The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

He seemed to be in no rush, however, for his hands outlined her bottom, squeezing the flesh possessively. “Ah, your delectable arse. How I missed seeing it these past two days.”

“Please, Gregor,” she begged.

“I intend to fill you, be sure of that.”

Nevertheless, he tortured her for several moments longer by stroking her damp folds, keeping her waiting. The intimate act made every part of her sizzle and burn. When his hand cupped the swollen flesh of her nether lips and he squeezed, hard, she gasped aloud. Then he splayed her wide open. Jessie almost fainted. The extreme state of arousal she was in made her body flash with heat and her skin grow damp. She braced herself for his entry, desperate for it.

His fingers groped, exploring her cunny. The brush of his knuckles as he turned his hand, reaching inside her, let loose a ragged cry. “Ah, please,” she blurted, “take pity on me.”

“Hush, now, my precious harlot. I have the remedy for what ails you.” He moved the blunt head of his erection along her slippery opening.

Oh, yes. She shifted her weight, leve

led her head. The stiff fabric of her stays and bodice chafed at her breasts, and beneath her knees rough needles of hay tugged at her woolen stockings. But all that faded to nowt when he drove his length into her, stretching her open, filling her.

Dizzying light akin to shooting stars filled her vision. All she could do was pant for breath as the contact took her over. Then he rode her, in and out. Each time he filled her anew, she felt faint with pleasure. Her thighs shuddered. Her cunny swallowed his length each time, and then he pressed home and the blunt head of his rigid shaft massaged her deep inside, making her wriggle and buck.

“You are most eager,” he commented, and there was humor in his tone.

His hand resting on her back did nothing to calm her. The stall had become increasingly hot, as if a storm was building. Beyond the wooden panels that separated them, the horses snuffled and shifted.

“I cannot deny it.” Hot juices ran down her thighs. She shoved her fingers deeper into the hay bale. Her senses were so keen and sharp that each blade of hay seemed to connect with the wild tingling at her center, heightening her restless state. Her arms shook with the effort to remain upright, and her breasts felt unbearably crushed within her stays, the nipples rigid and stinging.

Then she felt his fingers stroking her most sensitive spot. He had bent over her back and reached between her thighs to rub her swollen nub, seemingly determined to bring her off while he held back.

“Gregor!” Her sheath tightened and she hit her peak. It was so sudden and all-encompassing that her forearms gave way and she slumped against the hay bale she had previously braced against.

“Can you take more?” There was amusement in his voice now.

He’d been holding back. That renewed her flame.

Struggling upright, she pushed him onto his back and climbed over him, straddling his hips. Need rolled through her when she stroked his bowed shaft. It jerked eagerly, and she found the surface hot and clammy from being inside her. She mounted him, taking him to the hilt. At first she could scarcely breathe, because it felt so good. Then she arched over him and found his mouth, kissing him fleetingly. Their fingers meshed, and she felt his encouragement in the squeeze of his strong hands.

She was powerful because of this.

His rod pushed up against her center, making her entire body hum. Quickly she worked him and they raced for the prize, moving urgently in rhythm until he whispered her name and his cock exploded inside her. Bending over him, she worked him still, grinding her hips from side to side as she kissed his face in the darkness. It was the last jerk of his cock that tipped her over the edge and melted her to him.

They rolled free of each other, then together again, facing one another.

“You are radiant, my sweet.” He stroked her hair back from her forehead. “If you know magic like this, why have you worked as a whore?”

Instinctively, she bristled.

“I only want to understand you better,” he added.

“I worked at other things. I was brought up by a family who feared me. Ran away when I was old enough to know how. For a time I lived in the woods and I was happy.” Jessie sighed as she remembered. It had been a good time. Hard, but good. It felt right to be there so close to nature, but when winter came she’d sought help. A widow woman took her in, in exchange for work on her patch, doing things that she could no longer manage.

“Then I worked on the land, in exchange for a bed. Eventually I moved on.” The widow woman had died, and distant neighbors arrived to pick her home clean, casting Jessie out as they did so. One of them had even accused her of making her employer sick.

“I made my way to Dundee, because that’s where my father had gone.”

“Your father? You have not mentioned a father before.”

“I did not know him. He left before I was born, went to sea, by all accounts. My mother waited and waited for him to return, as he’d said he would, and eventually she told us we would find him, and went after him. Determined to locate him, she was.” Jessie laughed softly. “Perhaps she couldn’t face the fact he had left her with three bairns.”

It was magic that had made him run. That was something they knew by instinct. Still, she had followed the trail south. “When we came to the Lowlands, however, things changed. My mother’s talent for magic and healing brought trouble.”

Gregor drew Jessie closer and kissed her face.