Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
I climb the side of it and look through the window. The general and his wife are asleep in bed, and though their house is still tiny in comparison to one they would have had in Spain, I know she has a dressing room for her gowns.
Truth is, I’m not stealing clothes so Larimar can feel more comfortable. It’s so I can be more comfortable. Her breasts were always on display, but now that I’ll see that pink cunt of hers every time I come into the back room, I fear I won’t be able to function. If I end up letting her down from the cross, that will make matters even worse.
I climb through the window of the next room over and find her wardrobe. I do my best to take what a woman would wear: linen shifts for sleeping and under clothes, whalebone stays, a petticoat, three stomachers with matching gowns, plus a pair of stockings and boots. I grab a woolen cape with a hood, hanging it off the top of my head before I head back down the window and into the darkness again.
If anyone sees me running through the town and back into the woods with a pile of women’s garments in my hands, it must be quite the sight.
When I get back to the church, only a few hours have passed, but Larimar looks as petulant as when I left her, though there is a strange smugness in her eyes. Not that I stare at her eyes for long—it’s hard to keep them focused when she’s so terribly, beautifully nude.
I place the pile of clothes on the table and walk toward her, stopping when I realize the cause of that haughty look.
She’s knocked over both chalices, her blood spilled in either direction.
Serves me right for not removing them right away.
“I suppose you’re proud of yourself,” I comment, swiping up a cup from the floor. If I were any more of an animal, I’d get on my hands and knees and lick the blood up, but I’m not about to supplicate myself in front of her like that.
I grumble to myself and go to the other chalice when she suddenly kicks me in the face, my teeth clanking together.
“Fuck!” I holler, holding my jaw. That actually hurt. If I was human, that would leave a bruise.
I glare at her, willing the anger inside me to rise so I can lash out at her.
Yet I can’t help but be impressed, perhaps a little turned on. Doesn’t help that she’s still so incredibly naked.
“Do you feel better now?” I ask her mildly, wriggling my jaw. She has quite the kick.
“A little,” she says. “I was waiting to see your face when you saw I spilled all your blood, and I wasn’t disappointed.”
“Careful,” I warn, putting the chalices away. “The more you spill, the more I’ll have to take.” Thankfully, I got my fill anyway, and now that I know she still has Syren blood, I don’t have to stockpile.
“How come I can barely talk?” she asks as I start rifling through her stolen clothes.
“Because I took away your ability to yell or scream,” I explain. Women have always worn so many layers it’s hard to know where to start.
She lets out a small cry of despair, and I pick up one of the gowns, this one a dusky blue gray, and move over to her, holding it up to her shoulders to see if it will, in fact, fit.
“You took away my voice?” she whispers.
“The strength of it,” I tell her. The gown does make her eyes seem punchier and more vibrant. “I’m not about to let you holler for help now that you can pass for human. Better than the chain in your mouth, wouldn’t you agree?”
She makes a disgruntled noise. “What are the clothes for?”
I give her a steady look. “For you to wear, quite obviously.”
“Why?”
“For modesty.”
She snorts. “I’ve been naked this whole time. Why start now?”
I clear my throat and head back to the table to gather the rest of the items that go with it. “Things are different now. You were an animal. Now, you are a human.”
“And you just had your fingers inside me,” she points out.
My cock twitches, and I growl lightly in response.
A moment passes.
“Are you ashamed of my body?” she asks, quieter now.
I glance at her over my shoulder, puzzled. “Why would you say that?”
Her expression turns vulnerable, her eyes soft, lips practically pouting. It’s like a stab to the chest.
“I don’t know,” she says, looking down at her legs. “I don’t know if mine is normal or not. It seems normal, but…you brought those clothes to cover me up, like you don’t want to look at me.”
God help me.
I stride over to her and put my hand at her face, making her look at me. Her cheeks seem so small and warm against my palm.