Ardor's Leveche

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Ardor’s Leveche

ISBN # 1-4199-0245-8

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Ardor’s Leveche Copyright© 2005 Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Edited by: Mary Moran.

Cover art by Niki Browning

Electronic book Publication: October 2005

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Warning:

The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers.
Ardor’s Leveche
has been rated S-ensuous by a minimum of three independent reviewers.

Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme).

S-
ensuous
love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

E-
rotic
love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as

“fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.

X-
treme
titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

ARDOR’S LEVECHE

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

He was the most accomplished lover she had discovered to date, Ardor thought as she lay there enjoying the skilled mouth of her Iodálach partner. His tongue was downright wicked as it traveled the peaks and valleys of her cunt. Sweet, little sucking sounds accompanied a pair of lips that were electrifying and tantalizing, their dual abilities wreaking havoc on her ability to remain still beneath his ardent ministrations.

She wriggled her hips and his fingers immediately tightened on the lush expanse of her rump to hold her immobile. His face was buried between her legs, that marvelous tongue darting here and there—lapping, slurping, weaving magic that had her sighing with contentment. Feeling weightless, boneless, she lay there unable to prevent him from torturing her tender privates in the most expert of ways.

Idly, she threaded her fingers through the thick, pale blond hair that flowed down his shoulders nearly to his waist. That mane fell over her hips and along her thighs like a battle cape, marking him as a High Warrior among the WindWarrior Society. An expert with sword and shield and dagger, he was a master with his rapier-like tongue and stiff upper lip.

And, oh, could that lip work wonders on her genitals, she thought as he anchored the hood of her clitoris with its fullness, peeling that petal of skin back from her pearly flower so he could run his tongue along the dewy center.

“Sweet Merciful Alel, Kurt,” she whispered. “You are killing me!”

Laughter rumbled low in his throat and he pulled one hand from beneath her and slid it between her legs where one strong, rigid finger slithering into her moist cavern like a ghoret viper into its snake pit.

Ardor arched her back for he was gently twisting his finger inside her, withdrawing it an inch or two, then thrusting it deeply with each entry, still symbolically screwing her as he went. She heard herself panting as he worked his sumptuous enchantment within her moistness.

“You evil man,” she accused.

He pulled his finger out of her, lifted his head and with his eyes holding hers, put the wet digit into his mouth and sucked upon it as though it was a piece of candy.

Swallowing, he ran his tongue along his lips and grinned before lowering his head to her hot box once more.

“You’re killing me!” she said again as tiny waves of pleasure began to wash upon the shores of her passion.

She gasped as her lover slid his body over hers, nudged her knees aside and placed the heat of his cock against her entrance.

4

Ardor’s Leveche

“Shall I finish the kill, my love?” he asked, pressing the tip of his fleshy weapon just inside her love channel.

Ardor lifted her legs and captured his lean hips, pulling him further into her cunt.

The size of him, the weight of his brawny body and the silk of his long hair dragging over her breasts caused a tidal wave of desire to break over her. Her fingers dug into the rippling muscles of his back, trapping him, and she arched up to meet his extended length.

“Do your worst, warrior,” she said through clenched teeth.

Her lover chuckled and began pistoning into and out of her with powerful strokes that rocked them against the soft mattress. Their bodies were slick with sweat and the combined ooze of their juices, and as lust curled over them, he stilled, pushing into her as far as his cock would go so she could feel the jerk of his shaft inside her.

Ardor gripped her warrior tightly, her own contractions squeezing around him as the last spurt of his cum shot deeply within her. She gloried in the feel of his weighty body slumping against her and withdrew her legs from around him, stretching out beneath him so she could feel every wondrous ounce of his powerful frame atop her.

He lay cradled in her arms, his cheek on her breast and the warmth of his labored breathing fanning across her nipple.

“I love you, Ardor,” he said, flicking out his tongue to taste a turgid nipple.

Ardor frowned, for love words were not what she wanted to hear from the man lying atop her. He was not only her superior officer, he was recently divorced from his wife of twenty-six years—married almost as long as Ardor had been alive. A powerful man, a man only one step away from the highest position in Command. She knew her fellow officers would believe she was sleeping with him to further her career—nothing being farther from the truth.

As though he did not notice she had not returned his words of affection, he sighed, reaching up to twirl a lock of her chestnut hair around his index finger. “I’m going to miss you while you’re on leave.” He sighed again. “If only I could take some time off myself to go with you.”

Alarm spread through Ardor, for she realized things were getting out of hand with Kurt. She would need to address the situation when she returned at the end of month.

Although he was a more than adequate lover, she had no desire for anything permanent and her gut told her that was where this was heading in her lover’s mind.

“Have you heard anything about my transfer?” she asked.

“Not a thing,” he said, too quickly.

Frowning, Ardor stared into the dim lighting. She had put in for a transfer six months earlier—when things began heating up with Kurt. Instinct had warned her to cool the situation down, but it seemed to her it was now to the point of boiling.

“Would you check into it with the general while I’m gone?” she asked.

5

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

There was a moment’s hesitation and Ardor realized a lie was about to be handed her.

“Will do,” he said, then lifted his head to look into her eyes. “But for now, let’s make the most of the time we’ve got before you head off to that much-deserved R&R.”

Before she could decline his offer, he had ducked his head and claimed her nipple, sucking it deeply into his mouth as his teeth and tongue began torturing the pebbly flesh.

6

Ardor’s Leveche

Captain Ardor Kahn checked her appearance in the mirror, straightened her gray uniform tunic, smoothed down a few stay wisps of chestnut hair, pinched her thumb and forefinger at the corners of her mouth to make sure her lipstick hadn’t caked there, and then leaned over to make sure her boots held an appropriate shine. All in all, she was as squeaky clean and razor-sharp as she could be. After one final once-over, she took a deep breath and left her quarters.

No one was waiting at the elevator and the cage was empty when the pneumatic doors snicked open. Relieved to ride up to the eighteenth floor alone, Ardor used the solitude to try to imagine why General Morrison had pulled her off R&R only two days into her thirty-day leave.

“Captain, I’m so sorry to interrupt your leave,” Miriam Quillan, the general’s secretary had apologized, “but he wants you to return to Command Center ASAP.”

Ardor had groaned inwardly while trying to gauge the level of grief in Miriam’s pleasant voice. Although she had expressed her sympathies to Miriam at the loss of her husband over a year earlier, she wondered if it would be appropriate to extend those feelings again. She never knew exactly what to do in situations such as that.

“Can you tell me what’s up?” Ardor asked, deciding Miriam’s tone did not warrant another reminder of what the young woman had lost.

“He would rather tell you himself,” Miriam replied.

“Okay,” Ardor said on a long breath. “I’ll head back to Central right away.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Miriam said, “and thank you again for the condolence card.”

Before Ardor could reply, the secretary had ended the Vid-Com transmission, leaving the Riezell Guardian breathing a sigh of relief that she hadn’t repeated her words of sympathy.

Getting off the elevator, Ardor headed for the two phospho lance-wielding guards who snapped to attention as she came toward them.

“At ease, men,” she ordered and smiled at the two guards who reverted to parade rest. “Busy week?”

“Ma’am, no, Ma’am,” the senior of the two guards replied. “It’s nice to have a few down days.”

“Aye, well, I was about to have twenty-eight of those when I got the call back.

What’s the scuttlebutt? Anything happening I should know about?”

The guards exchanged a look and both shrugged in unison. “Nothing that’s gotten outside the general’s doors, Captain.”

7

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“You two aren’t any help,” she said with a laugh and waited for them to open the door into the general’s outer office.

Miriam glanced up and half-smiled as the door opened then continued with what she was doing. “Good morning, Captain,” she said, returning her attention to the computer screen. “The general is on a conference call. He shouldn’t be much longer.

Please have a seat.”

Ardor nodded and sat down. The secretary’s body language and the rather curt way she had greeted Ardor made it clear there was to be no mention of Miriam’s deceased husband. That suited the captain well enough as she felt uneasy in the presence of such a devastating loss and had no idea what—if anything—could be said this long after the fact.

“Did you hear Major Neff is expecting?” Miriam asked without looking up.

“No!” Ardor exclaimed. “How far along?”

Miriam leaned toward the computer screen, studied the long column of input she’d just entered before answering. “Two months. She and Prince Ruan announced it just yesterday. A rather happy fifth-month anniversary present for them, wouldn’t you say?”

“So the little Cosaint should arrive just in time for their first year as old married folk, huh?” Ardor inquired.

“That would be sweet, wouldn’t it?” Miriam said on a long sigh. “I am so happy for her.”

Ardor tucked her lower lip between her teeth. “Does that mean Chastain won’t be returning to duty?”

“Kahn?” the general bellowed from his office. “Get in here!”

Miriam rolled her eyes. “He’s not in the best of moods, Captain, so tread softly.”

Ardor had shot up from the chair as soon as she’d heard General Morrison calling her name. She hurried over to his door and was about to knock when the portal slid open.

“Didn’t I tell you to get the hell in here?” the general snapped. Standing in the doorway, he spun on his heel and stomped back to his desk.