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

“It’s my duty to mete out justice,” I assured her when at last she drew back from our kiss to catch her breath, her blue eyes locked on mine with tigerish desire. “Most would not let such treachery go unpunished.”

“One week is too long a period of slavery for you,” she whispered, gasping while I undid the tie of her breeches and pushed them down her slim hips. She made no protest, only going on to say, “I suppose you expect me to bend to your will now that you’ve saved me? That I owe you something?”

“Of course not, Branwen…it’s all in good fun. But contrition a balm to the soul, don’t you think? Why, the Church of Weltyr is very concerned with mortification of the flesh. The All-Father himself is said to have—”

Branwen pressed her fingertip to my lips with a hushing noise. “Save it for later, Rorke…I think between this and a spanking, I’d rather have a spanking.”

Laughing, I fell down upon the protected grounds illuminated by the magic lantern light and dragged Branwen with me. After haphazardly arranging her over my knee, I gripped her by her svelte waist and liberally applied the flat of my hand to her round rear. She squealed right away, squirming and attempting to keep her cries muffled.

“Rorke—oh, Rorke! You’ve never been so—forceful…”

“Yes, and I regret that now. Perhaps, had I not been so patient with your petulant behavior, you would have known it was very unwise to betray me…especially in a matter concerning my god, and my relationship with him.”

“I’m sorry, Rorke! Oh—oh, I really am sorry—ah—!”

Despite her playful protests, her back arched more with each swat of that wonderful rump. “Perhaps, if we show you a good enough time, you’ll be incentivized not to do it again.”

“Oh! Oh! Ah—you expect me to—become one of ‘your’ women, do you?”

“I don’t expect it,” I told her, drawing her upright in my arms to run my free hand down her cool thighs, then back up to the heat between, “but I can’t deny I’d enjoy it. And, at any rate, I belong to my women just as they belong to me…those durrow would take great offense to the thought of it only going one way.”

She moaned, her thighs splaying, her bosom heaving within the confines of her brown leather bodice. “I can’t believe you and those durrow—oh! Burningsoul…”

Through the wild curls of her golden hair, Branwen gazed up into me and yielded the honey of her body at the lightest trailing of my fingertips. “I have missed you…”

“You’ve missed my body,” I corrected her, sighing while she reached between us and half-twisted in my lap to free me from my breeches. “And I’ve missed yours…but I’ve also missed you, Branwen. I hope you’ll realize soon enough that you really did miss me.”

Though she glanced up at me upon hearing such a thing, the high elf continued the task of freeing my manhood and straddling my lap.

“I did miss you, Rorke,” Branwen crooned, her face arranged with those heavy eyelids and lustful lips that revealed her secret wanton streak. “Truly, I swear it by Anroa…but I will admit, I missed this big thing, too…”

While her hand trailed up and down my length, I drew her mouth down to mine and nearly consumed her. She moaned into me, squirming beneath the pressure of my kiss, then proved unable to resist me even to tease us both. She glanced down and carefully fit herself to the tip of my member, her gasp widening her mouth while she eased down the shaft and lit both our bodies with sparks of pleasure.

“Oh,” she cried softly, “Burningsoul!”

A sudden spate of moaning from the durrow orgy in the emptied den made me all the harder within Branwen’s familiar core. She gasped, glancing at our point of connection, her hips rippling to the beat of an ecstasy that filled me topfull of desire—and frustration. How had I let her do such a thing to me before? I had to keep her in line this time. Still kissing her, I gripped Branwen’s legs to my body and rose easily with her still mounted upon me.

The elf gasped, crying out in sheer delight to be pushed against the wall and held there while I buried myself in her. Her soft hands trailed over the muscles of my arms, hardened with the support of her slight frame. She received every hard stroke with greater joy, the pounding that rattled her dainty body causing her face and throat to redden exquisitely in the light of the lantern. Each thrust rippled through the cleavage of the sumptuous globes bursting from their leather confines: I bent my head to kiss her flesh and breathe the sweet aroma of her sweat. While her golden eyebrows knit dynamically above her fluttering eyes, Branwen gazed into my face, moaning to watch the man who took her.

“I’m so glad you came back,” I told her, my forehead pressing to hers, fire no doubt burning in my eyes for as hot as the embrace of her body made my mind. “Yes, and gladder still that it was the misshapen who found you…had the durrow captured you, you would have been in the heart of El’ryh and made into a slave. You had ought to be grateful, Branwen…by any standard—certainly by the durrow standard—you owe us your life. You were right before…you’re a slave to all of us, in a way.”

Her body fluttered around me at the notion, wetter at once. She even moaned, her gaze darting toward the shut door and its den of impromptu pleasure. I bent to kiss the ridge of her pointed ear, my tongue darting out against the sensitive flesh to send goosebumps racing down her neck.

“Come along with us, Branwen,” I bade her softly, “not just until we reach the surface. Help us win back the Scepter of Weltyr and free your soul of guilt, and in