The mages master, p.9
The Mage's Master, page 9
part #2 of The Mages Series
Fasta had to reposition herself again, use her fingers to open herself more, to make herself relax. And then she took a deep breath, and tried again, her distant thoughts demanding why the hell she’d shown Henrik this one, when it was a rough go on the best of days, let alone with him standing there like that, watching —
But then the hard glass finally sank a little further inside, making Fasta’s body arch up, cry out, and she made it keep pushing, until her body could almost — almost — close around it, concealing it from Henrik’s eyes. And suddenly she wanted to do that, desperately needed to show him that, so she used her fingers again, pulled herself wider, while the glass kept driving up inside.
When she finally managed it she was shaking all over, her feet and fingers feeling tingly and almost numb, her breath coming in sharp shuddery gasps. While Henrik maybe wasn’t breathing at all, his eyes just held between her legs, staring with something like disbelief, or maybe even wonder.
So Fasta pushed the glass out, slow, using her body rather than magic, and there was the strange, distant gratification of Henrik’s lips parting, and letting out a low moan. Almost like he’d been the one fucking her, and maybe he had felt a little like that, but instead of the cool smoothness he’d been hot, hard, alive.
And suddenly Fasta was done with the glass, and shoved it away from her, down to the foot of the bed. And her breath had caught again, perhaps on a strangled groan, because — her body clenched, its wetness actually audible — Henrik was still holding the length of brass in his hand, his fingers still gripped tight around its bulging circular base.
And Fasta wanted it, needed it, craved it, so desperate that she had to bite her lip to keep from begging. And fuck, she wasn’t supposed to be putting on a show, but her fingers were down at her thighs, spreading them wider. And then spreading her swollen folds wider too, opening herself up, silently pleading with Henrik with her eyes. Saying please, I’m ready, look at me, give it to me.
The brass bedpost was visibly shaking in Henrik’s hands, and for a short hanging instant, Fasta thought he would refuse. But then the tautness in the magic seemed to wind even tighter, impossibly strong, where was the air — when the post lifted from Henrik’s hands, and floated slowly down between her legs.
Fasta gasped aloud, her jolting thoughts whispering that maybe he was just handing it over, maybe she’d have to take things from here — but then, oh hell, the cool smooth metal brushed lightly up against her swollen aching wetness. Making Fasta cry out with it, and then again, oh fuck, because there was already pressure behind it, pushing it slowly inside.
Fasta’s breath was heaving again, and maybe so was Henrik’s, but he wasn’t even lifting a hand, not a single finger. Just doing this with his eyes, his thoughts, and fuck that was hot, quite possibly the hottest thing anyone had ever, ever done —
That was, until the hard, rounded end of it did a little corkscrew spin against her. Shocking enough that Fasta gasped out a curse, which for some reason made Henrik gave a strangled laugh — and then he did it again, more purposeful this time. Not just driving the hard brass inside, or spinning it inside, but making it circle out, around. Pulling her more open, she realized, and as she felt the first, smallest bulb sink inside — oh fuck — her thoughts were lingering, screaming on what he’d said. I want to stretch you out, he’d said, and maybe that was exactly what he was doing, and for some fucked-up reason Fasta’s fingers had fluttered down there, actually helping him, pulling herself wider apart for him, taking that second bulb inside.
There was something almost like approval, now, flickering across those eyes, so Fasta raised her knees more, spread them further apart. While the hard brass kept circling, now corkscrewing a little further inside, up to the third rounded bulb, oh gods.
This was where Fasta often, usually, stopped, because this was already almost as tight, as full, as the glass had been — but she only sucked back more breaths, pulled herself wider. Breathed through the now-stinging heat, the tension, the impossibly circling hardness pushing stronger, deeper, oh —
“Fuck,” she gasped again, her eyes fluttering now, fighting to focus on Henrik’s flushed face. “Oh fuck, Harry, oh gods —“
He just gave that chuckling laugh, firing even more blood to Fasta’s stretched-out quivering body, as she felt that fourth hard bulb finally sink inside. Circling again, moving again, he was going to drill it all the way inside her, holy mother of fuck —
Her moans were a constant thing now, something she couldn’t stop or control, and she pulled her knees up higher, further apart. Spreading her legs as far as they could possibly go, showing Henrik absolutely everything, but at this point the only thing that mattered was how this felt, how Fasta’s entire body was on fire, and screaming for more.
The circling was harder now, more painful, with a constant raging pressure behind it. Trying to get all the way in, trying again, while Fasta begged and pleaded for it, while one of Henrik’s hands finally went down between his legs. And the other — oh shit, oh hell — came down between Fasta’s, she could feel it touching that last bulb, giving one last firm desperate push —
And with a cry from Fasta’s mouth it was in, all the way, her body stretched and invaded and impossibly full, while Henrik’s big hand cupped her swollen wetness, and held it there. Henrik’s hand, between her legs, and Fasta was writhing on the bed, gasping, shouting, because there were no thoughts, no world, nothing but Henrik’s fingers, Henrik’s pressure, Henrik filling her up so full she couldn’t even breathe —
And Henrik’s other hand was moving, over his trousers, and Fasta desperately wanted to see that, heard herself curse and curse again — but he only gave that chuckle, a hard, insolent little pat between her legs. “You haven’t even come yet,” he breathed, “have you?”
And his voice, his eyes, blazing on her like that, challenging her, making her body rise to it, to him, oh fucking gods almighty — and then Fasta’s body was finally choking, screaming, shuddering its release. Pleasure that throbbed and swung and exploded, blocking out everything else, the room the light the world.
“Oh,” she gasped, “oh, Harry. Fuck.”
And then it was Henrik’s body that had gone stiff, his eyes rolling back, his hand gripping to the front of his trousers — and he was gasping too, his body bent, his eyes closed tight, as a pool of thick wetness spread slowly across the front of his trousers.
Oh. Fasta was still trembling, her eyes held on that, her own hunger perhaps teetering itself up again — but damn, she was exhausted, and sore, and with a hiss she pulled out the hard brass, and kicked it down to the end of the bed.
“Fuck,” she said again, pressing her palms almost painfully to her eyes. “Gods, Harry.”
He gave that choked laugh again, and when Fasta looked up his eyes were still dazed, and maybe still disbelieving, too. “What the hell, Fass,” he said, again with that strange chuckle — and then swayed a little on his feet. Prompting him to put a hand to the bed for balance, and though maybe it was wildly inappropriate Fasta dragged him downwards, toward the bed, beside her. Because he couldn’t leave, she couldn’t stand for him to leave, no way, not after that. Not like last time.
He didn’t even try to resist, thank the gods, and just let her pull him down, and close. Even tucking his big arm under her head, and Fasta let out a long, shaky breath at the glorious smell of him, the feel of his strong warm body, all up against hers. Still fully clothed, of course, but that wetness at the front of his trousers didn’t lie, couldn’t.
They were both still breathing heavy, and Fasta’s body gave a delicious shiver at the feel of his arm, tightening a little around her. “You okay?” he asked now, his voice almost tentative. “Was that too much?”
Fasta shook her head against him, too relaxed and contented to care if her face was burrowing into the heady scent of his neck. “No,” she murmured. “That was amazing, Harry.”
He let out another of those strange chuckles, his other hand coming up to trace down a lock of her still-loose hair. “So you really do like it,” he said, low. “Sorry, Fass, but you were right. I never would’ve thought. You’ve done a damn good job of hiding it, all this time.”
Fasta probably should have been offended, and managed to at least lift her head, and try for a glare. “It’s not like you tried very hard to find out.”
There was a sigh from Henrik’s chest, his brow furrowing as he looked down at his fingers, still combing through her hair. “No,” he said, quiet. “Safer not to.”
Safer. Fasta couldn’t help a grimace, and opened her mouth to counter that — but Henrik gave a sharp shake of his head, his eyes going oddly distant. “Still, though,” he said, louder, more casual, while his fingers gently pulled out a knot they’d found in Fasta’s hair. “It would take a mind even dirtier than mine to suspect that prim and proper Lady Valgeirr, heiress to the Earl of Dalreagh, would have a secret dildo fetish.”
Fasta’s head tilted into his touch, her mouth giving an unwilling smile. “It’s not a dildo fetish,” she countered. “A dick fetish, maybe, if you must.”
“Sure it is,” Henrik replied, voice dry. “Didn’t see much dick involved just now, babe.”
Babe. A surge of heat shot down Fasta’s back, and she felt her smile go wider, warmer. “There could’ve been, if you’d wanted,” she said, soft. “Would’ve made it even better.”
Henrik’s jaw twitched, his eyes briefly closing — and then he abruptly sat up, and turned away. Making to leave, after that, and curse her but Fasta grabbed his arm, held him there. “Harry,” she said, breathless, toward his broad back. “You’re not — angry, are you? You did want that. Didn’t you?”
He didn’t turn around, but his shoulders rose, fell. “I did,” his voice said. “I just — I need some time to think. Okay?”
Fasta nodded, stupidly, because he couldn’t see it, and swallowed hard, let go of his arm. Watched as he stood up, ran a hand through his messy waves. And then walked away from her, a little awkwardly, perhaps due to that still-visible wetness in front of his pants.
“We should probably go back tonight,” he said, stiffly, once he’d put his hand to the door. “Kjaran wants us on a new job tomorrow.”
Fasta barely heard it, but nodded again, watched him step outside, watched the door shut behind him. And then dropped herself back onto the bed, tried to breathe again, rubbed her hands hard against her face.
He needed some time to think about it.
And that meant something, something important. Right? Because if Henrik was thinking about this — rather than straight out saying no — then it was still an option. Still a possibility. Still — there.
And suddenly, in Fasta’s thoughts, there was a solid, almost overwhelming certainty. She could make this happen. She could make this worth Henrik’s while. She would convince him that she could be everything he wanted, no matter what it was. Even if that meant obeying, being spanked, stretched out, maybe even knocked up by a commoner…
Whatever it took, Fasta was going to do this.
10
When Henrik emerged from his room some time later, wearing clean trousers and looking freshly washed, Fasta was in the kitchen, with her packed bag in her hand. And she was also fully dressed, with her hair braided, everything carefully concealed and normal again.
“Hey,” she said, glancing up with an attempt at a smile. “Good to go?”
Henrik was rubbing his mouth, his eyes on her still a little strange, but he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Just gimme a minute, gotta do the circuit.”
Fasta nodded back, and then watched, with something tilting in her chest, as Henrik did what he did every time they locked up the place. Walking around it, tracing his hand along every wall, lingering on the latches and seams, setting his own subtle wards. Making sure their house was guarded, protected, safe.
He ushered Fasta out the door ahead of him before he did the latches, while Fasta put her hand beside his, feeling the new combinations. Committing them to memory, like she always did, because it was always different, every time.
It was proof that Henrik loved this place, just as much as she did, and Fasta turned that thought over as she followed his silent form across the clearing, back to the path, up the stone stairs. Did he think, maybe, that messing things up between them might mean he’d lose the cottage, too? Along with his job, his family’s stability, his siblings’ futures?
Fasta swallowed, and picked up pace until she was beside him, matching his strides. Earning a brief sidelong look from him, but nothing else, and with a sudden spurt of insight she dug into her bag, and thrust a wrapped meat pie toward him.
“When was the last time you ate?” she said, because Henrik was almost always hungry, and hadn’t eaten a thing since he’d first shown up, now hours ago. “You must be half-starved.”
She knew she had the right of it, because the look Henrik shot her was undeniably grateful, and he swiftly snatched the packet out of her fingers. “Just a bit peckish, maybe,” he said, too casually, and then took an eager, overlarge bite that completely betrayed the nonchalance. “Thanks.”
It was strange that he hadn’t packed food, Fasta thought now, and she glanced down at his slack-looking bag, bouncing against his hip as he walked. Like he hadn’t meant to be gone long at all, and her thoughts flipped back to what he’d said, before he’d left her bedroom. We should go back. Kjaran wants us on a new job.
“So what’s the new job?” Fasta asked now. “Something important, I hope? And up to our standards?”
There was an edge on her voice she couldn’t quite hide, and Henrik didn’t miss it, giving her another of those sidelong looks. Working under Kjaran these past months had been no picnic, for multiple reasons — but one of the most irritating was how she constantly inserted herself into a bidding process that had previously worked well for everyone. Ideally, potential clients would submit proposals, and Fasta and Henrik would choose what projects to take on, based on a variety of factors like costs, distance, time to complete, and how well the project fit into Fasta’s ongoing research. It also went without saying that they only chose the most interesting and difficult projects, and anything that could be done without earth-magic was an immediate hard no, on all counts. A fact which Kjaran had, to date, seemed repeatedly unable to grasp.
“Sounds like it’s another one of Kjaran’s bullshit political things,” Henrik said now, around a bite of his pie. “Some new noble just took over the lands at Hartmoor, an’ apparently wants a bunch of period reconstructions, and new builds to match.”
Fasta couldn’t help an irritated groan — the period reconstruction point actually wasn’t so bad, but nobles were the absolute worst to work for, with absurdly high expectations and reliably stingy payments. “Did you get a sense of how long it’ll take? Or what the payment looks like?”
“Months,” Henrik said, between bites, his voice flat. “And payment to be negotiated, upon completion.”
Upon completion. And that meant — Fasta’s steps faltered, halfway up the scree hill they’d been climbing — that neither of them would be getting a salary for months, either. Their wages at Coven Manor had always been based on commission, a system that had previously worked just fine — but again, that had been because they had always chosen the jobs, and Fasta had taken care to make sure there was always something coming in. Not for her own sake — she had plenty of coin in the bank, and spent very little of it — but, of course, for Henrik’s.
And Henrik had hesitated too, looking back at Fasta, and there was something wrong in his eyes, something tired, strained, resigned. Enough to make Fasta hurry to catch up to him again, and she grabbed his arm, held him there.
“What bills do you have due?” she asked. “You already paid for the girls’ schooling for the next term, right? But what about Andreas?”
Something spasmed on Henrik’s mouth, but he didn’t reply, and Fasta studied him, the strange tired tension in his eyes. And without quite knowing why, she realized, suddenly, that there was something more to all this. Something he wasn’t telling her. And while she shouldn’t push it — not after everything else she’d pushed him on lately — the words were already there, coming too easy from her mouth.
“What’s going on, Harry?” she said. “Come on, tell me. I told you my horrible embarrassing secret, didn’t I?”
Henrik’s face immediately flushed, his hand coming up to rub at his mouth, and after an instant’s stillness, Fasta reached for her water-skin, handed it over. Watched as he silently took it, gulping it back, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
“Got a letter from Andreas a couple days ago,” Henrik said finally, handing back the water-skin. “He got an offer to apprentice at the College of Experimental Magic for a year, under Merg Brant.”
Oh. Henrik’s younger brother had always been an excessively promising earth-mage, but that offer was truly spectacular, a ridiculously rare placement that Fasta herself wouldn’t have frowned at. Especially with Brant involved, who was a pioneer in the use of earth-magic, and quite possibly the most revered scientist on the continent.
“That’s amazing, Harry,” Fasta said, and she meant it. “That’s a once-in-a-lifetime deal for an earth-mage. Wow.”
But that look in Henrik’s eyes betrayed something else, and Fasta felt her own thoughts falter, realign themselves. Oh. Right. Of course.
“How much is the tuition?” she asked, tentative, and in reply Henrik’s eyes briefly closed, shutting her out. Making Fasta grimace too, because she could almost feel his unhappiness, weighing down the air between them, like a living thing.
“There’s got to be a way,” she said now, putting her hand back to his muscled forearm. “Can the tuition be paid in installments? And didn’t you tell me Andreas had a patron this year who was helping him out with some expenses?”
Henrik made a face, still not meeting her eyes, and took a heaving breath. “Yeah, a rich titled asshole who makes him do a shit ton of grunt-work for it,” he snapped. “Along with other things Andreas doesn’t tell me about. And the fucker’s royally pissed off about Andreas wanting to leave him to do this, and told him the coin stops now, whether he takes the placement or not!”
