ANOTHER RIDE

1544 4D

The next night, as the train raced across the plains toward the City, Andrew tossed and turned, dreaming of bloody Abridor and Mentrius‘s knife on the ledge; and Marande came to him, and stripped herself naked, and straddled him gently with muscular legs, and lowered her breasts one by one to his lips, and he kissed their dark, swelling nipples, and it was no dream.

And she peeled off his sleepwrap, and kissed his nipples too, just above the edge of his bandages; and they both laughed softly in anticipation and letting go. She raised her hips and took him in, and arched back to show her long throat and her pointed, outthrust breasts to him, riding him slowly, squeezing gently, then harder, driving her nails into the sides of his buttocks.

The pain from her nails steadied him, kept him heated, distracted him from his still-healing wound; he started to thrust upward against her, and she held up a hand and said “No!” and he relaxed, letting her control the ride.

She took them both higher, slowing every so often to look in his eyes and let him rest, and he was grateful for her and her tenderness and passion, and for her freeing of him from his dreams. Finally she began to pump faster, desperately, clenching; and he came to climax only two hard spurts ahead of her. “Leil,” he whispered, and he heard a man’s name hot in his ear at the same time, “Rujan.”

Marande held him, keeping her weight off his body, and they kissed one more time. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You’re quite a man, Andrew. Get healthy for your lady. She should be proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Andrew said. Warmth filled him, blanketing the pain in his side. He and Marande looked with pleasure in each others’ eyes once more, and kissed, and then she rose from him and dressed, and left his compartment for the last time.