The Gryphon's Skull

“If they don't, they're either blind or missing a chance,” Sostratos told her, which made her flush all over again. And I'm not even exaggerating very much, he thought, pulling his own chiton off over his head. Metrikhe's shape was everything a man could ask for in a woman: slim waist, round hips, firm breasts of just the right size. A sculptor would have been pleased to use her for a model. Most sculptors would be pleased to do quite a lot of things with her, went through Sostratos’ mind as he stepped forward and took her in his arms. Her body molded itself against his. Her skin was soft and smooth, he wondered if she oiled it. She tilted her face up to his. Seen from a distance of less than a palm, her eyes weren't brown, but dark, dark hazel, an intriguingly complex color. “I like tall men,” she whispered. “I like you,” Sostratos answered. Metrikhe laughed and squeezed him. Her breath was sweet. When he kissed her, she tasted of wine. They lay down on the bed. Sostratos' mouth went from hers to her cheeks, the lobes of her ears, her neck, her breasts. His hand wandered lower, down the curve of her belly to where her legs joined. They opened for him. He stroked her there while his tongue teased her nipples. She let out a soft sigh of pleasure. If it wasn't real, she was a better actor than any who went on the stage in Athens. Before long, she began to stroke him, too, and then twisted, limber as an eel, and took him in her mouth. He enjoyed it for a little while before pulling away. “You don't need to play the Lesbian for me,” he said: women from Lesbos were famous for giving men that par­ticular pleasure. Her smile was saucy. “Well, what do you want to do, then?” she asked archly. “This,” he said, and did it. Metrikhe sighed when he went into her. Having lain with the Rhodian proxenos' slave woman back in Kos a couple of nights before, he didn't feel the need to spend him­self as fast as he could. He spun it out, enjoying the journey as well as the eventual destination. Metrikhe bucked against him like an un­ broken colt. Her breathing came quick and short, till she threw back her head and a gasping moan broke from her. Sostratos spent himself a few heartbeats later. In a throaty voice, Metrikhe said, “If we'd done that while we were bargaining, I'd 'ave paid you more for your silk, not less.” “Thank you,” he told her, and gave her a kiss. “I don't suppose I'll get too many finer compliments.” She dipped her head; she was a merchant, too, in her own way, and knew what her words had meant. “You're welcome,” she said, “And you're welcome 'ere any time, with silk or without.” That might have been a bigger compliment than the other. “Thank you,” Sostratos said again, “For now, though, I'd better get back to the agora. Do I remember the turns rightly? First left, second right, fourth left, second right?” She frowned. “That's not 'ow I keep track of the way. Let me think.” After a moment, she dipped her head once more. “Yes, that will get you there.” “Good.” Sostratos got off the bed and put his tunic back on. “Thank you for your business,” he said, “and for everything else.” Metrikhe lay there smiling up at him, naked still. “Thank you for everything else,” she said, “and for your business.”