Warlord

He pumped in and out. In and out. And finally, the pleasure stole his sanity. For several long, intoxicating seconds, he filled her ass with his cum, and when he couldn’t come any longer, he gently pulled out of her. He watched with ownership running through him as his cum slid out of her ass. He would have collapsed beside Genevieve, but instead, he moved over to the basin and grabbed a wet rag to clean her with.

She was on her belly, her ass red from his spankings and her eyes closed. He quietly moved toward her, cleaned her the best he could, and then slipped in bed beside her. She was warm and full, and he loved that she had gained more weight after giving birth to his two sons. He had never liked a thin woman, never wanted to see bones protruding as if she were starved. Bronson wanted his wife’s belly full with food and wanted her curves to be the proof that he cared for her.

“I love ye, lass,” he said against her temple.

She murmured something soft and sweet, and he smiled and pulled her closer. She was his, and nothing would take that away. It had been two years, and he had much to show for it now. A son a little over two years of age, and another babe who still suckled on Genevieve, who slept in the small room he had built onto theirs. His land was secure, his family healthy, and he looked forward to many more years and children with Genevieve.

He closed his eyes, but just as he was about to fall asleep, the sound of their babe crying in the next room had him opening his eyes. Before he could move, Genevieve was pushing up on the bed and looking over at him.

“Lass, I can get Deacon,” he said and leaned in to kiss her.

“No, he is hungry, and besides, I’d better feed him before he wakes Tristian.”

He watched her rise from the bed and pad naked over to her dressing gown. She slipped the cotton around her body and smiled at him. He had a beautiful family, two sons who were strong and would watch over the manor and this land when they were older and defend it as fiercely and passionately as he had.

And he would spend the rest of his days with his wife by his side. He stared at the canopy above him and then heard her come back into the room. Her gown hung off one shoulder, and Deacon was latched onto her breast as he nursed. He loved watching her feed his sons, loved the way she hummed to them until they fell asleep, and especially loved that she would caress their tiny heads that were both covered in thick hair, one son’s red, the other’s black.

“Come here, lass.” He moved over on the bed, curled his arm around her waist, and pulled her closer when she sat on the edge. He stared at his son as he nursed, and he ran his finger over Deacon’s wee brow. There was a knock on the door several moments later, and then a servant was bringing Tristian in the room. His young son rubbed his eyes, and fat tears ran down his cheeks. As soon as he saw his mother, he ran up to her.

“I’m verra sorry, milord and milady, but young Lord Tristian had a bad dream and insisted on coming tae ye, even after I tried to ease him.”

Bronson shook his head. “‘Tis okay, Laura.”

The servant nodded and left them alone. Bronson cradled his son on his lap, had his wife and infant beside him, and sighed. He might be a hardened warrior and have killed countless people, but these three were his world.

Over the last three years, he had not led the life of a warrior, but that was mainly because he had not wanted to leave his family alone if he were to die like his father had. There also had not been any threats on his land or people, and because of that, he had a pretty quiet existence.

After Mattina had been taken away for treason and being an accomplice to kill Genevieve and his unborn child, Bronson had no choice but to make an example of her. He had never harmed women or children, didn’t want to either, but after he had gone to Mattina with plans to banish her, she made it clear she would not give up.

She had deceived them, acted as though they could trust her. She told Bronson it was because of him her love was lost, and because of that, she would try with her last breath to ruin his life and his family. That, he could not have. But still, he hadn’t been able to harm her, and so he sent her away on a ship far across the sea so she would forever live her life alone, thinking about the harm she had caused. She would not be harmed where he sent her, but she would never be able to harm him or his loved ones again.