Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
And as the warrior moved, he was stroking that phallus, coating it liberally with oil.
Thus, when he made it back to the end of the long, wide, fluffy pallet on its high stand, Drey decided to take things in hand, figuratively and literally.
He moved forward, reaching out, getting close, touching the warrior at his waist and rolling up on his toes to seek his mouth.
“No bocca,” the warrior grunted.
“Ma—” he started. But—
Suddenly, he found the back of his neck seized and his cry of surprise was truncated when he was thrown through the air, landing facedown on the bed.
He did not protest his new position when his hips were jerked up and back, so that his knees hit the edge of the shockingly downy mattress.
He was not ready for the penetration when it came. Certainly with no preamble. And definitely not with the sheer size of the shaft he was taking.
But Drey was as he was and this mattered not.
Indeed, he came up off his hands with a “Yes,” in order to ride that brute.
Only to be shoved down to the bed, face first, a strong hand again at the back of his neck, and he was the one being ridden.
Hard.
G’Drey could barely breathe with his face stuffed in the silk, but that only heightened his arousal. And when he again met his chosen one, he would introduce this to their play.
Unquestionably.
And it might be he’d find climax simply with the drives through his arse and the fire coursing through his system due to his need to breathe.
Eventually.
But right then, he needed a hand.
When the warrior didn’t offer one, Drey slid one toward himself.
He was close to his aching target when he took all of that big cock on a grunt from them both—the warrior’s, of effort, Drey’s, of pain—and then Drey’s hand was slapped away.
“No,” came another grunt from the warrior.
With difficulty, Drey forced his head to the side, he drew in a large breath and gasped, “But—”
And again with the pounding.
By the true gods, this beast was splendid.
He felt himself beading.
Maybe he would climax just from the thrusts.
“Labbra, mia gazzella,” he heard murmured lovingly.
G’Drey blinked against the silk blankets.
His gazelle?
Yes, he did have a trim, lithe physique so he could countenance that.
But how could he give the warrior his mouth, now, when he was face down…
“Forte, mio toro,” a woman’s voice came.
His gaze jerked down the bed, and up as far as he could force it, as his arse took more, faster and harder, and he saw the be-ringed hands of a woman gliding around the warrior’s wall of brown-skinned chest.
“Labbra.” He demanded her lips, his word guttural as thumbs rubbed his nipples, and they were not the warrior’s own.
“Non dentro, mio amore. Solo per me.” Not inside, my love. Only for me.
“Sì,” another grunt before he pulled out brutally.
He rolled G’Drey to his back, climbed over him on all fours, and held him by the throat in a powerful grip, his knees in Drey’s biceps, pinning his arms to the mattress, as Drey watched, from very close, two hands stroke that mighty shaft, hers on bottom, his large one all but covering it.
And as he gasped, “No,” jerking his head side to side, trying to pull his arms out from under those sturdy legs, his body from that hold, when, with a manly, triumphant groan which did not quite drown out the female’s delicate whimper, the warrior’s seed flooded his face.
That was the injury.
The insult was the warrior shifting, moving his legs from Drey’s arms so he could force his cock into Drey’s mouth and stroke it through his milking while he kissed his woman deeply…
And Drey loving the taste of him.
And the feel of him.
And the sight of him (not including his tongue in the woman’s mouth)
And the long, tight fingers still wrapped around his neck.
In the end he was sucking the softening member, his hand inching to his own cock.
Abruptly, the warrior no longer straddled his face, and his throat was used to tear him off the bed and send him reeling across the tent, landing hard on his hip.
“Esci,” the warrior demanded he leave.
Scrambling, the heat in his body rising from shame, but more with fury, Drey rushed to his robes.
He’d shrugged them on and was darting toward the flaps of the tent, pulling his gown closed at the same time trying to wind his belt around himself when he heard, “Attento, falso prete.”
He stopped dead and looked back at the warrior lounging negligently on the posted mattress, the bold-colored, sheer swaths of silk draping over it and all around, his woman draped on him. She was stroking his boxed stomach with one hand, her other arm around his back, her mouth in his neck, but her almond eyes were tipped G’Drey’s way.
That was when he saw she was wearing the chain.