Page 35 of By the Horns (Royal Artifactual Guild #2)

Twenty-Five

Gwenna

Dere Ma,

Sorry I haven’t ritten. Training isn’t great. Our teechur is very fond of drills and I am not fond of them at all. I haven’t bene sleeping well. I’m just stressed because it’s important to me that I pass this year. Please don’t worry about me. I will send more money when I can.

Love, Gwenna

There’s a jittery feeling in my stomach all weekend as I keep busy and avoid Raptor. We were supposed to work together, but the tunnel job is completed and I latch on to Marta instead, offering to help her cook up some of the meals she was supposed to make yesterday.

Raptor sits in the kitchen, sharpening his weapons, and never leaves me alone for a moment.

He’s the source of my stomach flutters for sure.

He watches me closely, and whenever our eyes meet, he gives me a lazy smile, as if he knows all my secrets.

Well, he knows one for sure. He knows that I’m the one who had sex with him that day… he just doesn’t know why.

I can’t stop thinking about yesterday, either.

When he hoisted me onto the counter and then proceeded to work my pussy with his hand until I came.

In that moment, I’d have blurted all my secrets, and the thought of losing my mind simply because he touched me is terrifying.

If he finds out that I’m a mancer, is he going to go straight to the guild to demand a bounty of some kind?

I don’t know if I can trust him, so I can’t say anything.

Only Sparrow knows my true secret.

I’d been doing a good job of hiding things while in the cavern, or so I’d thought.

But then they’d opened up that new room, and a flood of fresh sensations washed over me.

There were dead up there. A lot of them, all very long deceased but still echoing in my head and crawling under my skin as if they wanted something from me.

I can’t stop thinking about that, either. How am I supposed to be an artificer if I can’t even go in the blasted tunnels?

After our round in the kitchen, I avoided Raptor for the rest of the night and went to bed early.

Today I’m chopping vegetables and making overly chatty conversation with a bewildered Marta, despite doing my best to avoid her for the last several weeks.

“I can help out as long as the others aren’t around,” I explain to her, dicing onions with my good hand.

“But the moment they return, I have to go back to ignoring you.”

“I understand,” she says in a soft, gentle voice. “You have to be seen as one of them.”

Her words make me want to weep with the acceptance in them.

“When we’re done here, though,” I continue, my voice low, “I’m going to tell everyone, especially Mistress Umala, what an amazing job you did.

How comfortable you kept the nest. If I pass, I’ll be an artificer, and an artificer that suggests you get a pay raise holds a lot of weight around here. ”

“I’ll do the same,” Raptor adds in behind us, reminding me that he’s listening to everything we discuss.

I shoot him a dirty look. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“I do not,” he says, and runs his blade over the whetstone on the table again.

Kipp returns early in the afternoon, setting his pack and his shell atop his bed.

Marta is cleaning Master Jay’s rooms, so I sit on the end of Kipp’s bed and turn all my efforts to one-sidedly chatting with Kipp while he gives me the slitherskin equivalent of a bewildered stare.

Through a few gestures and lots of questions from me, he tells me that he spent all weekend delivering letters.

I’ve seen slitherskins moving about the city as couriers, so this doesn’t surprise me.

I’ve never known Kipp to do it, though. “Are you saving up for something?”

He gestures at something on his brow and then licks his eyeball.

“I don’t follow.”

“He’s saving up for a lady friend,” Raptor offers, sprawled on his bed next to Kipp’s, his hands behind his head. “They have little ridges on their brows. That’s what he was indicating.”

“Oh!” I want to shoot Raptor another annoyed look for listening in, but Kipp practically squirms, his hands going to his tiny lizard cheeks as if he’s mimicking a human’s blush.

“That’s very sweet of you, Kipp. Are you going to take her on a date?

If you want suggestions, find out what her favorite food is and take her some of it. ”

“That’s a wise choice,” Raptor comments. “What’s your favorite, Gwenna?”

“I love a tall glass of shut-your-trap-and-mind-your-own-business.”

Raptor laughs.

Kipp huffs with amusement and goes back to gesturing wildly, extolling the virtues of his lady friend, who works as a messenger in the lower parts of the city and apparently has gorgeous skin. It’s so sweet.

Both Hemmen and Arrod return just before dusk and flop down in their bunks, not speaking to the rest of us.

Hemmen pulls out a book and lights a candle to read by, while Arrod takes a nap.

Kipp and Raptor start a discussion on the best kinds of blades, and since I know nothing about knives, I retreat to my bunk and work on stitching a subtle breast dart into the front of my fledgling uniform so I don’t look so very boxy when I wear it.

It’s a terrible thing to be vain, but I’m not a looker in the face, and I’m not rich. Tits are all I have.

As we settle in for another week, I stare up at the ceiling in bed that night, hating how out of control I feel.

It’s because Raptor thinks he has the upper hand on me, I decide.

He thinks he can push me around and I’ll allow it, and I have been allowing it, because I’m worried that he’ll find out the truth.

It’s clear he’s not going to leave me alone, and while I wouldn’t mind another glorious fingering (truly, I wouldn’t mind that at all), I don’t want him to continue to have the upper hand.

I need to gain control of our relationship again, such as it is. If nothing else, we need to be on equal ground. I have to stop getting flustered every time he addresses me, because others are going to guess that something is going on. But how do I get on equal footing with him again?

An idea floats into my head. An obvious one.

I could touch him like he touched me. Make him come.

He’d like that, of course. But then he wouldn’t have one over on me any longer.

And if I’m being honest with myself…I’d like touching him, too. Every time he gives me a look from across the room, I feel as if I’m the only person he’s noticed that day. That no one else matters but me. It’s made me wet for hours.

It could backfire spectacularly, me touching him…but…Raptor knows how to be discreet. And if he doesn’t keep this to himself, well, it tells me all I need to know about him.

I glance over at his bunk. He’s a few feet away from me, sleeping on his back with the blankets at his waist. Kipp isn’t in his bed, which is good, because he’s a light sleeper. I lay where I am, quiet, and listen to the sounds of Arrod and Hemmen sleeping. Good. They’re both fast asleep.

I can do this now, before I have the chance to talk myself out of it.

Sliding out from underneath the covers, I sit up and put my feet on the floor.

After two quiet breaths, it’s obvious no one is waking up, so I tiptoe the short distance over to Raptor’s bed and kneel beside it.

He’s enormous, his big body taking up so much space that the bed seems inadequate and downright uncomfortable for someone his size.

Even the blanket doesn’t look sufficient.

I have no idea why that fascinates me so much. Why I can’t stop thinking about him. Why I increasingly search out his amused comments or his wry laughter. I can’t afford to have a crush on a fellow student. On anyone, really.

I tell myself that I shouldn’t be doing this, even as I reach for the blanket and peel it back, just a fraction.

A big hand reaches out and grabs my wrist. Raptor’s awake.

“You’ll get in trouble if you get caught, little bantam.”

Oh, I know that. But he’s not telling me not to touch him, either. I pull free from his grasp and give him my best saucy look. “So be quiet .”

The darkness hides his face, but he gives just the faintest huff that tells me he’s amused by my response. He releases my wrist and his hand goes to his stomach.

I could stop now. Or…not.

My hand goes under the blanket. I find the waist of his pants, the worn-out ones that he always sleeps in, with the patches on the knees. I walk my fingers along the band, giving him a moment to acclimate himself to my touch, and then slip my hand under the fabric.

Immediately, my knuckles brush against the hot, heavy head of his cock.

A gasp rises in my throat, and I bite down on my lip to keep it at bay.

Quiet, I must stay quiet. I’d just forgotten how very large he is.

My hand feels as if it’s being scorched just by proximity to his heat.

I run my fingers along the head of him, unsurprised to feel that he’s dripping pre-cum already.

How long has he been lying here, listening to me try to sleep?

Or did he guess what was going through my mind?

Whatever it is, I’m in this moment now, and I know what I want.

With my good hand, I tease his cock a little more, letting my fingertips lightly drag over his length, learning him again.

It seems like he hasn’t forgotten that day in the hospital, and while I haven’t had it on my mind too much, I remember his knot more than anything.

I curve my hand around the thick length of his shaft, stroking it.

I’m going to need lubrication if I want to give him more than just a dry hand job.

I contemplate my options.

Giving him a dry hand job is the easiest, but I also want this to be memorable. I could finger myself until I’m wet and use that as a lubricant, but that might take a while and involve too much rustling of clothing. Plus, one of my hands is bandaged.

Actually…

Now that I think about it, I wrapped my hand again and reapplied salve just before bed.

It’s still wet underneath the bandage because I applied far too much.

Pulling my hand free, I ignore the slight shift of his body—I’m sure he’s wondering if I’m losing my nerve—and unwrap my injured hand.

I run my fingers down my palm, getting a lot of the herbal salve on my other hand, and then rub the two together.

A moment later, my good one is back under the blankets, and this time when I grip him, my hand is slippery and glides over his shaft.

I hear him suck in a breath.

Reaching forward—because he’s so enormous that I’m having to stretch—I press the back of my injured hand to his muzzle to keep him quiet as I work his cock with my good hand.

I start with long, firm strokes, until he’s so rigid that there’s absolutely no give to his cock.

Once I’ve got him good and teased, I toy with his balls a little, and the hot ring of flesh at the base of his cock, before starting a quick pumping motion under the blanket.

The room is silent except for the occasional wet sound of my hand on his skin, and I glance over at the other two, who are fast asleep and oblivious.

One of Hemmen’s ever-present books is over his face, and Arrod continues to snore.

I fight the urge to laugh, especially when Raptor arches his hips, trying to rock into my grip.

He’s got my other wrist now, holding me tight but careful not to touch my self-inflicted injuries.

All the while, I jerk his cock with a bit of smug precision and my own arousal growing by the moment.

His muzzle goes to the back of my hand again, and the ring in his nose presses against my skin as he holds me tight. His hips lift again, and his tail swats against the side of the bed, far too loudly.

I work him harder, using my thumbnail against his knot to push him over the edge.

To Raptor’s credit, he doesn’t make a sound when he comes.

There’s a wave of tension through his large body, and then heat spurts all over my hand.

I continue to work him, dragging my fingers through the mess to milk everything he has.

When he gives one last shudder and grips a handful of my hair, I know it’s time to pull away. I’ve made my point.

As I do, though, I drag my hand up his chest, making sure to leave a messy trail. It’s like I’m marking him as my territory, and I drag one cum-wet finger around one of his nipples, and I could swear he shudders all over again.

Then I give him a pat and get to my feet, picking up my bandage and heading quietly out of the room and toward the garderobe.

The moment I get into the hall, I run into Master Jay.

My eyes widen at the sight of him. “M-Master. It’s late.”

“It is. I’ve just returned from outside the city. Why are you up?” He eyes my hands, covered in an absolute mess, gripping my wadded bandage tight.

Oh, fuck me. I can’t think of anything except the mess on my hands that’s now more Taurian semen than salve. “Ah, my bandage came unwrapped in my sleep, and I made a mess with the salve while trying to fix it.”

He glances down at my hands, then at my flushed face, and grunts. “Are you going to be too injured to participate this week? We will be heading into the Everbelow soon, and I need everyone at their best.”

“It’s just a small injury. Should be better in a day or two.” Please, please don’t ask to see it.

He studies my face and then grunts again. “See that it is.”

Then he turns and leaves, heading for his quarters, his traveling pack still on his back.

I don’t breathe until I’ve washed up, rebandaged my hand, and returned to bed. Raptor hasn’t moved from his spot, but a brief time after I lie down, he quietly gets to his feet, no doubt to go clean up.

Before he does, though, he moves to the side of my bed. I keep my eyes closed, even when he brushes a finger over my mouth.

It’s wet. Tastes like seed.

I suppose I deserved that. I smile even as I lick the taste of him off my lips. Perhaps he felt like branding me, too.