The Wellspring Read online

  “Magus Snowden is—attractive?” Yule asked, recalling the long legs she’d glimpsed beyond Prosser’s office door before it closed.

  Sheirienu nodded. “Very much so. She had aspirations of being a fashion model before the real estate bug bit her. Have you seen any of her advertisements?”

  “No, but I thought I saw—” Yule glanced at the sayer and reached for her instincts about the woman, putting aside her petty jealousy of the woman’s beauty and power. She felt this was someone who could be trusted with a confidence so she told her about how she’d met Prosser, the legs behind his office door—and before she realized what she was saying she’d told her the whole story and when she finished Sheirienu laughed.

  “What a marvelous story! I would have dearly loved to see Prosser’s expression at your appearance in his car!” she remarked delightedly. “He’s so seldom surprised by anything, but I’d never have the gall to sneak into his car! Well done, Yule!” she commended heartily. “It’s unfortunate it didn’t happen on a night Marissa coerced him into taking her out, or even more delicious, if she’d been awaiting him at the inn to surprise him. What a marvelous meeting that would have made!”

  “Do you really think so?” Yule asked doubtfully. “I’m not sure I would have enjoyed making an enemy of the ruthless daughter of a ruthless Magus.”

  “She has no claim on him even if she did invite herself to Atlantis for the upcoming weekend gala.” Sheirienu’s amusement faded away. “Nearly two weeks before your surprise visit to the back seat of Prosser’s car she told him she’d fallen in love with some young diplomat and was finished with Prosser.”

  “As I said, I have no idea how I ended up in—” Yule wasn’t allowed to finish.

  Sheirienu waved a hand, dismissing her defense. “To say I was happy to hear about their split would be a serious understatement. And then she sends him a broadcast calling the young diplomat a heartless cad and whatever else it is she said to convince Prosser to allow her to come here. Whatever is it about such women that some men can’t resist, I ask you?”

  Yule shook her head, dismayed at the shared confidences and at being asked her opinion. “I’m afraid I’ve never been that sort of woman so I don’t know how it works.”

  “It’s a good thing you don’t,” the sayer assured her. “You’re too nice a girl for that sort of nasty game.

  “Maybe she’ll meet someone at the gala?” Yule suggested hopefully, internally adding, the gala to which I wasn’t invited, of course.

  “You’re echoing a mantra I’ve been chanting since the bitch sank her claws into Prosser,” Sheirienu admitted.

  Prosser’s pace slowed by then and the women dropped their conversation while Prosser chatted casually with Sheirienu about the upcoming broadcast her would present at the gala. But Yule wasn’t listening to that as she ruminated over her temporary employer. After they returned to the veranda for a light lunch of mangos and mahi-mahi she couldn’t resist scrutinizing Magus Teomond during his distraction of casual banter with Sheirienu. He seemed to possess a split personality: the stoic politician with whom she was acquainted, and the genial everyman who played host at this hearth. It was almost impossible for her to imagine both facets belonged to the sole man. If someone told her he had a twin who pretended to be him while on Atlantis she would have more readily believed the possibility. She couldn’t imagine either of the personalities behaving foolishly over a woman, no matter how incredibly breathtaking she was. On the other hand, she could believe women would behave foolishly over him. She had a hard time believing that Marissa Snowden was as gorgeous as Sheirienu purported although a lot of money and a little magic glamour could transform even the ugliest duckling into a stunning swan, a luxury not afforded to most normals and magically stunted spell-casters.

  However she temporarily forgot the potentially ravishing creature due to arrive in a few days when the subject of magic and spell casting was broached.

  Yule happily avoided participation in the lively debate though she followed the verbal volleys back and forth across the table. Magus Teomond was of the opinion that while spell casting could be taught, innate power must be present for it to have any meaning while Sheirienu argued that a person could be empowered under the right circumstances and with the proper spells so it made sense to instruct even the most latent magic folk in spell-etiquette.

  “What do you think, Yule?” Sheirienu asked suddenly.

  “Really, Sheiri, leave her out of this,” Prosser countered as Yule sputtered on her sip of mango juice.

  “Why? It probably means more to her than it does to us.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t want her magical prowess debated across our lunch,” he said apologetically, Yule thought.

  “Oh, that’s all right, I don’t have any prowess at all, if that helps end my portion of the debate,” Yule inserted lightly.

  Sheirienu laughed at that. “Watch your step, Prosser. She felt the insult in your thoughts just now.”

  “I meant no insult,” he denied this.

  “Your tone implied she was handicapped and that discussing her handicap would offend her somehow, but she embraces her lesser strength and makes up for it with that acidic tongue.”

  “Acidic?” Yule was mollified.

  “Don’t look so chagrined, dear, it’s a compliment,” Sheirienu assured her.

  “Okay,” Yule slowly agreed.

  “And what about my question?” pressed Sheirienu.

  Yule shifted in her seat. “To be perfectly honest... I’m supposed to be on a Retreat right now, but I chose to come here instead because I knew the Retreat would do no more good for me this time than it had any other time,” she admitted uncomfortably.

  “There, you see?” Prosser claimed victory.

  “Yule, what if your Family Grove recovered its power tomorrow? What if all of the forgotten, powered-down Groves were suddenly energized and all of the lesser magic folk were equal to the most powerful Magus?” Sheirienu cast a mischievous glance at Prosser. “Wouldn’t you want them to understand how to manage such power?’

  “But that is an impossible scenario,” Yule politely countered. “No powered-down Grove has ever regained power.”

  “She’s right,” Prosser agreed, but Yule thought he was enjoying needling the sayer more than having her support his position.

  “Simply because it hasn’t happened yet, or we just don’t know about it having happened already, doesn’t mean it can’t happen,” Sheirienu refused to give up her position. “I would think you’d embrace that hope,” she added, this directed toward Yule.

  “I’ve found it’s best to find contentment in my skin the way I am,” Yule told her. “If some miracle occurs I’d embrace it, naturally, but I choose not to spend my time hoping for things that aren’t likely to come to fruition.”

  “Sensible girl,” Prosser commended.

  “A sensible girl wouldn’t fight progress for the sake of a few powered-down Groves,” Sheirienu countered and Yule flinched.

  “Actually, she seemed perfectly sensible about the matter when I suggested a course of concessions between the Reclamation Project and the real estate developers,” Prosser wouldn’t be dissuaded from his assessment.

  "You’re such a politician,” Sheirienu scolded him, but she was smiling. “And you’re stuck with him for three weeks,” she reminded Yule. “I don’t envy you.”

  “Some might,” Prosser retorted, leaning back in his chair.

  Yule smiled at the good-natured insults and sipped her juice thinking she might enjoy the working vacation more than she initially anticipated. After a day of taking notes on easy reader crystals regarding thoughts Sheiri (for Yule now thought of her and called her such), and Prosser bantered back and forth through the afternoon, into evening, and over dinner regarding upcoming political events on the island—and the best strategies with to deal with each—Yule began to realize this would most definitely be a working vacation, but one she anticipated would ultimately bring
satisfaction with the fun.

  Long after Sheiri’s later departure and sleep embraced most of the household, Yule found herself lingering on the veranda, for the gentle evening breeze was soothing, while her airy room only beckoned her to sleep and she wasn’t quite ready for that. A nearly full moon with its rim softened by a buttery glow stood sentry in a sky crowded with stars. The otherworldly sheen cast the jungle in silver and lead while the path to the beach stood out in white relief, beckoning her.

  “None of that,” she scolded the Moon. “I have to get up much too early to play any nocturnal games on the beach. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” She blew a kiss to the glowing disk then hurried inside and up to her room to use the ensorcelled hand mirror to tell Hermes all about the day’s events before falling into bed.

  And in her dream she didn’t deny the call of the Moon.

  She hurried down the wide stone steps from the veranda to the garden and the pea-gravel crunched under her sandaled feet as she ran without caution to the silver beach as if she thought she was expected there. By whom?

  When she saw him waiting for her she didn’t slow her steps, running across the sand and flinging herself into Prosser’s arms, laughing. He hugged her tightly for a moment before lowering her feet to the sand where an errant rush of low water surged over her sandals and she made a surprised, amused sound, dancing back from the water.

  “Allow me?” Prosser knelt before her and gently lifted each of her feet in turn, drawing off the sandals and setting them aside then looking up at her from where he knelt making her breath catch.

  The perpetually slumberous eyes, the eternally enigmatic expression, the countenance of an arrogant aristocrat mixed with almost decadent beauty—How could she resist him? She reached down and grabbed Prosser by the Armani shirt collar with both hands, taking him by surprise. But she could tell by the glint in his eyes that it was a pleased kind of surprise and the Magus conceded to Yule the role of aggressor for the moment, allowing her to pull him back to his feet.

  Yule couldn’t believe her daring as she got on tiptoes to lick Prosser’s neck, nibbling at the bronze skin of his throat before trailing her tongue back up to the wet, waiting lips and kissing, but pulling back when she felt the man beginning to get into it, teasing him.

  Prosser tried again and this time Yule granted him a fraction of a moment of vibrant contact then pulled away again, smiling, unknowing her face was sweetly flushed and her full pink lips were parted in excitement. This was a dream and in her dream she was beautiful and bold—and she could see the determination to have her reflected in this man’s eyes.

  He kissed her, hard, and Yule reacted enthusiastically, pressing herself against the Magus’ broad chest. It was a brutal, bruising, uncivilized kiss that left Yule panting after they parted. This was the best dream she’d ever had, and so realistic! Why had she wanted anyone else when Prosser wanted her so passionately? Had there been someone else? Yule couldn’t recall anyone else and thought it strange for the notion to have crept into her mind.

  They parted, gazing hungrily at each other, and Yule hesitantly reached out to the top button of Prosser’s designer shirt. She undid it carefully, watching the man for any negative reaction, delighted when none showed in his dark eyes. Prosser gazed at her with intense interest about what she planned for him, but his lips hinting at an amused smile. The perpetual dominance always evident in his expression would have scared off a lesser lover, but Yule was determined.

  She quickly undid the rest of the buttons, taking her eyes away from his while focusing her attention on the material under her fingers, but she felt Prosser’s gaze upon her the entire time. Finally she opened his shirt and admired his broad, bronzed chest and the short curls of dark hair evenly peppered there. She glanced up at Prosser, looking for the slightest indication of disapproval, but the man merely gazed down at her with that same arrogance and hint of amusement, unmoving, allowing Yule to push the shirt off his shoulders, off of his body, onto the sand

  Yule fluttered her eyelashes unconsciously, the action coquettish, but also innocent in the unplanned spontaneity of it. She slowly returned her lips to Prosser’s for brief contact of velvety flesh before she began to trek downwards, still looking up into his depthless eyes. And Prosser continued to watch her in silence and without reaction. His silence was deafening, but also empowering. If he wasn’t saying no, he was definitely saying yes.

  She worshipped at the altar of his bare chest with exquisite attention, gently chewing the brown nipples and licking the golden skin. Down and down—until she reached the enticing indent of his navel where her tongue teased for moment before she brought up her hands to unfasten the button fly of the worn blue jeans. She could detect an obvious bulge and was thrilled to see the effect her labors were having on the man. Moving with calculated sloth, Yule unfastened this new row of buttons then spread the supple denim material.

  She heard Prosser bite back a groan when she encountered his stiff erection, unconcealed by boxers or briefs—and she wondered if the Magus always went commando, or only in her dreams. Yule had zero experience with oral sex, but she knew the logistics of it and hoped enthusiasm would make up for lack of skill.

  She licked up and around the length, all along the underside and the head then sucked it into her mouth, surrounding it with warmth and wetness. She felt his hands lower to her head, but while he sank his fingers into her hair, he didn’t pull or push. His hands were guides, directing her when to speed up or slow down, and to warn her when he would instinctively thrust toward the delicious heat of her mouth and the teasing flick of her tongue.

  The sensation of having this man's impressive member (she certainly knew average sizes from reading stories in the trashy magazines Hermes had a habit of reading in the bathroom, and this flesh was not average), in her mouth was better than she ever imagined it might be. Pulling back, her lips clamped tightly and she swirled her tongue around the mushroom-like head. Yule ran her hands up the man’s thighs and decided what she was doing felt even more taboo because he still had on his jeans. She reached up and stroked the glistening shaft with her right hand. The shaft pulsed in her palm and she suckled it back into her mouth until her lips met her hand then her throat rebelled and she choked, drawing back and coughing.

  Prosser’s throaty chuckle didn’t sound angry. “Don’t try to do too much the first time,” he cautioned. “We have all the time there is.”

  Yule leaned back a little to examine the flesh she intended to master. The huge head was aimed straight at her, like a giant’s accusing finger, and it looked angry at having been pulled from the comfort of her mouth. She took the throbbing erection in both of her hands and studied the substantial flesh. The shaft was a little broader than the head, a thick vein running across it at the middle. Her small hand could not close completely around the impatient member; even when she squeezed tightly her thumb and forefinger wouldn’t meet and although her hands rested one atop the other the head and a couple of inches of shaft remained visible. She began to think she might have tried to swallow more than she could, well, swallow.

  Lifting the prodigious member, she looked up at Prosser with a teasing smile and pressed it firmly against the man’s belly. Starting at the base, Yule's tongue tickled along the length of the long shaft, swabbing Prosser’s package until she was flicking the tip of her tongue against the underside of the flared head. Retracing her path, she slid her mouth down until she ended up with her tongue lapping the underside of his impressive member, feeling the man’s entire body involuntarily jerk toward her.

  Yule smiled internally, reminded of a marionette on strings, and she was the one controlling his strings tonight. Opening her pink, swollen lips, she allowed one large, round softness to fall into warm, wet confines of her waiting mouth, suckling gently, rolling it around with her instinctively talented tongue. All the while her small hands stroked the throbbing erection above her head. Prosser groaned and Yule felt giddy with delight when she heard the so
und and felt the man’s knees bend as if they suddenly had to struggle to support him.

  Lust surged through her veins like the tide rushing in around her knees, soaking the bottom of her white cotton sundress. She couldn’t resist the desire to swallow his amazing flesh any longer. She released the part of him she’d taken into her mouth and pulled the thick shaft towards her damp, puffy lips. Taking a deep breath, she slipped the plum sized head over her bottom lip and into her hungry mouth. With uncompromising determination she pushed her head forward and before she realized it, Yule's mouth was pressed up against her right hand, the first four inches entering her mouth with surprising ease! But ahead lay her first real challenge.

  The broad head now lay at the entrance to her throat. She removed both of her small hands from the shaft and placed them on either side of the man's slim, trembling hips. Composing herself for a split second, Yule pushed forward, her desire refusing to be swayed by the task. Boldly grabbing the muscular buttocks of the Magus towering over her, she pulled the man's body towards her. The large head pressed painfully against the opening of her throat and she reflexively tried to swallow. Suddenly she thought she heard an audible popping sound as Prosser lurched forward and his thick member entered the accepting throat of the woman on her knees before him. Yule stretched her mouth as wide as it would go, the corners of her moth threatening to tear, as the remaining inches began sliding past her lips.

  “Yule!” Prosser groaned, and she thought he sounded as choked as she felt.

  Her small mouth was filled to capacity with the thick, pulsing flesh of her newest (didn’t she mean only?) conquest. Focusing her eyes on the man’s taut belly she saw she consumed almost all of the massive instrument. There was only about an inch remaining outside of his eager mouth. With one last effort, she pulled the Magus towards her and swallowed harder, triumphantly feeling the soft, curly hairs of his belly pressing against her nose, his balls against her chin. She’d done what she initially thought to be impossible, burying all seven-and-a-half or eight inches down her throat!