," Vinkiri agreed. "That sofa is much too small for three." "It'll have to be the rug, then." "Can he move in that state?" Hilika asked. Vinkiri shrugged. "We'll see if he can muster the strength. Or perhaps he'd just like to watch for a while." So saying, she stretched out on the floor and drew Hilika with her. They began covering one another with wet open-mouthed kisses. Tavelorn found very quickly that he could indeed muster the strength to move. He dragged himself upright, the better to observe the goings-on. Clearly, these two were no strangers to their loveplay. They met each others' bodies as familiar and loving friends. He thrilled to the lovely vision they presented, all feminine curves and soft skin and supple, entwined limbs. Hilika lavished attention on Vinkiri's breasts, suckling the nipples into rigid crowns, while Vinkiri ran her hands up and down the sweep of Hilika's ears with steady, rhythmic strokes. Soon Hilika was moving downward, coaxing Vinkiri supine on the rug. The long pale banner of her hair caressed Vinkiri's belly and thighs, and then Hilika was kneeling between Vinkiri's legs, bending forward and down, nuzzling into the fluff of hair, quick tongue darting. Vinkiri cried out, lifting her hips, rubbing more urgently at Hilika's tapered ears. Her head tossed, tangling her curls into a fiery corona around her head. She writhed and moaned as Hilika's tongue teased her to the brink. Tavelorn found himself unable to sit and watch a moment longer, and slid from the couch so that he was behind Hilika. He stroked her back and she arched like a cat, his fingers running over the delicate bumps of her spine. Her hips tilted, angling her bottom invitingly. He was ready again, and knew that after his earlier impatience he would at last properly be able to take his time. Taking his erection in hand, he did not immediately enter Hilika but rubbed slowly against her buttocks and along her dewy cleft. She raised her head, inhaling sharply, and craned her neck to look back at him. Her lavender eyes were darkened with passion, her lips and chin wet with Vinkiri's sweet juices. Vinkiri whimpered, clutching at Hilika, urging her back down. Tavelorn waited until Hilika had resumed her pleasurable task, then, still without entering her, set the tip of his shaft between her slippery outer folds, nudging the nub of her clitoris. He commenced a deliberate waxing-and-waning pressure, holding Hilika by the hips. Moments later, Vinkiri voiced a wailing orgasmic cry. She thrashed, pushing herself up at Hilika, and finally subsided with a tremulous gasp. Hilika turned again to regard Tavelorn, her need a wordless plea. And oh, he wanted to grant that plea ... he would grant it ... just not yet. He slowed the pace of his careful movements even more. When he felt it begin to happen for her, felt the first deep tremors wrack her body, he plunged into her. It was like sudden immersion in warm, clasping oil. Hilika screamed in ecstasy. Tavelorn did not move, only held motionless as she shuddered in spasms around him, her inner walls contracting on his length. Only when her climax began to abate did he leisurely withdraw, then thrust hard. Hilika clawed at the rug, panting, moaning at him to continue. As he did, Vinkiri made her unsteady way to him, seemingly almost drunken in her afterglow. She leaned against him from behind, nestling his head between her ample breasts while she nipped at the points of his ears. She moved with him as he drove into Hilika again and again. "Oh, gods, gods, yes!" Hilika sobbed, rocking backward to meet his thrusts. Tavelorn held onto his control with a will of iron, even when he felt Hilika surrender to another orgasm. He slackened his pace and gradually stopped, loosening his grasp on her hips. Hilika, half senseless from pleasure, slid from him and curled on the rug. Still erect, still kneeling, he turned to Vinkiri and smothered his face in her cleavage. She sucked the tip of his ear into her mouth, rolling her tongue around until he thought he might be overwhelmed. His arms encircled her waist and he fell back onto the rug beside Hilika. Vinkiri straddled him at once and sank down onto him. He was swallowed up by her heat again. Thighs flexing and hair flying, she rode him vigorously. Hilika bestirred herself enough to kiss him, her eyes still clouded and dark with desire. Then she rose up, sinuously, to kiss Vinkiri and toy with her bouncing breasts. Tavelorn ran his palms up the backs of her thighs as she stood over him. His thumbs parted her, teased her. With smooth grace, she knelt over his head, enabling him to reach her with his hungry lips and tongue. He licked and probed from beneath while she and Vinkiri kissed and caressed, while Vinkiri glided up and down on his stiffness. He felt it gathering within him, the building storm of his release, and fought it back. Even when his partners climaxed, first Vinkiri and then Hilika, he maintained his erection. Vinkiri, exhausted but by no means finished, crawled off of Tavelorn and lay side by side with Hilika. They drew him atop them, and he was lost in a turbulent sea of touch and sensation. The room rang with their impassioned cries, with the sounds of skin against skin and flesh on flesh. Loveplay Tavelorn filled his hands with their firm and lovely breasts, tasted their nipples and the salty sweetness of their glistening skin, felt their hands on him, all over him, gripping and stroking. They rolled over each other, twined together like three strands of a braided cord, all open mouths and probing fingers and slick, questing tongues. At last, Vinkiri and Hilika somehow arranged themselves so that they sprawled atop each other, and Tavelorn went back and forth between their welcoming orifices. He plunged into Vinkiri for a few strokes, then into Hilika, and whichever one was not filled with him he used his hands upon. He lost track of how many times each of them attained her bliss because he was rushing headlong toward it himself, and finally reached it while crushing Vinkiri to him, while Hilika's long legs wrapped them both. Their frantic movements slowed. They nestled together in an exhausted heap, the sweat of their exertions cooling them, the scent of their mingled musk heavy in the small room. Eventually, barely able to stir and aching sweetly in every muscle, Tavelorn managed to lift his head and turn it side to side. He had Vinkiri's damp fiery ringlets spilling over one shoulder, and the spun-platinum silk of Hilika's hair fanning over him like a shawl. His arms were around their waists, his hands resting on the swells of their hips. Their heads were cradled on his chest, their eyes half-closed. Their lips were curved in identical sated smiles. Tavelorn let his head fall to the floor again, with a similar smile of his own. ** The End