“Absolutely not,” he told me.

“And please tell me your gnome friends do not share a tent with you,” I heard Chu murmur at my side.

“Absolutely not,” I also heard Serena reply.

I pushed up, reaching out my hand to grab Cass’s to pull him up with me, announcing, “Time for bed.”

Cass chuckled.

I looked down at my sister who did not look entirely comfortable resting against Chu in the nest of his body, doing so for all eyes to see.

But she also didn’t look like she intended to move anytime soon.

“Until the morrow,” I bid.

“Until the morrow, sister,” she replied.

I shifted my gaze to Chu. “We haven’t officially met. In truth, it is unnecessary, for I know you, and you know me. That done, I will now share, if you hurt her again, I will crush you.”

Chu simply smiled.

Cass got close to my back and said in my ear, “Let us go, lioness.”

His words raced down my spine and detonated somewhere pleasant.

I gave Chu a strong look, my sister a goodnight look, then we moved to Hera and Mac whereupon I embraced both my friends, Cass clasped Mac on the shoulder and embraced Hera.

And finally, we made our way to our tent.

Another day not quite done, but close to it.

In a life that was joyously incomplete.

129

The Vengeance

Lord Johan Mattson

McGarrity’s Teahouse (a Brothel), The Arbor

WODELL

He liked the addition of the looking glass in this particular chamber.

Very much so.

And he studied himself in it, thinking he was still most virile and fit, before he felt a movement below him that took his attention from himself down to the body prostrated on its knees before him.

Oh yes.

That was what he was doing.

He liked that arse. It was curved and generous, the skin smooth and creamy.

Pegeen had always been his favorite.

He had no issue with the other two.

But he only used them when he wished some diversity of diet.

He grasped onto that ass, thrusting in her cunt, and then he smacked a cheek.

“Who’s my whore?” he demanded.

“I am, milord,” she replied, and he did not like the way her words sounded.

Thus, he bent forward, wrapped his hand around her hair and yanked it back, enjoying very much the noise of pain she emitted when he pulled her from her forearms up to her hands.

“Who is my whore?” he demanded.

“I am, milord,” she panted, her body now moving to meet his thrusts.

“Yes, you are,” he gritted, driving more forcefully into her, fancying she’d never had it that good. “Say it.”

“I am your whore.”

“Say it,” he demanded.

She gave him what he liked.

“I am naught but a whore, your whore, Lord Johan.”

Oh yes.

Yes.

“Say it,” he gritted.

“I am a whore,” she whimpered.

“Say it,” he bit.