by Megan Crane
Wulf was fairly certain he could stay alive until then. He stared into the flames that jumped and crackled in his fireplace. And if that became less certain, well. He could always burn this fucker down. That would give the western highlands one of the little light shows they seemed to like so much, wouldn’t it? And it would accomplish part of what he wanted. The end of King Athenian and his bullshit, once and for all.
Wulf wasn’t afraid of death. Still, he had no intention of going out at the hands of some mainland kinglet bitch, even indirectly. He was offended, deeply, at the very idea.
All the more reason to stay alive.
When he was finished eating he kicked back on the sofa with his feet propped up on the low table and his hands behind his head. He was thinking through various strategies and scenarios when the door swung open and a cloaked, hooded figure slipped inside, furtive and quick, then closed the door soundlessly behind her.
Her.
A woman.
And not, he could tell at a glance, any kind of assassin.
“Stop,” Wulf growled, and the figure froze as if that single syllable had been a terrifying proclamation, backed by the steel of his blade. Meaning she definitely wasn’t a threat. “There’s no hiding before the king. That shit never ends well.”
The hood of the cloak hid her face in shadow, but the edges of the thick, flowing fabric didn’t quite meet as it fell down her body. He saw a glimpse of delicate legs, smooth brown and gleaming. He saw the flash of plump tits wrapped in something lacy with nipples poking out three shades darker than the rest of her brown skin, and if he wasn’t mistaken—and Wulf was rarely mistaken about anything concerning comfort pussy—a tiny, gauzy little skirt that barely made it to the tops of her gently rounded thighs.
Fuck yes.
His cock was instantly on board, as hard as if he’d thought about nothing but getting it wet for the past month. Wulf hadn’t had a good, long, restorative fuck since he’d left the eastern islands in the middle of a grim February. It had been all mission parameters, long distances, and sleeping rough. No camp girls had come along on this mission, which could have killed them all a day’s sail from the clan’s secret harbor, and that meant no head-clearing blow jobs to start his morning right once they’d landed. No hard fucks along the road to help him focus.
Not his favorite way to travel.
And it hadn’t seemed wise to indulge himself by wandering into a local village to find himself some hot, wet pussy in the middle of what the dumb sheep mainlanders called their winter marriages. In twenty days these yearly marriages would all end with the equinox, theoretically. All unimpregnated women were free to move on, as were their dutiful husbands. But until then, the women were bound to the men they’d paired off with last September. They were required to offer themselves up at least once a day—for the greater good, according to the church. The world had ended, their priests thundered at them, and the human race was doomed in these times of low birth rates and short fertility windows. People were obligated to repopulate the earth and winter marriages made it so.
Those who agreed—or acquiesced, anyway—were called compliants. Those who, like Wulf, preferred to fuck as they pleased, were called wild. Barbarian myths.
Raiders.
But he’d forgotten where he was. This was the palace of a western king. And everyone knew the western kings lived by different rules than their subjects. Multiple wives to give them more chances at babies to carry on their precious bloodlines, different rituals to lock down their recalcitrant females, and so on. When Wulf had asked for comfort pussy he hadn’t really expected they’d provide it.
And now he thought it was possible he might bust a nut where he sat if he didn’t get inside this one. Pretty much right now.
“Cloak,” he said again, surprised to hear his voice had gone as hard and as gruff as his aching dick. “Take it off, sweetheart. Now. Or I will.”
The woman flinched. Then she untied her cloak with fumbling hands, as if she were trembling, which was surprising in a palace girl who would have to take all sorts of cock to keep her place here. Still, he kind of liked it, barbarian asshole that he was. He felt it like a long, slow lick down the length of his own cock. Then she ripped the cloak open and threw it aside in a great flourish that struck Wulf as slightly . . . overdetermined.
But then he didn’t give a shit about what she did with her cloak or how or why she might be trembling, because he could see her.
Fuck him, he could see all of her.
She was, bar none, the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. And Wulf was the king of his clan. He’d never gone on a raid yet without mainland women coming at him, cunts first and no end of begging, to get a taste of him. Raider women lined up to take a ride on his cock at all the festivals, when what few rules the raiders had about sex—mainly, that everyone should have as much of it as possible because life was grim and short and they should wallow in what joy they could—were relaxed even further than usual. Into groups sometimes, for example. It wasn’t unusual for Wulf to wake up in a literal pile of sweet, hot pussy. He had beautiful women all over him, all the damned time.
But this one made it hard to recall he’d ever seen another female in his life. And hard to fucking breathe right when all he wanted to do was get his hands on her. All over her. Again and again and again.
If this was the western kingdom’s version of available pussy, Wulf approved. She had short, thickly curled black hair she wore slicked back against her head. Wulf wasn’t usually into short hair on females, because he was bossy as fuck and liked to use a woman’s hair to lead her and leash her when necessary, but in this case it worked. It made her deep brown eyes, tilted in the corners and shot through with gold, look bigger. It made the dark, thick lashes around those eyes seem something like mysterious. It somehow drew his attention past the line of her elegant nose to a lush, haughty sort of mouth he wanted to test. Immediately. With his cock, in deep.
She wore a scrap of lace tied around her tits, but not for support purposes. The lace only seemed to emphasize the way the fat mounds swayed as she breathed. Fast, he noticed, and faster the longer he studied her. Her soft brown skin was smooth and creamy looking, and he’d never seen another person so bright. So unmarked and sweet she seemed to glow. She was a slender thing, though her hips flared in a way that made his mouth water and his palms itch to wrap around them and hold her nice and still for his longest, deepest, greediest thrusts. Better yet, she was wearing a silly, pointless piece of gauzy fabric wrapped around them. Or maybe it wasn’t so silly, because he thought his dick might trip him when he stood up.
And that was before he realized he could see her pussy through the gauze.
Or that her little cunt was plucked clean, showing him nothing but pouting brown folds below smooth, dark skin, ripe for his mouth.
His blood roared in his ears, then dropped straight down into his cock like a hammer. His head spun. He thought if he didn’t get a taste of her, now, it might kill him. After all these years of battle, this would be what defeated him. This little slip of a curvy, pretty mainland prostitute and that mouthwateringly naked cunt he wanted to get his mouth on more than he wanted to live through the night or do what he came here to do. He wanted to suck on that proud little clit, hard, to see if naked palace pussy tasted different when she came all over his face. Then he thought he might fuck her until he couldn’t remember what he was comparing her to in the first place. Then a few more times, just to slake this wild, encompassing hunger that was howling through him like his own version of the March wind outside.
“I had to come like this,” she told him, very seriously, in a musical voice that was as pretty as the rest of her. “Or they’d never let me through.”
He studied her. “Is that what gets mainlander assholes off around here? They practice boring, creepy compliance in public and pretend the noncompliant crap they do in private isn’t exactly what it is? Sin and sanctimony and all that church shit?”
She pulled in a deep, hard breath, and something he couldn’t quite read flitted across her lovely face. She stood a little straighter, then squared her shoulders, which had to be the least provocative stance from a woman angling for a hard fuck Wulf had ever seen.
“Ah, no,” she said after a moment, sounding far more breathless than before. “I meant the cloak. Obviously, as a palace courtesan, this is my uniform.” She nodded jerkily down the length of her body. “When I’m not naked, of course. Because I’m mostly naked. I’m all about being naked.”
“Are all palace courtesans this nervous?” he asked, still trying to read the things that didn’t make sense on her face. And all over her lush, sweet body that she didn’t seem to know how to use like the prime weapon it was. “I asked for comfort pussy. Not pussy I need to comfort before I get off a few times.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“That would be infinitely more believable if you weren’t stiff and trembling and across the room, sweetheart.”
She jolted at that, but didn’t move toward him. She didn’t pull out a practiced smile or call him some soft, meaningless endearment to ease into things. She didn’t go down on her knees or start a little dance designed to show off her assets. She didn’t do a single thing even the least suggestive mainlander wannabe camp girl would do on those raids where all they wanted was a trip back to the eastern islands and a whole lot of noncompliant raider cock to get them off.
Wulf was tempted to imagine she’d never done anything like this before, however unlikely that seemed in a land of so much forced, dutiful sex under the church’s fervent orders. But once the thought took hold, he couldn’t seem to shove it away. The trembling. The stiff way she stood—and spoke. The wide-eyed way she was staring at him as he lounged there on the sofa. If she was merely scared—reasonably enough—because he was a raider deep in the western highlands where no raiders had bothered to go for generations, well. He wasn’t entirely unsympathetic. But that was why more experienced women with camp girl tendencies tended to kneel and get things started with a little energetic, introductory cocksucking, especially if they were anxious. A dick was a dick, after all. A hard one in the mouth made the scariest man just one more asshole looking to bust a nut. Playing field leveled and all that shit.
But this one didn’t seem to know how to bend her knees.
Wulf stretched, aware of the way she swallowed convulsively and stared, wide-eyed, at the play of all the muscles in his chest. Then he rolled up to his feet.
And she made short, high little noise that Wulf felt in his cock, as if she’d made the sound with her mouth full of him.
He liked that she backed away from him when he started toward her, proving yet again that she was about the least-well-trained courtesan he’d ever encountered. It was as if she knew full well he was a savage animal at heart. As if she could see it on his face. It only made him harder.
The predator within him was wild with hunger. It clawed at him from the inside, wanting out. Wanting a taste of this woman, who’d rolled into his little mainland cell with an obvious agenda she was having a little trouble committing to. Poor thing. He followed her as she scrambled backward, crowding her into the far wall. Blocking her with his shoulders, the expanse of his chest. He didn’t even have to touch her to cage her right where he wanted her.
Her head barely came up to his shoulders. And the pulse he could see beating wildly in her neck fascinated him even as it confirmed things. He wanted to bite it.
“I’m not used to all this talking,” he said. It was more of a growl, low and mean, and it only spurred him on when she stiffened even further. “Use your mouth to smile real pretty or suck my dick, sweetheart. That’s why you’re here.” He tilted his head slightly to one side as he loomed over her. “Isn’t it?”
She smelled like something buttery and some kind of sugar, and beneath that, the unmistakable scent of her arousal, which made all that greedy hunger inside of him roar, loud and long. She was lush and perfect, shockingly sweet and much too bright in this strange and gloomy palace of stone and wood and shiny things that didn’t quite do their job. Her face looked innocent while her body was a mortal sin, and Wulf had never believed in either one of those things before.
Now he was a goddamned convert.
But he still didn’t know why she was here.
“Yes, that’s exactly why I’m here,” she breathed, and he knew it was a lie. He could see it all over her, from her trembling lips to the sheen in her dark gold eyes. “I’m all about . . . sucking. I live for it.”
Wulf couldn’t remember the last time someone had lied to his face. Especially not a weaponless woman. Who would dare? It was asking for death, harsh and swift, and he was never shy about meting out that justice. He wasn’t a king by accident.
Of course, there were other ways to make it clear he wasn’t the kind of man a wise person messed around with.
“Oddly enough,” he murmured, “so do I.”
He didn’t wait for more evidence that whatever she was and whatever she was doing here, it wasn’t for a restorative comfort fuck. He hauled her to him, up off the ground and high against his chest. He tipped her back against the wall and pinned her there, letting his hands drop to grip her ass, rude and carnal. She made a high-pitched noise and then her trembling was even more pronounced than before, her breath coming hard, her lips slightly ajar as if she was stunned. And Wulf hadn’t known, until now, that all this trembling bullshit made him so hard—but he shoved that away, too busy marveling at the softness of this woman’s skin against his hands, the smooth roundness of her ass in his palms.
And the lie she’d tried to pawn off on him, when it was obvious to him she’d not only never been anything like a courtesan before—he’d be deeply surprised if she’d ever had a man’s hands on her.
That was the curse of compliance. It was sex as a chore. Oiled-up cocks politely inserted into oiled-up pussies like it was a healer’s examination instead of a good, solid, head-clearing fuck. No elevated breathing. No writhing or scratching or screaming. Certainly no coming. No enjoyment or passion or need. Compliant girls like this one would likely have taken a winter husband every year since her first blood, and were for all intents and purposes still completely untouched. New to sex in every way that mattered.
It pissed him off, in a global sense. But he couldn’t deny that with this one, so lush and soft and trembling and wrapped around him, he kind of liked the idea of introducing her to the good shit.
Right after he figured out what the hell she was doing, creeping into his room dressed up like comfort pussy if she wasn’t.
His fingers wrapped around the globes of her ass, burrowing into the furrow of her cunt from behind to find her slick and hot. Dripping wet and ready, no matter how big and stunned her eyes were.
“Maybe you’re not that scared after all,” he muttered, exploring those smooth, hairless, delicious folds. Teasing them and testing them, dipping into all that hot cream and rubbing it around and around her clit until she was trembling all over again. Harder. Edgier than before. “Or maybe being scared is what gets you wet. It’s okay. I won’t tell.”
“Please . . .” she whispered.
“Since you love sucking so much, you must love fucking, too,” Wulf continued in the same soft murmur, still toying with her sopping wet pussy. Still playing with that sweet little clit. He gave it a pinch and she jerked, hard. “Let’s take the edge off, nice and fast the first time. Pinned against the wall until you come all over my cock. Until you scream so loud the guards come running. You think you’ll like that?”
She pulled in a breath that sounded like a sob, and she was shaking uncontrollably now, her fingers digging into his neck where she gripped him. He slid his fingers along her wet crease and pinched her clit again, feeling his mouth curve when she made that same sound. Not a breath this time. An actual sob.
“Please . . .” she panted out, something like agony in her voice while her pussy drenched him. “
Please, I don’t . . .”
Wulf tipped her back to get a good look at her face. Her pretty, pretty face. Beads of moisture dotted her temples. Her eyes were wide and glazed and her lower lip looked glossy, like she might have been gnawing at it. She was staring back at him, fat and silent tears spilling out from her dark gold eyes and trailing down her cheeks.
He pinched her clit again and watched her eyes well up even as her body jolted against his like she was electrified, and her bare, slippery cunt told him truths he wasn’t sure she knew.
“Why are you crying?” he demanded, gruff and low. “Courtesans don’t cry.”
She blinked as if she didn’t know she was. She lifted one hand from his neck and wiped at her face, frowning when it came away wet as if that surprised her. Then she lifted those melting dark gold, lying eyes to his.
“Joy,” she told him, though her voice shook. “Pure, unadulterated joy.”
Wulf laughed. Then he pressed her back against the wall, sliding his hands apart to grip her ass cheeks so he could press his cock deep into that soft cradle between her legs. They were separated by the wool he still wore around his hips, but he was still hard and big and nudging up against that soft, ripe cunt of hers. He had the distinct pleasure of watching her eyes go round even as she tightened up all around him. Her nipples were so hard his mouth watered.
“I like my pussy soft and juicy,” he told her then, sounding harsh and severe and not doing a damn thing to temper it. “Wet and trembling, just like this. I don’t know what game you’re playing, little girl, but I don’t care. It won’t keep me from making you come, it’ll just make it more fun when you do.”
She mouthed something that he thought was the word fun. As if it didn’t make sense. Because to a compliant girl, of course, it wouldn’t.
His voice got even darker when he kept going. “But if you want me to stop? If you think maybe I’m a little more than you can handle? You have three seconds to tell me one thing that isn’t a lie. Just one thing.”