The Huntsman and the Nix Ch. 06

"Stand up," he said, his eyes on her breasts.

She looked down. They were covered. Mostly. With bubbles. "What?" she said.

"It smells like flowers in here," he told her, his voice accusing.

"It's the bubbles," she said, frowning lightly.

"Stand up."

"I don't want to. I'm taking a bath, Sutter."

He didn't take his eyes off of her as he sat down and pulled off his boots, then stood to shed his coat.

She shook her head. "What are you doing?"

Sutter shed his shirt, his undershirt, over the head. "Bubbles," he said, gesturing, his hands going to his buckle, taking off his pistol.

Like he cared. He was too big. "I thought you said we didn't have a lot of time," she pointed out, moving on to her shoulders and neck.

"That was before you decided to get naked and put bubbles all over your wet body," he said, shedding his pants, naked now.

Her eyes dipped and her brows went up.

"Stand up," he repeated.

She wasn't looking at him. "No," she said.

"I found a book in the top drawer of your desk."

She sat up straighter, the water sloshing, her eyes going to his face. "You went through my desk?"

"I'll go get it and read it aloud while you bathe," Sutter said, watching her but moving toward the door.

She surged to her feet. "Don't."

He stopped, looking at her. Well, not at her face. "Turn around," he said, his voice hoarse.

"No," she said.

"Do you always write in longhand?"

When she turned around, she could feel bubbles slipping down over her butt and suspected he was watching them. She protested as Sutter walked toward her, huge in this space, getting intoher bath, stomping into it, the big oaf, hair and all chest and big arms and his sex getting hard, crowding her. He reached for her, his hands everywhere, on her belly, her thighs, her breasts, her butt, like he was taking inventory, her skin slippery.

Sutter--" she protested, trying to slow his hands, wiggling. "Don't."

He ignored her, as usual, and got even closer. He bent, kissing her the way he did, a twinge going between her legs and then a sinking wave. Isobet did like it when Sutter kissed her. She went still and then she relaxed, liking this, kissing him back, her nipples touching his chest. Her hands went into his hair. Yes, this was good.

He drew back. "Take your bath, killer. I won't interrupt."

Stepping back, he reached for the soap, beginning to wash himself.

A little surprised, Sutter being civilized, she reached for her hair soap, the familiar smell, which she had to rub around, which she now noticed made her breasts rise and jiggle, more suds and bubbles, Sutter's eyes never leaving them. Rinsing with the attached nozzle, she put soap on her hands and cleaned all over, her breasts and between her legs, her belly and butt. He took the nozel when she handed it to him and rinsed a little absently, still watching her.

"I'm almost done," she said, a hint that he could go.

"I agree," he said.

When she was clean, she pushed her hair back and moved past him and got out. He also exited the bath, coming behind her as she reached for a towel. He took it from her.

"What are you doing?" she said, reaching for it as he twitched it out of her reach. "I need to dry off. I'll get cold."

"No, you won't," he said, advancing on her, Isobet backing out of the door and into the bedroom, both of them naked. His face had that look on it. "You do know I thought you were dead, right?"

She glanced behind herself. "I wasn't, though."

"I told you to be careful."

"I was careful. There was a ground shake. It wasn't my fault."

"I told you to be more careful," he insisted.

"What's your point, Sutter?" she said, her voice sharp.

He stopped and slowly smiled at her. She went still. When he burst toward her, Isobet shrieked, running, going in a large circle, forming a plan, trying to get back to the bathing room to lock the door.

She felt him right behind her and put on speed, but there were too many things in the way, pillows on the floor, clothing, and he got her from behind, lifting her, Isobet yelling and arching.

"People are going to think I'm murdering you," he grunted.

"Like they care," she panted as he dragged her to the bed, Isobet hanging on to anything, managing to wrap a hand around the poster, Sutter tickling her, Isobet laughing, entirely unfair.

He threw her onto the bed. Isobet smacked at his head, Sutter ducking, both of them slippery and naked. She felt something on her wrist. Rope. Where had he gotten rope? His pack, she realized, and he'd planned this. "No!" she cried as he brought one wrist to a post and wrapped it, and then the other, her arms out from her body. "Don't, Sutter."

She couldn't move her hands as he pulled it tight and went down to her legs. Isobet kicked at him, grunting with effort, catching him in the ribs, but only a glancing blow, not at all what she'd intended. Sutter grinned at her and use his weight to still them. He got the rope around her ankle, securing it and getting her other leg.

When he was done, they were both panting and she was tied, her arms and legs spread.

She arched, but the bonds were too strong. "Let me go, Sutter."

He didn't answer, reaching out to touch her belly, his fingers going lightly around her navel. She rocked, unable to get to him, and yelled through her teeth. Then he held something up, leaning forward and putting it over her eyes so she couldn't see.

She tensed when he tied it, going still. When he touched her hip, she startled.

"Easy, killer," he said, his hands gentle and warm, keeping contact with her, touching her legs, her hips and belly. "You're safe."

She slowly relaxed and went still, her face turning to Sutter, listening. His fingers were running up her leg, a light touch that made her skin tingle, more sensitive, somehow, because she couldn't see. The next touch came between her breasts and then down over her belly. He kept touching her and now she wasn't thinking about anything but the fact that she didn't know where his hand was going to go next. He touched her inner thigh and a deep twinge went through her sex.

His hands felt good. He was touching her other thigh now, still light, Isobet holding her breath as he moved inward.

She gave a soft cry when he licked her nipple, no warning, sucking and tugging, going from one to the other, her hips squirming. He stopped and leaned down close to her ear. "I've thought about having you bound under me so many times, killer," he said, nuzzling her, his hand going between her legs but still trailing on her inner thigh. "Just let me do what I want."

"All right," she said.

He leaned down and kissed her, strange because she couldn't touch him back. His mouth moved down to her nipples again, and now he wasn't as gentle. She winced as he tugged harder, wincing again, the pain sending a wave through her as he went to the other.

By the time his fingers got to her sex, which took forever, she was twinging and aching and her nipples were hot and painful and pleasurable all at once as she offered them, her sex pulsing against his fingers. Sutter stroked between her legs, her pleasure building. It reached that exquisite point, tingling. That was what she wanted.

He stopped. She couldn't hear him, couldn't see him. He wasn't touching her anymore. Her body was tense, her sex sensitive, her nipples throbbing.

When she felt it, it took her a moment and then she realized he was licking her thigh, moving inward. That was good. She liked that idea. His tongue finally made it where she wanted, taking so long. She cried out when he licked her clitoris, straining, meeting his mouth.

Her pleasure rising sharply, she moved as much as she could. He drew back and pushed a finger inside her, and then two, curling them, returning to lick her. She tensed, her thighs shaking, and he pulled his fingers away gently and was gone.

A deep ache went through her sex, a sharp twinge. "Sutter," she said.

He didn't answer, but there was a touch on her ankle, his hands there on the rope. She thought he was taking them off, but he only loosened them, and then she felt the bed dip and his hands were at her hips, spreading her legs, lifting her lower body onto his knees.

His sex was there, pressing, relentless, penetrating her. Sutter grunted and began to thrust. Isobet couldn't meet him. She could only lie there, feeling it. He varied his strokes, not enough, and then she felt his fingers come and spread her sex, his thumb on her clitoris.

Dimly hearing the noises she was making, Isobet arched, trying to get closer, his thrusts slow and deep, his fingers all over her sex, her pleasure coming fast. She strained and his fingers left her. She couldn't reach her pleasure, his thrusts deep, too slow. "Sutter, please."

He began to increase his speed, Isobet meeting him. She was sweaty and loud and needy. He couldn't stop now. It felt too good. She was going to come and he stopped, Isobet crying out, feeling him shudder over her.

She whimpered when he sat back, still in her, Isobet jerking and squirming, trying to encourage him. His fingers were on her nipples, the noises she was making truly obscene and she didn't care at all. He kissed her, Isobet going still, answering him, trying to tell him.

He broke it. "I know, baby," he breathed, moving in her again, the feelings coming back right away.

Her lower body was raised on his thighs, her legs spread. She agreed when he spread her again, touching her sex lightly, small circles with his thumb. The pleasure was climbing again, faster this time.

He stopped, pulling out of her. She cried out sharply, her hips rising off the bed, losing all sense of herself. His mouth was on her sex again, his tongue, touching her too lightly, her sex burning, twinging, his mouth moving to her nipples.

His hands were on her feet, untying one of them. He lifted her free foot high, bending her knee slightly, resting her foot on his shoulder, she realized, turning her lower body away from himself, her legs spread. His hand was a band around her ankle as he slowly penetrated her again. With his free hand, he touched her sex. She was close. She was so close.

He smacked her spread sex lightly, a stinging slap, and she didn't care at all, liking it. As long as he continued to have sex with her. As long as he didn't stop. He spanked her there harder, Isobet jerking and grunting, feeling her sex strain. They felt good and it hurt and it felt even better for it. She was going to come.

He stopped. She was on an edge, quivering she was so close. If only he would do something, anything, it would take her over. She was wet everywhere, her sex and thighs, under her on the bed. He pulled out of her. She hadn't even been hearing herself, but she heard the sound she made when he did that.

He shifted his sex and began to press.

Isobet went quiet, tensing. "What are you doing?"

"What I want," he said, his voice deep and full of need, making her sex spasm. "Just let me do it, killer." He grunted, the head of his sex slipped into her, too big, Sutter holding her leg up still.

"No," she said, wiggling, tensing more.

His fingers found her sex, his thumb stroking her clitoris, such a relief, his fingers entering her passage while he was entering her lower. She suddenly absolutely didn't care, meeting him, relaxing as he rocked into her, opening her a little more with each slow thrust.

"Yes," she said, because it felt strange, but it also felt good, good like nothing she'd ever felt before. She gave a small grunt, settling in. He was almost all the way inside her now, his fingers in her passage, his thumb rubbing her sex, all the sensations so pleasurable that she keened with it.

"Fuck, Isobet," he said, his voice tight.

"Don't stop," she begged him. "Please don't stop, don't stop, Sutter, please."

Then he was all the way in her and thrusting sharply.

She made room for him. Almost there. It was coming. Her pleasure was coming. "Sutter," she breathed.

His hips were jerking sharply, grunting with every thrust. "You're so sexy," he said.

The wave was huge, building slow and inevitable, going higher, and then higher, taking her with it, his sex and his fingers and all of her filled and she couldn't think. Isobet locked, unable to breathe. Then it was going up more, cresting, and if he stopped now she'd go mad, but he didn't.

She took a breath and bloomed into pleasure, crying out again and again.

His motions were urgent, his hand on her ankle tight, his rough thrusts making it worse. It was still building, not at the peak yet.

She writhed, her breath choking out, whimpering. "More," she got out. "More, Sutter." Straining, she heard him hiss. She couldn't move, the pleasure still on her, almost too much. Whining, she released, a series of long and deep spasms, satisfying, getting her breath and making a lower, long sound, shuddering and doing it again.

He went rigid against her, crying out, his sex moving deep in her.

She was finally relaxing, panting hard, getting her breath. Isobet slowly went still, but she was still twinging around his sex, little shocks. His hand withdrew, slowing her down, gentle, lowering her knee. She could not catch her breath.

It felt strange when he pulled out. She shivered as he went to work on her wrists, the rubbing feeling good, and then her ankle, finally pulling the blindfold off.

She turned on her side facing him but didn't open her eyes yet. Feeling him collapse onto the bed beside her, she blinked her eyes open. Sutter had turned on his side toward her, watching her, his head propped on his hand. Her limbs had no bones in them.

Isobet had to do it. Turning onto her back, she arched, all of her moving. She hadn't been warm enough to do this in too long. The heat of the bath, the pleasure. She stretched until she couldn't anymore, her muscles practically creaking.

When she was finally done, her eyes opened and she focused on him. Sutter was watching her. She felt truly warm. And sweaty. And--Isobet pushed at him and sat up quickly, scooting off the bed, running into the bathroom and closing the door, getting back in the bath, which was still hot, which still had bubbles, and cleaned herself.

Like before, he came straight in. He didn't stop, Sutter getting into the bath with her and sitting, reaching for her and pulling her onto himself, their skin slippery.

When they were done, she dried off and went to the bed and lay down, pulling a pillow in front of herself and hugging it, watching him get dressed. Her butt felt strange. He walked to the bed and his hand came, warm, running down to her waist and over her hip.

"Get dressed, killer. Bring your flute. It's time to go," he said.

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm hungry."

"I have some leftover--"

"No," she said, sitting up, pulling the blanket in front of herself and frowning at him. "I want real food."

"You're very beautiful. What's real food?"

"Food with more than one ingredient in the same bite, Sutter," she said.

"And there's the stare. By 'real food,' you mean food you didn't pick or dig for or hunt or prepare yourself," he said. "I'll take you to the finest restaurant in Atelone the moment we get there, Isobet, but until then, it's going to have to be smoked oola meat and tubers."

"Can you even hear how that sounds?" she accused.

"How what sounds?" he said.

She studied him, but he wasn't giving her any clues. "Did you find my pack?" she said.

"If you can call it that."

"What's wrong with my pack?"

"Nothing, for a day hike in a field of flowers," he sneered. "I've got everything all ready. It's right there on the chair."

She looked, rising to get the pack and bring it into the bathing room. A moment later, she came out in a towel, going to her drawers, opening one and picking out clean underwear, undershirts, a whole bunch of them. Sutter made a face and she walked back into the bathing room, shooting him a look. He hadn't included any in her pack.

A few moments later, she came out dressed, layers of it, feeling clean, in her own clothing, pants and a shirt, fresh underwear, her hair brushed and her pack, walking to get her flute, putting the strap over her shoulder.

Getting the book out of the top drawer of her desk, shooting him another glance, she shoved it under the mattress. "I want to go somewhere before we leave," she said. "I promise it'll be fast."

"As fast as you getting dressed?" he said.

"Faster."

"That wouldn't be difficult. Where?"

"The kitchens."

* * *

[Sutter]

Isobet was hiking in front of him with that ridiculous little pack, truly alarming colors, visible from miles away. He predicted it wouldn't last a day. He liked her pants, though. Her round butt was his favorite walking scenery. And her tits, her roundness and she was soft and her smell. And the bubbles that had done that slowly-melting-off-of-her thing and then, of course, down went the small towel onto the tile floor, the toes pointing, the hands up, careless balance.

She'd like being tied, and she'd really liked taking him in her ass.

In the kitchens, she'd stuffed her pockets and then his pockets and then found a large bag and filled it with food from the kitchens at the Big House. Breads and curds, meats, some kind of sausage and a grain called velia, all imports from Corsa, and a thick paste that was sweet, a nutty tang. Dried fruit. Little muffins, fuck's sake. As they walked, she ate. He'd had no idea that someone so small could eat so much.

#

When they caught up with Jaunt and the Nix on the third day, in the afternoon, everyone used it as an excuse to stop for the day, at which point Isobet broke out her bag and it became a party, the Nix sucking down whatever came their way.

They noticed that Isobet had brought her flute back, and after that, all the Nix men sat back with their hands behind their heads and smiled, listening.

"Hey, do you remember this one? It goes like this," Ero said, humming, his voice surprisingly true, the other Nix joining in.

Isobet nodded. "Yes, it's from Odian. It's called The Huntsman's Reel."

"I know that one," Sutter said, nodding.

"Play that one next, Isobet," Miter said.

Sutter listened. She was good. Detuthian flutes had been thin, bright instruments for happy songs, more whistles, really, not the mournful low voice of her flute.

When the song was done, she looked around. "I know songs from all over the system," she said. "Is there something you'd like to hear?"

"Do you know anything from Detuth?" Sutter said.

"Yes. I know 'Chione of the Briar,' and 'The Heart of the Fairest Maid,' and 'I'm Wishing.'"

He nodded. "I remember those."

"Would you like to hear them?"

He shook his head, smiling at her. "Do you know any songs from Siclia?"

She made a small face. "I do, although they're very difficult."

He rose and found two sticks and sat, the rock in front of him. He began the complicated rhythm, clattering, Isobet listening, her foot tapping, and then she joined in. Sutter went faster. He hadn't played since he'd left Siclia when he was seventeen, but his body remembered.

#

"How the fuck did you get other people out here?" Jaunt asked Rab after Isobet had put her flute away and everyone had eaten everything.

Miter was napping, as usual, his huge arms crossed, his chin on his chest, deep breathing.

Rab shrugged. "We left during the war, when we could get off this moon, although Miter made his way back here later with Presha. Ulen already knew Seth, who was an institute guard. They fell in love. Seth was our person on the inside at the institute. He helped the three of us--Miter, Ulen, and me--to escape. We asked Seth to stay in case we needed him, even though he hated it there. We lived out here for almost a year on our own. We were surviving, but none of us thought it was a life."