‘I will be able to do that,’ said Conn, defensively.
‘Of course you will, lover,’ she told him. ‘Tell me, are you skilled with the sword?’
Conn relaxed. This line of conversation was much more to his liking. ‘Yes I am. I am fast and strong, and Banouin tells me my balance is good.’
‘And were you skilled the first time you picked up a blade?’
‘Of course not. But I am a fast learner.’
‘Making love is no different, Connavar. There is an art to it. Two lovers are like two dancers, moving in unison to a music only the soul can hear. All men can rut, Connavar. There is no skill in that. But to make love . . . now therein lies a greater joy.’
Smoothly she rose from her seat, slid her dress over her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the rug. Then she knelt and removed his boots. Rising, she took Conn’s hand. He stood before her, tense, and wishing he had never come here. Lifting his hand she pressed it to her breast. The nipple was hard under his palm. He could smell perfume in her hair. Eriatha moved in closer, her arm circling his neck. ‘I think I should go,’ he said. This was a mistake.’
‘Are you afraid?’
The question was asked in a whisper, but it sounded in his ears like a voice of thunder. Instead of making him tense it somehow relaxed him. He grinned. ‘Yes, I suppose that I am. Do you think me foolish?’
‘No,’ she said, her fingers unlacing the front of his shirt, her hands sliding up over his chest. Dipping his head he kissed her. Her mouth was warm, the taste of her tongue sweet. She undid his belt and he felt her warm hands upon his hips, the heat of the fire on the bare skin of his legs. She dropped to her knees before him, pushing her cheek against his swollen penis. Taking it in her hand she kissed the glans, running her tongue over the tip. He groaned, and heard her give a throaty chuckle.
‘Are you still afraid, Connavar?’ she asked.
‘No.’ Stooping, he took her by the arms and lifted her to her feet. Eriatha led him to the bed and they lay down, side by side. Conn moved above her. Her legs swung expertly over his hips and he entered her. The warmth alone was joyful, but it was as nothing to the sense of harmony that engulfed him. This was perfection of a kind he had never experienced, nor even dreamed of. Skin on skin, her lips upon his, their bodies moving together. Lost in ecstasy he began to move faster and faster, his entire being focused on the movement, the warmth and the wetness.
There was no sense of time now, or place. The universe was the hut, the world this bed. Nothing mattered – save the desperate need within him to thrust harder and harder. His body was soaked in sweat. Rearing up on his elbows he gave one final thrust. He cried out as he came, then sank to the bed, breathing heavily.
They lay in silence for several minutes. Then Eriatha began to stroke his chest and belly. Arousal came swiftly and he made to mount her again. She pushed him away. ‘No, lover, now is the time for your education to begin. You have already shown me you can rut. And you do it wonderfully well. Now let us see how swift a learner you really are.’
‘What must I learn?’ he asked her.
‘To treat your lover’s body as if it were your own. To bring the same pleasure to her as she brings to you, with hand and mouth and body. And to learn patience, Connavar, and control. Will you be able to do what I tell you?’
He smiled. ‘Let us see,’ he said.
‘Then we will lie here for a while, and merely touch,’ she said. ‘And I will show you the secrets of the game.’
Throughout the evening and into the night she taught him. He would never know that she feigned her first orgasm, nor would he ever learn how surprised she was that the second and third were entirely natural.