The Pillars of Creation (Sword of Truth 7)

“Please,” she panted against the shoulder he had pressed to her jaw, holding her head against the floor, “let me help you.”

This was definitely new. “Help me?”

“Yes,” she confided urgently up toward his ear. “Let me help you unfasten your trousers so that you’ll be free to touch me where I need it most.”

Oba was eager to oblige her brazen desires. Leaving her to the treasured task of opening his trousers left him free to grope her. She was a delightful creature—a fitting mate to a man like him, a Rahl, almost a prince. He had never had such a wonderfully unexpected and intimate experience. Apparently, knowing that he was royalty drove women delirious with uncontrollable yearnings.

Oba grinned at her shameless need while her covetous fingers fumbled at unbuttoning his trousers. He shifted his weight to give her a little room for her work as he leisurely explored her feminine secrets.

“Please,” she breathed in his ear again as she finally got his trousers undone, “let me hold you down there? Please?”

She was so hot for him that she had completely abandoned her dignity. He had to admit, though, that it didn’t put him off. Biting her neck, he grunted his permission for her to go ahead.

Oba lifted his hips so she could get at the objects of her lewd desire. He moaned with pleasure as she stretched her lithe body to reach down under him. He felt her long cool fingers gathering up his most private parts into her lovely hand.

Driven by his unrestrained passion for her, Oba bit into her sumptuous neck again. She moaned with the feel of his teeth as she urgently collected his sac together in her greedy hand. He would reward her with the slowest death he could give her.

She suddenly wrenched her handful around with such abrupt violence that as Oba jerked up, he went blind with the shock.

The lightning jolt of pain was so acute that he couldn’t draw a breath. While he was momentarily immobilized by the trauma, she lunged lower and seized him in a more tenacious grip. Without pause, she mercilessly wrung him even more forcibly the second time. His eyes bulged as he convulsed but once, tenting over her, the spasm fixing his muscles into stiff, stark rigidity. His thinking scrambled. He couldn’t hear, see, breathe, or even cry out. He was paralyzed, ironbound in pure agony.

Everything was one long, fiery-sharp, twisting pang. It went on without end. His mouth rounded, trying to scream, but no sound came out. It seemed forever before blurred vision started to return, along with jumbled sounds that filled his ringing ears.

The room suddenly spun wildly. Tumbling across the stone floor, Oba realized he had been kicked in his side hard enough to drive the remaining wind from him. It was a complete mystery to him. He slammed into the wall and flopped to a stop. He had to pull hard several times before he could draw a breath. The pain lancing his side felt like a cow had kicked him, but it was nothing compared to the searing inferno in his groin.

Then Oba saw the guard. The man had come back. That was who had kicked him in the side. Him, not her. She was still sprawled on the floor, her lovely flesh exposed in a teasing manner.

The guard had a sword to hand. He went to one knee near the woman, checking her with quick glances.

“Mistress Nyda! Mistress Nyda, are you all right?”

She groaned as she tottered haltingly to her hands and knees while the man, in a crouch, feet spread, watched Oba. He looked like he feared to help her, to even look at her, but he didn’t look to fear Oba. Oba lay back against the wall, gathering his wits as he watched the two of them.

She didn’t try to cover her hips, her exposed breasts. Oba knew that she was still game for him, but with the guard there, she couldn’t show her feelings. She must be insane with lust for him to have provoked him so by what she had done.

Oba pushed himself up a bit, getting his wind back, as the feeling began returning to his tingling extremities. He watched the woman—Mistress Nyda, the guard had called her—staggering to her feet.

Oba lay still, listening to the voice whispering to him, as he watched sweat run across her skin. She was divine. He still had much to learn from a woman like this. There were pleasures untold yet to come.

Still recovering his strength, Oba rose up, leaning against the wall, watching as she provocatively used the back of one hand to wipe blood from her mouth. With her other hand, she tugged at her leather outfit, trying to cover herself. She was dazed, no doubt by her heady brush with lust, and was unable to get her trembling hands to work right. Having trouble balancing, she staggered sideways a couple of steps. It appeared as if it was all she could do to stand. Oba was surprised that her bones weren’t broken, considering their brief but vigorous love tussle. There would be time for that.

Blood trickled from the love bites on her neck. He noticed that her blond hair was matted with blood from when he had banged her head against the stone floor. Oba reminded himself to be mindful of his strength, lest he end it prematurely. That had happened before. He had to be careful; women were delicate.

Oba, still panting to catch his breath, still hobbled by the throbbing ache between his legs, fixed his gaze on the guard. The man had remarkable control to stand there so confidently, considering that he was in the presence of a Rahl.

Their gazes met. The man took a step forward.

The eyes of the voice opened to look at him, too.

The man froze.

Oba grinned.

“Mistress Nyda,” the guard whispered, his eyes staring, fixed on Oba, “I think you’d better get out of here.”

She frowned at him as she tried to pull her leather up over her shapely hips. She was still having trouble balancing, and trying to tug her outfit back into place wasn’t helping.

“We don’t want her to leave,” Oba said.

The guar

d’s wide eyes stared.

“We don’t want her to leave,” Oba said again, in unison with the voice. “We can both enjoy her.”

“We don’t want her to leave…” the guard repeated.

Pausing in her attempt to cover herself, Mistress Nyda looked from the guard to Oba.

“Bring her to me,” Oba commanded, amazed at what the voice could think of, and delighted by the very notion. “Bring her over here, and we will both have her.”

The woman, still unsteady, followed Oba’s gaze to the guard. When she saw his face, she tried to snatch her dangling red rod. The guard seized her wrist, preventing her from getting at it. His other hand swept around her waist. She fought him, but he was a big man, and she was already woozy.

Oba grinned as he watched the guard dragging the struggling Nyda closer. The man’s fingers roamed over her exposed flesh as Oba’s had done.

“She feels delightful, don’t you think?” Oba asked.

The guard smiled and nodded as he wrestled the woman toward the back of the prison cell where Oba and the voice waited.

When they were close enough, Oba reached for her. It was time he finished what he had started. Finished it good.

She seized the guard’s clothes in her fists for support. With stunning speed, her whole body twisted in midair. From nowhere, for just an instant, Oba saw the bottom of the heel of her boot flying at his face like a bolt of lightning. Before he could react, the world went black amid a stunning crash of pain.

Chapter 43

Oba opened his eyes to darkness. He was lying on his back, on a stone floor. His face throbbed in pain. He drew his knees up and comforted his aching groin.

That vixen, Nyda, had proven as troublesome as any woman he had ever known. It seemed like he was always being tormented by troublesome women. They were all jealous of him, of his importance. They were all trying to keep him down.

Oba was getting weary of waking up in cold dark places, too. He had hated the way, throughout his life, he was always waking up in some confined place. They were always hot or cold. No place he had ever been locked in was ever comfortable.