Slaves of Love

“Tell me.”

The word her father had used so many times to describe this act, the word the soldiers around her always seemed to use with such relish, the word she had come to fear so completely, came unbidden to her mind.

“Don’t fuck me,” she choked out.

His thick brown eyebrows lowered, darkening his expression, and he eased away, then settled beside her. He stroked her hair behind her ear.

“I prefer to call it making love. Where did you hear a word like that?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“I would never fuck you, my little wood nymph.” He kissed her gently, the tender brush of his lips warming her. “And I won’t make love to you unless you want me to.”

He deepened the kiss, and heat flooded through her

“Even though I feel I might die of need.” He smiled in an attempt to reassure her.

“Is it okay if I do this?” He stroked her breast.

She nodded at the exquisite pleasure.

“And this?” He flicked her other nipple with his tongue, and she moaned.

“How much do you know about making love?”

“I know that it means pain. When a man ... enters a woman, she screams and bleeds.”

Shena remembered when her father had decided to punish the young housekeeper. He had tied her hands above her head and fastened the rope to a large hook on the ceiling, then given her to the soldiers. He’d made Shena watch, telling her that would be her punishment if she ever allowed a man to take her virginity. She remembered how, afterward, the girl had hung from the rope, her feet dangling loosely, blood streaming down her thighs.

“You’re trembling.” His voice brought her back to the moment. He gathered her in his arms and held her close. “You know, it doesn’t have to be like that.”

“I ... I can’t. My father told me ... if I ever let a man ...” She sobbed.

He stroked her hair. “It’s all right. I told you I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want me to.” He folded her in his arms and rocked her.

“Do you trust me?” He whispered the question in her ear, setting the fine hairs along the side of her neck on end.

“Yes,” she breathed. It was strange, but she knew she did trust him.

“Then let me show you another way to take pleasure.”

He eased her back and stroked the length of her body, from nape to hip. Very slowly, he moved his hand to her down-covered mound.

“Will you let me? I promise I won’t do anything to harm your maidenhead.”

She nodded. He stroked her fur, then slid his finger between her intimate folds, skimming the surface. The exquisite feel of it nearly overcame her. He stroked again, and her breath caught. He kissed her belly, then dipped his tongue into her navel. His kisses drifted lower until she felt his tongue slide through her curls, then lick the moist slit between her thighs. His tongue entered her, twirling and cajoling, licking and thrusting. His mouth shifted, covering the rigid nub of her clitoris.

She cried out in pleasure. He dabbed and flicked as his fingers slipped to her slit, stroking until the pressure building within her threatened to explode.

“Do you like this, neisha?” he paused to ask.

“Yes.”

His mouth claimed her again, and she cried out. Heat raged through every part of her, inundating her senses with burning pleasure, b

uilding to an impossible level, then bursting into ecstatic flames.

Her body, which had been clenched tight, relaxed.