Anya's Raven Ch. 03

Anya swiped the sweat from her brow, the unusual heat of the spring day lingering into the evening. Her stomach grumbled its displeasure. Though she had not eaten since morning, Anya had felt compelled to exert herself, her body flowing through the Forms in stance after stance, her awareness stilling with each posture. But she couldn't completely erase the disquiet she felt.

Her mind shied away from memories of her dream, which had left its resonance even now. What the dream signified, she did not know. Its vividness had not faded with the day, and the years separating her from Raven's presence fell away. Which added to her uneasiness about the night's events.

Since she had broken with her House, Anya had moved very carefully, calculating each action to achieve her plans precisely. She had been driven to destroy Syril, removing the taint of Har'Boken House from this world. If it came to it, her life had been forfeit, well spent in exchange for the countless others who had been twisted and hurt by her father's dealings.

And yet now, she was acting defensively. She had always known she was tethered to Raven somehow, for his effect on her had been plain. But something in her had thrummed to learn of the rare Kujheel, and the bonding of another, the Kujheel'a'ta. Even as her mind had reeled with the implications, another piece of Anya's mind had settled, as if a long-standing puzzle had finally been resolved.

She had become fixated on the possibility of breaking the bond, inquiring discreetly for knowledge from those she had assisted. When she had learned of Valdine, of the woman's own history as a Kujheel'a'ta, she had reacted quickly, seeking the Sister out. Now, Anya wondered at her single-mindedness.

Her blood quickened at an unbidden memory, her last of Raven before she had abandoned her bloodlines. She had been a fortnight before her Rites, a Noble custom for daughters passing their eighteenth year. After a day of celebrations, daughters were prepared for their lives as women, schooled in the arts of love by select partners, ensuring their enthusiasm for marriage by initiating the young women into the pleasures of coupling.

Anya had been furious to find out her father's maneuverings, selecting Raven as her partner for the Rites. It was unheard of, for a family slave to participate, but then all of Syril's actions with Raven had been unorthodox. And when Syril had informed her of his choice, as was tradition for the father, there had been such a look in his eye, as of old machinations finally come to fruition, it had terrified her. Because she had been learning what miseries Syril could instigate for his own ends, and Anya did not feel protected from those miseries by the virtue of his blood in her veins.

She had hated the flush that came to her face when her father had told her, an image of Raven's body unwillingly forming in her thoughts. Syril had noted that as well, and been too pleased with himself. His eyes had roved over her body, and his face had turned ugly, also flushing.

Unable to bear his scrutiny, Anya had fled Syril's presence, turmoil pushing her legs faster until she had reached the far edges of the meadows, some two miles from the House. When her limbs had finally stopped, she had dropped down to the ground, chest heaving. She lay on her back, legs sprawled, eyes fixed on the night sky above her.

Her breathing had barely slowed when she felt him. Raven.

Her eyes drifted closed as a caress whispered over her skin, Raven closing in on her, though he was still some minutes away. Already her mind sensed the stillness that lay in his direction, the easing of the chaos her father had engendered. As her being reached for him, the tension in her body changed, warmth flushing the surface of her skin.

Anya opened her eyes, watching for his approach. What use in fighting it, her mind distantly thought. Have this night, without Syril's agenda.

When Raven came into view, her breath caught, the fire in his eyes scorching her splayed form. He stood over her, his eyes trailing fire along her legs, her breasts, her face.

She could only see half of his face in the moon's light, though his amber eyes caught and reflected the light so that they gleamed down upon her. His face was taut with unchecked desire, and her body pulsed in response with delicious heat. The connection between them blazed to life, fires rushing back and forth with each beat of her blood.

"Open your gown," Raven commanded huskily, no question of her obedience.

Night birds called softly around them as she studied him. Her hands came up slowly, pushing the buttons through their holes, one by one, from the top. Her wrists grazed her nipples as her hands passed over them, the peaked buds tightening under the caress. Raven's eyes followed her hands, until they came to a stop at the top of her legs, where the last button lay.

Of her own accord, Anya drifted her hands back up along the edges of her unbuttoned gown, laying it open as her fingers trailed up her torso. Her breasts stood proudly under his gaze, nipples pearled tightly in the balmy night air.

They watched each other silently, each drinking in the other, and Anya felt herself grow wet and swollen with anticipation.

"Touch yourself," Raven again commanded. The timber of his voice dropped down a notch, striking a chord within her.

Though she hadn't any inclination to do such things for anyone, his command aroused her, and she imagined how he saw her, her dress open brazenly, her hands slowly traveling the surface of her skin. Anya touched lightly around her breasts, circling her nipples before finally succumbing to teasing the hard buds with her fingertips.

A moan escaped her lips at the pleasure that streaked through her, further enhanced by Raven's eyes looking down at her, the bond between them licking fire along her skin. At the sound of her pleasure, the intensity of his amber gaze rose, and she heard the pace of his breath increase.

One of her hands crept down toward her navel as her legs drew up, knees spread wide. Anya pulled the fabric of her dress up, the silken length sliding over her skin until it pooled over her hips, the wetness of her undergarments visible to Raven's smoldering stare.

"Won't you touch me, Raven?" Anya asked.

Raven shook his head as he watched her, ever more intently. "Don't you know that I already touch you?"

With his words, the pulsing in her pussy surged, aching unbearably, as her nipples hardened further, her fingers squeezing involuntarily, wringing another moan from her throat.

His eyes challenged her, though no further command issued from his lips, and her hand drifter further down, brushing lightly over her wet heat.

"Show me, An." His voice now was rough, as uncontrolled as she had ever heard it, and a thrill ran through her to affect him so.

She lifted her bottom as both hands peeled her panties from her hips, legs drawing up so she could pull the garments from her completely. Now bare to his view, her legs settled back to their open position, the fingers of her left hand coming to rest within the slick folds of her pussy, her right coming back to her nipples.

She heard his indrawn breath, and felt his mental touch again as her nipples tightened with unseen pressure. Her fingers slid slowly over her clit, and as pleasure coursed through her, she imagined her fingers rubbing up and down on his cock.

Instantly she felt a backlash of ecstasy, and groaned with the intensity. Raven breathed heavily above her, his hand moving slowly on his erection.

Her fingers slid over her pussy faster, circling around and around her slippery soft flesh, images of Raven's cock burning through her head. She wanted him, wanted him to come inside her, wanted to take him in her mouth until he shuddered his release. Whether the images came from him or her own mind, she wasn't sure, but they fueled her desire, exhilaration shooting through her as her hips rose and fell, her fingers working on her nubbin of pleasure.

Her other hand came down from her breasts, and for the first time ever, she inserted her fingers deep within her pussy. The fullness brought her ever closer to climax, and when she watched Raven's hand, moving in a controlled pace up and down his cock, she felt it thrusting in and out of her, and her world fractured as she came, cries spewing from her mouth.

The connection between them crackled with electricity, and she felt Raven's pleasure with her, though he himself had not climaxed. She breathed heavily, shudders racking her body, her mind drifting in bliss. And then, as always, he cut her off, so that coldness seeped into her where once he had filled her mind.

Though pleasure still clung to her skin, shame crept over her at her actions. Reality closed in on her awareness, and she sat up abruptly, angry tears filling her eyes as she watched him retreating back into the darkness.

Why does he do it? Anya felt sickened to think it was at Syril's prompting, both of them manipulating her this way. The pleasure of her flesh was tempered with the cold wash of betrayal.

It was the betrayal that she brought forth now, as her mind again focused on the present. Though, intertwined as always, was the arousal at the thought of him. Raven. Whose being represented a complication of emotions, not the least of which caused the current hardening of her nipples, and the damp swelling of desire between her legs.

Huffing out a breath, Anya continued toward Valdine's stall, her troubled thoughts furrowing her brow. For all her sudden uncertainty, she had not decided to change her course. Tonight, she would be the one to sever the connection.