Stebbins, somehow, has regained his composure. "One day, Angel, the last thing you see before your eyes close will be my seed sprayed over your supine body."
"Promises, promises." I hold my blade up and wait for him to draw his, but he turns tail and flees, the City Watch emblem stitched into his cloak flapping in the wind as he departs into Scorched Street.
I wait another few seconds in anticipation of a trap before gathering up the spilled nobles from the ground, then, holding the cloth tight against my face, I search the other fallen men, pulling their coin ropes and adding their meager copper commons to my collection. Something doesn't sit right, and I check Ristal over again, until I find his other coin rope, this one holding sixteen nobles and four gold crown coins, stuffed into the left side of his under-breeches. The man was definitely compensating for something.
Finally I turn my attention to the tavern wench, gagging and choking away against the wall. "Here, love. It's OK. They're gone." Blade back in its sheath, I gently take the woman's hand and pull her to her feet, leading her down the alley, away from the miasma and into the slightly better light of Cart Ditch Road. "What's your name?"
It's the better part of a minute before she catches her breath enough to speak. "Clara, milady. But... But who are...?"
I draw the bandanna away from my face so she can see me clearly, and draw back my hood, and she gasps in surprise.
"I... By Vexx herself, I've seen you before, but..."
I nod. "One week prior, I sought a drink in the Chummed Waters. You served me well, Clara. I'm glad I could repay you."
She looks down, at her tattered clothes, the remains of her dinner staining what cloth Ristal failed to obliterate in his haste to verify her identity. "I... I m-must get home, but... H-how can I travel like...?"
I remove my cloak and gently wrap it around her. "At ease, my dear. I've a safe room not far from here. I'll escort you, and I promise: you'll come to no harm."
* * * * *
My word is good. One of the city's scavenging ghouls learns my blade doesn't taste good, and we are unmolested by the rest as we make our way to the unmarked rear entrance of the Philandering Flumph. My key opens the lock, and we slip inside, away from watchful eyes. The stone stairs don't creak once as we ascend to the second floor, making our way down a hall and into the second-to-last room on the right, one of the tavern's deluxe suites which features its own indoor bathing tub.
"Here, love. Let's get you cleaned up and soak away the night's chill." While she sits on the cloud-like mattress, I walk to the chamber's tub, which is the main reason I keep this room on permanent reserve. The elegant, claw-footed marble sparkles even in the dim light cast by the bobbing blue spheres up by the ceiling. I scan across the selection of palm-sized gem stones set into a recessed alcove on the wall beside the tub, select the yellow one, and set it into the fitting on top of the copper spigot. Hot, jasmine-scented water begins pouring into the tub. It's a rather basic enchantment, but one of many reasons the Flumph can charge six times the going rate of a common flophouse.
I draw a pile of towels, a bath sponge, and a soap wedge from the closet, and place them on the table beside the tub, then beckon her over. "Go ahead and soak. I'll be back in two shakes with fresh clothes. We'll have to burn these to get rid of the smell, I'm afraid. And don't worry: you're safe in here." I blow her a small kiss and leave to cash in a favor with one of the local clothiers.
* * * * *
I'm back in less than an hour to find Clara ensconced in the sheets, so I place the clothing I've procured on the foot of the bed, remove the gem from the spigot which signals to the water that its time to drain, and work out of my own clothes. Crawling beneath the covers wakes her despite my best efforts to remain quiet, and she turns to face me.
"Milady..." she murmurs, and that simple word carries with it all the power and charm I hoped it would. I match my lips to hers, then she tilts her head back as I begin to explore her neck with my mouth. She is warm, perfumed, skin flushed from both the bath and desire, and I delight in peeling back the bed sheet, exposing her to the soft illumination.
She is not what convention would dictate to be 'attractive', but to me that simply increases the allure. Full-breasted, artistically-pleasing in the hips, the cutest bits of baby fat ringing her stomach, ordinary cheek bones, a just-slightly-too-large nose, but her eyes are warm coffee, her hair a polished charcoal, and her fingers, rough from her serving job, leave a pleasing sensation as they flow across my shoulders and down my back.
She shudders, arched, as my teeth find my way to her nipple, and when I draw the peppermint-colored nub into my mouth, a sigh which seems to come from her lightly-calloused heels fills the room with warmth. Fingers course up into my hair, holding my head in place while I lavish attention on her chest, and I can feel her heart's reverberations as I nuzzle, kiss, and tease.
Long minutes pass as I switch between her breasts, kissing her the way scattered tulip petals kiss the grass beneath them, and though I can feel her desire for release, I refuse to proceed at any pace less than glacial.
I return to her lips, and idly wonder how long it's been since she slept with anyone, if she's always been attracted to women or if this is just an emotional response from the events of the night. Regardless, she seems comfortable enough in her own skin to allow the emotions to flow as they want. Her hands fumble against my chest, and I let her explore and try things as she wishes, a kiss never far from my mouth when she needs reassurances that it's all OK.
When I press myself fully down upon her, and she moves her legs apart expectantly, I know she's ready. Shifting to one side, we lay, face to face, lips to lips, and I slide my hand between her thighs, parting the soft-as-corn-silk hair of her sex with my fingers, exploring, gesturing, tickling, and easing my way inside.
With strokes measured and rhythmic, her breathing intensifies. I push deeper with one finger, and she grips my shoulder, tilts her chin down, and lets out a harder breath that pebbles my skin with goosebumps, so I keep the in-and-out motion going. Soon, she's pushing up against me, matching my motions. Nails dig into me, my left shoulder and my right side, as she grips tighter. I add a second finger, and she works harder, urging me faster, then slower, then faster again with each breath, a bastion of indecision which I slowly and delicately unlock with my finger-work as though it were the tumblers of a mansion door.
She cries, gasps into my shoulder, then leans her head back forcefully into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, the tendons in her neck tightening, and before I can fully secure my hold on her with my other hand, she is bucking and shuddering, pulling air between her teeth as her legs alternate between straight and relaxed. Her left hand moves between her legs, grasping at my wrist and trying to push me back, so I allow her to so do enough that my fingers slide out of her, but then I pivot my wrist to bring my thumb across her clit, and press, gently but firmly, against the little rosebud and all bets are off.
He legs part of their own accord, and it's a good thing the Flumph's suites have thick walls, because in a few seconds, she's screaming prayers to every two-bit lust goddess of the City's temples, and I'm doing my damnedest to comply with every request that flies from her tongue to my ears. I look to my side, at the mirror on the wall, and watch our reflections, her toes curling, breasts bouncing as she pushes her way through another climax, until everything seizes up and she somehow seems to drop, as though she'd been levitating an inch off the mattress, and goes limp, whimpering in half-lidded bliss as I allow her to ride down the crest of the wave into a small tide pool of calm.
"Milady, I... I have never... Not like that..."
"I've never held such a tigress in my arms either," I say, and for once, it isn't a lie.
"How could I... I mean... What could I do to... Repay this...?"
Slowly, I raise her arms above her head, crossing them against the pillow, and hold her wrists there as I maneuver myself up and over one leg. She opens her eyes, watching me get in place, and there's no argument as I lower myself against her thigh and begin a slow and steady grind.
She has had her fun, and now, I shall have mine.
* * * * *
Some time later, having exhausted my muscles and my nerves, drenched in sweat, I roll off her and we share a tender embrace. I can feel that I pushed myself harder on this one, but it was worth every ache I'll no doubt feel in the morning.
We share a kiss, a second, then our noses touch and bump the way some Elves express playful affection. The rest of the world, as far as I can tell, is still asleep.
I rise from the bed, and reach into my pack, returning with a small vial. "Here. We've still a few hours until the sun burns away the ghouls. Drink this; it will help you sleep."
"Will you meet me again, milady?"
"Worry not, Clara. I'll call again." I'm pretty sure I mean it, too. Damn this City.
She's so trusting, it's adorable. I watch her remove the stopper, sniff the contents, then drink it down in three swallows. The Liquid Sleep is quite effective: in seconds, she's collapsed, limp, breathing softly, so deep in her dreams that even a dragon could not rouse her. Laying back, I slide an arm beneath her shoulder, raise the other under my pillow, rest my head back, and wait.
