Agent of the Dragon

Camyrn didn’t arrive until supper was almost done. He was well known here, judging by the shouts of greetings he received from people. This first part of their assignation had been choreographed. He wasn’t supposed to notice her until the dancing started.

He passed a table crowded with men and women drunk enough to lose their inhibitions. One of them called out to Camyrn and grabbed his arm. Camyrn stopped and spoke with the man who’d grabbed him. He glanced at Rhysa, then straddled the bench and joined the conversation.

Rhysa sighed with relief, and took a sip of her wine. They couldn’t afford to be seen as knowing each other outside this inn. This was as much for his benefit as hers.

She scanned the crowd and noticed people carrying instruments had commandeered a corner. She glanced at Camyrn and saw he was still deeply involved with the table he’d joined. She finished her wine and left her table.

Rhysa made her way around the edge of the room, and stood a few feet from the musicians. She wanted Camyrn to have to search for her. It might annoy him slightly, but it would also increase his desire for her. She needed him pliable, and she needed him not to realize it. The oils she’d purchased in the market would help, as would her dancing tonight.

She smiled at the memory of how seriously Jayse had emphasized dancing of all kinds, from low to high. Once he’d pointed out how dancing and fighting would feed off each other, she stopped putting up resistance. Now she was going to have to wield her dancing as a weapon.

Serving men and women were beginning to clear out some space for a dance floor. Rhysa helped move chairs against the walls, but left the tables to the servers who did it every night. The musicians tuned their instruments while they joked and laughed. When they were ready, the drummer silenced the crowd with a rattle on his instrument; before the crowd got rowdy again, he started a jig beat, and the other musicians took it up. It was a lively tune, hands slapped tables, feet tapped the floor, and heads nodded.

The musicians blended the jig into a hornpipe, and people started filling the dance area with enthusiasm. Rhysa declined several invitations. She wanted Camyrn worried she might dance with someone else, not jealously possessive because she had. She saw Camyrn searching for her during the hornpipe, but in the crowd it took several minutes for him to find her.

He came to stand in front of her; he bowed and smiled. “Care to dance, milady?”

Rhysa smiled and curtsied. “Of course, milord.”

His hand was warm around hers. Part of her mind noted the sword-calluses on his hand, as he escorted her onto the dance floor, leading her through the dynamic maze of swinging legs and arms. They’d just taken up position when the hornpipe ended. The musicians paused to let people shift around, some left the dance floor, others entered. The beat of the drum proclaimed a slip jig and Camyrn swung her around.

He was an excellent dancer--his movements easy and controlled. His touch was firm without overbearing. She followed his lead easily and concentrated on matching his movements down to the smallest twitch. She grinned up at him and he smiled down at her. They came to rest at the final rolling beat of the tune. Excitement, rather than effort, quickened her breath. His breathing, too, was quick and easy.

The next tune began slow and sped up with each repetition. They danced facing the same direction, her back to his chest, arms extended to the side, hands linked. She could feel the power in his chest and arms as their legs flashed through intertwining patterns. It was a difficult dance, and few people were on the dance floor. Rhysa had to concentrate on the dance steps so she wouldn’t send them both sprawling. The music slowed indicating final repetition. She felt him press up against her back. His heart raced against her back, and puffs of his breath fluttered her hair. Her neck grew warm with more than exertion. Applause roared from the onlookers as the dancers came to rest.

Camyrn took her arm and led her to the side of the dance floor. He offered her a chair, and took one next to it for himself. They sat pressed together, his hand linked with hers. Her flush was definitely from more than exertion.

They watched two more sets: a polka and another hornpipe. Rhysa nodded her head with the beat, while tapping the counter rhythm with her feet. The next dance was slow, and Camyrn pulled her to the dance floor again. This time they danced face to face. He held her close, firm without clutching. The press of her breasts against the wall of his chest made her knees weak, and she found herself leaning against him. His hand caressed her hair. Her joints seemed loose, yet her muscles felt stiff. She let her head rest on his shoulder, and she closed her eyes.

When the music stopped, they separated and she looked into his eyes. She thought he was going to try to get her up to his room, but he only smiled and led her to their chairs. She sat cuddled up to him, his arm around her shoulders. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he pressed his cheek to the top of her head. It felt natural. They sat that way through another slow dance and another jig.

After the jig, the drummer stood. “One more tune, folks, and then we’ll take a break.” He turned back to his companions and asked loudly enough for the dancers to hear. “Slip jig?” At the audience’s enthusiastic response he turned to face the crowd. He grinned mischievously, and his eyebrows bounced once, then he drummed a very energetic introduction.

As soon as he heard what kind of dance they would be playing, Camyrn stood. “Another, Mieryth?”

The sound of her cover name jolted Rhysa back to reality. No wonder he had such a risqué reputation. It was very easy to forget yourself in his presence. If she had been using her real name, she would probably continue to fall deeper under his influence. She took a deep breath and smiled up at him. “Of course.”

The slip jig was just as energetic as the opening drum sequence had promised. By the end of the tune, both she and Camyrn were breathless. She looked into his face, and his broad grin made her laugh. He obviously enjoyed dancing, not just as a way to get women to sleep with him, but for the dance itself. That enjoyment was contagious. She threw her arms around him and hugged him.

Once again the feeling of her breasts pressed against him made her knees weak. It occurred to her if she was going to stay in control of herself, she needed to take control of the situation. She couldn’t afford to have him seduce her. She lifted her face, put a hand behind his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss. She kept it light, slightly heavier than flirting, but only slightly. She broke the kiss and hugged him again. “That was wonderful.”

“The dance? Or the kiss?”

She smiled and wrinkled her nose at him. “Guess.”

He chuckled but didn’t say anything. She took his arm and led him upstairs. At the top of the stairs, she shoved him gently against a wall, and pressed herself against him. She kissed him, harder this time. The feel of contact along her body, from legs, to hip, to breast, to head, thrilled her. She kept herself from succumbing with an act of will. When she felt him start to push himself against her, she stepped back quickly. Camyrn stumbled forward at her sudden absence. Rhysa bit her lip at the thrumming in her belly.

Rhysa led him to her room, and made sure the door was locked once they were both inside. Camyrn used the time it took for Rhysa to lock the door to regroup. He enfolded her in an embrace and pressed his lips to hers. She couldn’t allow him to gain control; fortunately, she had the perfect way to regain the advantage. She smiled against his lips, then ducked laughing out of his arms.

“Hold on. Not too fast. Let’s enjoy this. We won’t get another chance for a long time.” He grinned but stayed where he was.

Rhysa went to the small wardrobe and took out her purchases. Keeping her body between Camyrn and what she was doing, she half filled the ceramic bowl with almande oil. Then she poured about half her patchouli oil, and used a finger to mix the oils together. She wiped her finger on the inside of her wrist and took up the clove oil. This time, she poured only a small amount of oil into her concoction. She stirred the oil again; this time she wiped her finger on either side of her neck. She sniffed at the mixture and reached for the neroli. She only added a couple of drops of this oil, but when she finished stirring, she was satisfied. The whole mixing process took a little more than a minute.

She turned and held the bowl of oil up. “Smell this.”

Gingerly Camyrn leaned forward and sniffed. Rhysa smiled to herself when Camyrn’s mouth opened slightly and a flush mounted from neck to face. She set the bowl on the washstand, dipped a couple fingers in the oil, and rubbed her hands together to spread the oil. Once her hands were coated, she stepped to Camyrn and cupped his face. Slowly, she brought his head down and pressed her lips to his.

For one long moment, Camyrn stood there, his lips already warm and firm with desire, then he made a peculiar noise, half groan, half whimper, and his arms enclosed Rhysa. She pressed herself to him, and felt him harden against her thigh. She let him hold her firmly against him for several seconds before she slowly untucked his shirt.

She broke the kiss. “Let’s get this off you.” She chuckled deep in her throat when she felt his desire to remove his shirt conflict with his reluctance to let her go. Then she turned up the heat by putting her hands up inside his shirt, letting her fingers trace lightly over bare skin. She felt him vibrate against her. Her own breath quickened as she realized the power she now held over him.

Camyrn released her and, with jerky movements, pulled his shirt over his head. Rhysa took the opportunity to step back, and when he stepped forward, arms reaching, she put a palm firmly against his chest. “What did I say about going too fast?” For a moment she thought he was going to continue anyway, but he nodded and stepped back a half step. She gestured to a chair. “Have a seat. Put your arms on the back rest.”

With his back to her, she dipped some oil from the bowl and warmed it in her hands. When she judged the oil warm enough it wouldn’t cause him to tense, she spread it over his broad, and very well-muscled, back.

The seductive scent of the mixed oil permeated the room as his back heated it. She knew what to expect; even so, she had to fight to keep from being carried away by urges the scent provoked. On the upside, it looks like I won’t have to use my aura.

Beneath her hands, the muscles in Camyrn’s back relaxed and became languid. Every now and then, she dipped out another couple of fingers of oil, careful not to take so much that oil dripped down his back.

When she was ready to start on his arms, she removed her blouse before dipping out more oil. As she spread the initial oil down both arms, she let her bare breasts graze his back. The residual clove oil warmed her nipples, and once more she had to fight to maintain control of herself.

Her palms pressed firmly as they moved down the top of his arms; her fingers dug in on the return stroke on the underside of his arms. Each time she went down his arms, she let her breasts press a little more into his back. When her breasts were entirely coated, she stepped back and kissed the back of his neck. He lifted his head from his arms and looked back over his shoulder at her. His eyes were nearly black with dilation, and his breathing bordered on ragged. She hid a surge of satisfaction, and stepped on her answering arousal.

Camyrn pushed himself to a standing position, his movements lethargic. He wavered slightly on his feet, but stayed upright. Rhysa hugged him to her, smearing his chest with the oil on her breasts even as she kissed him. A quiver ran through her, and settled behind her belly when he crushed her to him as if he was trying to pull them into the same space. The feel of his hand through her skirt made her knees weak. It took a supreme act of will to back out of his arms.

They looked at each other, breathing quickly, hearts pounding--it was time. Rhysa slowly undid the fastening on her skirt and let it fall, then she stepped out of her panties. She dipped once more into the oil, and rubbed the oil all over herself.

Camyrn leaned forward, as if he were about to step, but held back. Rhysa finished oiling her body, and stepped to him to undo the lacings on his breeches. With deliberate movements, she pulled his breeches off, then his undergarment. He stepped out of the pooled fabric. Rhysa took his hand and backed towards the bed, drawing him after her.

Afterwards, Rhysa lay curled around Camyrn as if around a body pillow; arm across his chest and thigh across his groin. She felt the rise and fall of his chest under her arm as he breathed deeply. The past hour or so had surprised her. Working with Venusia’s protégés hadn’t prepared her for this. She felt the driving desire behind her belly and finally, truly understood Venusia’s warnings of addiction. She hadn’t gone that far, but it would be so easy--to lose herself in sensations given and received.

She inhaled deeply and considered this new obstacle. She needed to make Camyrn addicted to her, without becoming addicted to him. It was a difficult tangle. A shift in Camyrn’s breathing warned her he was coming out of his doze. She pulled her head back slightly so he could see her if he turned his head.

“If I’d known you could do that, I don’t think I could have held off so long.” Camyrn’s voice was deep with relaxation.

Rhysa traced a design on his chest. “It’s probably just as well, then. We couldn’t have done this without notice any sooner.”

“Hmmm. Probably not.” He pulled her on top of him. She lay chest to chest, straddling his hips. Her blood leapt as she felt him harden between her legs. She fought to guide her reaction, since it was impossible to stop. He shifted under her and when they joined, all thought left her head.

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