Chapter 9 Portarius
Portarius
We have been on the road for a few hours now.
I keep telling myself we will stop to break bread around the next bend …
Over the next bridge … Past the next tree, but I can't bear the absence of her body pressed against mine.
Now that she has slept in my arms and shows no signs of torturing her soul with uncontrollable screaming …
I can let myself want her. My arm has remained firmly around her waist since we got on Equina, and I lean back, still holding onto her, my hard cock painfully pushing into her back.
Rifling through my saddle bag, I grab one of the food bundles and place it in her delicate hands.
“You must eat, however, I do not wish to stop. We make good time.”
Her hands scramble to hold onto the bundle as I lift and turn her to face me.
Putting her back down with her legs overlapping mine.
The shirt she wears rides up, exposing more of her creamy thighs, and I can only imagine how spread her forbidden centre is.
The sacred fruit of a woman is to be worshipped but also something I have only read about in books.
I wonder if she will let me touch it. To know what she tastes like would be a fantasy come to life.
“Easy, not so fast!” she yelps, my senses ripped from the brief yet priceless daydream. I will mourn its loss. “My hips are killing me. Sitting in the same position for so long is no joke.”
She winces, and I silently curse myself for being so thoughtless.
“I'm sorry, Emmie. I do not get sore after riding. Let me help you.” I press my thumbs and fingers into her tight muscles.
“I will not allow your hips to kill you,” I rasp, watching her eyes roll back.
She releases a throaty groan as I press into her hips.
Her scent shifting ever so slightly, her citrus notes becoming sugared.
Rolling her hips, I study her face, noting her lips parting, a silent whine leaving her mouth.
My hands easily circle her waist and I drag my thumbs a little lower, past the area where undergarments would usually be worn.
Dipping low enough to touch the saddle, I slowly rub them back and forward along the joint.
I can feel the softness of her apex, careful not to overstep but desperately wanting to move the fabric of my shirt that covers her.
I watch her hungrily, committing every sound to memory as I touch her.
“Keep doing that.” Her voice breathy, her face relaxed.
She grasps onto my forearm, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, and I want to be the one to tug it free, but I dare not stop the kneading of her flesh.
I move my thumb, extending it less than a centimetre when small whimpers escape her.
My hands continuing to roll her hips as I massage them.
Her face scrunches, and her body trembles, the grip on my arm tightening until her shoulders sag and she hangs her head, silently panting.
“I will need you to feed me if we continue to ride like this,” I say, a smirk fighting its way onto my face.
Pleased that I have made her feel good. More pleased that her body will stay plastered against mine.
I'm not entirely sure what just happened, but I know she was not in pain despite her increased breathing.
Her head rolls back, a contented sigh and dazed look in her eyes.
Sweet nectar surrounds us, and I lean my head closer to hers and nod down at the wrapped bundle in her hands.
My hands work their way further under her plush cheeks, and with only my oversized shirt swamping her tiny figure, I let myself think for a brief second what it would feel like to truly touch her.
To have her spread out underneath me, her honey coloured hair fanning out.
Her pale skin coming alive under my fingers.
She would whimper for my touch, beg for it.
Until her legs would spread welcoming me into her. Bonding us together.
My cock strains against the fabric of my pants, an unmistakable bulge pressing against my stomach. Her fingers unravel the string wrapped cloth, and she breaks off a chunk of cheese before nibbling on the corner.
“Place that piece in my mouth,” I instruct her.
She looks down at the large piece in her hand and moves to lift it when I stop her.
“Not that one, I want the piece you have tasted.” She is quick to blush, my sweet Emmie, and I like to watch the colour flood her chest, her neck.
Bringing the chunk to my lips, I can smell her essence on it, taste her.
Savouring every morsel as it passes into my mouth.
She stares, entranced by my actions as I chew and swallow.
I see every micro emotion that passes her face under the bright glare of the red sun.
“Now the bread,” I say, softly. She repeats the same action as the cheese.
Tearing a piece, then taking a bite for herself before placing the rest in my waiting mouth.
It feels taboo, and I relish every second of it.
Usually, the people of this realm do not interact with me, and if I am true to myself, I am starved for companionship.
Other than the Ananea, the last visitor I had was a lost traveller who yelled at me from across the Gate, a pathetic thing.
Vagrants stay away because they know who I am and the power I wield.
Leaving my only conversations limited to the few monsters in the village who do not fear me.
Even then, I travel as minimally as possible.
Today's visit, though, I will be proud to ride into Inferloch with Emmie.
She is a prized beauty who should be revered and protected.
We continue to ride like this until all of the food has been consumed, and I reluctantly turn her around, facing forward again.
My fingers are drawn to her hair, and I unravel the braid she plaited earlier.
She looks over her shoulder inquisitively, a single brow raised, trying to figure out what I’m doing.
Her cheeks still flush from the relief I provided.
An ache in my chest as the connection between us grows.
I wonder if she feels the sparks when we touch, the unmistakable flare of our bond igniting.
My father taught me the intricate art of weaving hair, and after I left our family home, I had no one but Equina to practice on.
Her hair is silken, my fingers gently combing it as she sits quietly.
She is not aware of how intimate this gesture is.
That this is the mark of two lovers. Something I might do for her in the future if what I suspect of occurring between us is true.
Unclasping some of the brass jewellery that adorns my hair, I begin to plait and tie hers, intent on giving her the functional style of female Gatekeepers.
It was important to my father to be proficient in all the patterns and their meanings.
“I think I asked the Gate to open when I was in Hallowed Springs … Well, maybe not ask, but I wanted something to happen. I was trying to capture a ghost or a demon on camera, and I think all I managed to do was film my death.” Her head looks forward as she talks, staring at the fields that change into denser patches of forest. The sound of the river gurgling up ahead.
“Ahh, I had wondered what happened. Often, people stumble into a Gate unknowingly.
They might need to escape what's happening around them, or they could willingly search for it like you did. The main thing is, all Gates feel this need from the person to open. Sometimes it is quick and other times it is a slow tease where the person comes back multiple times, drawn to the same spot, but they do not know why.”
Securing the final plait, there is an intricate pattern of warrior and consort all woven into one. Her hair will be easier to manage like this. She runs her hands over her head, feeling what I have created, then turns and gives me a shy smile.
“Thank you. I wish I had a mirror to see it,” she says, peering at me through her lashes. “Do you think it looks okay on me?”
Puffing my chest, I proudly state, “You look as if you belong by my side. I practice on Equina to keep my skills refined, and she is just as beautiful.”
“Did you just compare me to a horse?” Her eyes wide with bewilderment.
Equina lets out a loud snort, shaking her head, vibrations flowing down her body.
Emmie leans forward, rubbing her hand over Equina's mane, grazing her fingers over the intricate braids, whispering, “I’m sorry, girl, you are beautiful. It’s not every day I'm compared to a horse is all, it’s a me problem, not a we problem.
” Smiling back at me, she reaches for my hand, clasping her fingers around my thumb, tugging it gently.
Resting my hand around her waist as she leans back into me, and I let out a sigh of relief.
I did not realise it would cause offence to be compared to such a fine beast as Equina, but I will choose another thing of beauty next time I compliment her. Perhaps the sirens of Realm Two?
“Emmie, I must tell you a small secret of Hell. You said you wanted to capture a ghost, and I'm sorry to say, they do not exist. At least your version of them. The things that are said to be haunted, or the times people believe a poltergeist threw something…”
She twists her body, trying to look at me, and I regret saying anything because I want her tiny softness pressed against me again.
“What do you mean? If they aren't ghosts, then what are they?
There's so much research on them. How do you think I even found the Gate at all?” Her hands move as she talks, animated gestures as her passion shines through.
“Legends and myths talk about the Gates existence, and what do you know, it exists,” she says earnestly, and I'm sure from her understanding, it makes sense.
“It is a service offered in all the realms, a fun pastime, really.
If you are a creature of sound mind and not a damned, then you can send curses.
For a large enough trade, you could even curse an entire building for centuries.
It could be something simple, like causing someone to trip over.
Or it could be an incessant attack on their whole existence.
But, I always get a chuckle when someone stubs their toe.
It's just a game we like to play in the Realms,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.
Her mouth is open as she stares at me, a silent pause as she gathers her thoughts. Perhaps I have said something wrong. Do her people not enjoy such a game?
“Can we do it when we get to the village?”
“You want to curse someone?” I ask, thrilled at the idea of us cursing someone together. “Tell me Emmie, whose crops do you hope get blight? Whose chickens stop laying? A good curse could be for their butter to never churn,” I say, smiling at such an inconvenience.
“I think we need to refresh some of your curses. Modernise them a bit,” she says, chuckling, reaching back to pat my thigh in pity.
I do not take offence, as I would give her a thousand inconvenient curses if she would touch me for them.
“I mean, I don't want their house to burn down, but there's an ex-boyfriend who cheated on me that I wouldn't mind getting a flat tyre. What are the rules?”
Pulling her closer into my chest, I do not like that she was hurt, ever. I may seek the trade price to deal a true punishment for the man who dared to hurt my sweet Emmie.
“I promise we will find a curse appropriate for his wrongdoings. It would be wise to think of all who have wronged you. We can make it a ritual each time we return to the village.” I growl into her ear, not quite able to hide the anger in my voice.
“You would come back to the village with me?” She questions bashfully, her fingers playing with mine absentmindedly.
“I will stay with you for eternity if it would make you happy. You can have a future here. All you must do is claim it.” Maybe you could even claim me.