Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Betsy

I t is late on a Monday afternoon, and I have dragged Ada out to the market. It’s fair to say we both have issues leaving the tavern, albeit for different reasons. I was snatched from the streets not far from here, taking a shortcut home. As for Ada, her worthless father selling her to the slavers for coin is but one of a long list of abuses.

She is my best friend now. I feel like the Goddess herself placed her in my path so I might save her from that terrible fate. I want her to be happy and to experience everyday things—like a trip to a market where she has a few coins from her work in the tavern to spend on something she likes. Her beaming face as she purchases two soft blankets for her bed, is reward enough.

Her father is gone, courtesy of Heath and Callum. Packed off to the mines—as good as a death sentence. I hope he suffers, and after, when he finds his way to the Goddess, she shall surely punish him anew for all his wickedness toward his daughter.

Ada’s happiness aside, I have an important matter I have been looking to broach. I know she is sweet on Heath’s son, Callum, and I have a mind to help matters along.

Also, Heath has been avoiding me ever since that night, so this helps me too.

“You know he’s fighting tonight, don’t you?” I say, looping my arm through hers as we stroll back toward the tavern.

She side-eyes me. “Fighting? Who is fighting?”

“Callum,” I confirm, watching her to gauge her response.

“What sort of fight?” she asks, her expression sinking. “Why would he fight? Is it something to do with my pa?”

“Oh, no, lass. You know your father is long gone,” I say quickly lest I worry her unduly. “He will probably be at the mines by now, and there is no escape from there.”

Her face softens some. “But why is he fighting, then?”

A grin spreads across my face. “I used to sneak in, but my pa found out and put a stop to that. He knows me well, though, and at the risk of me sneaking off again, he now accompanies me.”

She shakes her head. The poor lass really has led a sheltered life if she does not know about the fights. “An underground competition,” I say, “It’s held in a warehouse at the docks. You could come with me if you want to. Monday is always quiet at the tavern, especially when the competition is on. It’s the only reason my pa would leave the tavern in someone else’s care. Say you will come, Ada. Also, Callum’s pa is going to be there.”

My jaw sets when I think about Heath. The man is cursed to be stubborn, but no matter, I am determined.

“Does he fight, too?” she asks.

“No,” I say. “Not anymore. But he used to when he was younger. That was the first time I snuck into the fight. I was only eighteen then—I can’t believe that was five years ago. Goddess weep, Heath could handle himself. Those big capable hands and those thick slabs of muscle… He is older now, but that only makes him more attractive. I would worship him how he deserves if only he would show a lick of sense. He has not been with a woman since his wife died, and that was seven years ago. He has brought up a fine son and deserves a little happiness, don’t you think?”

“For sure,” she says, but there is a worry line between her brows. “He won’t be hurt, will he?”

I snort a laugh and then realize she is being serious. “It’s a fight, lass. Unless, by some miracle, nobody lands a blow, he will assuredly be hurt.”

“Oh, I cannot stand the thought of him being hurt. I saw his hands after… after my father, and that broke my heart.”

“Well, no one forces him to compete. I overheard him and his pa discussing how it keeps his skills sharp. They hold the fights once a month, and he takes part as often as not—and has done so for several years. Do you want to go, Ada?”

We have reached the tavern. I bring us to a stop at the archway leading to the back and the entrance we use.

I see the indecision on her face. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her… only how could I not when I am going. She deserves to know. Also, it’s fair to say the love triangle plot between Ada, Callum, and Gray has thickened, and I’m inclined to stir the pot—Callum is going to be fighting, and I’ve overheard Gray will be going as a spectator.

She nibbles on her lower lips, her eyes searching mine before they pull together in another frown. “What is it?”

I shrug. “Well, just so you know, there are always hussies hanging around trying to get their hands on the competitors, offering all manner of saucy favors. You don’t want anyone poaching your claim.”

Her eyes go wide. “Yes,” she blurts out. “I want to go.”

“Good,” I say. “I have a mind to keep an eye on his pa, too. Those lasses are shameless. Also, I have it on good authority that a certain Master Gray will be in attendance.”

And by shameless hussies, I mean me. Only enough is enough. He wants me too. I know he does. I tried leaving him to come to his senses. Look how that has worked out—poorly. It’s time to lay my heart on the line. If the fool man rejects me one more time, I won’t try again.

Heath

I used to participate in Bleakness’s underground fights when I was younger. The reasons I moved to Bleakness with my late wife are complex. I was already supporting the rebellion. We were in danger, and they helped us. In return, I agreed to support the cause here.

It should have been a few years. But my wife died, and everything changed.

Still, the underground fights are useful in ways more than keeping your skills sharp. It is a good place to meet other like minded men for the latest news regarding the rebellion. Tonight, I come to support my son who is so much more than he realizes.

A son who trains hard with me every evening after we finish at the forge, and who has just obliterated his opponent and won his fight.

The atmosphere is wild. The crowd’s roar follows us back down the tunnel to the changing room.

I’m fucking proud of my boy.

In every way imaginable.

Yet every time I look at him and see his red hair, it reminds me of his mother, my wife, the one I dedicated my life to, who I left my home, and everyone I knew to protect.

And whom I lost.

I shove those memories down, along with the dose of guilt that has assaulted me increasingly of late.

Betsy, with her bold ways, her sashaying hips, and those tits that are a test to any man seeking to think straight. Her smile weakens me every time I see it. It is a lethal weapon every bit as effective as an orc club to the gut.

Callum staggers as we enter the changing room. But it is not from fatigue. No, he is buzzing from the fight. Tonight is the first occasion his mother’s heritage showed itself—the worst possible time.

The room has a basic shower, little more than a spout. I pull the leaver and shove Callum under the icy spray, still clothed in his pants.

“Fuck!” he mutters, trying to step out.

I shove him back. “You can stay there until you’re in possession of your wits.” Gods, there is steam rising from his flesh. He is on the brink of shifting—he doesn’t even know he is a damn shifter.

Why is it only now it begins to show? I am no shifter. That comes from his mother. I am woefully unprepared for this.

He chuckles, breaking some of the tension. “I am fucking freezing.”

“Good,” I say brusquely.

I leave him to it. Raking a hand through my hair, I try to do as I just preached and gain control.

I don’t find it. Instead, I pace about, thoughts scattering and surging in a rush. I need to tell him. Only the changing room of an underground fight is not the place.

The shower is still going.

My brows pull together. Snatching up a towel, I head back to check on my son, finding him still under the spout, shivering uncontrollably.

“Here. I pull the lever to turn off the shower and pass him the cloth to dry with.

He doesn’t bother. His flesh is so hot that the water rises in the form of steam, and he shoves the cloth around his waist.

His eyes meet mine. “I’m alright, Pa,” he says.

Only I don’t think he is.

I put my hand on his shoulder, feeling him settle some. “We’ll have that talk later, lad.”

He swallows.

Does he know?

Hearing voices approach—feminine tones—I roll my eyes and turn toward the sound.

Lasses have been known to sneak down here seeking Callum… and even me sometimes. “Sounds like some lasses up to mischief,” I say, smiling. “I’ll send them on their way.”

“They’re expecting us,” a familiar voice says, wiping the smile right off my face. Betsy?

“Fuck!” I make a beeline for the door, Callum hot on my heels, for where Betsy is, so will be Ada.

And there they are. Ada looks on, pink-cheeked as Betsy bats her lashes at the big alpha guard who keeps the peace between the fighters down here.

I see red. Betsy’s fingers are playing absently with Glen’s collar. It is a small consolation that he is blushing crimson and trying to peel her off without great effect. He is a gentle giant for all he deals with trouble among the contestants efficiently, he is borderline useless with lasses up to mischief.

“We’ll handle them, Glen,” I say. Taking Betsy by the arm, I yank her to my side, which calms me some. I have never known Glen to rut a lass, but I’m breaking out in a sweat that his hands were on her. “The lass has not been disciplined enough in her short life.”

Betsy coos and smirks up at me.

Damn woman. I have played right into her game.

Callum poorly disguises a cough as he retrieves his blushing lass.

“What are you two doing down here?” I say gruffly… like I don’t already know.

“Ada wanted to check as no hussies were here trying to get their hands on Callum,” Betsy says boldly.

Ada gasps.

Not that I need any help figuring out that this mischief is all on Betsy. This lass slays me with her nonsense. “There is only one hussy down here, and her name is not Ada.”

Betsy pouts up at me.

I sigh heavily, trying to temper the possessiveness coursing through me to have her pressed up against me like this. Thankfully no other nosey fuckers are around eyeballing my woman.

My woman?

I cannot lie to myself. There are a thousand and one reasons I should steer well away from the saucy tavern wench. My mind is currently blank for every one.

Have you ever wanted someone so much that it hurts? A tight pain in the center of your chest? A hunger, a craving that never seems to end.

That is me with Betsy. She is the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning. She is the last thing I think about when I go to bed at night. She is who I imagine in those weak moments when I take my cock in hand and seek relief.

“I’ll deal with this one,” I say ominously. “I’ll leave you to take care of your lass, Callum, and see as she is taken safely back to her home.”

I don’t wait around to see what my son does. I trust him completely, even with his changes riding him.

I have my own lass to deal with. Jaw set, I haul the brat into the nearest empty room. Most do not have doors on, but this one does, and I slam it shut before putting her back to it and rounding on her. My chest is heaving. I can’t see straight.

She blinks up at me, all fake innocence.

My eyes drop to her ample cleavage, and suddenly, my vision is crystal clear.

“What the fuck are you doing down here?” I demand, dragging my lusty gaze back to her eyes. Which I think might be worse as I get lost in her pretty blue orbs that dance with her fire and yet hold a guileless quality. She has suffered tragedy in her life, been snatched from the streets, and made a prisoner. I was part of the team who got her out, and damn if I would erase that terrible event from her life.

Yet she does not let that hold her back nor down.

She is a thing of wonder, from her pretty face to her indomitable ways. And her body with curves made to bewitch a man’s mind.

She’s the one. The one I think about, always. The one who’s too fucking young. Too fucking saucy. The one who has a pick of any man—I’m not the only tavern patron lusting after this particular wench.

My fists tighten on my side as I try to gain control of the raging beast inside me. I take a step back.

She steps up to me and lifts her hand, reaching out to me.

I step back again. Her hand falls away.

“Ada just wanted to check on Callum,” she says, repeating her earlier words softly, looking away, making me miss her eyes on me. I don’t like that my actions have taken the smile off her face.

“As if I’d let some other lass call on him,” I say. “As if he has eyes for anyone but Ada.”

She peeks at me from under her lashes.

“So this was only about Ada and Callum?”

A tiny shake of her head.

Well, I did go and ask…

My cock approves and starts to beat against my pants for an out.

I step backward, sweat popping out across my brow. She steps forward. The lass is a predator and does not take no for an answer.

Am I mad about this?

Nope.

Her fingers find and seek the buttons of my tunic. They crawl upward until they rest at the V near my throat, and then her fingertips slide into the dusting of chest hair peeking out.

She smiles sweetly at me. “I was not only looking after Ada.”

My eyes narrow. I pluck her hand off, putting it at her side. I’m disgusted with myself even as I tell myself I must stop this. I should have already escorted her out, not brought her into a room and shut the door… Trapping her alone with me?

Gods help me. I must be out of my fucking mind. She is pure, undiluted temptation and is now trapped in a confined space with me.

I put my hand on her arm, thinking I’m going to direct her outside.

She makes a sweet cooing sound. My intentions and my actions are at cross purposes. What I want to do is open the door and march her back home. What I actually do is haul her into my arms. My hands have a mind of their own, moving to her waist and then straight down to cup her sweet ass.

“Oh! Yes!”

I’ve got a handful of plump ass and it’s like my hands are glued there. My dick goes from semi to full hardness in an instant. It does not help me revive my wits when I look down and notice how her tits are mashed up against my chest.

I’m fucking lost, staring at her plump flesh quiver under her unsteady breaths.

I tell myself not to. I tell myself I won’t—I shouldn’t. Remind myself that she is too young. And I’m too old. I’ve been married before. The catalog of reasons piles up high.

She slipped out the back of the tavern with three sailors last week. How the fuck am I supposed to compete with that?

None of this matters. My lips are lowering, my mouth slanting over her—just a little taste. I can stop anytime.

And then our lips touch. A small, needy whimper escapes her, followed by a deeper moan that shoots hot and urgent into my veins. So soft. So sweet.

She moans against me. Our lips part in synchronicity. My tongue slips along the seam before it delves in to taste her. Her arms slide around my neck, fingers tightening in my hair, tugging. I clench her ass, cleaving her to me with one hand and burying the other in her soft hair.

I heave a ragged breath as I further slant my mouth over hers and deepen the kiss.

I’ll stop in a minute. Just taunting myself with what can’t be mine.

My dick throbs, leaking pre-cum like it might be getting a look in.

It is not getting a fucking look in. I’m not rutting the lass. I’m not going to do anything to her.

I’m going to stop this kiss soon.

Only my hands are shaking. My whole body’s trembling. I think I might spontaneously climax from just this kiss.

She breaks the kiss first.

And I stand there, chest heaving, trying to work out what I did wrong, why she stopped.

Her face breaks into the sauciest grin before she slides her hand down my chest. Her sigh is one of contentment as she pauses to pet the muscles, her eyes hooded and deeply admiring.

Mine don’t know where the fuck to look. I’ve still got my hand on her ass, cupping it. I give it another little squeeze: plump and perfect. I imagine how it would jiggle while I pound into her from behind, just as her hands reach my belt.

Fuck! Think of something else.

She nibbles on her lower lip. “I need this,” she says.

I think she’s talking about the kiss that has ruined me. I’ve been dreaming about kissing here for so long. Now that I have sampled her lips and felt her body against mine, I’m doomed.

Then she surprises me by sinking to her knees, her small, nimble fingers on my buckle, undoing it with dexterous ease.

“Gods, lass! What are you?—”

All thoughts leave my brain as the buckle comes free with a clank. She tugs my pants down and liberates my cock.

“Oh!” she says, her eyes widening.

It looks fucking huge in her dainty little hands. I’m momentarily stunned.

“Gods. Fuck!” My brain is scrambled. I need to pull her off. I need to stop her. Before I can better think through my actions, I have fisted her hair—to pull her off before she….

“Oh, yes!” she moans. “Pull my hair just like that.”

I’m still reeling from her words when she lowers the weeping tip of my cock and swallows me down her throat.

“Betsy! Lass.” Pulling her off would be the right thing to do. I’m so fucking primed, I’m about to blow. Yet somehow, my hand tightens, and I’m pulling her deeper on. “Good girl.” My brain empties of all thoughts. There’s only the pleasure engulfing my cock as her hot, wet mouth caresses my length. My balls are already tightening. She does something with her tongue on the underside of the head that has me seeing stars. “I’m going to… Fuck!”

I come down her throat like a green fucking whelp. I’m a mature man with a grown son. She barely took me down her throat before I unleashed.

She swallows, not missing a fucking drop.

As she promised.

My legs threaten to give out under me. I slap my hand against the nearby wall. My other hand is still in her hair as her lips slowly pop off.

She brushes her thumb over her puffy lower lip and sucks it into her mouth. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to do that.”

A growl of pure masculine satisfaction escapes me. I lean down and plant my mouth over hers, kissing her, trying to pour everything I feel that I cannot put into words into the kiss. Control is utterly lost. I hoist her into my arms and stagger for the long bench lining one wall. I sit. She is on my lap, facing me with her legs spread around me.

Her tits are at the perfect height. I yank the bodice of her dress down on the right and feast.