Babylon Steel by Gaie Sebold Read Free Book Online

– and I looked at it regretfully, thinking how much better that colour would look on Laney. The second... the second was a rich tawny banded with dark amber. Colours I’d once loved. Fortunately he was looking at it, not at me, and I had my face under control before he turned around.
    He liked to draw the silk across my skin, and have it wrapped around his cock and his thighs; sometimes he liked to have his hands or ankles tied with it. Luckily, he never asked to tie me up; I don’t do that.
    It was obvious he had something on his mind, so I took things slowly, but not so slowly he’d have time to start thinking again. I licked and nibbled and generally teased him gently out of his reverie until he lay back, his eyes shut, biting his lip as I stroked his shivering cock through the pink-and-gold silk (I’d got the tawny out of sight as soon as he was beyond noticing, so as not to distract myself.) I flicked the silk away from him, rolled on the snakeskin sheath he prefers and eased myself on top. He slid home. The sensation made me smile, as it always does. I tightened up and grinned when he gasped.
    One thing about keeping in fight training, it’s good for the thigh muscles. I was able to keep him on the blissful edge for some time; feeling his tight, hard plunge, holding myself back too, then when it felt right, speeding up, pushing him on.
    I felt him strain upwards, and he clasped my hips and shuddered, his eyes clenched tight, making a little moan in the back of his throat. I pressed down hard against him, leaning forward, feeling the sweet jab of my own pleasure spiral up through me.
    It doesn’t always happen, with clients; some are too much work, or too nervous, or too quick. Some just don’t have the touch. And sometimes, it just doesn’t happen. But it’s always nice when it does.
    We both sighed, let our breath out together.
    After a decent interval, I put on a robe, and poured us both a glass of delicate pale yellow wine from the Lathar mountains; his own gift last visit, and very good.
    “Ah. Thank you.” He raised the glass. “That was, as always, a delight.”
    “I’m glad,” I said. “I thought, when you arrived, that perhaps something was troubling you, but I’m glad to see I was wrong.” I hadn’t actually guessed, until we were in bed, but it’s never wise to suggest to a client (or anyone else) that their performance is off.
    He gave me a quizzical look. “You were right, I was a little distracted. Children, sometimes, are a worry.”
    “Your son?”
    “He is a very moody young man,” Antheran said. “He says he is not interested in trade. Over and again, I tell him, without trade there will be no silk robes, no servants, no books. And no clean pretty girls, or boys, in a nice safe house where one will not be robbed. Only an old castle, very draughty, and all the effort of maintaining the appearance of nobility with nothing beneath it; like those painted scenes in the theatre.”
    “And it’s necessary to maintain the appearance?”
    “In the Empire, yes. It is a relief, sometimes, to come to Scalentine. Here one may be what one wishes, without people caring whether one was born in a mud hut or a palace.”
    “Some care.”
    “Oh, yes; this is true. I dine with them. This is not always a pleasure. But then I must on occasion do business with those who I do not necessarily like. Or trust.”
    “Perhaps, my lord, you should take a long spoon.”
    “A long...?” He looked bemused.
    “There’s an old saying; ‘If you dine with the devil, you should take a long spoon,’” I said. “As in, keep your wits about you when doing business with those you don’t trust.”
    “Indeed. But here, I know I can be at ease.”
    I smiled. “And what does your son think of it all?”
    “He wants to be a poet!” Antheran shook his head, making the little crystals hanging from his ears spark in the lamplight.
    “A lot of youngsters catch poetry, my lord; like a cold. Most of them get