Warden
Hazel would help me? My heart has swollen so much I’m not sure how it fits in my chest. Mating with her was so different to how I thought it might be. It was something I intend repeating as often as possible. And should I fill her belly…then I want to mate her even more.
My beautiful lady wants to help me get my mortality back. Given how well she fought in the Underhill, I have no doubt we would make a formidable team, but one thing concerns me.
Hazel is human, not a witch, nor any other creature. How can she survive in the Yeavering without magic? How has she survived so far?
My lady is wrapped in the towels provided by Meg, and she looks very comfortable.
“I have something for you.” I grin at her, striding to the rear of our quarters and unhooking her dress from behind a doorway. “Meg had it laundered.” I hand it to her.
Hazel checks it over with an expert eye. “Not bad,” she says, and then gives me the wickedest grin which makes me want to strip her clean of towels and mate her all over again. “At least it means I don’t have to go to dinner in my shift.”
“Not a chance I’m letting any male see you in that garment,” I growl.
“Oh, really?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Really,” I huff. “I could see right down the front.”
“And at what point was this? When I was being flung through the air by the Shellycoat?”
I rub at the back of my neck and pull at one of my horns. “Before that,” I admit. “But I didn’t have much time to mention it.”
Hazel makes a funny shape with her mouth which makes my insides feel funny, although I’m not sure why.
“I will not wear the shift again,” she says in an odd, clipped tone.
“You can wear it, but I’d have to tear the head off any male who looked in your direction.”
She looks at the dress in her hand and taps her foot.
“I’d probably prefer it if there wasn’t murder on my account,” she says, pulling it over her head and the towels falling around her.
I am slightly disappointed not to see her gorgeous breasts again, two items which I am going to have to explore further in due course. Mares feed their foals with them, and I have some hope my mate might feed me.
The thought of feeding makes my trousers tight once more as my todger misbehaves. If anything, now it has had a taste of a female, it wants to be within her all the time. Since our original mating, I have yet to be in a position where it was not swollen with need.
I cannot turn my back on my mate, of course, so as the dress descends over her head, I attempt to adjust myself to a more comfortable position.
Turns out there is not one.
“Can you help me lace up the back?” Hazel asks, turning further away from me.
The strings dangle from the corset at her rear. They are criss-crossed over her creamy skin.
“What do you need me to do?”
She puts her hands around behind her and pulls at where the two strings cross. “Pull these tight.” She looks at me with a smile playing over her lips. “After all, I don’t want to be showing myself off to other males. Start at the top,” she orders as I take hold of the strings.
If I thought there was nothing else she could say or do to make my todger harder, I was entirely wrong. The thing nearly thrusts its way out of my trousers.
I take hold of the first cross and pull at it. It brings the sides closer together.
“I do not mind what you wear, my lady. But I do mind others looking at you,” I respond. “It makes me want to kill things. It is my instinct.”
“What if I’m getting directions, or if it’s one of my warlock workers?” she asks. “Are you going to kill everything which looks at me?”
Deep down, I know I would.
“Unlikely,” I growl. “But I reserve the right to.”
Having closed up the corset, a small contrasting colour panel now the only thing visible, I tie the ends in a neat bow.
“All done?” Hazel asks.
“All done,” I rasp as she turns to face me.
Her lips form a perfect “o” as her eyes alight on my trousers, tented as they are with my todger.
“My lady,” I say, as the pain in the appendage increases. “I do not wish to spill in my trousers, but the more you look at it, the more I want to.”
Yet another smile creeps over her face.
“Is this what I do to you?” she asks, moving closer.
“You have been causing problems with my todger since we first met, my lady,” I growl. “But now it has had a taste of your sweet cunt, I think it may be worse.”
“So what do you want to do with it?” she asks, trailing her hand down my chest.
It takes everything I have not to turn into my Brag form and mount her immediately.
“I want to sheathe it in you. I want to make it explode within you, not spill all my seed on the floor like I used to.”
“Did you shed your seed thinking of me?”
I don’t know whether I dare tell her what I did when I collected my Duegar from the Shadow Keep.
“I did.”
“Did you take yourself in hand?”
“I did.”
“Was it good?”
“Not as good as the real thing,” I growl, backing her up against the rough stone wall and pulling at her skirts. “Not as good as being in you. My fist will never compare to your slick cunt.”
Underneath, she wears nothing, the towels were covering her bare body. I put her into the position and slide my fingers between her thighs.
My mate murmurs my name in a soft, breathy voice. She is ready and willing. I am leaking my spill everywhere as my todger escapes its fabric prison, nudging between her legs like it has always known what to do.
When I reach her entrance, I want to hold for a moment, to enjoy every last second of being without to make being within all the sweeter. But my body has other ideas. My hips surge, and I slide inside her as she moans into the wall.
I grab at her hips and lift her higher so I can go deeper, deeper, deeper. Her body is perfection, slick over me, so easy to pleasure and to plunder. I thrust and withdraw, thrust and withdraw as she calls my name with every movement.
And the more she calls, the more I never want this to end. But then I was never in control. When it hits, I genuinely think I have turned inside out, my legs shaking, my Brag needing to be part of this, my sweet little mare mewling in my arms as I fill her with my seed.
“I rut for you, little mate,” I murmur in her still damp hair. “I will never let you go.”