Tempest

Hair shearing, indeed! Kore grumbled to himself, whilst staring at his much-prized wall hanging. Did the female take him for a fool? Making him palatable to his clan was just an excuse to get her hands on his dirk. The bloodthirsty imposter had contemplated slitting his throat!

From the very beginning, he had suspected the infiltrator of having a trick or two up her sleeve. When the fire-warmed blade pressed against his throat, he had known for a certainty that killing him featured in her plan. And so, when the knife's sharp edge hovered at his ear, the tip pointed inward, about to gullet him, he had not been surprised.

That she changed her mind -- now, that did surprise him.

Why had she not gone through with the evisceration?

Kore covered his face with both hands. Bone-weary, logical reasoning eluded him. Fortunately, fatigue made his secret faculty no less acute, and his sixth sense warned of the female's continued ambivalence -- she might yet come back and finish what she had begun.

"Kore?"

He lifted his head at the husky entreaty coming to him from behind the curtain barricade. "Aye?"

"Do you remember how we spoke of a fertile plateau within the mountain range?" Before he could answer, her words raced ahead. "That was more than just a story told around the fire pit. I believe that plateau truly exists."

He rested his now beardless cheek against the weft and warp of the tapestry. The rough threads scraped against his scar's sensitive flesh. But he held there, anyway, enjoying the roughness, enjoying the pain. With his nose thus, he caught the weaver's scent, a familiar feminine scent. Incredibly, his would-be assassin wore the same alluring fragrance.

And so had his red-haired sprite.

Coincidence? Or something else again?

Naturally, he recalled the female's rapt interest in the plateau. But then, he recalled each of their conversations and savored each vivid one. For, whilst everything else about her rang false, her voice rang true.

As did her mannerisms. When looking upon his scraped clean face, her expression had contained an honest curiosity, a forthright inquisitiveness that had her gaze following the length and breadth of the scar. But her manner and words had contained no disgust, no revulsion -- no pity. Only an offer to help.

He would not have this female, whoever or whatever she might be, question his orders. Hard times lay ahead. To get through them, he must have his clan's obedience. He suffered the behind-the-back gossip, the insults, but he could not tolerate outright defiance from anyone -- most particularly not from an infiltrator housed in the caves at his discretion. He knew what she had been up to with that knife, not with a mystic's knowledge, but as a seasoned Hunter understands his quarry.

As in the animal kingdom, he was at his most deadly when he went completely still. Had he meant to retaliate against his would-be assassin, he would have done so silently. But ending her life was not what he wished.

"Go on," he said finally, not a muscle moving. "Tell me more of this place you believe exists."

As she drew him a word picture, her voice etching the image in fertile earth tones, he unfastened the cloth around his waist.

He ached. In frustration, he took his cock in hand. "Did you say fruit?" Starting at the bulbous top of his member, he made a firm stroke down to the root, his closed fist anchored in the coarse black mat of hair for an instant before milking upward again.

His eyes drifted closed as he anticipated release. "Tell me about the fruit."

"Lots of fruit. Sumptuous fruit. Fruit kissed by the sun. Take a bite, and warm juice dribbles down your chin."

Like the fruit the exotic bird had brought him to taste.

Moaning into the tapestry, his fist worked the hardened length of his manhood, pumping fast.

Fruit. Sumptuous fruit. Sun-kissed fruit. Warm, juicy fruit. Pink-fleshed fruit. Musky flavor in his mouth, a seductive texture on his tongue. With each breath, her forbidden fruit taunted him, wet and succulent and sweet.

"Ahh!" he moaned in rapture. Eyes closed tight, better to appreciate the female's words, Kore nearly came from the husky sound of her voice.

For a brief and dark period, he and his wife had rutted like wild beasts. But they had never kissed, never embraced, never held one another close. His deeply regretted foray into carnality had not been about lovemaking, nor had it totally been about keeping the peace. Seeking to get past an all-inclusive loss, he had sought to bury his grief in wet loins, over-indulgence ... mutual use. Only to discover that moving past the pain had moved him past the memory of her, the one over whom he was bereft. Upon deciding the pain of remembrance was preferable to the pain of forgetfulness, his carnal urgency had ended.

Carnal urgency had returned with full force now.

"Goodnight," she called through the curtain.

The sensual intonation of that solitary word had him stumbling naked for the fire pit. On a low animal growl, he spurted his seed into the banked flames.