a Pleasure Rites, #1 by Ines Johnson (reader novel .TXT) 📕

was a child, peaceful moments scared him. He knew they were the calm before the storm. The only safe place in the storm of his parents lay in the eye, where he could see the fighting around him. Seeing the winds of destruction let him know which places were safe to hide. When the storm was out of sight, he felt entirely unsafe.

For the last ten years, his mother had been out of sight. Khial existed in a state of anxiety, waiting for the storm to approach. Watching for it on all fronts. Putting up shields to protect the man he loved. But that storm never came. His mother's destructive forces had been dismantled, caged, forgotten. The storm that did come hid inside Dain. Dain's illness, quiet and out of Khial's sight, blindsided him.

The first time Khial laid eyes on Dain, the boy flashed him that brilliant smile and Khial felt the ground fall out from under him. He heard the wind in his ears. He felt robbed of breath. Dain had knocked him flatter than any of the storms his parents stirred into existence. But Khial had never turned away from Dain. Never stepped out of Dain's eyesight. For years, Khial chased after the storm, until Dain's winds ceased and left Khial torn apart in the wake of its destruction.

The first time Khial saw Chanyn he felt that same prickle of wind at the nape of his neck. Everything in him told him to run. That this would be the storm to end all storms. He needed to run away from her. Run far and fast.

Khial stood and turned back to the house.

"Lord Khial?"

Khial turned at the sound of that deep, lyrical voice. The monk had the type of voice meant for singing. Once more Khial wondered what he would sound like accompanying his violin.

"Is everything all right, my lord?"

Khial thought to ask the monk the same question. Gone were his ceremonial robes of green and brown. He stood before Khial dressed in a plain cloth shirt and slacks, a back sack slung over his shoulder. The monk's broad shoulders filled out the shirt nicely and his muscled thighs rounded out the pants. Still, the clothing felt wrong in Khial's eyes. He'd seen the man entirely naked before. The splendor of his body should not be hidden under ordinary cloth.

"What are you doing here?" Khial asked.

"I was just... walking." He gazed up at the house, to the second floor. Exactly where Chanyn's bedroom sat. "Is she all right?"

"She's... She's well." Khial looked away before the monk could read the entire story of his failure in his eyes.

But then he changed his mind. "I need your help," Khial said. "With Lady Chanyn."

The monk waited. His expression, the picture of patience and non-judgment, gave nothing of his thoughts away.

Khial's lips worked soundlessly for a moment, trying to figure out the right words to explain his predicament. "I don't know what I'm doing."

The monk nodded.

"I think I may have hurt her." Khial expected to see anger on the face of the man who loved his wife. Instead, he saw expectancy, as though the monk had been waiting outside to have this very conversation.

"The first time with a woman can be a heady experience for a man. The first few times, in fact. Women are not like men. You need to make them ready."

Khial remembered the monk's instruction with Dain. That Chanyn needed to be touched before he entered her body.

"You have to take your time. Go slowly and be gentle. Their bodies cannot take the same pounding that a man's can. At least, not when they are still new to the act."

Khial also remembered that when Dain entered Chanyn's body that first time, he had been in a hurry as well. He'd gone fast and hard. And she hadn't enjoyed it.

The monk put a hand on Khial's shoulder. "Lady Chanyn is very responsive. Her body will tell you what it needs if you look and listen. If you're still unsure, simply ask her. She's very forthcoming."

The monk gazed up at the window, a secret smile slowly spread across his face. Khial felt the monk's thumb run absently over his collar bone. Back and forth, in a hypnotic motion. Thinking about Chanyn, no doubt.

"Why don't you train me?"

The monk snapped to attention, yanking his hand away as though Khial's suggestion burned him. He took a step back, shaking his head. And then he put up his hands as though to further ward off the suggestion.

"I'll pay you."

"I don't need the money." The monk hitched his pack over his shoulder.

"You love her." Khial didn't put a question mark at the end of the statement. He knew it to be true. If he hadn't seen it in the monk's eyes, seen it in the kisses and caresses he gave Chanyn, he saw it the night before when the monk risked his own life to get Khial back to her. He saw it now, when the monk walked the city at night to gaze up at her window.

But the monk turned away from the idea.

"You love her," Khial repeated. "I don't know how to make her happy, and I want to. I don't want to hurt her. She's been through enough. We've all been through enough. We deserve a little happiness, some pleasure after the rough path of our lives. You said I could choose who I become. I choose to become a good husband to her. Teach me how to please her."

Khial knew the monk would say yes. He saw it in the give of his shoulders. He saw it as the man's head tilted up to the sky. He saw it as the monk turned weary eyes to face him.

28

Chanyn woke up in the morning and began her morning ritual. She went first to the bathroom and kneeled to the porcelain goddess. Praise the Goddess, this morning her stomach decided it would keep her dinner from the previous night.

Chanyn stood and did