Heeding his warning, I stopped wriggling around as his voice went guttural on a snarl, unnatural, more unnatural, I should say, even for a troll.
Troll’s fingers strummed up and down my sex, grazing my pleasure button until they came away soaked.
“So wet, luv.” His fingers returned, sliding in, two deep. “So tight,” he growled huskily, pulling them out to slowly press them back in, growling hungrily at the resistance. “So fuckin’ tight.” Groaning in the back of his throat, he pumped his thick fingers leisurely, keeping at a steady but maddeningly torturous tease, rubbing in strong, slow circles, driving me mad with his unhurried pace.
“Ah, don’t tease me,” I whimpered as he slowly slipped them back out.
A naughty thrill rushed through me as I felt warm, rock solid thighs brushing the backs of mine, his thick length kissing my inner thigh, knowing what would come next.
We hadn’t done anything like this before, and I relished the rush to my flushed face and my core, tempted by the unknown. My sex clenched and I gushed, a trail of wetness dripping out to trickle down my thigh. Primed and ready, I wanted this.
“Gersthart.”
“Always wanted ta do this,” he snarled right before he shoved his legs between mine, parting my thighs.
“Gersthart?” I tried to lift myself up to see, but he had me kept in place, his staying hand holding me down.
I soon felt something rooting around my sex before he groaned, the head of him nudging me, giving a sharp, harsh thrust before sliding deeply inside.
Unprepared for such a quick invasion, the feel of him like this, much bigger somehow than when we faced one another, I bit my lip hard at my body’s initial protest, inner muscles clamping around him tight as I tensed.
“You don’t fit... like... this,” I gasped out, tempted to see if he had indeed engorged somehow.
Pausing, he stopped when he tried to pull out and press in a little further and I cried out, my legs quivering, wanting him inside me, yet unable to take his invasion another moment. He soon remedied that by pulling out and slathering on something he kept in a small jar by his sleeping pallet, fingering me until he’d lathered most of it along my channel.
A pleasant tingling feeling trailed in his wake, my hips soon swiveling to chase the sensation his talented fingers left behind.
Soon enough I was feeling more than ready, my body warmed from the inside out, thick, pale thighs bathed in my own lubricant, hips wiggling impatiently as he took up his positon.
Mouth dropping open in a silent exhalation, I jerked back the second I felt him trying to enter me, an action that had him sliding right in, my body singing, clamping down on him tight as he changed the angle, his balls slapping my clit as he pressed himself into me harder, more determinedly.
“Always... wondered... what... it... would... feel... like,” he murmured between panting gasps, his breath escaping him as he started pounding into me hard.
Hanging on for dear life, I gripped the pelts underneath me in my hands, bucking back against him as he hammered in and out of me enthusiastically, gripping my hips tight, as if he was afraid I might run off on him before he could finish.
As he got closer, he started thrusting into me in short, hard, jabbing thrusts, groaning and grunting out his pleasure unintelligibly, mumbling to himself over and over.
He definitely felt thicker, something about his cock, a change in the way it felt, tunneling into my body. It almost felt as if it had changed shape. I could feel him, every inch of him, riding me hard, every pump and thrust, every twitch and jerk, as if he was somehow making that possible. I didn’t question it for more than a moment, my body racing to meet his, enjoying every second of it.
“Gersthart... I... I...”
“Say my name, luv,” he snarled, biting at my neck hard, reaching around me to thumb my clit.
With a startled shriek, I screamed as I came, his wide flat teeth breaking the skin at my nape, the pleasure/pain of it all sending me flying right over the edge. Bucking back against him wildly, his cock thickened right before he roared, giving me his release, my sex clenching around him tight as I milked him, my spasming channel sucking him dry as he jerked rhythmically, groaning my name. My sharp, staccato cries echoed off the cave walls, competing with his harsh groans as he continued to pump into me demandingly.
****
Yawning for the millionth time, my lips twitched as I felt fingers playing in my hair, running through them slowly, reveling in the softness.
“Did he do that to ye?”
“Did who do what?” At the sound of his voice, I turned from the pot cooking slowly over the fire, looking up at him questioningly. My hands went to my neck, right over where his had just been moments ago. They still tingled from his touch.
With a grumbling snort, he moved away and sat heavily in his favorite spot, right in front of the fire. “The pisser.”
I blinked uncomprehendingly, and it took me a moment before I fully understood.
Blushing three shades of red, I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s-”
“Did he?”
Looking past the demand, I heard what he wouldn’t voice out loud, his eyes not quite meeting mine confirming my suspicion. He’s worried about how he compared.
So he does care. Hmm. Even if he has a funny way of showing it.
My shoulders itched again and I scratched at them, having had these funny itches all morning and afternoon, straight across my back and shoulder blades.
“I think I’m allergic to fur,” I grumbled, trying to resist the urge to scratch again, knowing it would just make it that much worse.
“Ye’re changin’ the subject, an’ I asked ye a question, nugget.” Troll hunched forward, chuffing, and gave me a baleful stare.
“You can’t compare,” I mumbled absently, not the least bit affected by his little conniption as I gave in to my body’s demands, shoving my hand into the oversized shirt I was wearing—Gersthart’s shirt—the only stitch of clothing I had on, wincing as I used my nails to try and cure myself of this crazy, insufferable itch.
My head shot up, fingers still scratching away, at the deep snarl I hadn’t expected.
“Gersthart?” My eyes widened as his lips pulled back, an odd expression in his eyes as he stalked towards me. That glazed, slightly wild look filling his gaze, his nostrils flared, neck seeming larger than usual. It was like he’d puffed up.
I just stood there, fingers slipping away, and gaped.
Advancing on me, he gripped my upper arms and yanked me to his chest, smashing me into him.
“Ye’re mine,” he growled, my face vibrating with it as it rumbled up and out of his chest, feeling all of it, smooshed up against him the way I was.
“I don’t understand why you’re... ah!” I yelped as he flipped us around, clearing the table with a quick swipe of his long arms, pressing me into the wooden table, face down, his hand running along my exposed thighs as he slowly lifted my gown-like shirt’s hem.
“Canna compare? Ye willna even remember his name when I’m done wit’ ye.”
And then I realized what he’d thought I meant.
“Oh, I didn’t... Gersthart!”
Without another word, he lifted my leg, bending it up as he knelt down, his lips unerringly finding my pussy as he buried his face in my cunt, lapping at me hungrily. With a harsh cry, I gripped the table for support, shouting out.
Running over me possessively, his fingers ran up my ass, gripping the cheeks as he held me in place, slowly urging me towards him.
“I didn’t... oh... Gersthart, I didn’t... ah... ah!” I gave up trying to explain and gave in, pumping into his face madly as his tongue slipped inside, fucking me almost as well as his cock, it was so long and thick, quickly bringing me to completion.
Faster than I could comprehend, he stood up and pressed me back into the table, my body still in the throes of an earth shattering climax, his shaft unerringly sliding home, riding me through my own orgasm and
right into one of his own, groaning into my neck as his cock thickened and pulsed, pressed deep into the heart of me, jerking in time to my body’s own rhythm.
Our hearts beat madly in our chests as he finished and slumped against me, sated and replete, our bodies still twitching in the aftermath.
My shoulders started itching even worse and I reached up to scratch at it, wincing when it just wouldn’t go away.
“Stop it, woman. Ye’ll...” Gersthart pulled my shirt back and cursed, then cursed again, his length slipping out of me as he jerked back.
Still wobbly on my legs, I stood up from my bent over position and turned to face him. My overlong shirt slipping down, his sudden withdrawal left me feeling oddly bereft and cold.
Facing him fully, my face scrunched up in incomprehension. He was gaping at me, staring at me as if he’d never seen me before. It hurt, tugging at me. I didn’t like it.
“Gerstha...”
“Ye fucked me,” he cursed, slamming his fist into the wall. “Ye fuckin’ fucked me.”
“Pardon me?”
“Ye fuckin’ fucked me!” His voice rose as he pulled himself together, his face quickly transforming into that familiar, angry scowl. Something was different this time, though, something bad.
His pants were still wide open, his cock flaccid but still glistening with our combined juices. Snarling, he gave me a disgusted look when my eyes strayed to it, making me feel funny—guilty—all of the sudden. Cheeks pinkening, I quickly looked away.
Eyeing me with a black look, he growled as he stuffed himself back into his trousers, cursing when he broke one of the ties.
“I don’t understand,” I mumbled into the quiet that followed.
This didn’t go over too well with him.
“Ye little harlot!” he roared, reaching over to grip my arm. “Ye fuckin’ fucked me!” Jargling me, he shook me a little and tugged my shirt down, exposing the irritated skin of my itching shoulder.
Jerking in his hold, I hissed as he ripped the sleeve, exposing an angry, swirling red rash.
“Oh, my gosh,” I whispered, fingering it gingerly. “It’s infected!” Panicked, I looked to him for advice. “Gersthart, what do I do?”
“Dinna be callin’ me tha’, ye little swindler!” Shoving me away, he let go of my sleeve to pace around the room, prowling it like a trapped animal, glaring at me with the darkest look I’d ever seen, every time I was within his immediate vision.
Lips parting in astonishment, I stared after him, slowly pulling my sleeve back up.
“Gersthart...”
“DINNA BE CALLIN’ ME THA’!!” he roared, shaking the room with his demonic bellow.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I flinched as if he’d hit me, wrapping my arms around myself tight, shrinking down as if to make myself smaller somehow.
Stunned, I didn’t say anything, staring down at the ground as he muttered and cursed to himself, snarling every other word.
When it seemed as if he’d calmed himself, I finally ventured to speak. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”
Gersthart stopped and growled gutturally, right at me, those hate filled eyes piercing me deeply, right to my core.
“No?” He barked out a condescending laugh. “Well, I think ye know exactly what ye did, dinna ye?”
My eyes daringly met his and I frowned, puzzled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, an’ I’m just supposed ta believe that’, right?” He snorted and shook his head. “It all makes sense now, an’ I’m the bleedin’ arse who’s stuck.”
“What? Stuck with what? With me?” The idea hurt me inexplicably and I immediately got upset. No, not upset, I got mad.
“Shut it,” he snapped, gripping his head as he sat down, resting his elbows on his bent knees as he groaned piteously.
“If you’re referring to me, that’s a horrible thing to say. Furthermore, I don’t see how me getting a rash is...”
“I said ta fuckin’ shut yer trap! Dinna ye hear me, ye devil slag!”
Stumbling back, I clamped my jaw shut, gritting my teeth, and returned his glare.
How dare he!
“I am not a whore,” I gritted out quietly and turned my back to him, hunching forward, checking on supper as I strategically ignored him.
“What was in it fer ye?” he asked after what felt like an hour, defeat and pain lacing his tone.
Spine stiffening, I forced myself to try and calm down. Determined to be the civil one until he could find an ounce of reason in that pea sized troll brain of his, I sighed noisily and scooped out a bowlful of stew.
I was tempted to just keep ignoring him, but I knew better, it would only rile him further and he’d just keep harping at me. The state he was in, I didn’t know how far he’d take it.
Turning, I gave him a quick, droll stare before I answered, “I told you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Liar,” he grumbled, staring off into the fire.
“You know I’m not,” I quipped, tapping my nose.
His answer was a teeth baring snarl, his eyes tracking my every move.
Not about to serve him after all that, I put the lid on the pot and walked over to my pallet of furs, taking my bowl with me, sitting on the edge so it looked like I wasn’t intentionally facing away from him.
“Ye stupid little eejit,” he griped, “fuckin’ fucked me.”
“If it makes you feel better to call it that, be my guest.”
“Ye dinna even know wha’ ye’ve done, do ye?” he demanded.
“Does sex make trolls lose their minds?” Raising my brows, I asked the thought out loud, though I really hadn’t intended to.
My bowl was ripped out of my hands and I was plucked up and tossed over his thick, gargantuan shoulder as he lugged me, kicking and screaming, followed by the occasional bite, to the back catacombs.
Striding purposefully with me over his shoulder, he took two left turns, and I knew he was headed towards the small, natural spring of water, the one I washed and bathed in.
Oh, god...
“Put me down!” I bellowed, screaming as he tossed me in.
My head resurfaced, popping up like a cork, and I made sure I spit every drop of water I’d accidently sucked in at his face.
He growled as he swiped at it with his arm, his eyes straying to my breasts, standing out and proud, quite obviously on display through my soaked white shirt.
“Tell me, nugget, do ye like bein’ bound ta a troll?” He spat the words at me like I should know what he meant. “Did they pay ye handsomely ta best me, hmm?”
Squinting up at him, I ran a hand over my hair, pushing the orange mass away from my face.
“You’re having issues with me being your slave?” I spluttered, incredulous. “Now? Don’t you think you should have thought that through before you tricked me? Or are you having regrets since we...” I was loath to say made love now, “tupped?”
Eyes flashing at my choice of words, he roared and made a go at me.
Diving off to the side, I ducked and threw my hands over my head protectively, nowhere else to go, assuming he was going to attack me as he charged forward.
The second he splashed, signaling he’d entered the little pool, I shot off for the side.
Swooping in, he easily caught me, pressing my chest into the rough rim of the dirt lip that encompassed the natural spring.
His hand came around my neck and I gasped, fully expecting him to strangle me. With a harsh snarl, he groaned as his body fell forward, blanketing mine with his.
“I canna even throttle ye properly,” he snapped, breathing heavily into my hair. His chest heaved as he took in deep lungfuls, his limbs trembling as he kept a firm grip on the back of my neck, massaging it and then stopping, as if he’d caught himself, thick grey fingers twitching at the suppressed effort. “Wha’ have ye done ta me?” he groaned, before he couldn’t take it anymore and turned me towards him. With an angry snarl, his lips found mine,
capturing my protests and arguments, my adamant shrieks, swallowing them up skillfully, his tongue slipping in as he tried to tangle it with mine.
Soon realizing it was a bit of a one-sided affair, his chest rumbled as he pulled back, eyes narrowing as he studied me.
Shaken, I stared up at him, trembling all over, shaking hands shooting up protectively to cup my throat. Grimacing, he cursed at the look on my face, the stark panic—the fear.
His hands came up and tugged mine back, clamping them both in one of his own, the other slowly running up the column of my throat, caressing up and down it a few times before his thumb stopped, pressing in gently.
“What do ye have to say fer yerself? Canna ye see? Ye’ve ruined me.” Voice low and bitter, he was full of anger and simmering hostility.
“I don’t understand. I... I don’t understand you at all. You’re not making any sense, Gerst...” Freezing instantaneously, I stopped myself before I used his name, fearing I might send him into another rage. “I never did anything to you.”
“Ye still deny it, then?” he grumbled, pressing his thumb in a little tighter.
“I didn’t do anything,” I whispered, fighting his vice-like grip as he held me captive.
His hand slid up through my hair, gripping the back of it in a firm grip as he released my neck.
“Broken, I am. Ye bonded ta me an’ I canna even stomach the thought of ye hurtin’. I wish I could choke the life out of ye,” growling, he shook me a little, “fer what ye did ta me.” He flexed his fingers, making me cry out as he tugged my head to the side, leaving my neck opened and exposed, vulnerable.
Leaning in closer, his tongue came out, licking a hot, wet path across the smooth, pale flesh, his hand coming up and releasing my shoulder as he tugged at the neckline of my soaked shirt.
Groaning from deep in the back of his throat, he reached the itchy rash he’d just bared, the stinging, unbearable pain stopping the second his lips and tongue rasped across it.
“Mine,” he muttered quietly, his voice short and gruff, doing it again, and again, then moving across, methodically, to the other side, until there wasn’t a single part of my bared neck or shoulders he hadn’t touched or kissed. Unconsciously soothed.
The Toll Page 15