Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Penelope

A s the young warrior with the bloody nose informed me, Alfred, the king of the Baxter clan, is the unofficial leader of this horde that includes several clans, shifter packs… and a herd of centaurs.

He wears a thick fur cloak, leather jerkin, and pants thrust into serviceable boots. His dark hair falls in long braids over his shoulders, and a thick beard lines his jaw. He is seven feet tall if he is an inch, and, from what I can tell, all of it is muscle.

My desire to provoke him—to issue a challenge that he must accept or else lose face—makes no sense from any angle. This is not the first time I have been waylaid. It is far better to play docile, let them liberate me of my obvious weapons, lock me behind a sturdy door or tie me up somewhere, and then simply pluck out one of my hidden daggers or lockpicks—the ones they never find—break out, and be gone.

Another course of action would be to just deliver the message from Aston. I admit to having been surprised to find so many of them so close—news of which my father is clearly ignorant, too. Having noted their numbers, I was going to return home and beseech my father to apply common sense and free the barbarian and his mate.

Too late for that now.

Which means I should disclose my conversation with Aston.

But I don't—not yet anyway—because I very much want to find out what this barbarian will do.

If there were degrees of alpha-ness, I feel certain this mountain of a man would be at the top. He is nothing like the civilized men I have known. His mere presence reels me in like the proverbial moth to the flame. Just a little taste of the forbidden is all I want. Just one touch. An experience I can take away lest I wonder for the rest of my life what it might have been like.

Perhaps it is bold of me to presume this pull between us is mutual, that the glimmer in his eyes, the way his nostrils flare, is from more than anger at my obvious interruption. There have been very few occasions in my life when I feel like I might have bitten off more than I can chew, but as I stare up at Alfred, and heat gathers between my thighs, along with an ache there that demands to be eased, I believe this is one.

I don't feel any fear as Alfred stalks towards me, covering the small distance between us until he is upon me. Although I back up into the young warrior who has felt my fist and my knee, I have nowhere to go.

I expect Alfred to take me in hand, fist my arm maybe.

He doesn't. There is a brief moment of weightlessness before I'm over his shoulder. A big, broad shoulder that presses into my belly.

One might think I would protest at this point, kick or scream, take out a knife, and stab him in the back, all of which I could do very easily.

I don't. The only noise that leaves my lips is a small gasp.

I have trained with the Raven Guild since I was a child, learning the art of stealth, of using a dagger, of disabling a man or woman—oftentimes bigger than me—with ease. These are skills I have only ever used in defense. It felt right that I should learn my mother's skills to honor her memory, even though I am a princess and the sole heir to a kingdom and would never follow in her footsteps. The training has proven empowering. I never fear anything or anyone, and perhaps that has emboldened me too much and led me to my personal demise.

Only it is not my demise I'm thinking of as the burly alpha barbarian stalks for the tent with me, his prize, over his shoulder. No, it is something entirely more dangerous—an unmistakable surge of lust.

As I bounce about over his shoulder, I recognize that this game I play is dangerous.

I didn't choose that safe option, did I? No, I tossed out challenges, one after another, determined to have this alpha's hands on me one way or another, hands that could snap my neck in an instant.

My instincts say he won't hurt me, not in the obvious ways anyway, yet I also feel vulnerable in softer, more emotional ways.

I've had lovers, although I chose to keep my virginity for when I found the right man. No woman wants to find themselves pregnant and be forced to marry. But I saw no reason not to explore my sensuality within the bounds of what I deemed possible, and suffered no shame in it.

Yet I sense no prior lover could ever prepare me for what it might be like to have Alfred's big, rough hands intimately exploring me.

My actions are ridiculous. I'm a Hydornian princess. I shouldn't covet anything he has. And yet, Goddess, that glint in his eyes as he stalked toward me, and his unwavering confidence that he could handle me when no one ever has are the highest order of aphrodisiac.

How could I resist the temptation to let this play out, if only for a little while?

I tell myself I will rouse myself from this docility soon enough and put him in his place. Once he puts me down—wherever that might be—I will take out my blade, and he will let me go, if he doesn't want to lose his balls… or an eye. But as he marches into the tent and strides past an inner flap, where he drops me into a surprisingly soft fur-covered palette upon the floor, the only thing that escapes my lips is another inelegant little snort.

I toss my hair over my shoulder.

"Really? And this is how you're going to handle me, is it? On your barbaric bed?" I inject a good measure of disdain although I am secretly cooing with delight.

"Damn right, lass," he says. Unclasping his fur cloak, he lets it drop to the floor, revealing a broad chest with that tight leather jerkin and impossibly thick arms. He is a veritable giant and rough-looking with it. The knuckles of his hands are lined with scars.

My legs squeeze together—an involuntary reaction to all this male goodness.

His eyes lower to the apex of my thighs, and I realize I have given myself away.

His lips tug up as he meets my eyes. "You know alphas have a good sense of smell, little girl?"

I tell myself I don't like him calling me little girl, because it is very demeaning, and, also, I am clearly neither little nor a girl. Yet it also makes me feel all fluttery inside. I blink up at him, trying to think of a witty comeback. For once, I don't have any. Still, I believe he is merely taunting me or speculating and cannot possibly know anything about my wayward libido.

Time to wrest some power back, to put this barbarian into his place.

I jump into a crouch, draw my hidden dagger, and hold it out in front of me. "Step no closer, barbarian, lest I liberate you of parts necessary for breeding."

He throws his head back and laughs.

This is not the reaction I usually get when I draw a knife on a man, ever. Further insult is added when he puts one hand to his belly and reaches to wipe his eyes with the other like he is overcome with mirth. Still laughing, he steps closer towards me like I'm not holding out a dagger.

"What are you doing, fool?" I hiss, rising from my couch, confused when he keeps coming until the jerkin at his belly makes contact with the point of my blade.

My brows knit together. "Step back, lest I cut you!"

He does not step back. No, it is me who steps back, given I don't really want to stab him.

The fool is still chuckling.

"This is no laughing matter. You will free me at once or suffer the full wrath of my father and his kingdom."

"Aye, I'm getting the idea," he says. Then, in a move that is startlingly fast, he takes my small wrist in his hand and squeezes. Not harshly, just enough to force the blade to drop. I'm reaching for my second dagger when he grasps that wrist, too.

"Uff!" The air leaves my lungs as I'm taken down to the furs, face first. Both wrists are gathered within one meaty fist at my lower back.

I wanted his hands on me. This is not the manner in which I planned.

"Gods," he mutters as I wriggle, feeling a prickling of unease that he disabled me with such ease. "That is a fat, juicy ass. I just want to take a big bite."

His vulgar comment ought to douse my ardor, only there is no disgust in his tone; more, he speaks in the manner of fervent prayer.

"This ass was meant to feel a hand against it," he adds, boldly cupping my right bottom cheek. "Fuck, these clothes should be illegal."

I thrash in earnest, alarmed by my response more than what he does. "Release me, at once!"

His big palm comes down against my ass cheek with a thunderous clap that rings loud in the tent and startles an indignant squeal from my lips.

"You do not have leave to spank me!" I thrash around.

His big palm connects again. "I'm a king, little girl. You have wandered into my camp. I have leave to do whatever the fuck I like."

I bite back a curse-groan as he spanks me yet again.

"Who is going to stop me?" He spanks the other cheek.

Goddess, I should not be aroused by the ease with which he has gained advantage of me. I should not be secretly jubilant that he is both capable and bold enough to best me.

Alfred

Gods, that is a fine ass: worthy of legends. There is no doubt the tiny woman possesses strength. Beneath this scandalous leather armor, she's all toned flesh. My dick is hard to the point of pain, kicking against my pants and demanding I give it some relief.

I dare not even loosen my buckle to undo the top button on my pants. I swear if I even move wrong, my cock is going to go off. But damn, just looking at this beautiful plump ass jiggling with every slap of my hand is near enough to unman me.

"Goddess! That hurts," she mutters, still thrashing and kicking her legs.

I smirk, thinking about how cute and fierce she looked as she pulled her dagger on me—holding it out boldly like she might wound me with that tiny toothpick. I'm certain she has more blades hidden about her person that my fool warriors did not notice. It will be my pleasure to find each and every one of them as I strip this little girl down and teach her place.

"What are you doing in my camp?" I demand between spanks. "Were you spying for your king?"

"I was not spying," she says. It turns into a squeal as I pepper her bottom with a set of particularly sharp spanks.

My palm is feeling hot and stingy. Her ass will be stinging more. "Do you need a bare bottom spanking before you can tell me the truth, lass?" I follow up this question with another round of spanks.

"You have no rights, heathen!"

"I shall do whatever the fuck I want. Have we not already established that you are my prisoner, lass? Your other little toothpicks that you are doubtless hiding are no threat to me."

I pause my spanking to pet her ass through her leathers, throwing a look heavenwards as I slide my hand to cup her intimately from behind, feeling how hot and damp she is there, even through her clothing, as she thrashes in earnest. And I admit to being a bastard as I press my fingers a little deeper, watching on with amusement as her thrashing takes on an unmistakable humping motion. My sweet and feisty prisoner is seeking to get more of my fingers against her most intimate place.

I take my hand away. Spank her right ass cheek again hard. "None of that, lass. Bad little girls do not get off."

Her squeal is one of fake outrage. She knew exactly what she was doing.

I glance around for something to bind her wrists with and come up short. My belt will have to do. My cock flexes painfully as releasing it relieves some of the pressure. She doubles down her struggles as I secure it around her wrists, pulling it tight, but not too tight, and then leaning back to watch as she tests the restraint.

Satisfied. I nod—time to check her for daggers.

I pat her down, finding two daggers against the shoulder blades, the perfect angle for her to reach back and grasp, hidden in the sturdy leather armor. She grunts as I toss them away. There are two more at her lower back, one tucked inside her sleeve at her wrist, which joins the pile, along with yet another from her ankle. Then I turn her over and extract another three.

My search gives me ample opportunity to get my hands all over her. She glares at me, cheeks rosy, as she mutters curses that would make a sailor turn his head. Then I squeeze her plumped tits together over her leathers to check her there.

"Take your hands off me, beast."

I rub my thumbs back and forth over her budding nipples and arch my brow. "I'm making sure there are no more daggers here, lass."

"There are no daggers there!"

"Oh, I don't know. Something here feels very hard." I squeeze her nipples through the leather armor.

She gasps and tries to raise her knee.

"Ah, ah, none of that." I throw my leg over and settle some of my weight down, pinning her against the fur bed. "You've earned yourself a bare bottom spanking—an arduous task. Clearly, you've not felt the weight of a man's palm against your ass enough in your short life to carry this much anger around with you. It is my duty to set you right."

"It is not your duty!"

"Well, I'm making it my duty, little girl," I say, more casually than I feel. It has not escaped my notice that her eyes flash with heat every time I call her that.

Then I do something I never do with a lass: I lean down and steal a kiss.

Her lips are soft, and they part under mine, giving me leave to slip my tongue inside. I deepen the kiss, moving my mouth hungrily over hers. It feels intimate. It feels right. And when I force myself to break the spell, we are both breathing heavy, and her features have a dreamy aspect which I very much like having put there. She needs very badly to be dominated, has probably never let go once in her short, coveted, princess life.

Her softening lasts all of a second before she levels me with a scowl. "You will not take a second mate."

"Eh?" Her statement throws me in a loop. "Lass, we were kissing."

She tries to buck me off. I settle more weight on her and grin. I should not like that she is a possessive little thing. Normally I fucking hate it, and it would be a mood killer for sure. It does not kill my mood; if anything, more blood surges into my cock, and it kicks enthusiastically against my pants. I can't fucking stop myself from reaching down and, my eyes on hers, undoing the first buckle of her armor at her throat.

Her chest heaves as the material parts. I run my finger down the gap until I reach the next buckle, and then I unclip that. We stare at one another, and I see how her pupils dilate, how the sweet scent of her arousal floods the tent, sending me a little stupid. There's no doubt she is dangerous. I ought to be more cautious, more careful. She has probably got another knife somewhere. I've already liberated a dozen, but I'm certain there are more. I will get to that, and it's a risk I'm willing to take as the next buckle yields and the material gives and creamy, heaving tits all but spill out.

"Gods, these are nice," I say, squeezing them together before drawing the material away on the right side until her plump nipple peeks out. It's too much. I can't resist. My mouth is watering for the taste. Like a sleepwalker, my head lowers until I enclose the stiff peak in my mouth and suck.

She groans, fucking groans, arching up into my mouth. I tug the material away roughly, squeeze her tit in my hand, and suck as much of the flesh into my mouth as I can.

"Oh, Goddess!"

Her needy words drive a steely hardiness into my cock, making it flex painfully against my leather pants. I drag my nose across her soft skin and tug the material impatiently away from the other tit so I can lavish attention upon its twin until her nipple pebbles. I roll it roughly between my finger and thumb while pinning her with a look. Then I cup my big hands around her plump tits and watch her expression turn wild as I capture both nipples between my fingers and thumbs and roll them.

"Does that feel good?"

"Fuck you, barbarian scum."

I chuckle. When was the last time I enjoyed a woman this much? I don't think I've ever felt anything like this—the play between us, the electricity in the air like before a storm. I lower my head again and suck and nip the beautiful flesh of her tits, one side and then the other, leaving little marks to say I was here.

I tug impatiently at the buckles, opening the jacket up.

"Don't."

The word stops me. My hands are at the fastening of her leather pants, and my lips are against her firm belly that is all lean muscle but which I'm already fantasizing about being plump with child.

I lift my head and meet her gaze. "Don't what, lass? Speak plainly." I've taken this further than I should have. Her bottom is still in need of discipline, but I'm not a monster. Even if her aroused scent is fogging my senses, I want her mind all in, too.

Her eyes hold mine, and I see so much there: the lust, the need, the sheer desperation.

"Don't stop," she finally breathes.

My mind goes alarmingly blank for several seconds before I can assimilate what she just said.

"Please don't stop," she repeats.

A growl erupts from my chest—that is all the invitation I need. I thrust the jacket part of her armor over her shoulders until it catches at her wrists. Then, impatient, I roll her onto her belly, release her wrists, and strip the upper half of her armor before securing her wrists again.

"Oh, what?" She tugs as she realizes she has been trapped once again.

"I don't fucking trust you, lass." I roll her onto her back. "We do this on my terms, or we do not do it at all."

She huffs out a little breath, her tits quivering as she breathes unsteadily. I lean forward and squeeze one like an offering to myself before closing my lips over her taut nipple and sucking on it hard.

She arches up, complicit to all I desire. I lift my head and hold her eyes. "On my terms, little girl. All of it, or I'll have one of my men put you on your horse and escort you to the city gates."

She clamps her mouth shut. She wants to say something—I know she does—but she holds it back because she wants this more.

My grin is one of victory, but it is not my victory alone; it belongs to both of us. Her boots come off next, and then I unbuckle her leather pants and draw them, along with her panties, down her thighs, off her ankles, then fling them away. Her blush creeps down her cheeks, her throat, and stains the upper swell of her full tits. I don't linger on that for long. I've already been told she has trained rigorously. I've seen evidence of it myself. I'm quite certain she could use her knees or feet to cause me serious injury if she chose to. I could counter it, but she doesn't. No; she lifts her knees slowly and lets her legs fall apart.

"Please."

I feel like somebody has drugged me as her scent wafts towards me.

I shake my head, reminding myself that she's a Hydornian princess, and I'm a barbarian king. We both know this is a forbidden taste. This moment that exists between us now is all there will ever be. That knowledge heightens the moment and makes it impossibly more precious. She is forbidden fruit, the taste I should not take, and yet I am weak, for her, for what she offers, for the wet pussy she shamelessly puts on display. I am trapped as surely as her hands are trapped at her lower back, or maybe they are not trapped. Maybe she could get free if she chose to. But she doesn't because she wants this—all of it.

My growl is one of defeat, as I lower my head until my nose is right up against that wet, slick little pussy and breathe.

"Please, please, please." Her words repeat over and over in a whisper, a beg, an entreaty. They are filled with desperate need, one that is echoed inside me.

I groan weakly as I press my nose right up against the slick folds and draw the tip all the way to where her engorged clit is poking from the hood. She jolts as my nose brushes over it, and I follow the path with my tongue.

Gods, she tastes good. I get my hands under her ass, holding her open, spreading her, and then I eat her out.

Penelope

The barbarian has stripped me of all my clothing and every single knife. My hands are bound behind my back. The position is very awkward, and for once, there is no obvious way of getting free.

But I don't want to be free… although it would be nice if I could sink my fingers into his hair and guide his mouth where I need it the most. I twitch and fidget as he lavishes my pussy with his tongue, poking it up inside me and growling lowly as though savoring the taste. After I overheard the two guards leaving the dungeon, I had an inkling that barbarians were not quite the same as regular men might be. But, sweet mercy, I feel like I might die from the pleasure he administers with nothing but his wicked tongue.

My jaw works, and all kinds of nonsense words pour from my lips. My hips jerk. I want his tongue where I need it—on my clit. I'm so close. I don't think I've ever been this close as quickly in my life, and I am greedy for release.

"Oh, please. Just—" I buck my hips. He growls and pins me tighter against the furs.

Furs. I am lying on a bed of furs, as if I needed any further reminding that he is not a civilized male.

How did I end up here? I don't remember, and I don't really care. I just want his... "Oh, Goddess!"

He licks all the way up to my clit and then sucks gently upon the little nub. My climax sideswipes me. My whole body turns rigid—my neck arches and I make filthy grunting noises as I attempt to ride his face. It's not possible. He has me pinned securely, my legs spread lewdly to accommodate his great thick body, and I can only endure. As the climax peters out and I become sensitive, I rouse from the bliss and pitch straight into frustration. He seems intent on swirling his tongue around and around my clit, and I can't decide if I like it or not. "Don't. Oh my... no. Goodness. Please stop!"

He doesn't stop. He doesn't pay any mind to me at all. He keeps swirling his tongue around it, and I think I might die of pleasure because, despite the improbability of it, I feel my breath stuttering, the tension rising. Sweat bathes my body, and I hang in a torturous place that is wildly pleasurable and yet not quite enough for release.

"I swear I will stab you the next chance I get," I growl at the barbarian male.

He chuckles against my pussy and then lifts his head.

"What?" Now he stops. I'm not pleased about this. Were my hands free, I would be maiming him. "You cannot stop," I hiss. Then I get distracted as he licks his lips and smirks at me like the wicked barbarian he is.

Surging up, he strips off his jerkin and boots, then he undoes the button at his waist, shoves his pants down, and takes his enormous cock in his big meaty hand. I blink at it in confusion. I had heard that alphas were bigger than average, but, goodness, that is a weapon of feminine destruction he is holding in his hand.

I have never really thought about the mechanics of alphas and omegas. I am a beta. It was not something I needed to concern myself with. Yet, I wish I were capable of taking him because I am quite certain it must be otherworldly in pleasure. I'm also certain that he would kill me if he tried to put that anywhere near me.

I need not fear, for he braces over me, with his fist planted against the furs beside my head and begins to jack his fist up and down the length of his cock.

"Lie still like a good girl. I just need to get off, and then I'll tend your pussy again."

My eyes play ping-pong between his intense expression and what he does with his cock. It is his cock that wins the battle of interest. I think he's coming at first, and then I realize it is merely copious pre-cum splattering all over my belly as he works up and down the shaft roughly, making his balls swing. When I drag my eyes away long enough to check his expression, it is one of rapturous agony.

I've never seen a more compelling vision in my life: his thick, muscular body all ridges and dips, straining and flexing as he works his beastly rod. He is a huge, towering force leaning over me, taking his own pleasure. I feel his tension rise, his growls rising. He's going to come on me, shoot his seed over me… and then he does, head tipped back as thick white ropes of cum are splattered all over my belly, more and more until it pools there and trickles down my sides.

My breathing turns choppy. Goodness, there is so much.

He emits a deep sigh and then grins lazily down at me.

"That's better," he says. "Now I can think straight." Lowering his head, he slants his mouth over mine and steals my breath in a lusty kiss, the likes of which I have never experienced before. This is no chaste kiss. He pinches my face between his fingers and thumb and consumes me, his lips moving over mine, his tongue plundering my mouth. I meet him in equal, chasing his tongue. The kiss is wild. I can barely breathe. I feel it to my very core, the intimacy of the act.

When he lifts his head, breathing heavily, I stare up into his eyes, lips tingling, and shaken to my very core.

He rocks back on his heels and looks around as though confused. My pussy is throbbing. I want him to touch me there again. But a strange distance manifests between us, and I'm suddenly sure that he won't.

He turns back, centering his focus on me. He stares down at my belly, painted in his drying cum, and a transition comes over his whole demeanor. It is a look of deep satisfaction. A gleam enters his eyes. One I already recognize, one that makes my heart race and the throbbing between my thighs intensify.

"I'm not done yet, little girl. Not even close." Slipping his hands under my ass, he lowers his head once again.

Alfred

I should stop. I know that. But I don't. And although I don't fuck her, I certainly do a lot of things that go beyond the scope of disciplining.

Then I do something I never fucking do. I position her limp, well-sated body underneath me, close my teeth over the juncture of her shoulder and throat and, half smothering the lass, settle down to sleep.