Warlord (12 page)

Wordlessly, Sara placed her hands on Arystan’s shoulders and pulled the heavy, leather vest from his arms. He allowed this and she sat it on the floor behind them with a soft clunk. It was much heavier than she had imagined it would be. Sara’s eyes swept over the dark skin of his torso. He had a shallow gash on his shoulder where a small part of his arm had been exposed between the armband and the leather vest. The wound to his head looked worse, but blood caked his skin and hair and she could not tell how serious it was.

She looked across the table and saw that while she had slept, someone had replaced the washbasin with a fresh bowl and new cloths. Perhaps they had brought it in right before Arystan arrived, knowing he might need it after the skirmish. A slight steam escaped the water. She reached over and drew the basin and a cloth toward her. She dipped the cloth and held it in her hand, warm water dripping from her fingers, undecided as her pulse beat an irregular rhythm against her throat.

Her mouth dry and her heart pounding, she brought the cloth up slowly to Arystan’s head and touched it to the sticky blood. She held her breath. He did not flinch or draw away from her. Slightly more emboldened, she slid closer to him, her soft legs touching his hard, muscled thigh. He hissed at the contact and she drew back for a moment and then, trying to keep her hand steady, began to work at his temple, peeling away the dried residue until it was clean. It oozed a bit of fresh blood, but she had nothing with which to bandage it so she simply pressed the cloth against it and then let it be. It did not look deep. She wiped the blood from his hair and then dipped the cloth back in the basin, wringing it as she watched the water change from clear to crimson.

Sara cleaned the small gash on Arystan’s upper arm and then moved her arm behind him, wiping the dirt and sweat from his back. She was painfully aware of his presence, the smooth, flowing muscles rippling as he shifted, his dark, flowing hair, his broad, hard shoulders. As she finished, he lifted one leg over the bench, turning to face her, his leather skirt tented with evidence of his lust. His black eyes smoldered into hers and raked over her body, lingering at the apex to her thighs where her naked legs were spread across the bench.

She wanted badly to fuck him, he was so close to her, so hot, his body drawing her in like a magnet, but she also wanted to finish tending to him. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, wrung out the cloth and raised her trembling hand to his chest. Arystan’s dark eyes rested on the woman as she drew the warm cloth over the muscles in his neck, shoulders, pectorals and abdomen, in sensuous, gentle sweeping motions. He had never had a woman attend to him after a battle. Rainura had tried once, but he found her ministrations irritating. But this . . . this was one of the most erotic experiences he could have imagined. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he tried not to betray any emotion while the beautiful, pale woman worked over him, stimulating his flesh in ways he had not thought possible.

Sara drew the cloth one more time over his well-defined musculature, her eyes falling to the leather draped around his waist. She paused, wondering if she dared continue. She did. She worked the cloth up one muscular thigh, continuing, sliding her hands under the metal overlay, working her way closer, until she released the damp cloth, letting it fall to the floor, and slid her bare hand shamelessly to his cock.

“Sara,” he rasped, as her hand came into contact with his shaft, engorged with blood, throbbing. Simply the way in which he spoke her name made her feel as though a river of fire gushed through her and she might ignite, bursting into a fiery conflagration.

He stood up abruptly, flinging Sara’s hands away, staring down at the woman straddling the bench, at the fullness of her breasts, topped by large, brown nipples in the dimming torchlight. He had reached his limit.

He walked quickly away from her as she stared after him, her mouth open, wondering what she had done. She was frenzied with need, almost shaking, she wanted Arystan so badly. Where the hell was he going?

He returned a half-second later, flinging a white fur from his bed over the edge of the table. It was beautiful, a snow leopard.

“Sit on the table with your legs over the edge. Now,” he demanded, his voice raw with desire.

Sara didn’t have to be told twice. She scrambled from the bench to the fur which felt like velvet under her thighs. She moved closer to the edge, her legs spread, feeling the wetness seeping out from her, trembling. She leaned back slightly, resting on her hands, and closed her eyes.

He studied her, her legs falling open, the alluring patch of curling brown below her belly.

The torchlight was low, very low, but it made the setting seem . . . intimate, another unfamiliar feeling to Arystan. He moved forward fluidly and positioned himself between her thighs.

“Look at me,” he commanded hoarsely.

Sara bit her lip and opened her eyes, looking directly into Arystan’s black eyes, her blue ones hazy, sensual, and then unable to stop herself, her gaze swept down over his taut, dark body. She gasped as her eyes came to rest on his loins. He had removed the leather skirt and his beautiful, huge cock was positioned inches from her opening, ready to drive into her mercilessly.

Arystan knew from past experience that the table was the perfect height for taking a woman. This, however, was the first time he had ever brought over a hide. Usually, he threw the women directly on the boards, sometimes fucking them on their backs, the roughened wood causing scrapes and bleeding, cries of pain mixing in with those from his violent attentions. His eyes flickered darkly; he had a different type of discomfort in mind for Sara.

Sara saw the dark look that crossed Arystan’s face. She felt her stomach clench with desire. His organ was so huge she realized he could probably use it for more than pleasure, possibly punishment, retribution, compliance. Arystan might be showing more consideration than she expected, but she could tell there was a darker side to this warrior.

There was a price to pay to be had by him. A price she was more than willing to pay.

In one swift motion, Arystan reached behind her, grabbed her hips and thrust himself forward, hissing as he entered her, her warm, pulsating, vibrant sheath welcoming and enveloping him. He held Sara impaled on his cock while she gasped at his size, adjusting to the sensation of being filled so wholly and completely. He groaned, feeling her pulse around him, and then pulled back slowly, drawing his cock out so that only the head was inside her, as she whimpered at his withdrawal, and then thrust into her viciously again, deeper this time, hitting her cervix as she let out a strangled cry. Sara reflexively locked her legs around his torso as he begin strongly driving into her, finding a rhythm, still holding her hips as he buried himself up to his balls, slapping and pounding against Sara’s thighs as he rode her on the leopard fur thrown over the table.

Sara cried out at his intensity, tongues of flame shooting up her body, her senses whirling, a torrent of need flowing through her. She grabbed onto his shoulders, feeling his muscles rippling and tensing as he tore into her at a fervent pace, a sheen in the low torchlight developing over their bodies. Sara’s head fell back and Arystan drew his tongue up her throat, tasting her salty skin, making her shudder and cry out his name.

Hearing his name on her lips only made him stroke into her harder and he locked his mouth over her neck, sucking, licking, and then biting down on her skin in his lust, until she was whimpering and crying out, and he . . . tasted blood. Startled, he drew back, not slowing his stroke, noting the small dark patch where he had broken the skin. She brought her head up, her eyes glowing, dizzy with passion, and he pulled her into a hot, searing kiss as their bodies merged and flowed.

Ravishing her mouth, Arystan effortlessly lifted Sara, still riding her body, his hands under her buttocks, spinning her away from the table, her legs locked around his waist.

Sara’s hands slipped from Arystan’s shoulders to his biceps, her body arching back through the air, her hair cascading behind her, her mouth slack, as he continued to piston into her, watching her body jerk roughly under his stroke, bouncing her over his pole of iron, as she emitted cries and moans of pleasure.

Suddenly, Sara pulled herself upright, her hands reaching for his back, her nails raking over his hard skin. He lifted her above his cock, bending his knees slightly as he slammed into deeply, enjoying her shrieks as he hit bottom again and again. He felt her warm sheath begin to clutch, he could feel her tightening around him, as she moved toward that state of bliss, propelled by his deep thrusts, as he drove into that spot of pleasure over and over. Arystan’s head bent forward with exertion, bringing her to that place where only he could take her, his eyes falling to the erotic sight of their bodies connecting, her sweet, wet sleeve encasing his cock as he pushed through her juices coating and gushing around him, his buttocks clenching as he feverishly drove into her portal of pleasure.

Sara’s blue eyes locked to his as she tried to keep her grip on his slippery skin, slick with the juices of their exertion, their bodies coated with the oils of their lust. Arystan stared into her eyes, fascinated, unable to tear his gaze away as Sara’s pupils turned in on themselves and she looked somewhere far away, taking several deep breaths in succession, and then crying out, her pussy clamping powerfully over him, causing him to gasp as she squeezed him, feeling the gush of fluids flowing over his cock, her sheath spasming as her eyes looked through him, beyond, brought to nameless heights of pleasure, her pupils suddenly enlarging as if they would swallow the blue whole, her eyes turning almost black. Arystan had never before looked into a woman’s eyes during her climax, completely oblivious of the powerful connection he was forging with Sara.

He held himself still while Sara’s pulsing slowed around him, her head falling to his shoulders as she gasped and panted, her body still resting on his huge, hard rod, harder, Arystan thought, than it had ever been in his life. He waited another moment and then gave her a strong, lustful stroke, jerking her body, causing her to gasp and register his presence again.

That had been good, but Arystan was ready for more of the woman. Although he did not realize it and would not have admitted it if he did, Sara attending to him after the ambush and her responses to his ardor were affecting him deeply. He looked at her with a feral hunger in his eyes that she alone could slake, a ravenous need for her, something that could be sated only by driving into her sweet body, riding her, thrusting, taking enough pleasure of her to satisfy the fire that still burned in his loins. Arystan walked with her to the bed, his carnal expression sending tremors through Sara’s belly as she felt his body tense with craving, as if he had just started. And he had.

He looked deeply into her eyes, his dark eyes full of primitive lust.

“Now,” he breathed at her, his face contorted with desire, “I fuck you.”

Sara thought she might faint.

Arystan easily lifted her from his body, Sara moaning as he slipped from her, feeling the emptiness, his loss, wanting him back, and then he tossed her unceremoniously onto the furs of his bed.

“Turn over,” he said hoarsely.

She dimly registered his words in her passion-clouded mind, her eyes dark and smoky as she stared up at him. His eyes hardened at her noncompliance.

“On your hands and knees, woman,” he growled, reaching down and ruthlessly flipping her onto her stomach, then grabbing her hair and pulling her up roughly. A gush of fluid rushed out of Sara, soaking her thighs.

He climbed onto the bed behind her, kneeling between her legs, pausing for a moment before he drove hard into her, banging against her cervix, causing her to fly up the bed.

“No,” he hissed, grabbing her shoulders and dragging her back down, locking her in place as he began hungrily pistoning into her, thrusting deeply, his need taking him over, becoming his brutal, passionate self, riding her body roughly, feeling her jerk beneath him with every stroke as he hit bottom.

Now was the time when the women would cry, beg, and plead for him to stop and release them, where what started as pleasure melded into something . . . darker, something closer to pain, something more primal, animal. Sara screamed, but it was Arystan’s name as she began to pulse again, her entire body tensing, as he flexed and pounded above her mercilessly. His black eyes registered surprise as he saw her back and buttocks tense and she came again, shrieking and crying under him as he drove through her orgasm relentlessly, intent on taking his own pleasure, reaching his own release.

She was a small woman, but strong, he gave her that. She did not even try to crawl away, but continued to accept him, still pushing her hips back against him wantonly, wanting him, needing more, making him want her more. She ground her pelvis against him, winding her hips, taking his cock with her, and he groaned as his eyes rolled back in his head with the sensation.

“You are so passionate, Sara,” Arystan whispered. “So insatiable, taking me as I am, all of me,” he growled, releasing her shoulders and gripping her by the hips, letting her head fall to the furs, his rhythm quickening, fucking her brutally, slamming into her repeatedly, small hoarse cries coming from the furs, her voice spent, but still staying with him, Arystan’s black hair swinging, his body drenched in sweat, droplets of water cascading over Sara’s back, bouncing and rolling from her skin to the bed.

Grunting, he rolled to his back, pulling Sara with him up to a sitting position so that she was impaled over his cock facing away from him, not missing a stroke, continuing to fuck her deeply, thoroughly. He felt her adjust to the change and realize that she had some control while in this position and he let her have a bit of freedom as she modified the tempo, beginning to fuck him, sliding herself over his cock lasciviously, perspiration now sliding from her body and cascading over his. She slid her warm tunnel over him faster, closing her eyes tightly, biting her lip, her breathing in tandem with her movements as Arystan’s black eyes drank in the beautiful sight of the globes of her ass jiggling deliciously as she bounced and coiled over him, gyrating in a rhythmic cadence.