Kingdom of Khal: Redeeming Davik

by Madison Hayes

  “Let’s have your hands,” Warrik said, as he pulled her hands from behind his neck. With his hands over hers, he guided them between her legs. Warrik’s large hand dropped in front of Davik’s view as he rocked one of the girl’s hands over her rise, while he pressed the other flat against her inner thigh. “Relax, sweetheart. Put your head on my shoulder. That’s it. Show me what you want, darling. Guide my hand, sweetheart. Don’t be shy.”

  Davik almost smiled. Warrik’s foreplay was improving, he began to think, then changed his mind when, moments later, Warrik had her stretched out again, pulling her arms behind his neck. With a chokehold on his excitement, Warrik reached behind the girl’s back to clear access to his cock. Then he lifted the girl by the hips and eased into her.

  There was a good deal of starting and stopping and Davik’s eyes returned to watch the girl’s face, her eyes clenched tight, lips caught between her teeth. “Come on darling, let me in,” Warrik crooned into her ear. He made a face at his brother. “She’s tight,” he explained, “and dry. What’s the matter, darling? Don’t you want me?” She opened her eyes a fraction and he followed her half-closed eyes to Davik’s face. “She wants you!” he exclaimed.

  Davik looked up sharply, but her eyes were lowered. Again, he experienced a sensation surrounding his sex akin to but somehow better than warm and wet physical contact.

  “She does. She wants you!”

  Chapter Three

  “Don’t act so surprised,” he tried to say lightly, but his breathing was interfering with the nonchalance he was attempting to convey.

  Warrik pulled out of her. “I don’t want to hurt the girl, Davik.”

  The girl opened her eyes and looked at him hopefully. Inside Davik’s jerkin, every hair on his chest lifted with tingling sensation. Still he hesitated an instant before he stood, caught in her dark gaze. They were blue, he realized. Earlier he had thought her eyes were black, but there were the darkest, deepest blue he had ever seen. So dark you could hardly see the boundary between pupil and iris.

  Davik knelt between his brother’s knees as Warrik’s big hands cupped her breasts and pushed them to Davik’s mouth. He took one of her brown nipples between his lips, placed his palms against the inside of her thighs and stroked outward toward her knees, then returned to repeat the long caressing sweep. His dry lips prodded her nipple to attention; he then turned his rough cheek and brushed it against the inside of her breast. He licked his lips and started kissing his way to her second nipple, reached out his tongue to warn her of his approach, breathed warmly on her wet nipple, then took it in his mouth. He felt, rather than heard her sigh. Catching the small, hard bud between his top teeth and bottom lip he flicked her out of his mouth, sucked her back in hard, pushed her away with his flattened tongue and let her go. “Open her for me,” he rasped.

  Warrik spread her legs wide with his.

  Longingly, Davik’s eyes rested between her legs. Sinking onto his shins, he closed his eyes and touched his lips to the top of her open cleft.

  “What can I do to help?” his brother interrupted.

  Davik brought his brother’s hands underneath the girl’s legs, placing Warrik’s thick fingers carefully close to her cleft. He felt the girl’s small jerk. “That’s too rough. Go gently. Just run your fingers into her hair, tease her open a little.”

  He was panting, he realized.

  He brushed his lips lightly below her belly then returned his lips to her warm, open sex. Wetting his tongue, he slid it up along her slot, feeling his way through the roughly delicate ruts that led to her clitoris. Tasted her simple clean warmth, heard her suck in a breath. Smiled with relief, ached with regret. Applied his lips and tongue softly, rhythmically against her clitoris. Drew away to watch her flat belly rise as she began to pant, returned her several kisses with slight suction, withdrew again and heard her murmur, watched her opening contract in a needy gulp—hungry for a man’s presence—took his tongue to that opening, ran it around the outside then delved inside. Felt her shiver and quake around his tongue. Tongued his way back to her clitoris and kissed her until she moaned with every touch, a low needy sound that fueled his own mounting need. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on her rise, panting, waiting for her response. She arched and cried out.

  She wanted more.

  He caught a glimpse of mounded breasts straining upward as her body bowed in Warrik’s arms then his eyes returned to the long slit of her sex, now nicely filled out and pouting at him provocatively. His hand rubbed the agony that ached swollen and granite-hard inside his breeks. With both hands he loosened the ties constricting his erection while he returned his tongue to feather across her clitoris. She stretched into his mouth, and he groaned through the constriction in his chest.

  “Mithra,” he heard his brother whisper. “Look at her. Isn’t she something?”

  He pulled away from her, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he gazed up the long stretch of her arching body. Her head had rolled back onto Warrik’s shoulder, her black hair poured over his brother’s chest. Her breathing was deep and hurried. Her arms stretched back as her hands clutched at his brother’s thick hair.

  She was close, he knew. She was making her own moisture now, lots of it. Her slit gleamed slick and wet. He was tempted to apply his tongue one more time, to give her a long slow stroke and lick her right over the edge, then pull back and watch her in her arrival. But Warrik was waiting—patiently, so far.

  Warrik’s keen, smoking gaze traveled down the girl’s body to his brother’s face, where it halted, startled and surprised at Davik’s expression. “You first,” he said, his voice strained. Warrik reached for the cape draped over the back of his chair.

  Hope seeped into Davik’s expression as he came up on his knees and blindly fumbled his cock out into his hand. His brother handed him the tightly rolled cape. The cape beneath his knees raised him the few inches he needed—desperately needed—to put his hood at her notch, wet and waiting. He touched his hooded tip to her clitoris and she jumped and shivered as excitement raced along her length, tightening every muscle. His brother forced her legs wide as Davik pushed into her with desperate eagerness.

  “Easy,” his brother reminded him.

  Davik squeezed his eyes shut and fought for breath before he started. His hands clutched her hips harshly, but he stroked her carefully, watching her face. She licked her lips and moaned, then gasped when he gave her more of him. Her eyes opened a fraction, and fixed on his face with longing. He gave her his full length and watched her writhe and arch, cry out. Then his hands tightened on her flanks and he pounded into her, desperate to reach her core and crash against it as hard and as often as possible before his release rushed through his steel. He heard her guttural, wrenching sob, felt her hands behind him, pulling him into her. His cock spasmed inside her sweet warm depths and pleasure shot like a drug though every vein in his body as his hips slowed and ratcheted down in their final pumping action.

  “No!” Her cry was a helpless wail as The Heir jerked her off of his brother and thrust her onto his own thick steel. Davik’s heart was still hammering. The girl’s eyes blinked spasmodically as they frantically sought his.

  “Ah Mithra. That’s sweet,” Warrik rasped. “She’s still coming.”

  Warrik closed his eyes and was still for two instants as Davik watched the girl’s face; watched a tear appear at the corner of one eye. “Oh no,” he whispered. “It’s alright. It’s alright sweetheart.” With a hand to cradle the side of her face, he took her lips and kissed her. Warrik was moving her on him now, but Davik managed to maintain the connection. Desperately, she stretched her neck to reach him. He opened his eyes long enough to catch the pain in her expression, and closed them again quickly. With infinite gentleness he slid his hand down her belly and fingered her open, all the while maintaining the kiss. With two fingers just inside her slot he massaged her lightly with increasing speed until she stiffened and convulsed. Now both his hands returned to hold her face a
s he kept his eyes shut and his lips on hers, ignoring his brother’s explosive curse of pleasure invoking both Mithra and Donar’s names.

  Of course, the gods had heard it all before.

  Afterward, Warrik wanted to take her to the river and start all over. “You’ll drain yourself,” Davik said, thinking quickly. “And wear her out at the same time. I’ll take her.” He hurried her into her clothes and got her through the door before Warrik could protest.

  Leaving the inn, they headed down the trail that led to the river. As in most cities, Veronix had grown outside the city walls, especially around the gates and along the road approaching the city. The Southern army had commandeered most of these buildings for their use during the siege. Standing two longbow-shots from the city walls, the Princes had made the small inn their headquarters.

  Cerces tears drifted across the sky, specks of light on a slate backdrop, as he took her hand and led her through the camp and down to the river. He nodded two of his men away then undressed her, gave her a soft rag and watched her wade into the sleek dark water. The surface of the still black river was like gleaming marble shot with golden star flecks and she melded into the marble surface like a goddess sculpted from bronze and onyx. He watched her perfect curving form as she washed, drinking in the sight of her, watching her hands as they smoothed over her breasts or down her legs. It was a quiet night. The water barely rippled as it slipped smoothly around her thighs in a long, lingering caress.

  She turned her scarred back to him and the smooth picture of insouciance eddied and rippled. Anger tightened within him and torqued his mood without warning. It was like viewing a vandalized work of art, like the marble statuary at Pentre Mawr—originally, each sculpture a perfect god—today, every one minus an appendage and every one a cripple. Undressing her had given him the opportunity to confirm his suspicions about her ankles. Unlacing her boots, he’d slid a hand down to her foot and felt the thick ridge of scar tissue she wore on both ankles.

  “Come,” she said. The word interrupted his musings. He almost missed her invitation as the single syllable joined the river and floated downstream. But he didn’t need to be asked twice; he peeled his clothes off quickly and waded out to her.

  The water was kind and cool and caressed his legs with the same care given the girl. She dipped the rag and squeezed it above his shoulder, dipped again and did the same on the opposite side, then started rubbing him briskly from the shoulders down. By the time she reached his sex, the rag had warmed on his body. He was grateful. He had, by now, built up quite a decent erection he was a bit proud of and didn’t want to see it discouraged by a little cold water. He looked down his body and watched his shaft as his desire took substance and form—solid form.

  Very businesslike, she rounded his soft parts and swiped the length of his steel. Ready for business, his cock responded. His erection lost a little momentum as she moved behind him and worked on his back, but when she arrived at his buttocks, it picked up again as her hand slowed. Then both her hands were on his backside and palming him, her fingers tracing the crease where his buttocks met the top of his legs. He watched the rag float downstream and felt her hands come around his flanks. She was against him by then, her body warm against his back, melting into his. Her lips touched the base of his neck, stroking a nerve, pulling a wire somehow connected to his cock, which responded with an immediate ‘heads up’. Her hands slid over his abdomen and he held his breath, waiting for her touch with aching anticipation. Then her hands were on him. One hand fingered his testes, while the other hand wrapped around the steel of his erection. Fascinated, he watched her hand on him as she pumped him slowly. Pleasure circulated through his loins as he expanded into her hand. He could take this, he thought as his eyelids came down to cover his eyes. He could take a lot of this, for the rest of his life. Then her thumb was pressing against his tip as her closed fist whisked his length rapidly. “Come,” she whispered. Her voice was low and sultry, and with that encouragement, he exploded into her hand. His chin came down and he watched his cock lurch between her fingers as his seed hit the water and moved away in a silver swirl.

  He turned to her, laughing and feeling a little breathless. “Where did you learn to do that?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know. For all he knew, she did this for a living.

  “In prison,” she replied.

  Chapter Four

  The smile left his face as he was left completely stunned. Why did that hurt? And why did he feel like he could kill a man?

  She shook her head. “It’s not as bad as you think. The guards weren’t allowed to touch me.”

  That would be unusual, he thought. In any prison.

  “But one of the guards liked to jerk himself while he watched me. I watched him back.”

  It should have sounded hard, that statement, but her words were weighted with guilt—as though the fault was hers—and his heart went out to her. Her accent was slightly foreign, with a mild slurring cadence that softened every syllable, yet lingered to sharpen every word that contained the letter ‘t’. “I’m sorry,” he whispered and drew her into his arms.

  She gave him a startled look, uncomfortable with his sympathy. “I’d never seen a man before, but—” there was a hint of laughter in her eyes “—he didn’t appear to have much to work with. Not nearly as much as you.” She paused for a moment’s reflection. “And he’d be lost next to your brother.”

  Davik laughed. “All men are lost next to my brother. Warrik didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  She shook her head quickly. “Thank you,” she said. “For helping me. It was…” Words seemed to fail her.

  He raised her chin. “You couldn’t have done it without me?” He gave her a small smile followed by a small kiss. Or at least it was meant to be a small kiss, but neither of them could leave it alone and kept returning to it, just when it appeared to be finished. This time when she washed him, he didn’t mind the cool water on his well-used cock. Her hand was in his as they climbed the slope back to the inn. Having just been hand pumped, he should have felt a little juvenile, and perhaps he did—but not in a bad way. Rather, he felt like a boy with his first girl. He stopped her just outside the inn, pulling her into him, and put a final kiss on her lips. Davik pushed the door open and they went in to join Warrik.

  In the dawn, Davik woke on the mat next to his brother and rolled in his direction. Warrik’s naked body was wrapped possessively around the girl, his eyes closed in sleep, but her dark eyes were open and sought his. He smiled at her and she carefully disengaged a hand from his brother and stretched it out toward him. He met her halfway and curled a finger around one of hers.

  When Warrik woke, he lifted the girl and placed her on her knees between his legs, then drew his own knees up on either side of her. His massive cock lolled at rest against his thigh. “It’s all yours darling,” he said, scooting back to recline against a trunk and stuffing pillows behind his back. “See if you can stir things up.” He smiled, pleased with his own wit. “Stir until thickened. Use your imagination, darling.” When she hesitated, he prompted her. “Or your sweet, sexy mouth.” He punched some more pillows behind his neck so he could watch her and smiled lazily at his brother.

  Davik felt his stomach tighten. He didn’t feel at all like eating, but he pulled on his breeks and headed for the door to order the guard change and arrange firstmeal.

  “Where are you going?” his brother challenged him.

  It was an effort to turn and face Warrik. An effort he didn’t understand. “I’ll only be an instant,” he offered in surly tones then pushed through the door. Outside the inn, he scraped a hand through his hair and motioned one of his captains over.

  * * * * *

  With a contented sigh, Warrik stretched like a big cat and watched the mass of black hair in his lap, felt her lips on him. His dick responded to her hesitant tongue with pleased surprise and growing volume. A sound of deep, male satisfaction rumbled in his chest. “Lip service,” he murmured. “Just what I
had in mind.” His eyes traveled down her body; her legs were tucked beneath her, her weight on her shins. “Ah, no, sweetheart. On your knees.” His eyes went to the door. “On your knees for Davik. Quickly now, before he gets back.”

  She raised the back of her body with her knees.

  “That’s better,” he said approvingly. “Move your knees apart a bit more. That’s it, darling.”

  * * * * *

  Davik came though the door and groaned when he saw her body waiting for him. Stumbling backward, he dropped into a chair. Warrik shot his brother a grin, then his eyes widened when the girl’s mouth closed around his cock.

  Davik felt like he was trying to breathe in a vacuum; he simply could not get a breath. The sight of her sex cocked, primed and canted into position was a dream-come-true—or at least almost. For a strange, sudden instant Davik wished he could be alone with her—or have her to himself—he wasn’t sure which. It was a novel idea. He and Warrik had been sharing women since…well, they’d always shared.

  He watched the girl’s head in his brother’s lap while Warrik gently gathered her hair away from her face and collected it in a bunch above her head, holding it like a spray of darkly contrasting flowers. “You don’t have to be that gentle,” he was telling her.