Chapter 21 #2
Pip started keeling to the left, and I reached over from Bram and caught the back of his shirt before he could topple off Periwinkle. The gelding stopped walking and turned his head to look at me with an expression that clearly said: please help.
“New plan,” I said. “You ride in my lap.”
Pip beamed at me. “I do like your lap. But will that bother Bram?”
“This will do, for now. But you will learn to ride properly.”
“Properly,” Pip repeated, as if tasting the word. “Okay. Time to stop, Periwinkle!”
Against all odds, the horse stopped.
“Oh! I didn’t know you could issue your horse instructions!”
“You can’t.”
“But he stopped? Periwinkle, let’s—”
I was off of Bram and holding Periwinkle’s reins before Pip could say more.
We redistributed the weight, putting the luggage on Periwinkle, who accepted the panniers and saddlebags with a cheerfulness that bordered on relief.
Pip went behind the nearest tree and emerged wearing a short skirt made out of a pretty blue brocade and long, off-white stockings with a blue hem at the top.
It looked like something a fashionable person might wear to a garden party in a realm where garden parties involved sex.
“I can breathe again,” Pip announced.
“How can your legs breathe in stockings but not trousers.”
Pip rolled his eyes. “The stockings are soft, thin, and breathable. Perhaps that’s what I’ll wear if we encounter winter.”
“Not likely, even in Stonedeep. It’s nearly June.”
Pip looked at Bram, who had drawn himself up to his full height and was radiating the smug satisfaction of a warhorse who had been selected as the superior mount.
“Bram looks pleased about this.”
He did, and if a horse could preen, Bram was preening. He stood taller, his black coat gleaming, his neck arched with the proud awareness of his importance.
I lifted Pip into the saddle and swung up behind him, settling him into the cradle of my thighs.
He fit there perfectly, his back against my chest, his head tucked under my chin.
I gathered the reins with one arm and looped the other around his waist, looped Periwinkle’s reins to a ring on Bram’s saddle.
The gelding fell into step behind us, content with his new role as a large, very expensive cart.
The Guard were well ahead. The road stretched empty before us, cutting through low hills and patches of forest where the spring canopy was dense enough to turn the light green and gold.
Bram’s hooves found their rhythm on the packed earth.
Leather creaked. Somewhere in the trees a bird was making a sound I didn’t know the name for.
Pip’s weight settled warm across my thighs.
Pip in his short skirt, his thighs warm against mine, his body shifting with each stride of the horse. He was relaxed now, adapting to the horse’s gait with boneless trust of a creature comfortable in someone else’s keeping.
The problem was the bouncing.
Bram’s trot was smooth for a warhorse, but it was still a trot. Pip shifted. His backside pressed into my groin. He shifted again.
“Stop squirming,” I said.
“I’m not squirming. The horse is bouncing me. Blame Bram.”
He pressed back again, and I was no longer convinced it was accidental. I tightened my arm around his waist and he made a small sound and my blood ran hot, my cock hardening.
We were alone on the road. The Guard were out of sight.
The forest pressed in close on both sides and the canopy above filtered the light into something private and dappled.
Behind us, Periwinkle followed on his lead rein, his steps muffled by the packed earth, and ahead the road curved into shadow.
I slid my hand down his thigh and found a seam on his upper thigh.
He was wearing drawers under his skirt, and they were fashioned from a silky fabric that clung to his skin, nothing like you could find anywhere in Qoksmere.
He’d started sewing underthings for himself, cheeky little scraps of fabric that forced me to fuck him the moment I saw them.
I hooked a finger into the seam and pulled. The thread gave with a soft rip.
“Aeldryc!” Pip twisted to glare at me. “I made those!”
“You’ll make more.”
“I hand-stitched that seam! It was very—oh.”
The “oh” came because I had freed myself from my riding leathers and was now lifting him—one hand on his hip, the other supporting his thigh—and positioning him over me. The ripped seam gave me all the access I needed.
He reached back, stroking my length with a soft moan, distracted from my objections as he dragged my cock head against his hole. “Lube?” Pip whimpered.
I slowed Bram to a walk. Pip reached into the satchel at his side and produced a small vial of the oil we used on his hole.
He leaned forward, an awkward but determined motion, and worked a finger inside himself before slicking the rest over my cock.
He was whimpering, a needy sound in the quiet woods, as I drew him down onto me.
His head fell back against my shoulder, bracing his hand on the forearm that held the reins. The sound he made was soft and open-mouthed and it traveled through me like a current.
“I suppose this works very well. As a horseback riding method.”
“How do you suddenly have good balance?”
“I always had good balance,” he said, breathless. “I just needed motivation.”
I pressed deeper using one hand to guide his hips down onto me, until he was impaled, breathing hard and letting out slow whimpers with every sway of Bram’s steps.
I kicked Bram into a steady trot, and the bounce that had been merely pleasant before was now doing extraordinary things, because every step bounced Pip in my lap, sliding my cock inside him as if I was thrusting.
“Oh,” he said again, differently this time. He squirmed—experimentally—and the shift drove me fractionally deeper and his fingers dug into my thighs. “Oh, that’s—the bouncing. The bouncing is—”
“Yes.”
“Every step, it—”
He let out a shaky laugh and tilted his head to look over his shoulder at me. I kissed his temple, his cheekbone, the curve of his ear. I kept one hand on the reins, one eye on the road, and slid my free hand around his throat, cupping the collar he always wore.
“Mine,” I murmured, as he reached back and braced himself on my thighs. “What’s mine rides in my lap, impaled on my cock.”
“Mm hmm. Yours.” He arched and writhed, trying to force me deeper. I slid my hand down his chest, groping his pectoral muscle, tracing the ridges of his abdomen.
“Aeldryc.” He gripped my arm with both hands, trying to control the bounce.
“Shh, take it easy, baby,” I whispered. “Let the ride take us. The Guard can wait.”
“There is literally always a rush,” he said, lips pulling into a cute pout. “I am always in a hurry to have your cum inside me.”
I smiled against his neck. This creature in my lap had undone me so thoroughly that I was fucking him on horseback on a public road. I didn’t even care if it was a capital offense.
A cart appeared around the bend at precisely the moment I had forgotten, entirely and with some relief, that I was the Commander of the Grey Guard and not some lowly archer with his lover on a pleasure ride.
It was a farm cart, pulled by a single ox, driven by an elderly fae woman with a broad hat and determined disinterest in her gaze.
She was hauling turnips, from what I could see.
Pip stiffened and, to my horror, started to giggle.
“Do not,” I said.
“You’re still inside me.”
“Sit still. The skirt covers everything, so long as you don’t decide to fuck yourself on my cock like a little whore, she’ll never know what we’re doing.
” From the outside, we were merely a large fae and a small human sharing a horse.
I slowed Bram to a walk to help Pip sit still, sliding my hand down to Pip’s waist.
“But I am a whore,” Pip hissed.
“Hush. She is near enough to hear now.” I gripped his hip harder, holding him still as his inner walls squeezed me.
“Good afternoon,” I said to the cart woman. “My friend here was injured and could no longer ride his horse. Twisted ankle.” Fuck, why had I said that? Sharing too many details always showed a lie.
Pip waved. “Hi!” he said. “Beautiful day! Love the turnips!”
The woman nodded, glanced at Periwinkle trailing behind us with the luggage, and urged her ox onward.
The moment the cart rounded the bend behind us, Pip dissolved into helpless, silent laughter that did truly spectacular things to his internal muscles.
“Love the turnips.”
“I panicked!”
“You complimented a stranger’s root vegetables while impaled on my cock.”
“You’re one to talk, making up that weird story about me being injured! I wouldn’t think the famous commander of the Grey Guard would fold under pressure.”
I grabbed his hips in both hands and thrust up into him, which shut him up. He braced himself on the pommel of my saddle and did something sensual and delicious with his hips, his tight passage rocking against my cock with the most tempting rhythm.
What followed was an exercise in discipline.
Mine, not his. Pip had no discipline, and didn’t seem to comprehend the concept of delayed gratification. But I had decades of military training and an iron will and a deep, newly discovered appreciation for watching Pip beg for my cum.
I kept Bram at a walk. The slow, steady rhythm wasn’t enough to build toward anything—a gentle rocking that kept Pip full and stimulated but miles from the edge.
I used my hands on him. His thighs. His stomach.
The line of his hip. I traced the edges of the torn seam, brushing the soft skin of his inner thigh, up under his drawers, to his cock, and when he tried to rock against me more sliding his clenching hole up and down my length, I held his hips still.
“Aeldryc,” he whispered.
“Mm.”
“Please.”
“We have a long ride ahead.”
“How long?”
“Several hours. We might as well enjoy ourselves for most of it, don’t you think?”
He made a sound of such exquisite suffering that I nearly relented. But I was enjoying the constant hum of pleasure in my veins, the sensation of being joined to him, inside him.
I kissed the back of his neck. He shuddered.
“Don’t you want to come, too?” he whined, fighting to bounce faster.
“I do, but you feel good, tight and warm. You are right where you belong, so I do not mind waiting a while.”
“You are the worst person in this realm or any other,” he said, his voice cracked and wrecked. “You are a monster. You are a seven-foot sadist on a horse. I need to come, baby, please.”
“I love it when you call me baby,” I said, rewarding him with a harder thrust.
“I love it when you call me sweetheart.”
“I do not call you sweetheart,” I said, though a flicker of doubt cooled the certainty in my voice. “That would be ridiculous.” He just laughed, a wrecked, raw sound.
“You do,” he insisted. “And you look at me like I’m adorable.”
“I look at you like you’re a collection of holes I want to fuck.”
“Both can be true.” He braced himself on the saddle and started to bounce again, his dancer’s body moving with a sinuous grace I didn’t know was possible, milking my cock with his oiled sheath, until I groaned, and sunk my teeth into his shoulder with the effort of holding back my orgasm.
“Mm, you want to come in me, don’t you, baby?”
The road wound through the hills; I reached for his cock, my strokes slow, teasing him the way he was teasing me.
He begged. He bargained. He threatened to crochet me an ugly sweater. He leaned forward, braced his hands in Bram’s mane and fucked himself on my cock for a good five minutes before I forced him to stop.
“Just let me stay inside you for a minute, sweetheart,” I whispered, and this time, the nickname was intentional.
I kicked Bram into a canter, the smooth motion of the faster stride driving my cock in deep.
The fight went out of him, and he braced his hands on the pommel and shoved himself against me, letting me have complete control.
“You feel so good,” he whimpered as I stroked his cock with my free hand, feeling a little more desperate now that he’d given in.
“Going to come deep inside you, sweetheart.” This time, it was intentional, and he shuddered.
“Oh god. I’m close. Oh fuck.” I gave his cock one last squeeze and he shattered.
He shattered. Bram slowed, ears back, checking on us as Pip shook apart in my lap.
My hand was on him, my cock deep inside, and his inner walls fluttered around me.
I grabbed his hips, driving him down in a few hard thrusts.
His muscles clenched, clamping down with such force that I clutched him close and spilled deep inside him, holding him like he was the only fixed point in a spinning world.
We sat there, breathless, while Bram stood waiting and Periwinkle grazed on the roadside.
“You definitely called me sweetheart.”
I laughed. “That was on purpose.”
He leaned back, breathing hard, and looked up at me, smiling. “I liked it.”
“I’m glad you do, sweetheart.” I held him for a moment, his warmth a comfort against me.
Then, reluctantly, I tucked myself away and shifted him to sit sideways in my lap, kissing the top of his head as I cleaned us with a handkerchief.
He collapsed against me, boneless and spent, and I clicked my tongue and Bram began to canter, carrying us both toward our first stop.
Pip was asleep before we reached the town gates, curled up in a little ball.
His breathing slowed, his body went heavy in my arms, and his hand, which had been resting on my thigh, slipped down to hang at his side.
I held him tightly against me, making sure he didn’t slide, resting my lips against the top of his head and breathing in his comforting scent.