Setting up the tent had been hard work, work the Princess was ill-suited for. And yet, even she could see that just one man couldn’t set it up alone. So she, for perhaps the first time in her life, obeyed His directions, and surprisingly, they had the tent set up in short order.
He had taken Her Royal Pain-in-the-Arse’s belongings from the boot of the carriage, and brought them inside, as well as sending the Princess to retrieve the bedrolls. He pushed them together in the center of the tent. She stared at him, unable, or perchance, unwilling, to comment, but her eyes spoke volumes.
The perfume of aroused young woman spilled into the tent with every step she took. She may have been unaware of the sweet fragrance, but His cock was certainly taking notice. And complaining loudly about not getting release in her sweet and hot mouth.
‘Down Boy,” he said mentally to his twitching cock, as she swished out of the tent, off to fetch her last parcel.
He left the tent as well, and set about making a small fire to heat water and a light meal in. While waiting for the fire to temper a bit, he leaned back on one elbow, feet crossed at the ankle, looking for all the world as if he owned the world and all in it.She watched him, wary. The tables had turned on her, and she was puzzled a bit by it.
Always before her wit, her tongue and her reputation had given her the upper hand. She thought longingly of the palace far and away, and scowled thinking of her Father and his Royal Edict to send her away.
“To a Tower in the deepest wood,” He had said, meaning his hunting lodge. However, there was a tower within that abode, and she had no doubt that this brute would follow the Kings command to lock her within.
Unless she could win him over. She sent him a tentative smile across the fire.
He lifted a brow. She scowled.
“Tis customary to smile back, when one is smiled to,” she responded, annoyed. She was twitchy, and feeling snarky. It was a dangerous combination, and she tried to remember not to rile this oaf. Why she was so twitchy…well, it didn’t bear remembering. Damn the oaf to all 11 Hells of Nor. She grit her teeth.
“That looks like more of a grimace to me, little bratling” She gritted her teeth harder. He was smiling that smile again, and it was making her tummy roll. It was her tummy. It was. Certainly not her woman-folds. No.
“I am hungry, oaf. When is our meal going to be ready?” The moment the words left her lips she realized what she had said, and more importantly, to whom she had spoken them.
He knew she was tired, unsettled, and unused to being treated like a bratling instead of a spoilt princess. Still. He intended to well and truly quell the little beast well before her father, the King, would traverse the wood to see how his young daughter was faring.
“Come. Here.” He pointed to his side.
She turned up her nose and looked away.
His eyebrow lifted, she saw it from the corner of her eye, but be damned! She rose from her side of the fire.
“I am tired and am retiring, oaf.” With that, she flounced towards the tent.
In a single fluid movement, he was on his feet and across the clearing. His hand reached the tent flap a moment before hers, yet she had heard not a sound.
Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and her bosom heaved. His hand took a fistful of her glorious hair, and he propelled her into the tent.
“After you, Princess Bratling,” he said, his voice hard and lacking humor. She tried to pull away, tried to turn and push him, but he was raw power, half again and more her size, and she had little hope of turning him away.
He pulled her closer, her hand caught on his chest between them, and took her mouth. It was not a kiss, it was a stamp. He bit her lips, suckled her tongue, and began fucking her mouth with his own thick tongue. He felt her soften, lean into him, moan into his mouth.
He stepped away, and tugged at her dress. The fine fabric tore like paper. His gaze ate her. She was all pale light in the darkness of the tent, lit only with the ruddy glow of the fire beyond. It took only the barest of pushes to bring her down onto the bedding spread there, and only a fraction longer for his mouth to find her bare, peaking breast.
He drew that turgid peak into his mouth, and sucked it hard, then harder still, until she cried out with the unexpected pulling. His teeth worked her tit, stirring a welter of feelings in her…a pain, but a darker pleasure. His free hand roamed her, learning her body blindly, testing peaks and hollows, and dark warm wet folds.
His finger worked the aroused bud between her thighs, and the flow of her sex honey as she came drew the scent of her around him. It was intoxicating.
our heroine has fallen under a spell…have you? tune in Friday for the ongoing adventures of Princess Bratling…~n~