The Devil of Nettlewood (The Anarchy Tales) by Trent Louisa

Author:Trent, Louisa [Trent, Louisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BDSM Historical
Publisher: Loose Id LLC
Published: 2011-01-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Pulling her restraint, the overlord forced her to follow him back to the bed. Mitri floated along behind him as if buoyed on a puffy cloud, and on that puffy cloud, she drifted downward until she reclined naked on her back on the mattress, straw stabbing her hindquarters as he mounted her.

The overlord was solid in body and taller than most men in stature. He had lived a warrior’s life, and it showed in every rippled muscle and bulky sinew. His substantial weight flattened her beneath him, his enormous arms held her there. But his size did not intimidate her. His force did not threaten her. For he had given her the gift of freedom. Her ability to stay or go as she saw fit lent her power here.

Apart from all that, why would he purposefully suffocate her?

Killing her seemed hardly worth the effort. She was just a whore to him, a common prostitute, expendable and replaceable.

Nay, he would not intentionally squeeze her to death, but as he covered her body with his, his hands clasped to her skull like a vise, her hair held taut by his thick fingers, it became abundantly clear that his approach to coupling was not solicitous, not in any way.

Nor had she expected it to be.

By her own doing, she had made herself his willing vessel, agreeable to any and all carnal acts. Far from finding any of this repugnant, she responded to his dominance as a plant too long kept in the shadows responds to the light.

He was her sun.

With some effort, she turned her face up to his heat, wordlessly inviting a kiss.

And kiss her he did. No struggle for power accompanied the meeting of their mouths. There was no winning here, no losing. She simply surrendered to the hard press of his lips, the rough possession of his tongue. In return, he gave her his passion.

He was the one to break them apart to look deeply into her face again, done as he dropped his hold on her skull and hiked her arms above her head, the thick fingers of one hand now encircling her wrists like a bracelet. Or more aptly, like a prisoner’s manacle. Some guest of his she was!

“Ready?” he asked.

What a remarkable question. ’Twas just a single word, yet it spoke volumes. About them both. For she assumed he would simply dive in and plunder. After all, he thought her experienced. Yet he inquired over her preparedness. Surprise, surprise! The extent of his brutality was not nearly as great as he would have her believe. Or what she had anticipated.

“Ready!” she said with gusto.

Without further preliminaries, he eased himself into her slick passage.

Easing was a bit of a challenge as he was wider than one of her erotic candles and just as long. Though she strove to accommodate his size, the task proved daunting.

“Try taking a breath.”

She blinked, shallowly panted, “Pardon?”

“You are holding your breath. Let it go. In and out slowly, and I shall do the same.

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