Warily, she sipped the honeyed wine.
It was a heady elixir of sweetened grapes. From the first taste she knew it would be dangerous to sip any more. It threatened to dissolve her inhibitions and wash away all sense of propriety. Immediately she raised the flagon to her mouth and took another swallow. Her tongue traced softly over the remnants of the taste that lingered against her lips.
With a flourish, Nihal added a final ingredient to the mortar and then began to pound the mix with a pestle. Caitrin studied the mage’s stiff shoulders, sensing the urgency in each movement, and wondering why the mage would go to such lengths just to protect her reputation. She would have asked the question if she could have seen the mage’s face. But, even when Nihal turned to anoint her with the mix, Caitrin could only see shadows that concealed the depths of the hooded crimson cowl.
‘Sahasrara,’ Nihal intoned.
A splash of chilly oil touched the top of Caitrin’s head and she struggled not to shiver. The word sounded deliciously strange and foreign and she wanted to give herself to the echoes of excitement it seemed to suggest.
‘Anja,’ Nihal said, daubing another wet splash between Caitrin’s brows.
The movement made her close her eyes. In that moment she saw a world coloured only by a rush of rich royal purple.
‘Vishudda,’ the mage added, touching oily fingertips against the rise of Caitrin’s throat.
The caress was soft and subtle and disturbingly exciting. The sheen of viscous wetness that made the fingers slippery was how she expected Nihal’s sexual caress to feel. Her nipples had been stiff before. Now they ached with the need to be teased and suckled by the mage’s hungry mouth. As much as Caitrin wanted to purge that idea from her thoughts, she couldn’t stop herself from imagining Nihal’s mouth suckling against her bared breasts. The idea made her sigh with need.
‘Anahata,’ Nihal whispered.
Anahata, Caitrin agreed, not knowing what the word might mean.
Fingers pressed at her sternum. Although there was nothing acutely sexual about the caress, Caitrin knew that the mage’s touch could have gone to either of her breasts. She held her breath wondering whether or not the mage would be so bold as to touch her in the way she desired. If she had been allowed the chance to speak she would have begged to have the fat tips of her nipples squeezed.
‘Manipura,’ Nihal said, sliding his fingers downward.
Caitrin trembled.
The mage’s fingertips inched through the neatly shorn curls above her sex and delved toward the moist lips of her labia. She drew a slow shuddering breath.
‘Swadhisthana,’ Nihal grunted.
Fingers touched the sensitive flesh between her thighs.
Caitrin groaned.
The fingers slipped inside. They were still oily from the salve that had been used to anoint her head, brow, throat and breast. The mage’s fingers pushed her wide and stretched her lightly. It was a thrilling moment and Caitrin wondered if the mage shared her excitement from the intimate contact.
When a thumb touched the nub of her clitoris, she drew jagged breaths of amazement. The rush of pleasure soared inside her body.
‘Muladhara,’ Nihal said eventually.
One oily fingertip slipped against the super-sensitive sliver of skin between the edge of her sex lips and the ring of her anus.
Caitrin held her breath, sure that her body was resting on the precipice of an orgasm. Slippery fingers remained between her thighs, teasing the lips of her sex and cajoling ripples of pleasure through her loins. Unable to stop herself, she whimpered as the need for satisfaction grew closer. Once the sounds had fallen from her lips, and she realised Nihal was allowing her to use her voice, Caitrin struggled to speak in the most conversational tone that her body could manage.
‘Is that it?’ she asked. ‘Is that the spell cast? Am I virgin again?’
Nihal silenced the question with a kiss. A soft and silky tongue slipped between her lips. A passionate mouth pressed urgently against hers. Strong hands held the back of her head, as though there was a risk that she might pull away.
Caitrin gave herself to the experience.
Her need for satisfaction became an irresistible impulse.
Slowly the mage’s kisses moved downwards, paying homage to each of the previously named and anointed chakras.
Caitrin shivered with every kiss and caress.
Nihal has a tenderness for me, Caitrin thought wistfully. It was a thought that made her smile. She wondered why the mage had never said anything about this tenderness before, and then realised that it was probably because the daughter of Blackheath’s esteemed castellan would not have been permitted to fraternise with a mage. What would be the point of voicing the existence of such affection when it could never amount to anything?
And before she could even bring herself to contemplate a response to that rhetorical question, she realised the mage’s hooded cowl was between her legs. The caress of the velvet fabric pressed against the soft, milky smoothness of her inner thighs. The mage was mumbling something in a whispered Latin whilst strong hands pushed her knees apart. Then the slick caress of a tongue slipped against the warm flesh of her sex.
Caitrin groaned.
The mage’s mouth moved over her labia. Fingertips teased at the sensitive lips but it was the warmth of the tongue gliding smoothly back and forth that made her want to scream with mounting excitement.
Nihal trilled the tip of a deft tongue against the thrust of Caitrin’s clitoris. The tiny bead of flesh was already pulsing with the need for a surge of release. The attention of the mage’s tongue set Caitrin close to exploding with raw desire.
‘Is this a necessary part of the spell?’ she asked.
Nihal’s head tilted back.
Caitrin caught a glimpse of kind eyes shining apologetically.
‘I needed to taste you before I sealed you up for Gethin,’ Nihal explained. ‘I needed to …’
Caitrin shook her head. ‘No need to explain,’ she said softly. ‘Just carry on doing that for me.’ She arched her back so the mage could have easier access. ‘Just carry on,’ she repeated. ‘And, if the day comes when I must have this stranger as my betrothed, I can always close my eyes and pretend that it’s you and not him between my legs.’
The pleasure resumed.
Nihal attacked her sex with a ferocity that left Caitrin breathless. The fingers that had been holding her knees apart were now teasing the musk-oily lips of her sex. Nihal’s flat, smooth tongue slipped against her with the ease of a polished glass sphere gliding over oiled skin.
A rush of delicious responses trembled through Caitrin’s sex, blossoming into small explosions in each of the areas where Nihal had touched. She remembered the mystical quality of each word that had been murmured:
