Strife & Valor: Book II of The Rorke Burningsoul Saga by Regina Watts (red queen ebook .TXT) 📕

and caressing. Branwen particularly responded to their blandishments, each teasing admonishment from Odile and every appreciative compliment from Indra coaxing a flutter out of the sheath that squeezed my blade.

Each thrust seemed to leave her wetter, tighter. By the time she was enjoying her second orgasm, she had once again forgotten all about poor Lively next door and screamed my name with abandon. Her body arched up to mine and I took her hard, my prick—having been covered first in Valeria’s arousal and now in lovely Branwen’s—leaving her with a far more powerful orgasm than anything she’d had from Indra’s tongue. The divine creature trembled on the bed while we all enjoyed the sight together, her breasts heaving with the panting rhythm of her breath.

“What a nymph she is,” cried Odile with approval and delight. “A real sylph…I could look at her all day. No wonder you’ve been able to see past her bad behavior!”

“Well,” I confessed with a wink as I withdrew to take into my arms Indra, who hurried into my embrace for a turn. “I did give her something of a spanking back in the Nightlands…”

Tickled with wicked hilarity, all three durrow laughed in delight.

“Did you really?” Valeria asked this of me with a twinkle in her eyes. I couldn’t help my smirk while traitorous but irresistible Branwen sputtered in embarrassment.

“I did indeed,” I said, helping Indra out of her bustier and then her leather breeches. “How is it you think I got over her indiscretion in the first place? Not that she didn’t enjoy it…”

“Oh, well!” Quite thrilled, Odile sat against the headboard of the bed and dragged Branwen over with little effort. I laughed, bending to kiss Indra while the elder of the two rogues pulled the high elf over her lap so her pert, white rear was exposed in the air.

“You should have said something sooner, Rorke,” chided Odile, shifting her leg over both of Branwen’s so the high elf’s knees were pinned between the dark one’s thighs. Her hand caressed Branwen’s rump and the high elf moaned at the contact. “I love to give a naughty elf-girl a spanking…reminds me of home! You’d make such a fine slave, Branwen.”

“Oh,” was all Branwen could say as Odile’s hand struck sharply to work. While the round cheek’s flesh bounced beneath Odile’s hand and the high elf to which it was attached squealed away, Valeria wiggled over to land a few swats of her own. I grinned and continued my caresses of Indra, making myself comfortable in her body just as Odile said, “Hey, Burningsoul—remember to save some strength for me.”

SOOT, AGAIN

IT’S TRUE THAT, when a man puts so much energy into the satisfaction of four exquisite, sensual women, he doesn’t have much energy left for anything else—but there would be time for me to doze in the saddle of my horse. I closed my eyes for all of two hours when our bodies were worn by the richness of our love, willing to wait to leave until the darkness was thick and easy on Valeria’s eyes.

But that same Materna of the durrow, already given to hyper-vigilant bouts of sleeplessness due to her long history of narrowly avoiding assassination, was awake to caress my chest and face when the time was right. Her damp lips trailed over my ear, sensuality second-nature to her even in the most serious of moments. The soft whisper of her voice was a balsam carried on a sweet, damp wind, and it caressed me awake amid the warm bodies that slept around me.

“It’s time to go, Burningsoul, my love.”

I wished nothing more than to shut my eyes and bask forever in the cool indulgence of her whisper, but she was right. There was no more time to waste. Now that night had fallen heftily upon Skythorn, we needed to leave at once.

Valeria tugged my hand and drew me from the bed. I blinked myself from sleep to find her already dressed. She had arranged my clothes upon a nearby chair and, with eyes perfectly accustomed to the darkness of the room, the Materna of El’ryh set about dressing me.

There was a kindness to Valeria—a nurturing quality that, I suppose, had made her such a caring and hands-on ruler of her people. No doubt she had not truly been required, per se, to hold court with her subjects. She could just as easily have hired a magician or sorcerer with talents similar to the perceptive qualities of Roserpine’s Ring and permitted them to handle the matter of slave appraisal.

Instead she had been interested in their lives as sentient beings. Instead, she had been looking for me.

When at last I was dressed, I bent to embrace her. She paused in surprise before melting into my arms.

“I’m glad you’ve come to the surface with me, Valeria,” I told her so softly I could barely perceive my own words. Her sensitive ears caught every last syllable and her breath hitched in her emotion. “I have to admit…I’m not looking forward to finding your ring.”

Her face pressed against my tunic. Her head lowered a few degrees. She said nothing, but her grip around me tightened. I felt a great pain, a great fear, that I tried to push way until Branwen stirred and did it for me.

“Oh,” she murmured with a mighty sigh, “is it time to leave?”

Soon we were, all three of us, leaving Skythorn in the dark of night. Our horses, having no doubt taken better advantage of their rest hours than we did, seemed ready to get on the road and out of the poorly maintained rental facility. Odile had resentfully awoken just to present us with her lantern, and I was so bedraggled for want of sleep that I did not remember to ask her if she knew anything about this “Lantern of Hamsunt” before we left. However, I consoled myself. Surely she knew nothing; perhaps less than that. It had been Kyrie the wadjita who sold her