She’d not even faded to normal when he plunged his hard cock deep into her.
Oh Ares!
Both cried out and he murmured, “So wet, princess, so hot and wet inside.”
Beyond the door, they could hear the vague sounds of men cheering, could hear the usual boisterous comments, evidence that Sima had either drawn Janya away from her man in the back of the room or that she’d found a man of her own to deem worthy. Garon drove into Laela hard, hard, hard, each thrust jolting her and filling her with the deep, abiding pleasure of being his. She’d enjoyed the hint of power she’d stolen away from him for a few minutes, but was just as happy to have it reclaimed by him, too.
Fill me. Fuck me. Make me yours.
She already
was
his, in her heart, in his mind—she knew that. But maybe she wanted the same in
his
heart, too.
Yet she tried not to think—only to feel. That wondrous shaft pummeling her so marvelously. The strength and masculinity of the man behind it.
Yes, yes!
Long, hot moments of profound joy later, he spilled himself in her with a mighty groan, then collapsed atop her body, their disheveled clothing pooling and stretching between them. In the tavern, the sensual party continued, but in the bedchamber, the only sound was Laela whispering in Garon’s ear. “May I ask you something?”
He didn’t bother looking up, but she felt his breath warm on her neck. “What is it?”
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“If you liked watching me lick her pussy so much, why did you stop me?”
He turned to face her in the dark and she more felt than saw his smile. “Because I had to have you, my naughty little princess, and though I don’t mind a bit of sharing, when I fuck you, it has to be you and me, alone.”
She tilted her head on the fur beneath, confused. “What about when you invited Baelor to join us? He fucked me, too.”
After a barely discernible bit of hesitation, Garon’s voice grew slightly more grim. “That was then. This is now.”
Could it be?
she wondered.
Could
he feel something for her in his
heart
? Something that made their sex feel…special to him?
No, it was too much to hope—so she pushed the silly wish from her mind.
Yet even so—despite the pleasures Garon had taught her to share with others, and despite what Garon could probably never feel for her—she drifted into sleep knowing she
was
far more than his slave now, far more than she could have imagined mere weeks earlier.
She was his now, she belonged here, and if nothing ever changed, she would exist
here in a state of simple bliss for the rest of her days.
* * * * *
The morning sun shone down bright as Garon strolled the main street of Myrtell, headed home from the bakery where he’d bought two fresh loaves of bread and some sweet rolls he knew Laela to be particularly fond of.
He’d not been away long, but already he looked forward to seeing his princess. Yes, she could easily stiffen his cock by bathing herself in a wooden tub while he watched—he never got tired of seeing her wet—or by exchanging her soft, lovely touches and kisses with the other girls in the tavern when she was feeling particularly naughty, but it made him just as happy in other ways to simply watch her working about the tavern, to share a meal with her, to simply see her smile.
He burst through the door ready to tempt and tease her with the sweet rolls, to perhaps playfully demand sexual favors in exchange for the sugary treats. It was a game they fell into often, and she would pretend to be very put upon just before she vigorously sucked his cock or wrapped her sumptuous breasts around it.
“Guess what I brought from the baker, princess!” he called, stepping inside.
No one stirred, so he looked in the bedchamber—but all was still there, as well.
Ah, this meant she was at the beach. She seemed continually drawn there—sometimes just for a decadent swim to escape the summer heat and other times for more wet fucking beneath the hot sun. Either way, though, he’d come to enjoy her unlikely love of the ocean, and the sexual aspect had definitely shown him how to enjoy it himself.
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Dropping the baked goods on the counter, he headed back out and through the outskirts of the village. Crossing the dunes and the last remains of ancient structures, he thought of her, swimming naked, letting the water sluice over her skin—which was slowly beginning to darken from more time in the sun than she was used to—and his cock lifted slightly. He couldn’t quite say why, but he liked the browner skin on her—maybe because it made her seem more like a villager, more like him. And he also liked the wild spirit inside her that led her to swim in the ocean or lick another girl’s pussy—the spirit that made her someone who could never really be any man’s slave.
As expected, he quickly spotted the mound of green fabric in the sand—but when he looked out to sea, he didn’t find her.
He watched for a moment, staring hard, waiting for her head to come bobbing up from under the surface—but still, no Laela.
Dear Ares, where was she?
She couldn’t have…drowned, could she? The thought sliced through his heart like a dull knife. “
Laela
,” he heard himself utter, feeling helpless.
He shook his head. She couldn’t be dead—she just
couldn’t
. Maybe she was swimming farther up the shore, carried by the shifting tide. Or maybe she was hiding behind him in the tall dunes, ready to jump out and surprise him. But she couldn’t be dead.
Could she?
He felt faint, weak, at the thought, and dropped to his knees.
Then his gaze fell on
another
bit of green, lying yards away on the beach.
Getting to his feet, he ran toward it…to find the cat’s face pendant she wore around her neck. She never took it off—never. Not for swimming. Not for bathing. Not for cleaning. Not for fucking. He grabbed it up from the sand, letting his fist close tight around it.
Laela, my princess, where are you?
That’s when he noticed the hoof prints in the sand. Lots of them. Both coming…and going.
Enrick’s men.
She’d been taken by Enrick’s men.
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Chapter Eight
Laela lay resting on her old bed, in her old room—someplace she’d never expected to be again. She hugged Midnight to her chest, the cat purring and warm against her as she tried to forget the day just past.
She could scarcely believe her father’s men had dragged her back to the fortress naked. It was hard to make herself remember the horror of hearing the hooves, looking up and realizing who bore down upon her, and having no place to run. She’d fought, scratching at skin and eyes—she’d even succeeded in delivering a satisfyingly hard blow to one man’s jaw that had knocked him backward onto the sand—but in the end, it hadn’t been enough. There had been seven of them and only one of her.
“But my dress!” she’d sobbed—a strange thought, perhaps, given everything else happening, but she’d realized instantly that if she were going to be hauled back to the fortress that she wanted desperately to be covered. Here, in Myrtell, with Garon, she’d grown comfortable with her body, even comfortable with letting others see it—but at the fortress, she was still Laela, the youngest daughter, the little girl, and the freedom she’d felt with Garon would not exist there.
“Forget the dress,” said the man who’d hoisted her naked body up onto a horse’s back. He’d slapped her bottom, adding, “Let your father see what a little slut you’ve become.”
“Let
everyone
see,” another man had said, making the others laugh.
“And what a sight she is,” a third fellow had chimed in. She’d closed her eyes by that time, unable to bear keeping them open, unable to watch what befell her. Even so, she’d felt their leering eyes as she’d contemplated the word they used for her—slut. It was a Virg word she’d heard only rarely—a slur for a woman who gave sex freely. No such word existed in Caralonian society, for sex
was
given freely here, an Ares-given gift and right. The insult wounded her, ranking her below other Caralon women— although she’d done nothing other women did not.
“What I wouldn’t give for a dip into that royal pussy,” another voice added, drawing sounds of lascivious agreement from the others.
“We could each have a turn with her before heading back,” someone suggested to her horror.
“And risk Enrick’s wrath?”
“Her hair is down, the bride price gone, probably weeks ago. He need never know if we enjoy the tart a bit before returning her.”
Tears had threatened, but somehow she’d held them at bay. They wouldn’t take her dignity—even if they raped her. Even so, the very notion had paralyzed her, turning
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her whole body numb with fear. Rape—such an antiquated, barbaric act! How was it that her father’s men were so very much like the Virgs? The very idea of rape whisked her thoughts to Garon’s mother—and his father. She’d never have dreamed she could be in such danger from anyone in her father’s employ—but she supposed her recent actions, added to having been discovered naked just before going for a swim— somehow justified it in their minds.
“I will tell,” she’d blurted from her place on the horse.
Their laughter quieted, but the first man, the nearest to her, said, “As if Enrick would believe a word out of your mouth
now
.”
“I say he will,” she persisted. “And if you rape me, I will look into your eyes the whole time, I will memorize your ugly faces, and I will be able to point my rapists out to my father.”
Again, the beach had turned silent other than the shushing tide as the smarmy men weighed her words. Finally, one of them said, “If we really want to fuck the slut, we could do it…and then simply not bring her back. Let her go on her way.”
But immediately the head man spoke up. “No. If Enrick ever found out, we’d be dead. Even the ripest piece of ass is not worth that.”
And so her heartbeat had calmed a little as the party started back toward the fortress, yet fear of the men had still burned inside her, and they’d continued leering at her with lusty contempt.
Funny, she thought now, she’d never feared Garon that way. Even in the beginning, when he’d made her his slave, when he’d ruled over her sexually, she’d never felt threatened by him. He’d never looked at her with the disrespect her father’s men had.
Arriving back at the fort had been the worst humiliation of all. Clearly word of her return had reached her father, for he’d been waiting outside the massive main doors. When she’d been lowered from the horse’s back, naked and dirty, she’d instinctively used her hands to cover herself as best she could. Tears had finally come then, at having to face her father that way—and in the company of so many others, too. She’d never known such shame.
“Dear Ares, why has no one covered the girl?” her father boomed, hurriedly stripping off his own large leather vest to wrap about her. Fortunately it hung to her thighs and she instinctively hugged herself to keep it closed in front.
When she managed to meet her father’s gaze, she found pain mingled with anger.
“Are you all right?” he asked, voice ragged, his large hands curling into her shoulders.
She nodded shortly.
Next, her father had called for her old maid, Nila, and then Aris. Nila arrived first, her elderly eyes looking worn and worried. “Oh child,” she’d gasped at the sight of her.
“Bathe and dress her,” Enrick had commanded, “then let her rest.”
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From there, she’d been rushed here, to her old bedchamber. A bathing tub was brought and filled with cool water—for the day was so hot—and as Nila began to wash her hair, the door opened. Aris came in, Midnight nestled in her arms.
Laela had nearly leapt from the tub. “Midnight!”
Aris smiled at her reaction as Nila said, “Aris here cared for the cat while you were away. Still don’t know what a girl needs with a stable cat, but…”
Midnight had let out a hearty meow that seemed to finish the thought.
Now, dressed in a pale blue silk sleeping gown, Laela waited, stroking Midnight’s shiny fur. She was supposed to be resting, sleeping, but who could sleep at a time like this? She’d disgraced her family and now she would be forced to face the consequences.
When a knock came on the door, she knew it was her father—he always tried to knock lightly, but had never mastered such softness. She took a deep breath. “Come in.”
He entered, his strong face looking drawn, tight. His blue eyes sparkled bright as ever—oh Ares, like Garon’s, she realized now for the first time—but his expression remained grim.
She sat up on the bed, pulling Midnight’s pliant, furry body into her lap.