Chapter 8

Quim shrugged. “Perfect for a private concert, no?”

He rose from the bed and suddenly stood very close to Taurin, the flute between them. The bard was about Taurin’s height, maybe a head shorter, his face slightly upturned as he held Taurin’s gaze. Taurin could see faint lines around Quim’s thin mouth and wondered how old the bard might be. He looked no more than twenty, but with elven blood usually came a youthful appearance. Taurin’s fingers ached to trace those tiny lines, smooth them out, but he held his hands at his sides.

“Have a seat,” Quim whispered, his breath a citrusy scent that Taurin inhaled deeply.

Taurin eased around the bard, his hip bumping Quim’s, the mere touch sparking a shot of lightning across his groin to stiffen his cock. A sweet ache began to throb in his crotch and he sat down on the bed quickly, his tunic covering the budding bulge in his pants.