Preview of "All the Fuss"

[Darkniciad]

Here's a quick preview of a Christi Crimm story from even earlier in her life than "Casting Off Convention" called "All the Fuss"

 

====================

 

“Two of three touches – blades only?” he asked.

 

 

Christi nodded, as it was a fairly standard set of rules meaning no kicks, fists, or wrestling.

 

 

The reason for the oppressive humidity announced itself with a rumble of thunder a moment later.  A storm was rolling in, and it was doing so rapidly.

 

 

He looked toward the lightning-streaked clouds and said, “That could make things interesting.”

 

 

“If it takes that long,” Christi said confidently as she strode over to where she’d observed the men sparring earlier in the day.

 

 

Jorfal laughed and pulled off his shirt before taking up a position opposite her.

 

 

She couldn’t help but look.  Though he was much older – closer to her father’s age than hers – he had a broad, muscular chest peppered with scars.  His muscles working beneath the skin as he extended his sword toward her set off a chilly tingle between her legs.

 

 

But, there was a battle to be won.

 

 

She crossed her sword with his.  After a tap, they both dropped into fighting crouches.

 

 

Christi knew he had an advantage in both reach and strength.  That meant she had to use her speed to overcome it.  It was nothing new, as that was the case with her father and brothers as well.

 

 

He attacked first with a stab toward her mid-section.  She cleanly deflected the blow and danced to the side, not letting him close with her.  Before she could counter, he launched a swipe at her arm, and she batted it away.  This time, she was able to take a slash at him, stealing the momentum of his first assault.

 

 

Back and forth they went – wooden swords cracking and hissing as they traded blows.  Sweat soon poured from both of their bodies in the humid air, but he was a seasoned veteran, and she was hardly a novice.  Though she’d never seen real battle, she’d been tested time and time again by her father and brothers.

 

 

It wasn’t one of them she faced this time, though.  Mingling with the adrenaline of battle was something else – quite unexpected.  It began as the faintest of hints, and rapidly swelled as they continued the dance of combat.

 

 

Christi was aroused.

 

 

The first blast of wind from the coming storm hit them, raising gooseflesh on their sweat-soaked skin.  Dust and grit rode on the powerful gust, joining the sweat already stinging Christi’s eyes.  She saw the thrust coming, and brought her sword into line, but it was a fraction of a second too late to resist his strength.

 

 

Christi grunted as the tip of his sword jabbed into her shoulder.

 

 

“Point,” he declared as he withdrew the weapon.

 

 

“Point,” she agreed.  If it had been a real fight, the cut would have certainly slowed her down.

 

 

“Got the dirt out of my eyes a little quicker,” he said as he stepped back toward the starting position.

 

 

A tickle arose between her legs when a fresh rush of wetness gathered there.  The arousal that had bubbled up within her wasn’t ebbing in the slightest.  Her heart raced from the combined excitement of battle and desire as she watched him lift his sword.

 

 

The wind continued unabated – gusting even more powerfully as the storm drew closer.  The first sprinkles blew in as Christi took her place opposite her opponent, and increased to a downpour when they crossed their wooden swords.

 

 

Once again, the battle was joined.  Christi danced on light feet, deflecting his powerful blows and seeking openings to make her own attacks.  The driving rain soon made the footing treacherous, but she compensated and kept the pressure on.  Within a minute, her clothing was saturated, and her shirt grew transparent – clinging to her like a second skin.

 

 

His eyes focused on them for only a moment, but when he glanced at her all-but-bare breasts, she was ready.  The point of her sword darted in toward his chest, and his parry was too slow.  Exaltation welled up within her as the wooden weapon stabbed into his shoulder – almost a mirror blow to his that ended the previous round.

 

 

“Point,” he said, and then laughed.  “Caught me out there.”

 

 

Christi smiled and pushed a lock of sodden hair away from her forehead and eyes, making absolutely no effort to conceal her attributes.  A chill shot up her spine when he openly admired them.

 

 

Before they could prepare for the deciding round, a deafening crack of thunder sounded, startling them both.  The brilliant flash drew their eyes to where the bolt had slammed into the earth – far too close for comfort.

 

 

Shouting over yet another roar of thunder, Jorfal said, “Why don’t we call this one a draw for now, before the gods get in the game?”  Christi nodded, and he yelled, “This way.”

 

 

She jogged at his side, once again catching his eyes gravitating toward her bouncing breasts.  He led her around the barracks to a smaller building in the back and jerked the door open to let her in.

 

 

Christi dashed in out of the rain and took in her surroundings.  The place was small – consisting only of the room she was standing in, and a bedroom without a door beyond.  It was sparsely furnished, but decorated with martial trophies.

 

 

Jorfal shook the water out of his hair and tossed his wooden blade on the table.  “Have a seat.  It may be a draw, but I’ll buy you a drink anyway.”

 

 

“Works for me,” she said as she put her sword down and pulled out one of the plain wooden chairs.

 

 

“You can scrap, that’s for sure,” he said as he retrieved a jug from a shelf.  “Not afraid to say I’m glad it was pissing and pouring so nobody saw me lose that point to a girl, though.  Your brothers have been the only other ones to give me a workout in ages.”

 

 

Christi chuckled and grabbed the cup he sat down in front of her.  His clothes were clinging to him as well, and with him standing next to her, she could see a rather intriguing silhouette beneath his pants.

 

 

He poured a small amount of clear liquid into her cup.  “They call this White Lightning.  Fits that mess outside.  It kicks like a mule.”

 

 

She knew the corn liquor well, as she’d been sneaking it from her father’s stash for some time.  The momentary flash of shock on his face when she tossed back the potent brew changed to one of respect as she sat the cup down.

 

 

“Well, damn me.  You fight and drink like a man, even if you damn sure don’t look like one.”  He laughed and poured his own drink.

 

 

Christi’s arousal reached a fever pitch.  She knew there was supposed to be a kind of dance to the whole thing, but she was in no mood to wait.  The ache between her legs was screaming for attention now, and she had a man right in front of her who seemed to be interested in helping her with that.

 

 

It was time to find out what all the fuss was about.

 

 

When Jorfal downed his drink, she stood up and said, “Think I’m going to get out of these wet clothes.”

 

 

“If you don’t wait out the storm first, you’re just going to get wetter.”  His voice trailed off and his eyes widened when she pulled her shirt over her head.

 

 

She was positive that she couldn’t get any wetter.  She was practically dripping.