Page 16 of Shadowbound

Alaric struggles for a moment, then sags in the shadows’ grip.

“All right,” he growls. “I just…I wanted…”

“You want to taste me.”

Deliberately, I step towards him until my pussy near his face. My shadows caught him in the act of bending down so his mouth is very close—close enough that I can feel his hot breath stirring my curls.

“You want to part my nether lips with your tongue and taste my juices,” I accuse him, running my fingers through his hair. “You have never been allowed to worship a woman as you long to—as you’ve longed to all your life.”

“I couldn’t…I would have burned anyone I touched,” he growls.

“I know, my Paladin,” I murmur, still stroking his hair. I’m finding myself getting quite wet—his eagerness and hunger for me are an aphrodisiac unmatched by any magical lust charm or desire spell.

“I just want—” he begins.

“I know what you want…and what you need,” I tell him. “But for now, kindly remember that you may not touch or taste without my express permission. Now, if I let you go, will you behave?”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to look away from me.

“Yes, I swear it,” he says at last.

“Then I release you.” I make a motion and my shadows dissipate, leaving him free.

At first I’m afraid he might lunge for me again—his hunger to taste me and to touch my bare flesh is an almost palpable thing in the room between us. But then he wrenches his eyes away from my bare body and clears his throat. His big hands curl into fists at his sides as he fights for control.

“Thank you,” he says at last.

“Very good, Alaric. I’m impressed with your restraint,” I tell him. “Now come, we’ll test it a little further.”

“We will?” His eyebrows shoot up. “Now what are you going to do to me?”

“Just bathe you, my Paladin,” I tell him. “Let’s get into the bath.”

And without waiting to see if he will follow—for I know he will—I climb down the shallow steps that lead into the bathing pool and submerge myself up to my chest.

8

Alaric

Gods damn her to all the Hells that ever were or ever will be, she’s teasing me and there’s not a fucking thing I can do about it!

Why does she have to be so fucking beautiful? Or so fucking naked? So naked and I can’t touch her, though my hands are itching to cup those full breasts…to explore her lush curves and grip her deliciously wide hips as I duck my head and taste her honey from the source…

I try my best to push such thoughts to the back of my head as I follow her into the bathing pool. The water is miraculously warm all around me—I’ve only had a warm bath once or twice in my life.

Back home in Solaris, it’s a laborious affair—water must be hauled from the well and then heated in a giant cauldron which takes time and fuel. Then it must be dumped into a copper bathing tub—which only wealthy people have.

I know the GodKing has one, but I live in the barracks with the rest of the men. We have nothing but a broad trough that we take turns filling with cold water from the nearby pond each morning. Then we scrub ourselves down with the harsh lye and ash soap made by the Sisters of Correction.

Though I’m much too old to lash now, I’ve often thought of the soap as a continuation of their punishment. It’s certainly harsh and abrasive enough to scour away grit and grime—or your skin if you scrub too hard.

But my new Mistress…wait, I can’t believe I’m already thinking of her that way. No, I’ll call her Sylvanna, at least in my thoughts and if she catches them, too fucking bad.

Anyway, as I was saying, Sylvanna doesn’t use any kind of lye soap. She takes a tall, fluted bottle made of some deep blue glass from a collection of similar bottles at the edge of the round, sunken tub. She pulls the stopper and pours a generous amount into her hands, then nods at me.

“Duck your head underwater—get your hair wet so I can wash it,” she says.

I do as I’m told. The water reaches to my waist but all the way up to her chest. So when I come back up, I remain crouched down in the warm water so she can reach me. This seems to please her.

---