After the first few sips of that wine, the night was a blur. Aneurin and I played dice in front of the door as the storm raged on. With each sip, the world took on a warm, hazy glow. By the second glass, we were stealing kisses between rolls. By the fourth… He stopped me as I rested my hand over that ever-prominent lump of flesh under the linen. Sliding his hand over my wrist, his gaze swept over the room curiously.
“Let’s go outside,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust, and those odd irises darkened. The brown burned like embers, and that true green was almost black. Caressing from my wrist to my hand, he urged it over that flesh that seemed to be swelling by the second.
“But the storm?”
“Plow the storm! I need you, Valentina.”
With his frank admission of need, my body sprang to life. But at the same time, through my drunken haze, I was hesitant. It had been over five years since the last time I had sex. Admittedly, listening to Islwyn fuck the whore in the corner had aroused me, but I was still cautious. My gaze wandered over to what was now a group in the corner.
With all the wine, I could barely make sense of what I was looking at. Islwyn was no longer behind the girl but in front of her. She worked her pink tongue over his scrotum as he stroked himself, lacing the fingers of his free hand through her ash-blonde hair, forcing her to look up at him. Behind her, the two who had been playing dice thrust into her bottom slowly and deliberately. Below her on the cot lay the other elf. What exactly was going on didn’t sink in at first. It was as though my brain didn’t want to contemplate the scene unfurling before me. Bright crimson blush took my cheeks when it finally did. All four of the elves were inside the whore, fucking her at once. Swallowing, I watched wide-eyed, listening to the whore’s loud moans of pleasure. Still, I couldn’t help smirking as I turned my attention back to Aneurin.
“All right, I’ll go outside.”
The second the door shut, he slammed his body to mine as he kissed me hard, nipping and nibbling on my lips with such ferocity that they pulsed from the impending bruises that would blossom on my skin come morning. With one hand, he threw away the linen from around his waist. It caught on the wind and hit the side of the cottage with a thump. He trailed his other hand up my shift to cup my breast. Within moments, that thin linen shift was soaked through and through.
The wind whistled around us, and the thunder rumbled the earth. Those strong hands of his ripped through the delicate linen, baring my body as we walked back toward the garden. A soft moan broke his lips as he looked me over. His face read nothing short of hunger. My own gaze savored his lithe, battle-hardened form, which seemed to almost glow in the moonlight.
I couldn’t stop myself from touching him. I tried to curl my hand around the twitching flesh that stood so prominently from his hairless hips, but he was too thick. I couldn’t encircle that turgid length. I knew elves were larger than humans. They were taller and their skeletons lighter, with muscles denser and more compact than humans. It only made sense for their penises to be larger as well, but holding him and feeling his pulse surge through those veins with every slow stroke of my hand made me tremble and ache with desire. I was throbbing and anxious with need when he started his hand’s tantalizing descent down my body. The second he brushed against my bare, needy sex, I moaned. The first touch of his gently probing finger made my breath catch. I arched my hips eagerly for more friction, like a whore performing for a client, when he started tracing maddening circles around my eager little nub—only this was real. With his other hand, he slipped a single finger into me, and my whole body froze with long-forgotten pleasure.
“Mmm… Exquisite,” he purred, as a second joined the first and he pumped them into me, caressing that place that had the ability to melt one’s mind. I released him as I lost all words. Pulling me against him hard, he pushed that massive erection against my side as he fingered me. In my drunken haze, I was eager to have him finally inside me. I needed him. I didn’t even feel the cold as he slowly lowered to his knees before me, kissing down from my navel to my needy slit. He found the desperately throbbing pearl with his tongue and proceeded to trace circles around it, occasionally stopping to lance that hot, highly skilled oral muscle into me, making me gasp and moan as the rain washed over us. He stopped when I was right on the edge of climax. My body was practically humming with desire. A moan of frustration broke my lips, and I balled my hands into fists, my nails cutting into my palms.
“I want you to ride me,” he groaned as he lowered himself to the muddy ground.
We had somehow made our way to the middle of my garden. Staring at him as the rain pelted us, I took in the art of his body. The most talented sculptor couldn’t have done justice to the lean power of his form or that thick, pulsing manhood that rose proudly from his groin. I lowered myself over him and guided his throbbing erection into my aching, greedy sex. As I started to lower myself over him, I grabbed at my breasts, leaving tiny half-moon impressions as I clawed at myself, from the sensation of that massive invader spearing between my needy nether-lips, stretching me almost forcefully.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he cursed as my head rolled back, and my nails left pink lines in their wake across my generous bosom and down my sides as I lowered myself over his cock. My moan was swallowed whole by the storm as I took every last inch of him. Pleasure and pain were battling it out within in me as the rain stung my naked flesh. I was almost afraid to move. The sensation of being filled completely was too much for me. He raked his hands back through the mud as he arched his back, his hips driving against me. We tested each other’s resolve as I slowly started moving my hips and found the air knocked from my lungs as my folds fluttered around him.
We smeared mud over each other as I found the mettle to move and set a pace that slowly started to urge incredible warmth through me. He always kept one hand on my hip, caressing his thumb over that hard, needy pearl at the crest of my sex. That thumb against me was like a rider’s spurs to a mare’s haunches. He dictated my pace as the storm raged around us. He knew how to apply the right amount of friction to spur me to ride him faster. “Just like that, fuck…fuck the gods…fuck,” Aneurin roared as he smeared mud over my stomach.
“I’m…I’m going…going to…” I cried, feeling that pressure and heat grow to immeasurable heights as my sex crushed around him, my unused orifice tensing and releasing as though its mission were to milk every last ounce of seed from him. I spasmed on top of him as he pulled me over him, kissing me hard as I rode my orgasm. His muddied hands pulled apart the cheeks of my bottom as he began thrusting into me mercilessly, touching all those places I had never been touched before. My body thrashed within his tight grasp as he assaulted my sex with his unrelenting thrusts. He flipped me onto my back with a splash. Mud splattered everywhere as he continued to ride me.
“Oh f-fuck,” I squealed as he bottomed out, caressing places I had never entertained as possible before. I rode his hips, wantonly meeting every last one of his thrusts until he finally came, raking his nails down my sides, pumping me full of his thick white seed. I felt spurt after thick, heady spurt as he filled me. His phallus twitched inside me like it had a life of its own. Moaning, I thrashed in the mud, greedy for more and far from sated.
As though he could sense my impending frustration he withdrew his shaft from my frothy sex and buried his mouth between my thighs. He worked his tongue tirelessly, lapping up every last ounce of his thick cum like an eager, greedy cat. My feet kicked mud onto his shoulders and my toes dug into his muscles as he ate at me, seemingly determined to devour every last ounce that he had deposited deep within me.
My second orgasm ripped from me. I clawed at the earth, my fingers leaving deep scores behind as my body exploded. I thrust my hips up against Aneurin’s mouth as he purred against the needy kernel of flesh at the crest of my sex. That vibration drove me wild as I rode his face. He chuckled darkly. After a time, he worked his way up my body to my neck with rough, brutal, nipping kisses. He lanced into me
again, knocking air from my lungs as I was instantly forced to accommodate every last inch of him. I had never been so absolutely stuffed in my entire life. I writhed on his rigid, sensitive flesh as he pressed his hips hard against mine, a soft half-gasp escaping his lips.
“Every. Last. Inch,” he purred as he rocked against my hips. My body spasmed wildly. Practically screaming, I thrashed in the mud, speckling us with earth as he groaned against me, “That’s it… Come for me.” He panted darkly as my body writhed violently.
My hands smeared mud over him, leaving ruined handprints in their wake as I tried to grasp something tangible while he made me come yet again. I felt my inner lips flutter wildly around him as my consciousness grew spotty. He sucked in air sharply through his teeth as he began once more to coat my sex with his viscous elven seed. I blacked out mid-orgasm. All I remembered was the crack of thunder over us, a blinding flash of lightning, and then nothing.
* * * *
Shivering, I woke to the sounds of footsteps splashing in the mud. Blinking against the light, I felt rain continuing to pelt my body. Squinting, I made out the form of an elf standing over me. Groggily, I sat up and looked around…and then panicked. Aneurin lay asleep beside me, with one leg possessively curled on top of mine. We were both coated in the almost black mud, but that wasn’t what caused my heart to beat like it was going to explode. The garden had bloomed overnight. Full-grown plants with the greenest leaves I had ever seen stood in rows where I knew the meager crops had failed. Well, they are certainly going to burn me now.
“Aneurin!” The elf yelled his name, his voice echoing off over the rolling hillside. With a growl, Aneurin sat up and gasped as he looked around.
“Fuck,” he cursed as he quickly stood, almost tripping over a lettuce plant that I knew had died a week ago. He did a double take as he looked at me, and before I could say anything he gathered me into his arms. He took me inside and set me down in front of the hearth. The elves started yelling at one another. The other four were dressed and dry and clearly pissed at Aneurin. I couldn’t help but smile as Aneurin stood with his arms crossed, naked, covered in mud, and unashamed, as he argued with his friends in their tongue. The word “Dy’ne” was thrown around, and I knew enough to know it was derogatory, and something made me think they were referring to me when they said it.
Once I was warm enough to move, I stood, and the conversation paused as I stretched. I could feel their stares trailing me as I poured water into a clean kettle and set it on the fire. Maybe I should have felt self-conscious about being naked around four strangers—five if you counted the whore who was passed out on one of the cots—but I didn’t care. The only thing I was focused on was getting warm and washing the mud off myself.
The moment I left the room with my bucket of warm water, the arguing commenced again. And they were still arguing when I returned, free of mud and in a nice dry lavender dress that matched my eyes. Letting them argue, I put on a kettle, took out a small linen pouch of fisher’s root tea, and tossed it into the water.
“Is anyone going to tell me why I now have a garden in full bloom when yesterday everything was dead? Or are you all going to argue about Aneurin fucking me?” I asked, my voice silencing the room. They turned and looked at me once more.
“Have you heard that old story about…” Aneurin sighed and stopped, looking around. “I’m a Swynwr.”
“A swinor?”
“Swynwr. It’s a mage supposedly naturally gifted by the gods. The ways of the Swynwr are long dead. I can’t do anything with my power, and no one can teach me how to use it. Essentially, I’m a remnant of elven society before we fell. Before, I would have been a druid; now I’m a bandit. And some, like Islwyn, still consider me and my person sacred. Others think I should be put down like a rabid animal.”
“Call me crazy for refusing to let our culture die,” Islwyn grumbled narrowing his crystalline irises at Aneurin. They shared a long look for a handful of moments and then Aneurin turned his attention back to me. “He’s also not telling you all of it. A Swynwr is born to be our king, not a tribe’s mhenaduriaid, but the one king to all of us.”
“If you are raised in the old ways—which I wasn’t. I was raised godless and quite happy for it,” Aneurin groused as he left the room.
As I opened my mouth to say something I was silenced by pounding at the door. I gestured for everyone to go into my private rooms, and they all filed passed me—but not before Islwyn grabbed the whore and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. It seemed someone was here to see me…my questions would have to wait.
Chapter Five
The wound was infected, red and weeping. I had seen a lot, and even I didn’t want to touch it. The yellowish-orange puss that drained from the decomposing flesh smelled of turned meat and feces; it was a smell I knew well but never became immune to. Still I had to fight the smile from my lips. It had started out as the simplest of cuts, probably a tiny scrape while working with pigs or goats or whatever animal he and his family kept. It now festered, and when I touched his arm the flesh squished. I could have prevented this…
“You’ve gotta help me, Miss Witch. It hurts somefin’ bad. I went to the Barber Surgeon, he said ‘tis noffin’ and sent me on m’ way. Went back las’ week an’ ‘e bled meh.” Serves you right, sheepfucker.
Grumbling, I turned from the body on my cot, snatched a potion from the shelf, and went about gathering herbs. I might be able to save the man’s arm, maybe. If he had come to me first, I could have told him to keep the wound clean, or wrapped his arm in gauze to give it a chance at healing without infection. Now his odds were fifty-fifty, but in reality closer to thirty-seventy because I wasn’t certain he wouldn’t run to tell the priests about my flourishing garden. Admittedly, a part of me wanted him to die from the wound and another part wanted to help him along.
Still, I gave him the potion. While he was unconscious, I scraped the putrefied flesh from the wound and flung it into the fire where it sizzled and filled the room with acrid smoke. Then I cauterized the wound and bound it in gauze. He’d live and probably keep the arm. The smell in the room was thick and noxious. Sage and decay made the air stifling, but it fit my mood. Staring down at the man’s dirty, unconscious form, I started doing simple mathematics in my head. If the priest sent a pigeon to the capital it would reach there tomorrow. It took two weeks to reach Laeth on the main road. If they decided to burn me, I’d have—
Footsteps broke my train of thought. Whipping my head around, I found Aneurin standing in the doorway, clean and wrapped in dry clothes. Thunder rolled overhead as the storm continued to rage.
“He’ll live,” I stated plainly, washing my hands of blood and pus. The rancid stench made me queasy.
“Oh joy,” Aneurin snarled, padding over to me. Turning, I glared at him. “The choice was yours, and I won’t speak a word against it.”
“But you’ll think it.”
“Right until the moment I have to kill half of Laeth and cut you from the pyre if it comes to it.” He kissed the top of my head and as if on cue my body relaxed against him. Closing my eyes for a handful of moments, I savored the ache in my body and the memory of our lovemaking from the night before. “I’m going to clean up my mess.”
“Your mess?”
“The garden.”
“So you’re a bandit and a gardener. You are a man of many talents, Aneurin.”
“I try.” He flashed me a charming grin and disappeared out into the rain.
Aneurin wasn’t gone but minutes before Islwyn entered the room. In Ersland, he would be considered the height of beauty: milk-pale with almost silver-blond loose curls and bright icy-blue eyes. There was, however, something about him that ruined all that. His gaze was a bit too scrutinizing for my taste. It was like he was trying to figure out what my worth was beyond what he knew already.
“Don’t forget to drink your tea.” His voice made me jump, but he didn’t look at me. His attention was fixed outside the window, pr
obably watching Aneurin.
“Tea?” I quirked a brow.
“So you’re not graced with a little half-elf bastard in eight months.” He spat the word “half-elf,” and I in turn practically growled at his tone. Unfortunately, he did have a point. I walked over to the kettle and poured the tea into one of my mugs. I stared at it for a moment; it tasted vile even when watered down, and this had steeped for a few hours. I sipped the tea with a grimace. The moment that bitter brew hit my tongue I had to fight my gag reflex to get it all down.
We sat in silence. The only noises in the room were the crackle of the fire and the muted sounds of the debauchery that continued in my private rooms. After a while, Islwyn turned from the window and sighed into his hands before passing his fingers through his curly locks. After staring at me for a few moments, the corners of his lips turned up in a slight smile.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been in a mood all morning.” He took a seat at the table.
“Hungover?” I tilted my head to the side.
“A bit.”
“I have something for that.” I stood and walked over to my shelf of herbs. Grabbing one of my linen tea pouches, I placed a pinch of dried lavender, milk thistle, and honeysuckle into it, then set water on to boil.
“He doesn’t understand that he’s putting himself at risk. If he loved you as he claims, he wouldn’t have pierced your secret flower with his mutton dagger or whatever it is you humans say these days.” The best part of it all was that he said it with a straight face. I couldn’t maintain my composure and soon cackled with peals of laughter.
“Yes. Of course! Verily he plunged his gleaming, rigid, mutton dagger into the heart of my dewy secret flower sending me quivering into bliss.” I turned my gaze to the ceiling. “Mutton dagger? Secret flower? Do I look like some sort of delusional, drunken, deranged trobairitz to you?” I chortled, tossing more sage on the fire. “Does that really seem the sort of thing that would leave my lips at any given time? But thank you. Thank you for making me laugh. Speaking of mutton daggers…” I stood and walked back to my shelf, retrieving a small white pot of ointment. “For your chafed meat dagger. I can only imagine how sore it is after a night of vigorously piercing the not so secret flower of what is now a well-used whore.”
Heart of the Forest (Arwn's Gift Book 1) Page 6
