"-and Sir Henrik will accompany you."

A rock sinks in your stomach as your father gestures to the man beside him.

Sir Henrik is a fine man, a good man, but grizzled and old, stern and scarred from his time on the battlefield. Hardly one of the heartthrobs the young maidens chased after…

And maybe you chased after those roguish young knights a little bit too, your father knew, which was exactly why Sir Henrik was the right choice.

Resisting the urge to pout, you flash the beast in question a quick, reassuring smile; a smile that says don't mind me, I won't be a bother.

Henrik is smart enough not to trust it. He may not address it, your reputation as a trouble maker, but he knows you'll keep him on his toes during the negotiations.

The carriage ride is quiet, with you more interested in peering out the window than speaking, him more interested in his book than entertaining you. You sneak the odd peek at him, sizing him up. He's sharp, yes, but you're sharper, and you're certain you can slip past him once he leaves you for the night.

The inn is hardly the most ornate building, but that only lends to its charm, you think as you take in the peasant dwelling. Sir Henrik pays, then draws his sword.

You gasp as he presses the fine tip to the elderly man's chest.

"Not a word is to be spoken that we are here. Understood?" His gravelly voice leaves no room for argument, nor does his blade.

"Sir Henrik-!"

He glances at you.

"That commoner is of my domain! Unhand him!"

The storm of your expression gives him pause, and with a roll of his eyes he lets his sword fall. His gaze returns to the quivering old man. "Tell no one."

"N-no one!" The inn keeper echos fearfully.

You won't have it. "Sir Henrik. My bags?"

He frowns and his attention returns once more to you. "You have pages for-"

"I asked you. Get. My. Bags. Sir Henrik."

Jaw tight, he bows his head. "Yes, my Princess."

You wait until he's out the door before you rush to the old man's side. "I'm so embarrassed. Please-"

His eyes widen as you pull a pin from your hair. Even in the dim light of the inn, the jewels and pearls sparkle, and you press it into the elderly man's shaky palm.

"Take this. As a token of my appreciation, for your hospitality."

"I-I couldn't possibly-"

"I insist," you smile at the commoner, hoping to dissuade him from gossiping. "My knight was most ornery."

"He, uh, seems a little surly, your majesty."

That makes you chuckle. "Yes, yes, he is."

Henrik kicks the door open behind you. Admittedly, it is impressive that he manages all three trunks, with one under each arm and another over his back. His neck strains and your gaze drops to the bulging cords as he grits out, "Upstairs, to bed with you."

"Is that an order?" You mock, as you stroll up to him. You poke him square in the chest. "Because I would hate to remind you of your place, Sir Henrik."

His dark eyes glower down at you as you look to the innkeeper.

"Do you see that man?"

Skeptical, Henrik nods.

"While we're under his roof, I am appointing him my chief advisor. You are to do everything he asks, as if it had come from my own mouth. Is that understood?"

His eyes widen. "Your maje-"

"Is that understood?" 

"Yes," he says through clenched teeth.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, my Princess."

"Good. Remember, you are just as much a commoner as he is, Sir Henrik." You brush a salt and pepper curl from his brow. "Learn your place."

The knight shakes his head, not so much argumentative as he is bewildered. "Your father hired me to protect you."

Your eyes narrow. "What threat was he? You wanted to scare him, for fun. That's sick, and I won't have tyranny in my name."

He says nothing, but offers a stern nod. 

Raking your gaze over him, you sniff with disgust before you breeze past him, up the stairs.

He follows close behind. 

The room is small, but clean, and will serve its purpose just fine, you think, as you approach the small window. A smirk flickers at your lips, but you force it down. You don't intend on staying here very long.

The trunks clatter to the floor. Unimpressed, you turn. You frown at him, then at your things, but say nothing on the matter.

Henrik stands at attention, pulling himself up to his full height as you approach. You almost forgot how tall he really was, after so many hours in the carriage. You barely come to his shoulder.

"You're dismissed."

His mouth twitches. "Am I?"

"Yes." Impertinent, your chin raises. "I'd like to get some beauty rest."

He snorts. "Not like you need it."

Heat rushes to your face, unsure how to take his words. "Well, I have more than just the likes of you to impress tomorrow."

His expression sobers. "This is your first time? Meeting him."

The mention of your betrothed makes your stomach knot. "I said you were dismissed, Sir Henrik."

To your surprise, his chin dips with respect. "Sleep well, my Princess."

That softens you, if only a little. You might even miss him. "And you, Sir Henrik."

You close the door behind him. He's still on the other side of the door, for a few moments before he walks down the hall.

Gathering your nerve, you unlock your trunk. You root through your belongings to the burlap sack you have tucked away.

Clothes, men's clothes, procured by a smitten kitchen boy; your way out.

Well, that and the jewels you've stolen from the family vault.

They're nothing like what you're used to; embarrassment chews at you as you tug on the pants. The material is coarse and cheap, tight in queer places, loose in others, but it will suit its purpose just fine. Still, it feels like you're wearing nothing at all.

Next, you bind your chest. Not totally certain what you're doing, you wrap a thick strip of linen around your breasts. It doesn't do much, but it's better than before, slightly less obvious, you think, as you shrug on your grey work shirt.

Then, you crawl into bed.

Waiting is the hardest part, as you wait, and wait, until you know it must be damn well past midnight-

And the door opens, just far enough that the faint torch light falls across your face.

Henrik peers at you, quiet and thoughtful, before he speaks lowly, "no one's buying it."

Your breathing stays even and deep.

He scoffs, huffing with laughter, as he lets the door close.

"Dick," you murmur under your breath, but you're smart enough to stay still, to let him check in on you a few more times before you make your move.

Barefoot, you carry your boots under the crook of your arm as you creep down the hall.

"I knew it."

Rough hands snatch you into a side room. You shriek, but a heavy hand falls across your mouth, muffles it as Henrik slams you against the door. His body, long and hot, pins you in place, as he shoves a knee between your thighs.

The intrusion makes you jump.

"Everyone warned me you'd try this, spoiled little brat-"

You gasp as he rips the cap from your head. Your long hair tumbles over your shoulders, and you wince as he grips it tight. 

"You idiot, you little fool! Do you have any idea what the Vikings would do to you if they caught you unguarded? Hm? Do you?!"

"What does it matter," you growl, tears springing to your eyes. "Some brute's going to have me either way."

"Him and every other man who catches you out alone." He snarls, bearing down on you, almost brow to brow. You can see his scars clearly now, you're so close, as his gaze narrows. They spider web over his chin to his cheek, over his temple. "Did you really think it would work?"

You shrink back. "It's worked before."

"For your friends, not for you. You can't pass, Princess. Not like those boyish little waifs you associate with." There's a note of heat in his voice that makes you shiver as his hands fall to your hips. His fingers dig into the plush flesh and he moans, low and deep, against the top of your head. "Not with these curves, these fucking blessings, my Princess. Why would you ever want to hide them?"

Your eyes flutter, no man's ever touched you before, and you wonder if they all feel so good as your lips part. "Can you-?"

"Can I?" He mocks, all but cooing at you, as he strokes your waist, unable to help himself; you're so fucking soft, the way your flesh gives under his hands intoxicating.

"Help me?"

"Run away from your duties? Disobey my King?"

"Please," you beg quietly, sincerely, as you finally say the words aloud, "I don't want to marry him, Henrik."

He frowns, mouth pinching as he regards you. A third born princess, you were more a bargaining chip than a member of the royal family. "We all have our burdens, Princess."

"Take me away." It's less an order than a plea. "Take me anywhere."

"And why should I?" His head tilts, and yours follows helplessly, as he bears down on you, nose to nose. "They'd say I stole you, say I was a traitor, a monster, and for what?"

The kiss is awkward. Barely a peck, one that makes him arch a doubting brow.

Your shaking fingers rise to touch his scarred chin. You follow the puckered flesh across his cheek, over his temple, to where his dark hair is tinged with grey.

"Everything," you promise breathlessly, "I'll give you everything."

His dark eyes seem to shine. "Put your arms above your head."

There's apprehension, but no hesitation. You obey, eager to feel the heavy hands on your hips elsewhere.

"Have you ever had a cock before?"

Stunned by his vulgarity, you shake your head.

"Oh?"

Offense crosses your face.

"No man? I've seen how you trail after them, the younger knights."

"I- I was saving myself."

"For Ivar?"

The name makes you flinch. "For my future husband," you chance cupping his cheek, and he follows helplessly as you guide him to your lips. "Whomever he may be."

The gentle broach of your tongue is confident enough for him to guess he isn't your first kiss, but he doesn't care, although it does spark his curiosity.

"Who is it, hm?" He thumbs your mouth, holding you still with the scantest touch. "Who's been touching you, dearest?"

You quiver as his mouth finds the tender underside of your jaw. The grit of his stubble makes you lightheaded and hot. He moans at the faint jasmine of your perfume. Your skin is so soft, the eager arch of your back offering even more of it as a heavy hand finds your breast.

"Tell me," he growls, "Who's been pawing at these tits, hm? Who's tasted you?"

You gasp as he rips the linen from your chest.

He groans at the sight of your naked flesh, drops to one knee. "Tell me. I’ll have him castrated-"

A smile, wide and mischievous, crosses your lips. "Oh, how gallant of you."

He sneers at you as his hands come up to cradle your plush breasts. His eyes flutter at your coo as he offers you the scantest of squeezes.

Fuck, his hands are large and scarred, calloused from years of sword play and violence, and it's queer, having the stoic man touching you so reverently.

"Stupid bitch," he growls, and you mew, hurt painting your face as you push into his caring hands. His thumbs tease your tight nipples, slow and gentle. A wicked smile lights up his face as you whimper and huff, frustrated tears springing to your eyes as you clench your hands into fists by your head.

"Please, Henrik," you gasp, nose wrinkling as he stands once more. His hands grope your hips again, leaving you cold and unsatisfied as he bends to take your mouth.

Your hands fall thoughtlessly to cradle his shoulders, melting into the kiss. His body is so firm, unyielding, so unlike the pretty chambermaids you've played with before. Curious fingers stroke up his neck, and you break the kiss with a giggle.

You're both panting, chests bumping with every deep breath.

"What?" He rasps, nosing the top of your head.

"I-it's rougher than I expected," you say of his stubble. "Sort of tickles…"

His smile widens. "What gave you the impression you could touch me?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you tease the shaggy hair at the nape of his neck and press closer to him, until your breasts are flush against his chest. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, and he lets you touch him, lets you fawn over him a moment, your eyes wide with fascination as you stroke his jaw, his Adam’s apple, his dimpled chin.

Your fingers stroke the neck of his beige tunic. "Take this off."

"I'm not so pretty all over, Princess."

"That's for me to decide."

Henrik chuckles, reaching behind him to grab his shirt at the back of his neck and tug it over his head. His shaggy salt and pepper hair messy, he shakes it out of his face as he hesitantly drops the shirt to the floor.

You can't help staring. His shoulders are broad, a fine sprinkle of hair spread over his chest, his stomach round and strong-

But there are scars, gnarly awful twisted things that make your stomach tight.

He's so much more experienced than you are, and you know he'll take care of you, treat you right, if you set the right tone-

He chuffs as you place a careful hand over his heart. His gaze is sharp, skeptical, as you dare cradle his cheek with your other hand.

"May I?"

The nod is mute, little more than a blink.

There's a beat as you consider where to start. There's so many of them; a patchwork of scars and burns on his side, a gash on his chest that cut across to his shoulder. You focus on one of the smaller ones that slice into his collar.

Henrik grunts at the petal softness of your lips as they caress his skin. He palms your arms, swallows thickly as you kiss across his chest, your finger seeking out the scar that cuts down his arm. 

"I must seem so callow to you."

He grunts, not denying it.

"I don't know your world, but if you like, I could show you mine." You offer the belt of his trousers a tug. "Let me. Please."

It's his last chance, he knows. He could tell you no, turn you away and no one would know, there would be nothing to prove, nothing to be ashamed of-

But how could he deny that touch, those eyes?

"Go on than."

You start with slow, gentle touches that explore his damaged skin. His body is tense as you kiss your way down his chest, taking special care to kiss each scar, until you're on your knees, face to face with the marks on his hip, his side. He shivers as you tease your nails over the deep imprints, a dreadful curiosity building in you.

A firm hand on top of your head gives you pause. He turns your chin away from the branded flesh, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You don't have to."

"What happened?"

His features are stoic, as he tells you bluntly, "War."

Your head bows. You've never seen it in your lifetime, and the reminder of his age shames you a bit. He's an old man, older than your father even-

But fuck, do you want him. You swallow as he strokes that sacred place under your jaw, let your head fall back obediently. 

Oh, fuck, are you pretty on your knees. It pleases him immensely, the sight of you pleading for him, spoiled little bitch that you are- he should take his cock out, force it down your throat, see you make your petty demands than-

But how could he? When you offer his thumb the gentlest kiss, as your featherlight touches explore him so tenderly.

"Princess, please," he rasps, cupping the bulge in his trousers. So focused on his burns, you hadn't noticed his need, and heat paints your face. He's huge, judging by the outline, long and thick, the wet spot making you hot all over.

You nod and let him pull you to your feet.

"Get these off-" he grunts, catching you by the belt loops of your pants. "Fuck, you really thought you hide these hips, that ass? I can practically see your little cunt-"

You gasp as he dips his hand between your thighs, his meaty fingers seeking your slit through the coarse material. "Henrik-!"

He nods, kissing you fiercely as he tugs them down, moaning as they cling to your supple flesh. "Foolish girl-"

You squeeze your knees together. Grabbing his wrist, you smile mischievously through your heavy breathing. "Be kind to me."

"What respect do I owe you?"

"We're doing this my way, are we not?" 

He grumbles as you turn, but finds happiness in palming your ass. You tease a finger up the long curve of his twitching cock. His eyes flutter at the intimacy, at the boldness of the touch. "Your way takes too long."

"I think you like it," you whisper, and he leans in helplessly when you draw his mouth down to yours.

The slow broach of your tongue breaks him, as you take a slow step back toward the bed. He follows, sucking on your tongue until you pant and keen, as he squeezes your ass and lays you down on the bed.

Your eyes flutter closed, but his stay open. Henrik watches your face closely, enjoys how boneless and slack you are beneath him, how trusting. He's always seen you as a troublemaker, and he wonders if he's getting in over his head as your nails tease the grey patch in his beard, as you hitch a leg over his hip.

"Please-" You swipe your noses together. "Take me."

"Is that an order?"

"Henrik-!" You pout as he pulls back, but have to admit, he's much more interesting to look at than the pretty boy knights you're so used to teasing. There's no mistaking him for anything but a man, his thick torso telling a fascinating story, and you refuse to let him get far. "Darling, please-!"

He almost scoffs, almost laughs at your sudden affection for him, and he would have, had it not been so sincere as you cradle his face in your quivering hands.

"Please," you murmur, "fuck me, Henrik."

"Now where'd you learn such naughty words?"

You pant as his pants drop. 

"Hm? Never did tell me about this secret boyfriend of yours…he ever touch you here, Princess?"

You bite your lip as he bends to press a kiss to the top of your mound. Struck mute, you can only manage to shake your head.

"No? How about up here, hm?" His lips pull into a smile, this one warmer than before, as he bends to wrap his lips around your right nipple. You grasp his hair, hold him close, but he's in no rush to move, as he lazily swirls his tongue around the tight nub, working it over until your nodding feverishly, until his spit glistens across your pebbled flesh-

"I did- I- I let Alise-!"

He pulls off the throbbing bud with a force that makes you chirp.

Fuck, you're so wet, so empty, your whole body throbs in time with your aching nipple as the elderly knight tilts his head.

"Alise?"

The nod you give is too pathetic to be anything but genuine.

He sucks your left nipple into his mouth with a moan. He grins as your back arches, pushing your breast deeper into his mouth as you babble, too lost in the pleasure he's giving you to be embarassed, to think about the danger you're putting yourself in, as you confess, "She-She only liked to kiss-"

"Kiss you where? Here?" He nips at your earlobe, but takes care not to leave a mark anywhere else. "Here?"

You gasp as he kisses your collar, your neck. "Yes-! She did-"

"What did it feel like, hm, little girl? How was she compared to me?"

"Small." You swallow as his calloused fingers stroke your neck, coaxing and gentle. "Anxious…sweet, she was so fucking sweet, Henrik-"

"Were you in love with her?"

"No," you wince, "I just wanted to play with her cunt."

He groans, snaps his hips and ruts his erection across your belly. "So you know how I feel."

That stings, but you push the startling hurt aside as you focus on the heat of his dick as it slides down to part your slit. 

Henrik groans at the sight; at the way your precious pearl throbs against the fat tip of his cock. He circles it, wondering what it would be like to curl his lips around it, to make you sob and beg for him-

"Did she make you come?"

You shake your head. "I- I've- I'm untouched, I swear it."

The desperation in your voice makes him grin. He bends, blanketing your body with his own, long and firm and warm and heavy, before he kisses you.

The tip of his cock eases inside you, the stretch making you gasp.

"Not anymore," he whispers, dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Tell me how it feels."

"Henrik-"

He gives you another inch, then another. Each one feels like an eternity; not because of pain, but because of his patience. He's slow with you, his push firm, unyielding. Your legs shake and he hitches them around his waist. 

"Fuck, you're so warm, so tight, your Highness-"

The rasp in his voice, the brush of his beard against your jaw-

"Tell me how it feels," he repeats, firmer.

"Good," you whimper, hands coming up behind him to dig your nails into his back. It's just as scarred as his front, and you can't help leaning up to plant kisses along his shoulder. "Full, fuck, Henrik, please, please-"

"Slower?" There's an unfamiliar gentleness in his tone that fades into amusement as you shake your head. "Oh?"

"More," you keen, back arching, pushing even closer to the body that pins you down. "I- you're so much bigger than my fingers-"

The thought makes him moan, the sight of you in your little silk nighty, fingers wedged deep in your tight plush pussy as you try and fail to replicate the pleasure he was currently giving you.

"Horny little slut," he says with affection, nosing that sweet spot under your jaw as he bottoms out.

The two of you groan in unison.

For a moment, there's only the sound of your heavy breathing, out of sync with each other, and the faint whisp of wind outside the small window.

He can't tear his eyes from your face, checking for pain, but finding none of it. Your expression is anxious, but not afraid, as you raise a hand to stroke his beard.

Henrik's eyes flutter at the touch, at the queer intimacy- a part of him knows this is wrong, it's against his duty, it could get him killed if anyone found out-

"Henrik, please," you whisper softly for him in the dark.

But oh how worth it you are, he thinks, chin dipping to steal a kiss that makes you moan, as his tongue parts your lips.

The first thrust makes you gasp, as he touches places you've never reached, as he stretches you open; your head falls back with a moan-

An offering, he thinks, eyes fluttering as his nose glides along the tender column of your throat. He kisses the underside of your chin, smirking as you cling to him, as your nails dig into his back, adding your scars to his collection-

And fuck, how he will wear them with pride. More so than the useless ones, the ones from battle, the ones that made his body ache on cold nights, but you're so warm, perfect.

"Henrik-" Your breath catches as he smoothes a hand down your body, and he thrusts again, harder this time, digging his hips into yours, his chest into yours, you swear you can feel his heartbeat against your own, quick and steady, just like his thrusts-

"Your hands are so rough-" You whimper as his fingers circle your hips, pulling you closer, so he can go deeper-

He flinches, ashamed, but when your hand grabs his, weaving your fingers together, so you can raise them to your lips, so you can kiss his knuckles, that shame disappears.

"Touch me here," you whisper, low and pleading, as you guide his big heavy hand to your breast. "Please, Henrik."

His hand shakes. He's not used to gentleness, giving or receiving, but he tries. You shiver as he strokes the curve of your breast with the backs of his brutish fingers, as he gifts your nipple the same awkward, but evocative treatment.

"You're so soft, Princess."

You shake your head, hating the title on his lips.

He nods, hips never pausing. "Yes, Princess, you are." Henrik buries his face in your neck, kissing and sucking. "Smell so fucking good, my sweet Princess, my Lady, my wife-" He growls at your mew, at your eager nod, as your nails dig in deeper, and he ruts into you.

"Yours," you promise, "I'll always be yours-"

The idea makes him pine; for simple comforts, for a home life, for a safe bed, and a soft body to warm it. 

He kisses you swiftly as the bed creaks, each thrust driving his belly against yours as he looks down at you.

It wasn't enough, not for you, not nearly enough for a woman of your stature, of your upbringing. He couldn't possibly give you anything more than you already had, which meant he had nothing to offer.

Oh, he's so beautiful, you think, the thought almost startling you. Henrik has dark eyes that gleam with intelligence, a strong jaw under his salt and pepper beard. His nose is long and crooked from fighting, and his scars…

His eyes flutter as your fingers rise to touch them, as you lift your head to kiss his flush cheek, the puckered skin warm.

"Claim me, Henrik, make me yours-"

"You're already mine," he growls, "you'll always be mine-"

"Yes!" You promise, legs beginning to quake as pleasure builds low in your stomach. 

He moans as you rake your nails down his back, arching into the sting of it, driving himself deeper into your wet heat.

"Yours, yours, I'll always be yours, Henrik, I swear it-"

He pants against your brow as you cling to him, soft puffs of breath. The kiss he offers is fierce, forcing you to take it, to bend to him, as he fucks you hard and deep.

Every thrust twists you a little closer to the edge; his cock is thick, and every movement drags the fat head against some sacred place deep inside your cunt that makes your toes curl, your legs shake, as the bristle of his beard against your temple makes your heart pound.

Henrik knows it's coming; he can feel every quiver, is experienced enough to know what they mean. He leans into you, throws a bit more of his weight behind every thrust, knowing you can take it, knowing what you need, as you press your lips to his shoulder, his bicep, still trying so desperately to please him, even as you come undone.

"Ah-!" You shout, but a firm hand clamps over your mouth; it smothers the sound, but can't keep you still, as you buck and jerk underneath him, hips skipping and stuttering, only serving to press closer to him still as you come.

It's different this time; not the quiet, breathy little bouts of pleasure you've given yourself under the sheets at night, it's brash, forceful, and you give yourself to it, just like you did him.

Henrik hushes you softly, his lips against your brow as he fucks deep into you, his own thrusts wavering as you twitch and sob and dig your nails into his lower back. He chances pulling his hand away and you shove it away so you can cup his cheek, so you can kiss him, so you can suck his tongue-

The taste of his moan, the sweat the dribbles from his chest down to yours, you try to memorize him as he puts his forehead to yours; the determination in his brown eyes, the crow's feet, the curl of his lip, the flush underneath his scars.

He thinks the same of you, as he noses the top of your head and inhales your shampoo, that soothing floral scent driving him wild as he comes apart.

You can feel it, you swear you can, as he paints your insides with his seed. Fuck, you hope it takes. You want a piece of this night to remember for the rest of your life, and you welcome his kiss with a moan.

The sound makes him shiver, as he ruts into you one last time. With the final snap of his hips, he dares grunt out your name before he heaves himself off, and out, of you.

You shiver at the sudden loss, but smile as he pulls you in close, turning you, so he can bury his face in your neck. The trail of his mouth over your skin makes you coo, and he chuckles, deep and low in the dark.

"Still want to run away?"

"Not from you," you murmur, turning to nuzzle your noses together. 

He sighs, "trouble, that's what you are."

"I could never deny that." Your smile widens as he grins, as he kisses you fondly. His hand seeks your hip, palms and gropes it as his thinning cock lingers against your backside. A hint of curiosity overwhelms you a moment, and you can't resist asking, "how was it? Fucking a princess?"

He lifts a smug shoulder before he bends to kiss your naked one. "Overrated."

"Oh?" You tease his beard with your nails. "How so?"

His eyes flutter. "Too needy, for one. Too clingy, too-" He sighs as you kiss him, as you part his lips with your tongue in search of his own.

He allows it, letting you take what you need from him, until you're both panting and sweaty again, ready for another round-

Sunlight streams across your face, trying to waking you, but the bed is warm and enticing. You stretch like a contented cat, shaking out your limbs and snuggling into your lover's pillow as you sigh. He's gone, but you're hardly alarmed. He wouldn't have gone far, and your suspensions are confirmed when the door creaks open.

The sight of Henrik warms you; he's dressed smartly, in a formal tunic and dark trousers, his broad sword strapped to his hip.

"Hen-"

"Get dressed," he orders, throwing a night gown on the end of the bed. "We should be there by mid-evening, if we leave on schedule."

You falter. He can't be serious. "What?"

His gaze remains firm, as does his tone, "This doesn't change my duty, Princess. Nor does it change yours."

You hate the tears that scratch at your throat, that strain your voice, "you used me?"

"You seduced me," it's a correction, almost off-hand.

"I-I thought-" You cringe as he grabs the nighty and shoves it into your lap. The silk is lightly colored, lilac, soft to the touch-

"You wanted to be a whore, I'm treating you like a whore."

Is that what you had been doing?

He sits on the edge of the bed, takes you by the hand. "Princess. Was it not you who reminded me of my place?"

You blink and a few tears escape, sniffling as they fall.

"This is yours." He thumbs them away. You wonder how he can speak so harshly and touch you so gently, reminding you they were the same hands he fought and killed with, the same hands he had made love to you with. "Women must marry men they don't care for. It's-"

"Our burden?" You draw sarcastically. Distrustful, you shake your head. "I should tell everyone. Tell them how-"

"I raped you?" He offers, the word alone making you flinch.

No, no, you couldn't accuse him of that. It may have started as a moment of desperation, but-

"Ruined me," you offer, with glossy eyes and little bite. "What man would have me now?"

He tips your chin up. "No one will know. This is my vow to you. Not unless you tell them, and then it's my head on a block. Is that what you want?"

The thought makes your heart wrench and you can't bear to look at him. "No."

"If I could, I would, Princess, but what kind of life could I give you?" He squeezes your fingers.

You still can't look at him, especially as you begin to beg, "A peaceful one, one with freedom-"

"There's no freedom on the run."

"The choice to love-"

The bed shifts as he stands. "You don't love me, don't pretend."

"I loved being with you!" Your voice warbles, as you cover your breasts with the nightgown. "Being touched by you, being loved by you-"

Henrik doesn't mince his words. "Your wiles are cheap."

That stings. "Don’t sully it. You- the only reason I let you-"

He scoffs. "Let me."

"Let you," you repeat softly. "You wouldn't have touched me without my word, would you have?"

Hurt flashes across his scarred face. "Is that what you think of me?"

"Do you really think I'm a whore, Henrik?"

"No," he rasps, unable to look at you.

"Then why are you treating me like one?" You demand through your tears. "You called me wife-"

"A mistake," he amends with a shake of his head. "I should have never."

"Than let me go. Give me that dignity, at least. Don't make me go to him with you still inside me-"

"That's enough!" He bellows. "Don't beg, Princess. You're better than that."

Tears shine in your eyes, as you spit, as you accuse, "I trusted you."

"So trust me still. This is for the best."

"You don't even know him." Your hand shakes and suddenly desperate to get your gown on, to cover up. "I don't know him, Henrik-"

He lifts a shoulder, but his eyes are softer than usual. "Nor do you know me."

"You served my father loyally for years-"

"And look what I'm capable of."

"Breaking my heart?"

He scoffs. "You don't understand the implications-"

"Fuck the implications." Tears hoarse your voice, "Or better yet, fuck me, right? That's all I'm worth to you?"

"You're worth so much more than that but-" He sighs. "I don't think you're worth a war, Princess."

A tear tracks down your cheek as you nod. "Get out so I may dress, Sir Henrik."

The formality makes him cringe, but he bows nonetheless. "Yes, my Princess."

"-and Sir Henrik will accompany you."

A rock sinks in your stomach as your father gestures to the man beside him.

Sir Henrik is a fine man, a good man, but grizzled and old, stern and scarred from his time on the battlefield. Hardly one of the heartthrobs the young maidens chased after…

And maybe you chased after those roguish young knights a little bit too, your father knew, which was exactly why Sir Henrik was the right choice.

Resisting the urge to pout, you flash the beast in question a quick, reassuring smile; a smile that says don't mind me, I won't be a bother.

Henrik is smart enough not to trust it. He may not address it, your reputation as a trouble maker, but he knows you'll keep him on his toes during the negotiations.

The carriage ride is quiet, with you more interested in peering out the window than speaking, him more interested in his book than entertaining you. You sneak the odd peek at him, sizing him up. He's sharp, yes, but you're sharper, and you're certain you can slip past him once he leaves you for the night.

The inn is hardly the most ornate building, but that only lends to its charm, you think as you take in the peasant dwelling. Sir Henrik pays, then draws his sword.

You gasp as he presses the fine tip to the elderly man's chest.

"Not a word is to be spoken that we are here. Understood?" His gravelly voice leaves no room for argument, nor does his blade.

"Sir Henrik-!"

He glances at you.

"That commoner is of my domain! Unhand him!"

The storm of your expression gives him pause, and with a roll of his eyes he lets his sword fall. His gaze returns to the quivering old man. "Tell no one."

"N-no one!" The inn keeper echos fearfully.

You won't have it. "Sir Henrik. My bags?"

He frowns and his attention returns once more to you. "You have pages for-"

"I asked you. Get. My. Bags. Sir Henrik."

Jaw tight, he bows his head. "Yes, my Princess."

You wait until he's out the door before you rush to the old man's side. "I'm so embarrassed. Please-"

His eyes widen as you pull a pin from your hair. Even in the dim light of the inn, the jewels and pearls sparkle, and you press it into the elderly man's shaky palm.

"Take this. As a token of my appreciation, for your hospitality."

"I-I couldn't possibly-"

"I insist," you smile at the commoner, hoping to dissuade him from gossiping. "My knight was most ornery."

"He, uh, seems a little surly, your majesty."

That makes you chuckle. "Yes, yes, he is."

Henrik kicks the door open behind you. Admittedly, it is impressive that he manages all three trunks, with one under each arm and another over his back. His neck strains and your gaze drops to the bulging cords as he grits out, "Upstairs, to bed with you."

"Is that an order?" You mock, as you stroll up to him. You poke him square in the chest. "Because I would hate to remind you of your place, Sir Henrik."

His dark eyes glower down at you as you look to the innkeeper.

"Do you see that man?"

Skeptical, Henrik nods.

"While we're under his roof, I am appointing him my chief advisor. You are to do everything he asks, as if it had come from my own mouth. Is that understood?"

His eyes widen. "Your maje-"

"Is that understood?" 

"Yes," he says through clenched teeth.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, my Princess."

"Good. Remember, you are just as much a commoner as he is, Sir Henrik." You brush a salt and pepper curl from his brow. "Learn your place."

The knight shakes his head, not so much argumentative as he is bewildered. "Your father hired me to protect you."

Your eyes narrow. "What threat was he? You wanted to scare him, for fun. That's sick, and I won't have tyranny in my name."

He says nothing, but offers a stern nod. 

Raking your gaze over him, you sniff with disgust before you breeze past him, up the stairs.

He follows close behind. 

The room is small, but clean, and will serve its purpose just fine, you think, as you approach the small window. A smirk flickers at your lips, but you force it down. You don't intend on staying here very long.

The trunks clatter to the floor. Unimpressed, you turn. You frown at him, then at your things, but say nothing on the matter.

Henrik stands at attention, pulling himself up to his full height as you approach. You almost forgot how tall he really was, after so many hours in the carriage. You barely come to his shoulder.

"You're dismissed."

His mouth twitches. "Am I?"

"Yes." Impertinent, your chin raises. "I'd like to get some beauty rest."

He snorts. "Not like you need it."

Heat rushes to your face, unsure how to take his words. "Well, I have more than just the likes of you to impress tomorrow."

His expression sobers. "This is your first time? Meeting him."

The mention of your betrothed makes your stomach knot. "I said you were dismissed, Sir Henrik."

To your surprise, his chin dips with respect. "Sleep well, my Princess."

That softens you, if only a little. You might even miss him. "And you, Sir Henrik."

You close the door behind him. He's still on the other side of the door, for a few moments before he walks down the hall.

Gathering your nerve, you unlock your trunk. You root through your belongings to the burlap sack you have tucked away.

Clothes, men's clothes, procured by a smitten kitchen boy; your way out.

Well, that and the jewels you've stolen from the family vault.

They're nothing like what you're used to; embarrassment chews at you as you tug on the pants. The material is coarse and cheap, tight in queer places, loose in others, but it will suit its purpose just fine. Still, it feels like you're wearing nothing at all.

Next, you bind your chest. Not totally certain what you're doing, you wrap a thick strip of linen around your breasts. It doesn't do much, but it's better than before, slightly less obvious, you think, as you shrug on your grey work shirt.

Then, you crawl into bed.

Waiting is the hardest part, as you wait, and wait, until you know it must be damn well past midnight-

And the door opens, just far enough that the faint torch light falls across your face.

Henrik peers at you, quiet and thoughtful, before he speaks lowly, "no one's buying it."

Your breathing stays even and deep.

He scoffs, huffing with laughter, as he lets the door close.

"Dick," you murmur under your breath, but you're smart enough to stay still, to let him check in on you a few more times before you make your move.

Barefoot, you carry your boots under the crook of your arm as you creep down the hall.

"I knew it."

Rough hands snatch you into a side room. You shriek, but a heavy hand falls across your mouth, muffles it as Henrik slams you against the door. His body, long and hot, pins you in place, as he shoves a knee between your thighs.

The intrusion makes you jump.

"Everyone warned me you'd try this, spoiled little brat-"

You gasp as he rips the cap from your head. Your long hair tumbles over your shoulders, and you wince as he grips it tight. 

"You idiot, you little fool! Do you have any idea what the Vikings would do to you if they caught you unguarded? Hm? Do you?!"

"What does it matter," you growl, tears springing to your eyes. "Some brute's going to have me either way."

"Him and every other man who catches you out alone." He snarls, bearing down on you, almost brow to brow. You can see his scars clearly now, you're so close, as his gaze narrows. They spider web over his chin to his cheek, over his temple. "Did you really think it would work?"

You shrink back. "It's worked before."

"For your friends, not for you. You can't pass, Princess. Not like those boyish little waifs you associate with." There's a note of heat in his voice that makes you shiver as his hands fall to your hips. His fingers dig into the plush flesh and he moans, low and deep, against the top of your head. "Not with these curves, these fucking blessings, my Princess. Why would you ever want to hide them?"

Your eyes flutter, no man's ever touched you before, and you wonder if they all feel so good as your lips part. "Can you-?"

"Can I?" He mocks, all but cooing at you, as he strokes your waist, unable to help himself; you're so fucking soft, the way your flesh gives under his hands intoxicating.

"Help me?"

"Run away from your duties? Disobey my King?"

"Please," you beg quietly, sincerely, as you finally say the words aloud, "I don't want to marry him, Henrik."

He frowns, mouth pinching as he regards you. A third born princess, you were more a bargaining chip than a member of the royal family. "We all have our burdens, Princess."

"Take me away." It's less an order than a plea. "Take me anywhere."

"And why should I?" His head tilts, and yours follows helplessly, as he bears down on you, nose to nose. "They'd say I stole you, say I was a traitor, a monster, and for what?"

The kiss is awkward. Barely a peck, one that makes him arch a doubting brow.

Your shaking fingers rise to touch his scarred chin. You follow the puckered flesh across his cheek, over his temple, to where his dark hair is tinged with grey.

"Everything," you promise breathlessly, "I'll give you everything."

His dark eyes seem to shine. "Put your arms above your head."

There's apprehension, but no hesitation. You obey, eager to feel the heavy hands on your hips elsewhere.

"Have you ever had a cock before?"

Stunned by his vulgarity, you shake your head.

"Oh?"

Offense crosses your face.

"No man? I've seen how you trail after them, the younger knights."

"I- I was saving myself."

"For Ivar?"

The name makes you flinch. "For my future husband," you chance cupping his cheek, and he follows helplessly as you guide him to your lips. "Whomever he may be."

The gentle broach of your tongue is confident enough for him to guess he isn't your first kiss, but he doesn't care, although it does spark his curiosity.

"Who is it, hm?" He thumbs your mouth, holding you still with the scantest touch. "Who's been touching you, dearest?"

You quiver as his mouth finds the tender underside of your jaw. The grit of his stubble makes you lightheaded and hot. He moans at the faint jasmine of your perfume. Your skin is so soft, the eager arch of your back offering even more of it as a heavy hand finds your breast.

"Tell me," he growls, "Who's been pawing at these tits, hm? Who's tasted you?"

You gasp as he rips the linen from your chest.

He groans at the sight of your naked flesh, drops to one knee. "Tell me. I’ll have him castrated-"

A smile, wide and mischievous, crosses your lips. "Oh, how gallant of you."

He sneers at you as his hands come up to cradle your plush breasts. His eyes flutter at your coo as he offers you the scantest of squeezes.

Fuck, his hands are large and scarred, calloused from years of sword play and violence, and it's queer, having the stoic man touching you so reverently.

"Stupid bitch," he growls, and you mew, hurt painting your face as you push into his caring hands. His thumbs tease your tight nipples, slow and gentle. A wicked smile lights up his face as you whimper and huff, frustrated tears springing to your eyes as you clench your hands into fists by your head.

"Please, Henrik," you gasp, nose wrinkling as he stands once more. His hands grope your hips again, leaving you cold and unsatisfied as he bends to take your mouth.

Your hands fall thoughtlessly to cradle his shoulders, melting into the kiss. His body is so firm, unyielding, so unlike the pretty chambermaids you've played with before. Curious fingers stroke up his neck, and you break the kiss with a giggle.

You're both panting, chests bumping with every deep breath.

"What?" He rasps, nosing the top of your head.

"I-it's rougher than I expected," you say of his stubble. "Sort of tickles…"

His smile widens. "What gave you the impression you could touch me?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you tease the shaggy hair at the nape of his neck and press closer to him, until your breasts are flush against his chest. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, and he lets you touch him, lets you fawn over him a moment, your eyes wide with fascination as you stroke his jaw, his Adam’s apple, his dimpled chin.

Your fingers stroke the neck of his beige tunic. "Take this off."

"I'm not so pretty all over, Princess."

"That's for me to decide."

Henrik chuckles, reaching behind him to grab his shirt at the back of his neck and tug it over his head. His shaggy salt and pepper hair messy, he shakes it out of his face as he hesitantly drops the shirt to the floor.

You can't help staring. His shoulders are broad, a fine sprinkle of hair spread over his chest, his stomach round and strong-

But there are scars, gnarly awful twisted things that make your stomach tight.

He's so much more experienced than you are, and you know he'll take care of you, treat you right, if you set the right tone-

He chuffs as you place a careful hand over his heart. His gaze is sharp, skeptical, as you dare cradle his cheek with your other hand.

"May I?"

The nod is mute, little more than a blink.

There's a beat as you consider where to start. There's so many of them; a patchwork of scars and burns on his side, a gash on his chest that cut across to his shoulder. You focus on one of the smaller ones that slice into his collar.

Henrik grunts at the petal softness of your lips as they caress his skin. He palms your arms, swallows thickly as you kiss across his chest, your finger seeking out the scar that cuts down his arm. 

"I must seem so callow to you."

He grunts, not denying it.

"I don't know your world, but if you like, I could show you mine." You offer the belt of his trousers a tug. "Let me. Please."

It's his last chance, he knows. He could tell you no, turn you away and no one would know, there would be nothing to prove, nothing to be ashamed of-

But how could he deny that touch, those eyes?

"Go on than."

You start with slow, gentle touches that explore his damaged skin. His body is tense as you kiss your way down his chest, taking special care to kiss each scar, until you're on your knees, face to face with the marks on his hip, his side. He shivers as you tease your nails over the deep imprints, a dreadful curiosity building in you.

A firm hand on top of your head gives you pause. He turns your chin away from the branded flesh, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You don't have to."

"What happened?"

His features are stoic, as he tells you bluntly, "War."

Your head bows. You've never seen it in your lifetime, and the reminder of his age shames you a bit. He's an old man, older than your father even-

But fuck, do you want him. You swallow as he strokes that sacred place under your jaw, let your head fall back obediently. 

Oh, fuck, are you pretty on your knees. It pleases him immensely, the sight of you pleading for him, spoiled little bitch that you are- he should take his cock out, force it down your throat, see you make your petty demands than-

But how could he? When you offer his thumb the gentlest kiss, as your featherlight touches explore him so tenderly.

"Princess, please," he rasps, cupping the bulge in his trousers. So focused on his burns, you hadn't noticed his need, and heat paints your face. He's huge, judging by the outline, long and thick, the wet spot making you hot all over.

You nod and let him pull you to your feet.

"Get these off-" he grunts, catching you by the belt loops of your pants. "Fuck, you really thought you hide these hips, that ass? I can practically see your little cunt-"

You gasp as he dips his hand between your thighs, his meaty fingers seeking your slit through the coarse material. "Henrik-!"

He nods, kissing you fiercely as he tugs them down, moaning as they cling to your supple flesh. "Foolish girl-"

You squeeze your knees together. Grabbing his wrist, you smile mischievously through your heavy breathing. "Be kind to me."

"What respect do I owe you?"

"We're doing this my way, are we not?" 

He grumbles as you turn, but finds happiness in palming your ass. You tease a finger up the long curve of his twitching cock. His eyes flutter at the intimacy, at the boldness of the touch. "Your way takes too long."

"I think you like it," you whisper, and he leans in helplessly when you draw his mouth down to yours.

The slow broach of your tongue breaks him, as you take a slow step back toward the bed. He follows, sucking on your tongue until you pant and keen, as he squeezes your ass and lays you down on the bed.

Your eyes flutter closed, but his stay open. Henrik watches your face closely, enjoys how boneless and slack you are beneath him, how trusting. He's always seen you as a troublemaker, and he wonders if he's getting in over his head as your nails tease the grey patch in his beard, as you hitch a leg over his hip.

"Please-" You swipe your noses together. "Take me."

"Is that an order?"

"Henrik-!" You pout as he pulls back, but have to admit, he's much more interesting to look at than the pretty boy knights you're so used to teasing. There's no mistaking him for anything but a man, his thick torso telling a fascinating story, and you refuse to let him get far. "Darling, please-!"

He almost scoffs, almost laughs at your sudden affection for him, and he would have, had it not been so sincere as you cradle his face in your quivering hands.

"Please," you murmur, "fuck me, Henrik."

"Now where'd you learn such naughty words?"

You pant as his pants drop. 

"Hm? Never did tell me about this secret boyfriend of yours…he ever touch you here, Princess?"

You bite your lip as he bends to press a kiss to the top of your mound. Struck mute, you can only manage to shake your head.

"No? How about up here, hm?" His lips pull into a smile, this one warmer than before, as he bends to wrap his lips around your right nipple. You grasp his hair, hold him close, but he's in no rush to move, as he lazily swirls his tongue around the tight nub, working it over until your nodding feverishly, until his spit glistens across your pebbled flesh-

"I did- I- I let Alise-!"

He pulls off the throbbing bud with a force that makes you chirp.

Fuck, you're so wet, so empty, your whole body throbs in time with your aching nipple as the elderly knight tilts his head.

"Alise?"

The nod you give is too pathetic to be anything but genuine.

He sucks your left nipple into his mouth with a moan. He grins as your back arches, pushing your breast deeper into his mouth as you babble, too lost in the pleasure he's giving you to be embarassed, to think about the danger you're putting yourself in, as you confess, "She-She only liked to kiss-"

"Kiss you where? Here?" He nips at your earlobe, but takes care not to leave a mark anywhere else. "Here?"

You gasp as he kisses your collar, your neck. "Yes-! She did-"

"What did it feel like, hm, little girl? How was she compared to me?"

"Small." You swallow as his calloused fingers stroke your neck, coaxing and gentle. "Anxious…sweet, she was so fucking sweet, Henrik-"

"Were you in love with her?"

"No," you wince, "I just wanted to play with her cunt."

He groans, snaps his hips and ruts his erection across your belly. "So you know how I feel."

That stings, but you push the startling hurt aside as you focus on the heat of his dick as it slides down to part your slit. 

Henrik groans at the sight; at the way your precious pearl throbs against the fat tip of his cock. He circles it, wondering what it would be like to curl his lips around it, to make you sob and beg for him-

"Did she make you come?"

You shake your head. "I- I've- I'm untouched, I swear it."

The desperation in your voice makes him grin. He bends, blanketing your body with his own, long and firm and warm and heavy, before he kisses you.

The tip of his cock eases inside you, the stretch making you gasp.

"Not anymore," he whispers, dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Tell me how it feels."

"Henrik-"

He gives you another inch, then another. Each one feels like an eternity; not because of pain, but because of his patience. He's slow with you, his push firm, unyielding. Your legs shake and he hitches them around his waist. 

"Fuck, you're so warm, so tight, your Highness-"

The rasp in his voice, the brush of his beard against your jaw-

"Tell me how it feels," he repeats, firmer.

"Good," you whimper, hands coming up behind him to dig your nails into his back. It's just as scarred as his front, and you can't help leaning up to plant kisses along his shoulder. "Full, fuck, Henrik, please, please-"

"Slower?" There's an unfamiliar gentleness in his tone that fades into amusement as you shake your head. "Oh?"

"More," you keen, back arching, pushing even closer to the body that pins you down. "I- you're so much bigger than my fingers-"

The thought makes him moan, the sight of you in your little silk nighty, fingers wedged deep in your tight plush pussy as you try and fail to replicate the pleasure he was currently giving you.

"Horny little slut," he says with affection, nosing that sweet spot under your jaw as he bottoms out.

The two of you groan in unison.

For a moment, there's only the sound of your heavy breathing, out of sync with each other, and the faint whisp of wind outside the small window.

He can't tear his eyes from your face, checking for pain, but finding none of it. Your expression is anxious, but not afraid, as you raise a hand to stroke his beard.

Henrik's eyes flutter at the touch, at the queer intimacy- a part of him knows this is wrong, it's against his duty, it could get him killed if anyone found out-

"Henrik, please," you whisper softly for him in the dark.

But oh how worth it you are, he thinks, chin dipping to steal a kiss that makes you moan, as his tongue parts your lips.

The first thrust makes you gasp, as he touches places you've never reached, as he stretches you open; your head falls back with a moan-

An offering, he thinks, eyes fluttering as his nose glides along the tender column of your throat. He kisses the underside of your chin, smirking as you cling to him, as your nails dig into his back, adding your scars to his collection-

And fuck, how he will wear them with pride. More so than the useless ones, the ones from battle, the ones that made his body ache on cold nights, but you're so warm, perfect.

"Henrik-" Your breath catches as he smoothes a hand down your body, and he thrusts again, harder this time, digging his hips into yours, his chest into yours, you swear you can feel his heartbeat against your own, quick and steady, just like his thrusts-

"Your hands are so rough-" You whimper as his fingers circle your hips, pulling you closer, so he can go deeper-

He flinches, ashamed, but when your hand grabs his, weaving your fingers together, so you can raise them to your lips, so you can kiss his knuckles, that shame disappears.

"Touch me here," you whisper, low and pleading, as you guide his big heavy hand to your breast. "Please, Henrik."

His hand shakes. He's not used to gentleness, giving or receiving, but he tries. You shiver as he strokes the curve of your breast with the backs of his brutish fingers, as he gifts your nipple the same awkward, but evocative treatment.

"You're so soft, Princess."

You shake your head, hating the title on his lips.

He nods, hips never pausing. "Yes, Princess, you are." Henrik buries his face in your neck, kissing and sucking. "Smell so fucking good, my sweet Princess, my Lady, my wife-" He growls at your mew, at your eager nod, as your nails dig in deeper, and he ruts into you.

"Yours," you promise, "I'll always be yours-"

The idea makes him pine; for simple comforts, for a home life, for a safe bed, and a soft body to warm it. 

He kisses you swiftly as the bed creaks, each thrust driving his belly against yours as he looks down at you.

It wasn't enough, not for you, not nearly enough for a woman of your stature, of your upbringing. He couldn't possibly give you anything more than you already had, which meant he had nothing to offer.

Oh, he's so beautiful, you think, the thought almost startling you. Henrik has dark eyes that gleam with intelligence, a strong jaw under his salt and pepper beard. His nose is long and crooked from fighting, and his scars…

His eyes flutter as your fingers rise to touch them, as you lift your head to kiss his flush cheek, the puckered skin warm.

"Claim me, Henrik, make me yours-"

"You're already mine," he growls, "you'll always be mine-"

"Yes!" You promise, legs beginning to quake as pleasure builds low in your stomach. 

He moans as you rake your nails down his back, arching into the sting of it, driving himself deeper into your wet heat.

"Yours, yours, I'll always be yours, Henrik, I swear it-"

He pants against your brow as you cling to him, soft puffs of breath. The kiss he offers is fierce, forcing you to take it, to bend to him, as he fucks you hard and deep.

Every thrust twists you a little closer to the edge; his cock is thick, and every movement drags the fat head against some sacred place deep inside your cunt that makes your toes curl, your legs shake, as the bristle of his beard against your temple makes your heart pound.

Henrik knows it's coming; he can feel every quiver, is experienced enough to know what they mean. He leans into you, throws a bit more of his weight behind every thrust, knowing you can take it, knowing what you need, as you press your lips to his shoulder, his bicep, still trying so desperately to please him, even as you come undone.

"Ah-!" You shout, but a firm hand clamps over your mouth; it smothers the sound, but can't keep you still, as you buck and jerk underneath him, hips skipping and stuttering, only serving to press closer to him still as you come.

It's different this time; not the quiet, breathy little bouts of pleasure you've given yourself under the sheets at night, it's brash, forceful, and you give yourself to it, just like you did him.

Henrik hushes you softly, his lips against your brow as he fucks deep into you, his own thrusts wavering as you twitch and sob and dig your nails into his lower back. He chances pulling his hand away and you shove it away so you can cup his cheek, so you can kiss him, so you can suck his tongue-

The taste of his moan, the sweat the dribbles from his chest down to yours, you try to memorize him as he puts his forehead to yours; the determination in his brown eyes, the crow's feet, the curl of his lip, the flush underneath his scars.

He thinks the same of you, as he noses the top of your head and inhales your shampoo, that soothing floral scent driving him wild as he comes apart.

You can feel it, you swear you can, as he paints your insides with his seed. Fuck, you hope it takes. You want a piece of this night to remember for the rest of your life, and you welcome his kiss with a moan.

The sound makes him shiver, as he ruts into you one last time. With the final snap of his hips, he dares grunt out your name before he heaves himself off, and out, of you.

You shiver at the sudden loss, but smile as he pulls you in close, turning you, so he can bury his face in your neck. The trail of his mouth over your skin makes you coo, and he chuckles, deep and low in the dark.

"Still want to run away?"

"Not from you," you murmur, turning to nuzzle your noses together. 

He sighs, "trouble, that's what you are."

"I could never deny that." Your smile widens as he grins, as he kisses you fondly. His hand seeks your hip, palms and gropes it as his thinning cock lingers against your backside. A hint of curiosity overwhelms you a moment, and you can't resist asking, "how was it? Fucking a princess?"

He lifts a smug shoulder before he bends to kiss your naked one. "Overrated."

"Oh?" You tease his beard with your nails. "How so?"

His eyes flutter. "Too needy, for one. Too clingy, too-" He sighs as you kiss him, as you part his lips with your tongue in search of his own.

He allows it, letting you take what you need from him, until you're both panting and sweaty again, ready for another round-

Sunlight streams across your face, trying to waking you, but the bed is warm and enticing. You stretch like a contented cat, shaking out your limbs and snuggling into your lover's pillow as you sigh. He's gone, but you're hardly alarmed. He wouldn't have gone far, and your suspensions are confirmed when the door creaks open.

The sight of Henrik warms you; he's dressed smartly, in a formal tunic and dark trousers, his broad sword strapped to his hip.

"Hen-"

"Get dressed," he orders, throwing a night gown on the end of the bed. "We should be there by mid-evening, if we leave on schedule."

You falter. He can't be serious. "What?"

His gaze remains firm, as does his tone, "This doesn't change my duty, Princess. Nor does it change yours."

You hate the tears that scratch at your throat, that strain your voice, "you used me?"

"You seduced me," it's a correction, almost off-hand.

"I-I thought-" You cringe as he grabs the nighty and shoves it into your lap. The silk is lightly colored, lilac, soft to the touch-

"You wanted to be a whore, I'm treating you like a whore."

Is that what you had been doing?

He sits on the edge of the bed, takes you by the hand. "Princess. Was it not you who reminded me of my place?"

You blink and a few tears escape, sniffling as they fall.

"This is yours." He thumbs them away. You wonder how he can speak so harshly and touch you so gently, reminding you they were the same hands he fought and killed with, the same hands he had made love to you with. "Women must marry men they don't care for. It's-"

"Our burden?" You draw sarcastically. Distrustful, you shake your head. "I should tell everyone. Tell them how-"

"I raped you?" He offers, the word alone making you flinch.

No, no, you couldn't accuse him of that. It may have started as a moment of desperation, but-

"Ruined me," you offer, with glossy eyes and little bite. "What man would have me now?"

He tips your chin up. "No one will know. This is my vow to you. Not unless you tell them, and then it's my head on a block. Is that what you want?"

The thought makes your heart wrench and you can't bear to look at him. "No."

"If I could, I would, Princess, but what kind of life could I give you?" He squeezes your fingers.

You still can't look at him, especially as you begin to beg, "A peaceful one, one with freedom-"

"There's no freedom on the run."

"The choice to love-"

The bed shifts as he stands. "You don't love me, don't pretend."

"I loved being with you!" Your voice warbles, as you cover your breasts with the nightgown. "Being touched by you, being loved by you-"

Henrik doesn't mince his words. "Your wiles are cheap."

That stings. "Don’t sully it. You- the only reason I let you-"

He scoffs. "Let me."

"Let you," you repeat softly. "You wouldn't have touched me without my word, would you have?"

Hurt flashes across his scarred face. "Is that what you think of me?"

"Do you really think I'm a whore, Henrik?"

"No," he rasps, unable to look at you.

"Then why are you treating me like one?" You demand through your tears. "You called me wife-"

"A mistake," he amends with a shake of his head. "I should have never."

"Than let me go. Give me that dignity, at least. Don't make me go to him with you still inside me-"

"That's enough!" He bellows. "Don't beg, Princess. You're better than that."

Tears shine in your eyes, as you spit, as you accuse, "I trusted you."

"So trust me still. This is for the best."

"You don't even know him." Your hand shakes and suddenly desperate to get your gown on, to cover up. "I don't know him, Henrik-"

He lifts a shoulder, but his eyes are softer than usual. "Nor do you know me."

"You served my father loyally for years-"

"And look what I'm capable of."

"Breaking my heart?"

He scoffs. "You don't understand the implications-"

"Fuck the implications." Tears hoarse your voice, "Or better yet, fuck me, right? That's all I'm worth to you?"

"You're worth so much more than that but-" He sighs. "I don't think you're worth a war, Princess."

A tear tracks down your cheek as you nod. "Get out so I may dress, Sir Henrik."

The formality makes him cringe, but he bows nonetheless. "Yes, my Princess."

Henrik doesn't recognize you at first. 

He searches for you, gaze flickering around the room, but he only finds grim faces and tight mouths. Some of them are sad, some angry, but none speak, as the introductions are made.

His eyes find Ivar, the young man seated at the throne. He looks mostly the same; his dark blond hair braided back, shorn at the sides, his blue eyes just as cold and calculating as they had been the day they'd met. Henrik hates him, hates him in the deep secret place in his heart that still belongs to you.

A hand on Ivar’s arm catches his attention. His stomach drops at the sight of you.

At first he had thought you a handmaid, the way you were dressed, in simple linen garb, your once beautiful long hair cut short and choppy, but your face-

There's no softness there anymore.

Henrik bows respectfully, along with his men, as his heart hammers in his chest. How long had it been? A year? How could you have changed so much in a year?

"The King says these are his best…” Ivar stands, rights his leather vest, and goes on casually, “But he also said his daughter was a Lady, so you'll forgive my doubts, won't you?"

Henrik's grip tightens on the handle of his sword. How dare he, pagan little shit-

Ivar snaps his fingers and you stand. 

Colin gapes beside him, the youngest of the Knights, a sweet boy who had been sheltered from the harsher aspects of life, but Henrik hardly blames him.

Everything about you seems…unwell. You've lost weight, and your features are sharp and gaunt, but worse are your eyes. Fuck, he had always dreaded the mischief in them, the devious little sparkle that meant you were up to something-

There was no such life now.

"She looks like a corpse," Colin breathes beside him. "Captain-"

Henrik shushes him, but can't deny it.

Ivar's gaze trails over the knights idely, but his brows perk at the sight of the old man. A grin tugs at his full lips as he tells them, tells him, casually, "I could tell her to suck the cock of every man in this room and she'd do it. She's done it before, haven't you, wife?"

Henrik's grip tightens on his sword as Colin gasps at the brute's brazen disrespect.

Worse is your soft, "Yes, my love."

My love, Henrik thinks possessively.

"Come." Your husband offers his arm and you take it dutifully. "Let us inspect them together."

The Viking is calm, almost passive, as he nods and hums over each man; occasionally reaching out to touch their armour, to squeeze their bicep, as if he's walking through a butcher shop, inspecting the meat.

Henrik stares at you the whole time, but you don't return his gaze. Don't look any of the men in the face, only offering weak smiles when prompted. You look exhausted, your movements are stiff-

Ivar tuts over Colin. His thick fingers cup the younger man's clean shaven chin. “So young! Practically a babe!”

Colin's jaw tightens as his face flushes an embarassed red, but he stays quiet.

The obvious rage makes the Viking King grin. “We should castrate him.”

You stiffen as he pats your hand.

“Give you a lady in waiting, a proper gift-" 

Fear grips your heart. It's no empty threat. Squeezing his hand tightly, you beg, “My love, please-" 

The slap is sharp; the knights jump at the sound, but you don't. The sting isn't as bad as the horrible embarrassment, and you're nodding immediately, as your husband shoves his finger in your face-

“You will speak when I let you speak!”

You keep nodding frantically, covering your split lip with your palm.

He tips your chin back up, proud of the blood that drips down your chin. He forces you to meet the young knight's gaze, and you hate the pity in his brown eyes. Ivar hums. “Now, where was I, oh yes, a lady, would you like that, pet?"

“No, my love,” you whisper, licking a bit of blood from your bottom teeth.

Your husband tuts. “Your lucky day, boy. Thank the princess.”

“Thank you, Princess.” Colin bows low to you.

You offer him a quick fleeting simper, before dropping your gaze to your hand where it sits under Ivar's. When you squeeze it, he squeezes back, allowing you to speak. “Thank my husband's grace.”

The young knight gapes for a moment before offering another quick bow to Ivar that makes Henrik's whole body hot. “T-thank you, sir.”

Ivar coos, kissing your cheek. “Such a tender tongue. Well, shall we begin the feast?”

Your gaze flicks to Henrik, but there's no recognition there, no love or hate, no fear or hope. The emptiness makes his stomach churn, but he says nothing as the young couple turns away from him.

The feast commences as if there had been no interruption. You don't eat. You're not even served, Henrik notices, but neither is he, nor his men.

Ivar jokes and cackles, pounding the table as he and his men swap stories.

Hours later, after the welcome party has ended, he comes to you. His face in stormy and dark, as he grabs you by the throat.

“Flirting!” Ivar bellows in your face. “With a lowly kitchen boy! Disgraceful!" 

You shake your head desperately but don't dare speak. You weren't, you hadn't, the boy had simply slipped you a roll, the first food you'd had in days-

He throws you to the floor, your knees and palms scrapping on the cold stone. Dragging you to the bed, he bends you over the straw mattress. Your stomach churns as you fist the coarse wool blanket. Terrified of what he might do as he tears the linen dress from your back, you can only quiver as he looks to his men at the door. “Fetch her knights.”

Horror grips you. No, no, please, he can't see- “Please-” You squeak but quiet at a sharp thump to the back of your head.

“Silence! Get them, bring them to me.”

Henrik knows there's trouble when the men come to them. Their faces are grim, almost apologetic, as they tell him Ivar demands the brigade's company. With a frown, Henrik gathers them, rousing them from their sleep.

Behind you, Ivar is pacing. His quiet is more frightening than his bellows. Quiet means he's thinking. Plotting. At least when he's ranting, his anger has purpose, has passion- a fleeting, flash of rage is so much better than a long simmered hatred.

You knew this day would come one day, of course. Ivar had waited to see Henrik again. True, he didn't know his name. He hadn't bothered ask it when they had met the one time. 

But he knew the face. He knew the stature, and Ivar had recognized the elderly knight the moment he laid eyes on him.

Oh, how he had yearned for this moment. Thought of it often, while he was fucking you from behind, while you choked and sobbed and begged for him to stop, to slow down-

Henrik enters first, with a hand ready on his broad sword. His stomach tightens at the sight of you on your knees, and it turns at how Ivar's boyish face lights up, at the braided leather belt in his hands.

The blade is drawn with a flourish.

The young man merely blinks as he raises it to his throat. He doesn't seem the least bit intimidated. “And what do you think my men will do to you then, hm? Don't make a fool of yourself, old man.” He pushes the blade away with two fingers. “Besides. I'm not the one going to hurt her. He is.”

Henrik looks behind him to a stunned Colin.

“I won't,” he croaks, stepping back with a swallow.

Ivar nods patiently. He's had this conversation before. “You will. Every time you deny me, you'll be adding ten more lashes to her sentence.”

“And what was her crime?!” The elderly knight bellows, but finds himself flanked by two younger men. They take his arms, grip him firmly, as he begins to thrash. “You can't do this!” 

Colin tries the more noble approach. “I-I took a vow to protect her-"

“So protect her.” Ivar shrugs. “Twenty lashes.”

“No-" 

“Thirty-”

Thirty?! That was almost double than what you were used to-

The boy cringes at your sob. When Ivar perks his brows up expectantly, Colin takes the belt.

Henrik's trained him well, and despite the lank of the young man, he’s reedy with muscle; stronger than he looks.

“I expect you all to watch.” Ivar snaps his fingers and the men put Henrik on his knees. “Anyone who looks away will take up the belt next. Thirty strikes to the back.”

You bury your face in your arms and weep.

Ivar ignores you. “Go on than, and if I suspect you're not putting your back into it, I'll make good on those threats from earlier.”

Features drawn and wane, the young knight asks, “May I speak to her?”

Curious, Ivar nods.

You don't lift you head as he crouches beside you. Voice low, he whispers, “Forgive me, my Princess-" 

A few hot tears steaks down your cheeks, but you don't dare make a sound. Instead, you nod frantically, unable to lift your head from the blanket. The grip you have on it is so tight your hands shake, but you don't want the boy to feel any guilt over this. This was your fault, you should have never went against your husband-

Ivar rolls his eyes. “Begin.”

The first crack of the whip makes the knights flinch, but your pained cries don't come. It's sickening. How you jump and choke but keep hauntingly silent, at least until the seventeenth blow. Henrik counts every one, unable to look away from your back, the fresh welts a patchwork of blood over old scars. 

The seventeenth strike breaks you. The whimper earns a grin from your husband, who leans in to whiper in Henrik's ear, “She's used to ten, but with all the fanfare I thought it best we remind her of her place.” Hands behind his back, he bounces on his toes as he asks, “You were her childhood guard, were you not?”

“I was not,” the elderly knight grumbles, flinching as you gasp, as you whine, a high pitched feral sound, that of a wounded animal. A sound he had only heard in battle, a sound earned in torture, in brutality.

“But you delivered her to me, yes?”

“Yes,” he grits out, blinking as you cry out. He recalls your sweet coos, your wide smile, and finds those kindnesses fading with every strike. He was losing them, losing the memories of your night together to this horrid new one. “I did.”

Ivar crosses his arms. “You’re the one who fucked her?”

Surprised and disgusted, Henrik's gaze turns to the Viking’s face. 

Ivar holds his stare a long moment, letting the crack of the makeshift whip settle between them. Then he snaps his fingers once more. “Boy! Give your captain the whip, its his turn.”

The older man shakes his head. “I won't do it.”

Ivar shrugs. “Ten more lashes.”

Panting, the sudden lack of pain frightens you even more. It's not like Ivar to stop prematurely. Head in a daze, you lift your head to listen as you gasp for air, the burn in your lungs nothing compared to your back.

Henrik stays firm. He may have done things he wasn't proud of, but he had never struck a woman. He simply wasn't that kind of man.

“Twenty?” Ivar grins, blue eyes brightening. “Thirty-!"

“Please,” you sob from the bed, limp as a ragdoll. The salt of your tears burn your split lip, and it's bleeding again. Your drool and snot and blood stain the blanket beneath your face. “I…I-”

In two long strides, your husband has you.

The scream you give is blood curdling as he drags you by the hair.

Colin shuffles back with dull surprise. Tears stain his cheeks, his eyes glazed with shame.

He drags you across the cold stone floor, your simple linen dress doing little to protect you from cuts and scrapes, before he throws you on your knees in front of Henrik. Ivar ignores how you flinch, as he wrenches your head back and forces you to meet the older knight's gaze.

The pity you find there sickens you. You would rather see hate.

“Beg him,” Ivar orders.

“Please,” You swallow, hating the rasp of tears in your voice, the humiliation almost worst than the pain. “Hit me, Henrik.”

His brown eyes go to your quivering, bleeding bottom lip. He can still remember the taste of it.

“Please, I can't, I can't take forty more please-"

His head shakes, stubborn and proud and heartbroken. “I won't.”

A new sharp pain shoots through your skull as Ivar twists your hair in his fist. “Please!”

“Tell you what.” Ivar offers him a placating smile. The grip on your hair slacks, and you lull with relief. He strokes the top of you head, eyes locked on Henrik's. “I'm a reasonable man. Fifteen strikes.”

You sniffle as Ivar bends to whisper something against your cheek. The broken sob you give, the way you twist away in shame, only widens his smile.

Henrik lunges against the men's hold, spits at the young man's feet.

It stains the bottom of your linen dress.

Henrik stares at it a long moment before he meets the young Viking’s gaze with certainty. “You'll have to kill me.”

“I can arrange that.”

Your heart breaks. You had hated him for so long, but the thought of him being gone- 

“Henrik,” you whimper, “don't make it worse-”

You wince as Ivar yanks you up by your short hair.

“What did I tell you about speaking out of turn?!” He hisses in your face, than looks to his men. “Fifty lashes, and take his hand.”

The dungeon is a dreary place. Straw lines the floor. Torches and moonlight create a queer mix of orange tones against the stone walls. Henrik doesn't fight the men who shackle him. Just leans back and sighs.

“I'm not a cruel man,” the Viking King tells him with a smile. From behind the bars, he looks almost innocent, with his calm disposition, his boyish good looks, as he crouches beside his cage. “I'll let you chose. Hand, foot; I'm flexible.”

Henrik shakes his head. “How could you? She’s just a woman.”

“She’s a whore.” He sniffs. “You know better than anyone, don't you?”

“She’s a lady, a princess-”

His head cocks. “Oh, I see now. You were her first.”

Rage reds his cheeks, barely visible under his salt and pepper beard. “I was,” he tells him proudly. 

Ivar nods. Gaze soft, he hums. “So it was yours.”

Henrik frowns.

“I had suspected, but…” His smile grows. “I could never get her to confess. Tell me,” he chuckles, “how was she? As a blushing virgin. She had tried to claim it, of course…” 

Henriks heart hammers in his chest.

“Did she bleed? Did she cry?” The mask of friendliness drops. “Did she fuck an old man like you out of desperation, or was it something deeper?”

The old Knight's head hangs in shame. 

Ivar bangs on the iron bars. “How dare you come back here after you sullied her? Spoiled her?!” True rage shines in his blue eyes. “She was mine! To be my wife, and she fucked the first man she came across and you tell me she deserves my respect?!”

For a moment, the old knight is quiet. “If you don't want her, give her to me.”

Ivar blinks, stunned.

“I'll take her away,” Henrik promises with a swallow. “You could remarry, find yourself a woman from your clan-”

“I want the lady I was promised,” the blond growls. “I want my princess!”

Henrik blinks. “You're pathetic.”

Ivar laughs. “I'm pathetic? You're the one lusting after a girl young enough to be your granddaughter, you sick old fuck.”

A cold smile curls over Henrik's lips. “She didn't bleed. She was dripping for me, begging me for it.”

Ivar rolls his eyes.

“When you do it right, they don't bleed,” the grizzled older man tells him pointedly, “You would know that if you weren’t a child.”

A smirk plays on Ivar's full lips. Something akin to pity softens his gaze, but it's not quite believable. “You don't even know what you've lost, what I've taken from you.” 

A crease in his brow, Henrik watches him closely as he stands.

“Tell them to fetch the block.” The young king directs his guard, but his eyes don't leave Henrik's. “I have to attend to my wife.”

The man they bring in is old, older than him even. Small, bird-like, with sharp eyes behind his half-moon glasses. He tuts at the sight of the knight, shakes his head with distaste. “Which hand?”

“The left,” Henrik tells him plainly, reflexively clenching it into a fist.

The guards keep his right shackled to the wall. They pull up a small, blood stained table, a stool. They sit him on it and pin his arm down.

“I’m sorry for this,” the old man says, as he readies the block. His voice is weary, as are his features. “She's a kind soul, and you seem a good man…”

It takes every ounce of your nerve to knock on the hotel room door.

It swings open immediately. You jump with surprise, as a familiar voice greets you, “Uh, hello. You- you must be…?”

Oh. He doesn't recognize you, you realize, and you suppose that's fair. It's not like you dress like this for class, in your best blue dress, done up like the prettiest little doll. Usually you're in sweats, your hair messy, too meek to make friends, and let's face it, you're not the most competitive student. It's no wonder he never noticed you.

The smile you flash at him is bright. “Yes. I am. Otto, right?”

He swallows, smoothing his shirt; a red turtleneck, very constricting, it hugs his chest, his stomach, he should have gone for something more casual, he scolds himself, something disposable-

But this has been Rosie's favorite, a little voice reminds him. It was soft and warm and still smelt like her, well, in his mind it did-

“Yes, yes, Otto, that…heh, that's me.”

After a beat of staring at each other, you giggle. “Can I come in?”

“Yes! Please! I- I brought wine.” He gestures behind him to where a small dining table has been set with candles and flowers, it's not extravagant, but it's effort, and effort is always appreciated.

“That's very kind of you.” You let him take your coat and hear him gasp as he realizes your dress is backless. You glance over your shoulder, to where you can just barely see the tattoo that paints your ribs. “Oh, you didn't- you didn't specify, in your order, I hope you don't mind a little ink?”

His mouth is so dry; it's been so long since he's been so close to another person and he's never been with anyone who had tattoos…it's an interesting prospect. “I- do- not…”

“Oh, wonderful,” you brighten. “I'm supposing you don't have any?”

“Oh, no, no, that's…much too bold, for me, I'm afraid.”

The nod you give is understanding, and he takes the chance to hang your coat up in the small closet. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

With a faint chuckle, you ease a little deeper into the hotel room. It's nice, clean, the small table set nicely. You thumb one of the red tulips and feel a hint of heat spindle through you. It's not often people put effort into their whores.

“Please, sit. I'll fetch the corkscrew.”

Nodding, you slide into one of the seats. “So. Otto. Are you a local?”

“I am! Born and raised in the city,” his fingers are long, thick, and you would have assumed him clumsy, but he uncorks the bottle of wine in a fluid motion that impresses you. “Yourself?”

“Well, I may as well, tell you upfront,” you put an apologetic hand on his forearm. “I'm from Jersey.”

“Ew,” he jokes with a wink.

You snicker and let your touch fall.

“May I?” He asks, gesturing to the empty glass to your right.

“Of course, thank you!”

“So, tell me a little about yourself.”

Your smile shifts to something a little more forced. You have a fake backstory, of course, several actually, and you scroll through a couple in your mind before you land on one you think Otto will like. “Me? Well, like I said, born and raised in New Jersey. Suburbia, nothing special. I'm in my last semester in school,” the truth, “I'm studying to work at the Library of Congress.”

A lie, a bold one, but one most people find impressive, and given how Otto’s brows raise, you know you picked a good one. “How about yourself, handsome?”

His cheeks go pink under his shaggy salt and pepper beard. He must be a couple decades older than you, at least. “I…teach, at a local university.”

“Oh, a learned man! Compelling! Do you enjoy it?” You don't ask specifics, never do; it makes the men skiddish.

“Very much so, although I admit, it did take me a good deal of time to find my groove…” After my Rosie passed, he thinks with a small frown.

You nod as he pours the fine red liquid into the glasses. He offers you one and you take it, sniffing it the way you've seen people do in movies and pretending to find it pleasant. Friendly, casual, you ask, “Have you been doing it long?”

“Oh, thirty years or so now.”

In a sick way, that makes you a little wet. He's so fine, you've always thought so, not just a handsome one, but a good man. Dedicated, smart, older…Absently, you take a sip of your wine and hope he doesn't notice your flush.

“So, it's your final year, are you excited to graduate?” Otto asks, seamlessly changing the subject back to you.

The smile you flash him is fake and bright. “Oh, I'm ecstatic!” You're terrified. “The move will be so exciting, I'll be in my chosen field- I can't wait.”

He chuckles, gentle and fond. “Your parents must be proud.”

“They are,” you lie.

“Good, good.” He clears his throat; he shouldn't have mentioned your parents. You're so young, almost as young as the majority of his students. It unsettles him, he would never date anyone your age-

But this isn't a date, this is a transaction, he reminds himself. In the moment, he had forgotten. He sips his wine and glances at you.

You're staring back, smiling knowingly at him. “Freaked you out, didn't it?”

“I- what?”

“Seeing me as a person,” you tell him plainly, without judgement. With a wink, you sip your wine, then tease, “It's always hard the first time.”

“I-I- didn't- mean to offend.”

“I'm not offended.” You're really not. “A little dehumanization comes with the job.”

“May- may I ask, how, you came to be…here?”

Chuckling, you nod. “I started as an escort. My roommate worked with a business, it sounded like a good hussle.” You take a sip of your wine, keeping easy eye contact with him as you tell him plainly, “But the money is better when you put out.” You smirk at his swallow. “I like sex, and I'm very good at having it. The agency is reliable and condoms are an unconditional must.“

He nods.

“And, of course, I get off on it.”

“It?”

“Meeting new people,” your smile is wide, a little flirtatious, a little catty. “Fucking them. Especially the ones like you.”

“Like me?”

“You have no idea, do you?”

His head cocks.

“How fucking sexy you are, Otto.”

Heat touches his face, colors it a bright red. “You have to say that.”

That makes you snort. “I really don't. You're obviously intelligent, charming, tall, handsome, barrel chested, thick limbed…I bet you got a cock to match.”

He swallows as you prop your elbow on the table, as you rest your chin in your palm and simply regard him a moment. A wry smile crosses your lips. “What?” He mumbles with an awkward shift.

“Next time,” you tell him plainly. “When there are no pretenses of what this is…how are you gonna play it?”

“What…what do you mean?”

“The wine, the candles, they're very nice, but they're not for me. They're trying to set a mood that's needless.”

Otto tugs at the collar of his turtleneck.

“Otto, I've wanted to fuck you since I walked through that door. Why do we have to pretend like there's something wrong with that?”

“It is wrong, you're so young-”

“I'm an adult,” you assure him. “Have been for a long while. So, are you gonna fuck me or not?”

For a moment, he's still; his apprehension weighs on his face, his throat works, then his cock throbs in a way it hasn't in years. He always liked straight forwardness, always found it charming, and he is, charmed, by you. He downs his wine. “Fuckin' right I am.”

The gruff note in his voice makes you bite your lip, but before you can comment, he's standing. He offers his hand and you slide your palm against his own-

It's electric; the rough calloused on his warm skin makes you shiver, makes your nipples tight as you stand-

And then he's kissing you, letting go of your hand to cradle the back of your head tenderly. His mouth is warm, a drop of wine still clinging to his bottom lip, and you want more. He moans as your hands rub his chest, his shoulders, the sound so much more intoxicating than the wine-

“Fuck me, Otto,” it's more of a whimper than a purr. “Please?”

Eyes closed, he nods, kissing you again and again, as he backs you up.

It's a bit wobbly in your heels, but you manage to make it to the couch without tripping. Fuck, his hands are so big, so gentle, as he cups your face. It's very nice, very gentlemanly-

Your fingers slide over his and you slowly redirect his hand to your mouth. Tongue out, you look him in the eye as you lick his index finger, as you take it between your lips and suck the very tip. Half-lidded eyes peer down at you, completely entranced by the heat of your mouth.

Slow, you drag his fingers down your neck, guiding him gently to your breast. “Touch me. Please?”

The heat, the weight, of your tit in his palm makes his head fuzzy, makes his whole body hot in a way it hasn't in years. Touch gentle, he gives your heated flesh a faint squeeze, his thumb seeking out your peaked nipple.

Panting, you can't help but press into his hand. Brow to brow with him, you kiss his cheek, his jaw, unable to keep from squirming as he teases you with his nails through the thick material of your dress. “Otto…”

He nods, eyes fluttering as you lean back. Helpless, he follows, kissing you once, twice, each one lingering longer and longer until you're both breathless, pawing and groping at one another, necking like teenagers in the back of a station wagon-

He hasn't felt this good in years, he hasn't felt so alive-

Liquid heat pools in your belly as he nips at your neck, then soothes the spot with his warm tongue. Biting your lip, you whimper as his beard whispers along your skin, lighting you up inside in a way no man ever has- “Otto, fuck, fuck me, please-”

Otto nods, leaning back to unbuckle his belt. He can't tear his eyes off you, your heaving tits and luscious thighs-

It's the latter that catches his attention. His head cocks as he stares at your tattoo. It's familiar to him, intimately so. A curious smile brightens his face as he traces your inked skin with his nails. “The chemical component to tritium?”

So lost in the touch, you don't hear him; fuck, he feels so good, his chest firm and his sweater soft. Fuck, your panties must be soaked. “Huh?”

“Your tattoo, it's the chemical component to precious tritium…do you have an interest in green energy?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! You tug your skirt down- “Uh, you could say that…”

“Oh! How wonderful!” He leans back, excited to talk about his favorite subject, even if only for a moment, if only with a stranger. “I'm a teacher- a professor, really, at the local university, I teach quantum mechanics, but my true joy is in advancing-”

“Our world as a whole through sustainable nuclear fusion,” you finish with a sigh.

Frowning, he leans back even further. That's a direct quote from his syllabus; dread spindles low in his stomach. “You…you know me?”

“I…” You pull down the skirt of your dress, trying to ignore how good his hand feels. “I'm taking your class.”

“No- no, you're-” Otto tries to argue, but as tears of shame well in your eyes, he knows it's true. Dread pales his face. “I could lose my job, my reputation-”

“I know, I know, I'm sorry Professor, I just- I'm sorry, I won't tell anyone-”

“What did you expect? Hm?” His reddening eyes harden at your flinch. This can't be happening, it can't be… “What did you want for your silence?”

“Nothing!” You wipe your eyes with a sniffle. “I- I just- you were so nice, and I…I didn't want to go. Not a lot of guys treat me so sweetly…it was selfish, I'm sorry-”

“Me, too,” he sighs.

“There's…only two weeks left until exams. You-” you swallow thickly, chance rubbing his chest, “you don't know my real name, no one really talks to me.” The laugh you offer is nervous and sad. “We…we could keep it a secret. I wouldn't charge you next time…’cause I really liked tonight, Otto.”

It's then you both realize he's still touching you, still thumbing your thigh in slow sweet circles.

Biting your lip, you chance kissing him, just a peck, just in the very corner of his mouth. “Otto, I…I'm sorry I'm not what you wanted-”

“What I want is my wife!” He growls, standing from the couch. He storms away from you, scratching his beard as he sighs. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I- it's nothing personal, you've been…” he stops to look at you.

You look like a goddess, your bountiful chest heaving as you pant, your plush thighs on full display, your lips parted and swollen, and he wonders how he missed you. How you possibly could have slipped by him, and he wonders if it was a trick, a ploy to get him into bed, to blackmail him-

But as you awkwardly tug your skirt down, as you sniffle, and struggle your heels on, he amends that it certainly doesn't feel like one.

“Wait.”

Standing you freeze, eyes wide, startled by his weak voice.

“It…it would be a pity. Not to finish the wine.” He swallows, gesturing weakly. He looks so tired, almost meek. “You should take it with you, I'll…I'll only overindulge.”

That makes you scoff. “Otto, you're incapable.”

“Pardon?”

“Of indulgence.”

He snorts with doubt. “How can you say that?”

You chance touching him, gently gripping the belt loops of his tan pants as you nose at his jaw. “Because you're standing in front of a whore you didn't touch, Otto.”

“I did,” a tear leaks from his eye. “I did touch you-”

He moans when you kiss him, the very moment your lips touch his, he melts-

And then he's devouring you; he pushes you back, back, back until you're up against the wall, until you're flush together, your bodies grinding against one another as he sucks your tongue in a filthy wanting way that has your knees weak. His hands cradle your face as he pins you, as he boxes you in with his sheer size.

“Have I touched you yet?!” He hisses, his sparkling brown eyes dark with want.

“No,” you mew, arching your belly against his, whining at the softness of his turtleneck as you claw at it. “Not where it counts-”

“Here?” He bullies a knee between your thighs, pushing his own between them. Otto grins at your gasp, your nod. “How pathetic are you, begging for your John-”

“No!” You swallow as the professor eases away, something akin to suspicion painting his face. “Don't shame me, Otto, I- I couldn't bear it from you-”

“Hm.” Doubt peppers his tone. “What's so special about me?”

“You're a good man, Otto.”

The tears that had choked him minutes ago return full force. “I hired a whore for my anniversary! I wouldn't exactly call that a good man!”

“I would.” You nuzzle against his scruffy cheek. “You miss her, it's okay-”

Gruff, he pushes himself away from your sad eyes and gentle touch. Snippy, he huffs, “What do you know about it?”

“I know she must have been someone really special to be loved so deeply by someone as great as you.”

That doesn't help. His sobs come hard and fast, as he clings to you so desperately. He weeps, deep haunting sobs that wrack his whole body. You're not strong enough to catch him as his knees give out, but you pull him close, rub his shoulders, his back, his neck, his hair as he wets the stomach of your blue dress with tears.

Your heart breaks for him. “Oh, Otto let it out, baby, it's natural, you love her.”

He sniffles as you tip his head back with your fingertips.

Smiling softly, you nod. “You love her,” there's nothing but patience in your voice. “I understand that. I…I can't replace her, but if you wanted, for tonight, you could express…some of that love, even if it's on someone as unworthy as me.”

Swallowing thickly, he stares at you, at your sympathetic eyes and sweet smile and he wants; for the first time in a decade, he wants someone other than Rosie.

Gaze on his, you keep your movements slow, almost hesitant, as you lean in to kiss his mouth.

For a moment, a very long moment, Otto is very still. Until he isn't. With a blink, he stands, his hands moving to take you by the hips. He rubs them, explores them with soft squeezes and feels his cock twitch with excitement.

Rosie had a beautiful figure; naturally slender and graceful all her life. He had loved her, loved every inch of her, from her knobby knees and cold feet, to her delicate fingers and long legs, but you…

You have different charms. The blue material of your dress clings to your every curve; accentuating your wide hips, your plush stomach, your cleavage, fuck, your tits. You look like something out of an old blue movie, one of the old ones, the real old ones, even before his time. With your half-lidded eyes dreamy and beestung lips, you remind him of some old knockout movie star from before he was born.

“I…it feels wrong, not knowing your name…”

“You can call me anything you want.” You moan as he cautiously cups your breasts; his hands are so big, heavy and warm.

“Oh,” he grunts as he squeezes them, thumbing your nipples through the thick material. “You feel…”

Heat touches your cheeks. Men have complained about your size before, rejected you outright even, but you hadn't thought Otto would be like that. “I'm sorry-”

“No, no, what?” A frown flickers over his lips before he smiles warmly. “Don't apologize, it's wonderful.” He noses your neck, your perfume driving him wild. “You're so soft…” His purr makes you shiver as he smooths his fingertips up your chest, over the straps of your dress. He thumbs the joint of your neck as he kisses the opposite side thoughtfully. “My precious darling.”

Tears mist your eyes as you lick your lips. “Please, don't stop.”

Otto nods, burying his face in your hair with a deep inhale. His cock throbs against your hip as he groans, as he finally realizes what he has; a flesh and blood person, someone real, someone alive, someone who (judging by that glint in your eye) wants him just as bad-

“Turn around, let me take off your dress.”

The heat on your cheeks returns full force and you find yourself nodding, turning obediently.

“Oh, you have a lovely back…” His lips find the nape of your neck. He noses your shoulder, kisses it, before he pushes the straps of your dress off. First the left, then the right, then he undoes the dainty latch at your lower back. Peeling the thin zipper down, he almost comes at the sight of your ass all wrapped up and pretty in matching blue lace, at the cute little dimples just above that perfect package. He caresses one of them with the backs of his fingers and asks, “Are you certain, precious?”

“Please,” you whisper, cheek against the wall. Your hips twitch restlessly. “I want you. I want this, please, if you don't believe me, check-”

A fine idea. Certainly one worth exploring. Tangling a hand in your hair, he gives it a sharp twist as he dips a hand between your thighs.

You moan in tandem, as you bang your head on his broad shoulder, as the faintest brush of your panties finds them soaked. It's instinct, to seek out the throbbing bud of your clit, to rub it through the thin lace.

You gasp at the touch. “Otto-”

His stubble scrapes along your spine as he kisses his way down your back. His knees ache, but he pays them no mind, he can't, not when his cock is harder than it has been in ages, not when he has the most delectable ass in front of him. Taking the blue lace between his teeth, he tugs them down, down, down until they rest at the top of your thighs.

Holy shit, you're actually quivering when he takes you by the hips, helping you arch your back. With a thick warm tongue he swipes through your dewy folds, the first pass making you jump as he flicks your aching clit, and you're certain you've never felt so helpless, so fucking good, as he sucks the sweet bud between his lips.

You're in over your head here. You weren't new to the business, but this feeling was new; you had never actually enjoyed sex, always seen it as transactional and boring, but as your heart pounds and your fingernails dig into the wall, you find yourself begging for more. “Otto, please, please, I’m- this is- I mean, I haven't-”

He pulls off your clit with surprise. “Ever?!”

Huffing with embarrassment, you nod, pressing your cheek even closer to the wall.

“That's a damn shame,” he growls, infuriated by the thought of you being left unsatisfied, unfulfilled by so many before him. “Allow me to rectify that, dear.”

It's the only warning you get before he sucks your clit between his lips. Rolling and sucking and flicking it with his tongue, he shows you no mercy, as he holds you still and forces pleasure upon you. You whine and buck and writhe, but he just goes on, playing you like a fine instrument, with total control, even as your legs start to shake.

“Otto! Fuck me! Please, please, I- I wanna come on your cock-”

Oh, you will, he thinks absently, ignoring your pleas in favor of sucking harder.

“Oh god,” you moan, digging your brow into your forearm as your pussy clenches, as he squeezes and palms your supple ass; it's too much, much too much, and you muffle your scream in your bicep as you come apart on his tongue. It's better than you imagined, sharper, you feel it everywhere, pleasure radiating through your whole body-

But Otto doesn't stop, doesn't even pause, not for a second. He keeps licking and sucking until you're coming again, this time with a hoarse shout of his name.

Then he's standing. Pulling his turtleneck over his head, he tosses it aside before he takes you by the hips. They're still shaky, you're still gasping, as he nuzzles and sucks at your neck, letting you catch your breath as his hands drift. Slowly, up your sides, to cup your breasts. He chuckles at your moan, at the way you turn your mouth to his, expectant yet begging.

His meaty fingers cup your jaw, and he holds you at bay, teasing you with, “You kiss everyone on the mouth?”

“Costs extra,” you sigh, “I won't charge you, please, Otto, please…”

With a lick of his lips, he brings his mouth down to yours. A soft whimper leaves you as you taste yourself; he tweaks your nipples, explores your mouth with a careful tongue, every movement thoughtful, gentle, but not meek. Cautious, you bring a hand up to cradle his cheek.

Fuck, his beard is so soft, his cheek beneath flush and warm, his whole body is so warm, you can feel his cock digging into your backside-

“Please,” you break the kiss with a whisper. “Make love to me, Otto, please-”

Nodding, his mouth brushes yours with very twitch of his chin. “I- there's a bed-”

“Take me.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. A careful hand takes yours. Otto looks so good as he guides you deeper into the suite; confident, with his shoulders back and proud, his eyes dancing in the dim light as he kisses your knuckles, your wrist. “You're so beautiful,” he breathes against your skin, but you hear him just fine.

“So are you,” you tell him with a bright smile. Easing into him, you nuzzle your noses together and coo, “Thank you, Otto.”

His brow knits.

“For being so thoughtful, and understanding, I really didn't mean to-”

“Shh, shh, shh, hey,” his hands move, drifting up to squeeze your arms. His brow touches yours, his nose brushing yours, and for a moment, the two of you simply share a breath, before he kisses you. Just a peck. “Do you want me to thank you?”

You frown, almost pout. “No, but-”

“Than don't thank me for doing the most natural thing in the world.”

Your eyes flutter as he takes your mouth. Lost in him, in his taste, his smell, his naked chest against yours, you barely notice as he leads you backward, until your legs brush the bed. “Fuck me,” you whine against his mouth. “Fuck me and make me yours-”

“What happened to love making?” He chuckles.

“I want you, don't care how-” You squeak as he gently pushes you down to the bed.

Oh, oh fuck, his cock throbs at the sight of you naked; your wide eyes, kiss swollen lips, your perfect heaving tits and luscious hips; better yet is your cunt, so pretty and inviting, slick with your arousal and he pants like a dog as you spread your precious thighs for him.

“Please, Otto,” you breathe, licking your lips as he palms his bulge.

When he finally takes it out, you audibly moan.

It's an impressive member, long and thick, probably as thick as your fucking wrist, with a notable curve that has drool flooding your mouth. Impulsive, you lean forward to take him by the hips. Oral usually costs extra but that's the furthest thing from your mind as you part your lips and take the fat tip between them.

Above you, Otto pants as you edge your tongue along the ridge, as you kiss and suck the tender glands under the head. His brow furrows, his hand gently rising to the top of your head. He thumbs your temple, your jaw, tipping your chin up.

Your eyes flutter open.

The want in them is almost enough to make him burst, but he simply grips the base of his cock and sighs, “Lay back, honey.”

Nodding, you can't help but obey.

For a moment, things are quiet between you as he kisses your knee, your thigh, the top of your mound. It makes your breath hitch, as his hands ease you down to the edge of the mattress, as he plants a knee on it and lines himself up.

Fuck, even the tip of fat, as he coats his cock in your juices, as he smears it around your throbbing red clit.

“Otto,” you coo, twitching with every pass.

“Shh, shh, I got you, sweets.”

The nod you give is frantic. “I know, I know you do-”

He taps your hole, smirking as it flutters, desperate to catch him, to be filled. He hasn't been so hard in years, he knows he's not going to last once he finally makes it inside…

The first inch makes you groan, your head falling back as he slowly, slowly, slowly works himself into your eager cunt. “Otto!”

“I know,” he coos, his hands rubbing your hips, your thighs, soothing as he struggles not to burst. “I know it's big, sweetheart, but you can take it…”

You don't know if you can; he's easily the biggest you've ever had, and you struggle to breath as he murmurs, “Halfway there…”

No, no, no, it's too much, the stretch, the heat, his weight on top of you, pinning you to the bed, but best are his eyes; they sparkle so beautifully with mischief, with pride and with lust-

“Oh, fuck!” It's the only warning you give before you come again.

Otto moans as you paint the bottom of his stomach with your juices, as your legs shake and your tits heave. He has to squeeze the base of his dick to keep from following you, not wanting to come without being fully encased in your heat-

Your nails dig into his shoulders, a big no-no; you're never supposed to leave a mark, unless it's requested, of course, but you can't help yourself- “Otto!”

He moans, head falling back as your hands search his chest, his neck, his arms, squeezing and exploring, with a tenderness, a want, that almost destroys him-

But as your gentle fingertips follow the throbbing cords of his throat, as you guide his gaze back to yours, as you smile at him so brightly-

“God, you're- you…”

Your eyes flutter as he cups your cheek.

“Thank you,” he whispers, blanketing your plush body with his own. He can feel your heart beat against his, and is acutely aware of your body. You tits against his chest, your stomach soft and warm, your legs wrapped around his waist. He laces your fingers with his and eases them above your head.

You shake your head. “Don't thank me, sweetheart.” Stealing a peck from his lips, you nuzzle your noses together and giggle. “And I won't thank you.”

He nods, understanding exactly what you mean. His hips flex and you gasp as he finally inches inside. Moaning in tandem, the two of you are still, but only for a moment before he begins to fuck you in earnest.

The bed creaks, the headboard pounds the wall, but neither of you care. All you can see is him, he's everywhere, he's fucking inside you, and you want him closer still-

And he feels just the same. He kisses you, deep and slow as he drives his cock into your plush heat, his hands searching your thighs, your hips, your waist. Fuck, when he finally has to break for air, you're kissing him all over; his hair, his beard, his jaw, each touch like heaven as you dig your nails into his shoulders and whimper his name-

“I- I can't last, sweetheart-”

Nodding into his neck, you nip at his collar and whisper, “Please- please, Otto,” you squeeze his shoulders, the strong warm flesh in your hands making you weak as you coo, “Don't make me go-”

“Never,” he promises, nuzzling your neck, the rasp of his beard earns a moan from you that tightens the heat at the base of his spine. “Please-”

You nod feverishly. Desperate to feel it, to feel more of him, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in close as his thrusts become erratic and sharp. Your back arches as you press close to him, your nails dragging down his back as you kiss his ear and whisper his name-

And that's all it takes. Otto groans into your hair. His hand grabbing yours, he weaves your fingers together and pins it to the bed as he fucks you hard and deep. The pleasure at the base of his spine finally snaps and tears well in his eyes as he buries his face in your neck and comes apart at the seams.

The sob he gives catches you off guard, but it's instinct to pull him close, to cradle him as he buries his face in your neck. Shivering through a small orgasm of your own, you pant and twitch as he grips you tight. “It's okay,” you whisper against his cheek, his temple. “I got you, Otto, let it out.”

And he does. On and off, the two of you spend the night crying, making love, laughing. They all come easily, naturally, and by the time morning comes-

“I don't want to go,” you murmur against his lips as you linger in the doorway of his hotel.

“This isn't goodbye. I'll see you after exams,” Otto promises, pressing his phone number into your palm. “Call me as soon as you get your grades.”

“I will, I swear I will.”

There are certain perks to being a werewolf. Stronger, faster, sharper sensed. Wonderful abilities, but they also come with new and exciting instincts…confusing ones.

You hate him. Father Abram Marlowe. Sanctimonious prick. He's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

You're gonna rip his throat out and taste his blood- worship him, thank him for these gifts- this curse-!

It's all very confusing, but fuck, you can smell him from the candy floss stand. He smells like sandalwood and old paper and fresh ink and something distinctively him; it's enough to make you swoon. Plucking the white stick of blue floss from the man, you pay him with a smile and saunter toward the church tent. Good. That means he can smell you, too. 

All but skipping away from the crowds, you ease between the tent and the fence that separates the park from the forest.

It's a little eerie back here, far away from the fair events; pressing your warm back to the cold metal fence, you let it hold your weight as you lick your lips. Plucking a piece from the ball of blue fluff, you listen in on his sermon.

“-neighbor, of love and peace, of brotherhood-”

Your superhuman hearing has tuned you into his voice, into his speech, and you can hear when he stumbles over his words. He's close by, toward the back of the tent, only ten or so feet from you. The thick white material hangs between you of course, but there's no mistaking his scent, or the (infuriating) sound of his heart beat so close by.

Which means he can hear yours, too. “Can you hear me, Father?”

“Each oth- oh, fu- ahem,” his panic is genuine, as he fucking feels you, your scent so clear and close you may as well be standing behind him, purring in his ear. “Pardon me, where was I…ah, yes-”

“Good.” You pop the floss in your mouth and snicker as you set the rest between the hole in the fence. “Than you can fucking listen for once.”

“-sins of the flesh, of moral failings-” he drawls, already bored by your dramatics already. 

How fucking dare he sigh at you?! Hackles high, you let out a low growl. “I know why you picked me, old man…I know just how lonely you are…”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn't pause. “Even the most virtuous among us-”

“Pathetic, really, that all it took was a little teasing and a pious man like you burst at the seams.” Your eyes glow as you lick your finger tips, getting them nice and wet. “Can't imagine the menace you were on the mainland…”

He swallows, pardons himself and takes a sip of water. That hit a nerve.

“I wondered what you were hiding from, running off to a small island town in the middle of nowhere…such a travelled man, such a pious well-meaning gentleman,” you mock. “Everyone just loved you.” You swallow, surprised by how your stomach aches more than your cunt, as you confess, “You weren't supposed to- to look back at me. You were supposed to be better than me, I was just teasing-”

His pulse stays level as he goes on about the purity of the Lord.

“Fuck you!” You hiss, hurt by his lack of reaction. “I hate you! I hate everything about you, you sick old fuck!” 

Not so much as a flutter, or sniff, or even a growl. He simply drones on about sin. About sacrifice. About the unyielding love of God.

A sly grin crosses your lips. “I know why you bit me.” You taunt. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you couldn't help yourself, and you wanted me for keeps.” You snicker and drop your voice as you all but sing, “You wanna put a baby in me…”

In the tent, Father Abram Marlowe chokes as his cock throbs so hard it's actually painful. He manages to catch himself, to keep his eyes from flashing and from snarling as you hit on a nerve that's more than raw.

All his adult life, he has fought his instincts; sexual urges obviously. But there were other more…complex needs he had been denying himself with realizing it; over time, he had come to envy the young families of his flock, those doing their duty to God, being fruitful. Multipying. It was an empty hole in his chest he had come to terms with-

Then there was you, he thinks with a sneer. He swallows another gulp of water. His hand shakes.

“You wanna stuff me full and keep me full, don't you? Don't-” You swallow, surprised by the heat that floods your cunt. “Don't you wanna bend me over again? Like you did in the woods? Don't you wanna shove your way inside my tight little cunt and own me all over again?” You wet your lips again, raise your fingertips to your mouth and wet them with a sticky blue tongue. The skirt of your little white sundress goes up, this time you let your hand dip between your legs. Hating yourself, you coo, “Oh, fuck, I want it, too-”

Something snaps behind the curtain. There's a gasp and a panic in the crowd, as the priest fumbles and apologizes for the accident -whatever it is.

Giggling, you snarl with tears in your eyes, “I'd never let you see it. I'd be gone so fucking fast-”

Abram pants as one of the women offer her handkerchief to stow the blood. He takes it from her with a shaky smile of gratitude. Wrapping it around his cut hand, he swallows and hopes his eyes aren't shining.

“But fuck, if the thought doesn't get me hot all over. I loved it,” you whisper, swaying against the fence. “Being stuffed full of your cum, being so helpless beneath you, feeling your knot-”

His breath hitches.

“That's what it was, right? Werewolves…” Your hips twitch as pleasure spindles through you. It lights up your belly, your blood, as your fingers swirl around your throbbing clit. “Have knots, like dogs…so they can lock into their bitch?”

Abram closes his eyes. Heat creeps up his collar. He tugs at it absently as the crowd settles back down in their seats.

“Is that what I am? What you've made me? Your perfect little breeding bitch?”

He chuckles. “You? Perfect?” He mutters under his breath. “Ha.”

“It's fucked!” You hiss. “You- you're a stranger! You're- you're too old!” But that gets you hot all over, too; so what if he's older? It just means he has experience; he was still fertile, virile, ripe. Your hips twitch and you fight a keen down your throat-

But he hears it just fine.

The metal chain link fence digs into your back as you rub your clit in slow, torturous circles. You don't even notice your claws are out. “You should know better…chasing after girls my age…you really are just another dirty old man, aren't you, Father?” 

“‘m not,” he whispers under his breathe, faking an amen as he clasps his hands before him.

“You are!” Your heart hurts as his skips. “Don't lie to me!”

He doesn't answer that.

“Last week, I-I didn't even want kids and now they're all I can think about,” you tell him, sick and frightened. “What the hell did you do to me?!”

Abram's jaw twitches. What has he done to you? What had he done to you?! What about what you had done to him?! He had locked that silly sentimental piece of himself away a long time ago, he came to terms with it, and then there was you, in that tight blue sundress, spreading your legs for him-

“Ugh!”

His eyes flutter as you squeak, as you pant and huff and dig your bare toes into the dirt. Fuck, he can almost see you, just outside the tent-

“Father Marlowe? Would you like to lead the closing prayer?”

Knees wobbling, you pull your hand away. With a lick of your lips, you take your candy floss and move toward the mouth of the tent. Peeling the curtain back, you step inside.

You can actually hear it, his heart skipping a beat as he lays eyes on you. He looks divine, with his best stole stretched over his broad shoulders, his black robes so formal and charming, as his gaze snaps to yours. Your eyes flutter at the wafts of arousal that floods his scent as he gets the smell of your wet cunt good and deep in his nose, you swear you can see his eyes flash, just for a second, that deep powerful gold that makes you weak in the knees.

For a moment, he just stares at you, seething. His hands grip the busted podium so hard it shakes very slightly, just a wobble, but if you can see it…

Licking your lips, you flash him a blue stained tongue as you bring another piece of floss to your mouth.

His eyes widen, just a shade, just a fraction; his vision is good enough that he can see the shine of your juices on the fingers that feed you, his sense of smell strong enough to catch the waft of your arousal they give off.

Curling your lips around them, you stay toward the back of the tent; it's standing room only, there are a few people close by but all their heads are still bowed in prayer. You make a show of licking your fingers, of sighing minutely and keeping your gaze locked on his-

“Amen.”

The church goers echo it back at him. The congregation stands. They begin chatting, greeting each other,  and of course, flocking to Father Marlowe.

But he has no time for them, not today. He inclines his head politely, telling people he has to tend to his wounded hand, that he will catch up with them soon. A few of the elderly patrons deflate with disappointment, and you feel a pang of…sympathy, of pity, really.

They don't know the real him. The monster in him. Your eyes glint gold as he meets your gaze from the podium. That side is reserved for you. He jerks his head subtly and you nod, knowing he wants to meet you behind the tent.

His hand snaps to your throat as he pins you against the chain link fence. His brow against yours, his eyes glow as he nuzzles your noses together; it's not so much genuine affection as an instinct to sate. He needs to touch you, touch you all over, to mark you with his scent, to claim you with it. He glowers down at you, taking in your flushed features, your heaving tits barely contained in your tight white sundress, so similiar to the one you wore the night you seduced him-

“Little slut,” he growls, giving you a shake that has your toes digging into the dirt. “Couldn't even bother with a bra?!”

Your knee comes up to catch his hip, to pull him closer.

Barefoot, he notices, unsure why that annoys him. “Tart, heathen, Jezebel-”

The blood rush to the head makes you moan, your head falling back as your eyes peek open.

His gaze flashes with rage as you smile, the only warning you get before his mouth slams into yours in a heated kiss. You yelp as your teeth clack, as your fangs catch each other's tongues, the faintest hint of blood (yours? His? Who knew) driving you wild and the kiss devolves into desperate sucking and licking, spit filled and nasty as you claw at one another. His hand leaves your throat to dig into your hips, searching your sides, your breasts, your chest, while yours focus on his shoulders, his face, you keep him close, as you grind against him with your body. 

It feels so good, just being with him. Fuck, you should rip his throat out, should fuck him right here, villagers be damned. 

He breaks the kiss with a gasp. He leans on you pressing your back into the warm metal, letting you brace his weight, knowing you can handle it with your new strength. “Get on your knees,” he rasps, blood staining his bottom lip.

Gaze never leaving his, you ignore the demand, and instead lean forward to lick it off. The coppery taste makes your eyes flutter. 

His cock throbs against your belly at the faint moan you give. He swears he can feel it, wants to feel it. He noses your throat and swallows thickly, before he minutely flexes his hips.

You chirp, jumping against him as his hands find your tits, but it feels- 

It doesn't feel-

“No,” you whine, your shoulders and hips twitching with anxiety. “Father Marlowe-”

“Bram is fine,” he snickers against your neck, licking and nipping the tender skin.

“Bram,” you mutter, arousal so hot in your belly it feels like you'll burn without him- “This- this isn't-”

His head cocks. Curious, he leans back from you, just a shade, just a touch, but it's all you need.

It's instinct, you tell yourself as you turn from him. Bracing yourself against the metal chain link fence, you tell yourself it's so you don't have to look at him-

But you both know the truth; it's so he has better access, it's so he can go deeper, so even if he can't knot you without the full moon, he can still get up good and deep against your cervix-

“I hate you,” you mewl, more defiant than anything.

“It doesn't feel like you hate me,” Abram says, smugness peppering his voice as he slips a hand between your thighs to cup your slippery wet slit. Fuck, you're practically gushing. “And don't act like I did you a disservice. People barely liked you as is.”

That stings, only because it's true.

He nuzzles the back of your neck. “Fools, the lot of them. They didn't know what they had, but I do. I know what your are, what you're going to be.”

Swallowing, you meet his gaze over your shoulder desperate to hear him say it.

“Mine,” he says simply.

Your eyes spark gold. Fuck, he makes it sound like the most natural thing in the world. Dutifully, you lift your skirt and bend to give his cock a good rub with your naked ass. “Say it again,” you mutter, gripping the metal fence as you demand, “and put it in me already.”

Mouth dry, he nods feverishly behind your ear. 

It feels like an eternity, though you know it's only seconds as he unzips, barely parting his trousers to take his cock out before he's kicking your feet apart-

And then he's inside you, fast and hard, the stretch earns a yelp that only serves to spur him on.

“You're a teasing little bitch,” he growls, hips snapping against your ass. “But you're mine. Always gonna be mine, I'm never gonna let you go, y’hear me?”

Nodding, your claws prick out. Anything, anything he wants, as long as he gives you what you need-

Abram sighs as your perfect cunt grips his cock, your silky walls fluttering around it; fuck, he's so hard it actually hurts, the pain not unfamiliar, but rather fucking annoying- “Take your tits out,” he hisses against your ear.

You obey without thought, tugging the laces at the front of your dress away. His hands don't wait, dipping inside before you can manage to pull the fabric down. Oh God, his hands make you weak. Grinding against his ass, your hand covers his as his palms, broad and hot and calloused, rub your nipples. Keening, your pussy aches as he pounds away at you like you're nothing more than a bitch in heat; which may as well be what you are. Dizzy, you bang the back of your head against his shoulder, and beg, “Please, please, Bram-”

His eyes flash at the sound of his name. He can't remember the last time he had a woman, a soft plush body beneath his own, it must have been decades, before you-

You. Abram had imagined it before, of course. What it would be like with a partner, with a pretty little wife to warm his bed and bear his children, but he hadn't even dreamt up anything like you. So carefree and wild, so cheeky and wanton-

“You're perfect.”

The words against your ear makes you shiver. Smirking, you nuzzle your noses together and coo, “Fuck me, Father.”

His eyes flutter as his hips snap of their own accord. “Don't-” he growls, a warning you interrupt with a sharp-

“Put a baby in me!”

That breaks him. In a flash, his fangs are in your shoulder, your hair tangled in his fist as he pins your face to the fence and fucks you for all he's worth. “Cheeky bitch, you want a baby, huh, I'll give you a fuckin’ baby-”

Your toes clench in the dirt as you struggle to breathe beneath him. Fuck, he's everywhere, heavy and warm, his cock fat and throbbing inside you, lighting your body up in the best way as he keeps whispering filth in your ear.

“-tits, all plump and swollen, gonna be so fuckin’ hot, then we'll have another, and another after that-!” He promises, kissing your ear as you mew and quake. His hand sneaks between your legs to play with your clit. “Fuck, you smell so much better without the fear, darling, milk my cock, bitch-”

Despite your rage, your restlessness, you do just that, clenching down on him, your hips bucking rhythmically. His moans get you hot all over, and soon you're coming apart with a shout you muffle in your forearm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-!”

Abram’s eyes flutter; you can't help it, how your insides dance and spasm, locked around his dick like a vice. He can't stop imagining it, how sweet you'll be, how doting and attentive, his child will have the perfect mother-

His thrusts never waiver, never so much as slip, as he slams in cock in food and deep, over and over, pummeling your cervix with every roll of his hips, until he can't take it anymore. Your legs are still shaking when he finally sinks his teeth in your shoulder and groans at the taste of your blood, the heat at the base of his spine twisting and spreading as he coats your walls with his come.

Whining, you can't help but shiver and twitch. You can feel him, feel his seed, every drop of it, as he spurts inside you.

Panting and weak, the two of you are still a long moment.

Finally, you find your voice, “What are you gonna do, huh? When I have a baby out of wedlock to baptize?” You nose his jaw. “When you see me around town and have to pretend to be ashamed of us? Of your mate,” you don't know where the word comes from, but it makes his eyes glow, “and your kin, your own blood?”

“Never. I'll never be ashamed.” He butts your brows together. Covers your hands with his own and sighs your name against your temple. “It's a duty of the church, to help the downtrodden, the sinners…” for a moment, he's quiet, as he thumbs your knuckles. “You're mine, always.”

“And if I don't wanna be?”

That quiets him.

“This town already hates me, Bram, how could I subject an innocent little baby to that?”

Sighing, he nuzzles against your temple. He kisses you once, twice, before he nods. “You shouldn't, but please-”

Your eyes widen as his voice cracks.

“Don't leave me.” It's a quiet plea, as he noses your jaw. The soft mew you give hurts his chest, the way you nuzzle back, your lips catching his so briefly he's almost certain he's imagining it. “Don't leave me and I'll never condemn you. Never.”

You sigh. “And the kid?” 

“I-”

“The one you can't claim?”

For a moment, he's quiet, before he eases his cock out of you. The loss makes you shiver, but you merely right your skirt and turn to face him. He doesn't look at you as he rights himself, his expression tired. He looks…sad.

Not looking you in the eye, he tucks himself away. “I've always wanted children. But I gave myself to the Lord because I wanted to make the world a better place. I…reserved that piece of myself. Always kept my distance from it-”

“It?”

“That want. That need, for kinship, for family, until you.” His words are heavy, meaningful, and his heartbeat steady.

“So you've never…chosen…anyone, before me?” You ask tepidly.

Father Marlowe shakes his head. “I…I'm not a man who's easily distracted, but you…” his eyes glow again, gold and stunning. “You were so ripe for the taking, sweetheart.”

A little shiver goes through you as the tip of his nose brushes yours, an action he has to bend to manage.

“So lonely,” he murmurs.

The words shock you; how could he know?! How could he possibly know-

“You'll never be lonely again, my love. Not so long as I live.”

A sound, choked off and overwhelmed, leaves your throat. It takes a second before you realize it's the word, “Promise?!”

Oh, he's so handsome; struggling to fight a smile off his lips, Paul purposefully keeps his eyes on the television, even as you begin playing with his shaggy hair. 

The two of you are curled up in your parents foyer, but they're out for the evening, though they'll be back within the hour. Paul is still in his Sunday best, youve changed into your pajamas, except for the little surprise under your sweater…

“I know what you're doing and the answer is no.”

Your smile widens as you snuggle up a little closer. Fuck, the spice of his cologne gets you wet! It had been over a week since you'd been able to sneak some alone time together and dammit, you were due a little attention…and so was he. Hooking a finger under the waistband, you shimmy out of your panties. 

“That's cheating!”

Snuggling back up to his side, you peck his cheek, your hand fluffing and playing with the dark hair at the nape of his neck, teasing him with your nails.

“Aw, sweets, we don't have much time-”

Ignoring that reality, you start to unbutton his grey shirt, slowly, coyly, kissing him playfully each time a little bit more of his flesh comes into view. Paul chuckles, leans into each one, even as he protests, “They- already- hate me, they don't- need-”

You huff as his undershirt covers his pecs, his stomach, but don't waste time whining about it. Instead, you hitch a leg over his hip and give his chubbed up prick a good grind; the force parts your slit, and a broken moan of his name slips past your lips as he nudges your clit. His cock is hard and throbbing through his khakis, a wet stain already starting to form on the front as you kiss your way down his chest, down his round belly, to settle between his broad thighs.

“Fuck,” he groans at the sight of you, of the gentle touch of your mouth as you make a point to kiss his cock through the tan material, as you suck and lick at the fat head, able to feel the ridge of his tip against your tongue. The warmth of your drool soaks through his pants, his shorts. His nails dig into your shoulder, not pushing, not pulling, just gripping, like he hasn't decided what to do with you quite yet.

“Babe, baby, you don't have to-”

“What?” You purr with a wicked grin, pulling your sweatshirt over your head.

He groans as you unzip him. “I thought…” Paul bites his lip at the sight of your chest, your luscious tits spilling out of a baby blue lace bra that shows off your dusky nipples. “That's also cheating.”

The brazen lust in his eyes makes you giggle as you kiss and suck the material around his open fly; unbuttoning his jeans, you make a show off taking his cock out, of easing the white cotton of his briefs back; fuck, it's just as much a tease for you as it is him, the man's prick is huge, fucking mouth watering, thick and long and curved just slightly, the head is red, throbbing, leaking a milky white precum that you can't resist lapping up-

“Fuck!”

Eyes fluttering at the heat of it, you swirl your tongue through the mess he's making against his cotton covered stomach. His hand shakes as he twists your hair in his grip. Dipping down, you flatten your tongue and wrap your hand around the base of his cock.

He gasps as you lick his balls. He pulls you close, panting and grunting as you suck them, one at a time, drifting back and forth between them until they're pulsing, positively soaked in spit before you start to jerk him off. “Fuck, oh God, baby, please-”

“Please?” You tease, pointing his fat tip toward your pink tongue. “Please what?”

“Ah, fuck it,” he grumbles, snatching you up by the elbows. He hauls you into his lap, his huge hands squeezing your tits, your stomach, your mound. Grinning at your moan, at how your head falls back, he noses at your throat, knowing how you like to feel the rasp of his beard. The little squeak of his name you give makes his cock spit against your thigh.

“So my girl needs a little attention, hm?”

You nod eagerly, kissing and nipping his jaw, before your teeth graze his earlobe.

“Need to get fucked?”

“Yeah,” you mew, the promise in his words making you clench. Fuck, you feel so empty- “Please, Paul, we don't have much time…”

He nods before he takes you by the waist and guides you up the length of his cock, having your pretty leaking cunt paint his shaft with your slick juices. His mouth whispers along your neck, making you shiver as he slides the tip inside.

The stretch makes you keen, makes your toes curl, even just the tip is big, almost too big; it's instinct to buck, to take as much of him as you can get, but he holds you firmly in place. “Paul! Oh, fuck, babe, please, fuck me-” 

He grunts as you clench. Sucking at the hollow of your throat, he mutters, “I been waitin’ all goddamn week for this, sweetheart.”

You whine, nipples tightening under the lace as you push against his chest.

“Wanna take my time, wanna feel you-” he grunts as you twitch and clench and huff.

You kiss him soundly. He moans against your lips, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as you suck his tongue, as you kiss him slow and deep and with a love that makes his chest warm and blood hot. Breaking it with a gasp, you caress his scruffy cheek and whisper, “No time for romance,” it's more disappointed than haughty. “Next time, we’ll do it right, but right now you gotta fuck me, Paul.”

Lips catching yours in a desperate kiss, Paul slowly lowers you, inch by inch, until you're whimpering and keening as he bottoms out. He groans as you squirm and buck, but doesn't move. You're tenacious, yes, but all the eagerness in the world doesn't make up for experience…besides, the way your snug cunt grips his cock already has him on the verge of coming, and he wants you to get yours first.

“Paul,” you warble into his neck, your hips rutting against his, grinding your bellies together. Your fingers tangle in his shaggy hair. “Fuck!”

Hushing you softly, he kisses your chin, your jaw, your shoulder, his hands smoothing down your ass, helping your restless tweaks along, helping you find a rhythm before he leans back against the plush couch cushions and lets you take control. He grins as you moan, the rolls of your hips so confident and steady; not the awkward self-conscious skips and tweaks you had charmed him with when you first got together, but something new, special. “That's it,” he purrs, “take what you need, sweetheart.”

“Paul-” You keen as his knuckles circle your swollen clit. It feels like a shock, a spark of pleasure so sharp it almost stings, but you don't stop. Can't stop, as you chase your high- “Fuck me, fuck, fuck, fuck-”

Your vulgarity makes him snicker. “That's it, sweetheart, you take what you need…”

“Want you,” you murmur, kissing him soundly. Your fingers curl along his shoulders. “Want you to come in me, wanna feel it, baby, please-”

His lip curls as you tighten, already so so close. “I'm gonna come, sweets, where-?”

“Inside!”

His eyes widen. “In-inside?”

“Yeah,” you kiss him again and again, an impish smile lighting up your face as you purr, “put a baby in me, old man.”

His hips stutter. Moaning, he buries his face in the safety of your plush neck, “you don't mean that-”

“Mean it!” Your hips never pause and neither do his knuckles as they keep circling your needy clit. You hadn't meant for it to slip out but it had and well- “I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, Paul, y’know that!” 

He nods. That's true, you wouldn't, it was one of the things about you that had charmed him; your earnestness. His brown eyes seem so vulnerable, as he asks, “But…with me?”

There's no hesitation as you nod. As you thread you fingers through his hair, thumbing the grey at his temple, the whole world melts away as you nod again. “Only you,” you tell him plainly, your fingernails teasing his scalp.

“God, I love you,” Paul mutters, kissing you before you can reply.

The perfume slips from your grasp. It stains the carpet, soaking into it quickly, flooding the room in the spicy scent.

Too frightened to move, you gape at the older man in the door way. His eyes are dark behind his thick rimmed glasses. They drift from your stunned face to your clenched hands to your sneakered feet, where the bottle lay, cracked and bleeding.

“Oh, honey.” His voice drips with intent. “You really shouldn't have done that.”

“I-I- was just-”

“Stealing from my wife?”

“No! No, I didn't mean to-”

“Little thief,” he growls, snatching you up by the arms.

You gasp; he's so much stronger and faster than you would have expected! Eyes wide, you look helplessly into his eyes as he smiles, a cold mean expression that makes your stomach drop. “Please- I- I was just smelling it, I wasn't gonna take it-”

He scoffs.

“Really! I-I’m not a thief-”

“Turn around. Put your hands on the mantle.”

Uncertain, you swallow.

“Do it!” He snaps. “Or I'll have your fucking job!”

With a jump, you scramble to obey. Your fingers dig into the wood as you lick your lips, a nervous sweat breaking out on your skin as you pray he doesn't find your other souvenirs. 

Fuck, what had you been thinking?! You knew he was some kind of cop, you should have known better than to snoop! Stupid, stupid, stupid-!

Weighty hands fall to your hips. They give your plush flesh a good squeeze before they smooth up your waist. “You steal from everybody or are we special, huh?”

You wince as his fat fingers slide under the band of your bra, tugging and teasing the bruised skin through your shirt. 

He shoves the cups up. Pinches your nipples cruelly, as he drawls, “I thought you were a nice girl, we were certainly nice to you, weren't we? Cordial. Tipped very generously…”

Pleasure spindles through you. “Yes, sir! You- you were very generous, please, I'm sorry-”

“Turn around. Let me see your tits.”

Face hot, you turn around. Inspector Gamache looks incredibly unimpressed, but his cock is hard, tenting the front of his brown trousers. Tugging your shirt out of your apron, you swallow thickly before you pop your scrub shirt up in a quick flash before you try to put it back down, but-

The shock of pain as he slaps you across the face gets you wet like nobody's business. Moaning like a whore, your hips snap out, seeking his bulge. The front of your shapeless scrub pants grind against his crotch. “Please-”

He grabs you by the throat. “Please, what, bitch?”

“More,” you pant, pushing your cleavage in his face.

A wide grin stretches over his lips. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he chuckles. Then holds his hand out expectantly. “Give it back,” he orders. “And we'll see what you deserve.”

Hand shaking, you dip into your back pocket.

Armand's eyes narrow on the mood ring you pull out. It's old, vintage, one of his wife's favorite lucky charms. He takes it from you with an amused chuckle.

“I'm sorry, I thought it was cheap costume jewellery, that she wouldn't miss it-”

“Oh, it is.” He sets it down with care. “I won it out of a bubble gum machine for her in 1976.”

A smile twitches at your lips. “I'm guessing your first date?”

He slaps you again, the sting making you moan as he takes you by the tits, as he slams you back against the wall and coos, “our fourth, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” You lick your teeth, checking for blood and finding none as your hands roam his chest. “You fuck her that night?”

The smirk he gives is dangerous. “Don't disrespect my wife, you thieving little slut.”

“I'm not! I'm not,” you promise. “I'm jealous- jealous of both of you- your wife- she's-”

“Charming, I know.”

“Very,” you swallow, eyes fluttering as he thumbs your nipples, slow, tantalising. You can't wait for him to pinch you again.

He knows it, too, so he keeps his touch featherlight, almost gentle, fucking frustrating you to no end. He lets go of one of them to hold up the ring. “What were you going to do with it? Hm?”

You squeak as he ends the question with a tug that makes your stomach spark.

“Please-” You lick your lips. “Please, sir, I-”

“You what, hm?” His head tilts, as if he's inspecting you; the beads of sweat on your brow, your upper lip, your eyes are anxious, but your pupils blown with arousal. “Were you going to wear it? Hm? Out in public or…”

You quake as he slides his thigh between yours, broad and warm and firm.

“Alone in your bed?” The tip of his nose brushes yours. “Were you going to touch yourself with it on your finger? Maybe you have an oral fixation, maybe you need something in your mouth…”

You nod, gasping as he kisses you, just a peck, just once, a little taste before he's gone.

He steps back to frown at you. “I should report you.”

Panting, you nod. “Whatever you want.”

He arches a thick dark brow. “Oh? You would lose your job.”

“Oh, honey, I'm definitely losing this job,” you assure him, reaching for his belt buckle.

He lets you take it. Let's you pop it open, let's you unbutton his black trousers and unzip them. With his gaze locked on yours the entire time, he's in complete control as you slide a hand inside to cup his bulge, but you can't bring yourself to touch, not without his permission.

“Can I?”

Armand smirks. Chuckles, and nods. “Sure, sweets.” He pats your shoulder meaningfully. “Let's see what that mouth can do.”

You drop thoughtlessly. Hands searching his thighs, you lick your lips at the sight of his plain old man tightly whities visible through his open zipper. “Did you fuck her this morning?”

He slaps you across the face.

You moan at the sting. Eyes wet, your gaze snaps back to his as you purr, “Did you fuck your beautiful wife this morning, Inspector sir?”

“That's better.” He smirks. “And yes, I did.”

“You guys are old,” you squirm, the idea of their experience making you hot all over. They were celebrating their anniversary, you couldn't remember which one, but it was longer than you had been alive- “That means you don't use condoms, right?”

Stroking the top of your head, Armand chuckles. “No, we do not.”

“Fuck!” Your cunt clenches uselessly. “You think I'll be able to taste her on your prick, sir?”

A glint of fondness enters his gaze. “Why don't you have a taste and see?”

Well, no point in looking a gift horse in the mouth, not when your own was so painfully empty…

He tugs his briefs down before the Inspector grabs you by the hair. 

The cool air on his cock makes it twitch. A moan leaves him as you curl your fingers around it, as you coo and buck your hips, your cute little scrub pants emphasizing your broad curves.

“Fuck, you're easy, hm?” 

“Yeah,” you whine, bending to take him in your mouth. 

The velvet of his skin makes you hot all over; he doesn't taste like his wife, he tastes like hot flesh, smells like soap. It makes your insides throb with want. This isn't in character for you, you're a thief not a whore, but God, does he make you wanna be bad, be cheap and eager.

The Inspector's fingers tangle in your hair, pulling it tight as you begin to bob on his cock. Up and down, you coat it in as much spit as you can manage before you off and wrap a hand around his base-

The slap surprises you, but in the best way. Moaning, you look up at him, over his round stomach, to his annoyed eyes.

“Did I say you could use your hand?”

“Mister, come on, please-”

“Please what?”

“Fuck me, fuck my cunt-”

“Oh? You think you deserve it?”

“No,” you whine, “but I want it…”

“Want?” He echos, smirking, his voice peppered with doubt.

“Need,” you amend, panting and drooling and wet. “Please, please make me yours, Inspector-”

“You can't remember my name, can you?”

Heat creeps up the back of your neck. “Does it matter, sir?”