With each orgasm I had, I purified myself. With each pulse of cum, I baptized her in my seed.
Sara
I came for him so many times that the only word I knew was his name, the only thing I knew was his dick inside me.
His hardness was the balance to my softness. His years the wisdom my youth craved. His scars the wounds of his life I would heal.
His power and intensity took my breath away. The way he ravaged me was different from the way we’d made love before. Every action was wilder, as if my being in danger had unleashed his primal needs.
With each of the many new positions he taught me, he showed me new kinds of pleasure and new ways to inhabit my body and my womanhood. I absorbed his intensity, taking it deep within my womb and my soul. He made me feel powerful and cherished in myself and as myself, raw and uninhibited. With him, I had to make no apologies. With him, I felt powerful and visible.
With expert hands, he manipulated my body as he needed it to be. I had always thought sex was a simple thing, a hurried act of mounting and rutting, but it was so very much more than that. It was musky sweat and semen, lips and muscles, sweet kisses and hungry licks.
It was slow, it was fast. It was hard and it was soft. It was yes to the very edge of no. It was everything I never knew I craved before.
Beyond my own pleasure, I discovered new things about his needs as well. I discovered I had the power to take him to new heights—to make him shiver, beg, and groan. When Bors had me on my back, holding me close, I dragged my fingernails down his massive back, hard enough to make him hiss into my ear. And as I got to the dip where his solid and beautiful buttocks met his back, his rhythm changed, his thrusts slowed and deepened, and he came hard inside me once again. Those deep and slow orgasms didn’t earn me the bobcat’s roar that his others did; these were softer, quieter, and more vulnerable. I adored every noise he made, every way he was.
“I love you,” he said, as he took me again, this time with me slightly on my side and one knee pressed towards my chest. “I was so worried when I couldn’t find you.”
Reaching up to his sun-beaten face, I ran my fingertips over his rough cheek. “I love you. I never meant to worry you.”
He swallowed hard. “If anything ever happens to you, Sara, I’ll lose my fucking mind.”
In the flickering light of the oil lamp, I watched his expression change. His eyes closed and his jaw tightened. He wrapped one massive arm around my folded knee and plunged into me so deeply that my eyes rolled back in my head.
With two fingers, he made me come for him yet again, and this orgasm was even more powerful than all the rest—a universe-shaking tidal wave of pleasure that made me disappear into myself. Against the walls of my sex, his cock pulsed, and I felt him spill his cum into me one more time.
Once we were well and truly spent, both of us sweating with lusty exertion, he covered me with a blanket on the daybed and then prepared an area for us before the fire. His movements mesmerized me. Each gesture was so confident and powerful. So magnetic and sexy. He arranged a pile of cushions and blankets before the fire, which he fueled with one log after another.
“Angelica won’t like that we’ve used half her wood,” I said, admiring the way the firelight illuminated the valleys of his rock-hard abs.
He scoffed with a deep chuckle. “You think I give a shit about firewood when it comes to my woman? I’d burn down this whole goddamned village for you.” He twisted and added yet another log to the blazing fire lighting up the dim room as through it was mid-day.
Another log he added, and this one was pine, and its pockets of resin made the flames sputter and spark.
A roaring fire was a little thing, but it felt enormous. To me, it represented so much. And in that instant, I had a real sense of what life would be like with him—I would be warm, safe, and cared for. It was more than I could possibly allow myself to hope for.
He scooped me off the daybed, still wrapped in blankets, and lay me down before the fire where he joined me. The light from the blaze showing me the hard angles of his face. The depth of his scars and the devotion in his eyes.
I gazed up at him, so dreamy and lovestruck that it made me dizzy. But I focused on the deep brown chasms of his eyes and found my center again. “So, tell me everything. They gave us permission? We can marry?”
He nodded, knitting his big hand into my little one, so that each of his fingers slid between the gaps in mine.
“I told you they would, and they did.” Now he raised his eyes to look at me. His look was serious and intense. “There’s fuck all your father can do to stop us. You have my word.”
Bors got up slightly on one elbow and grabbed his britches, keeping one hand always clasped in mind. From the pocket he took a folded piece of parchment and placed it beside me. I opened it up, intimidated by the words and sentences on the page. Much of it unreadable to me as there were legal words and phrases that were far beyond my level of learning. But I understood the most important part: in the middle of the page were our names, written out in careful, round hand. Our right to marry was ensured by the wax seal of the clan leader.
I was overjoyed but still, deep down, a bit unsure. Though Bors seemed certain, I knew that my father couldn’t be trusted. From the way he had behaved when he came to look for me and Angelica hid me away, I worried that a simple piece of parchment would do nothing to stop him from taking me back. And yet, along with that parchment, I had Bors and all his power. That, at least, I knew my father could not contest.
And I truly had no idea why. His treatment of me over the years told me he should be over joyed that someone would take me off his hands, yet he seemed desperate to keep me and my confusion tightened around my throat.
“I’ll give you a good life, Sara. I’ve saved nearly every penny I’ve earned. We will have plenty. Together, we can build the livery and have something strong enough to support us as we grow old. We will not be royalty, but I will treat you like my queen.” He brushed a lock of my hair aside and wound the end gently around his finger once and again. He pulled me to him and nestled his nose into the hair at the top of my head, inhaling deeply and slowly as he placed a protective kiss on my forehead. “I will provide for you. And,” he said, moving one hand down to my belly, “for our children.”
I felt so happy and so joyful that I didn’t even know what to say. Somehow, I managed a whisper, “Thank you.” As I nestled into his arms, I let myself get lost in his strength, the warmth of the fire, and my hopes and dreams of the future.
I envisioned our home, our garden, our animals and the joy and anticipation of carrying his children. That anticipation, I knew, might be far shorter than I’d expected. Though I may not know a great deal about the mysteries of the flesh, I knew well enough that I might already be with his child.
A boy, I was certain.
He’d have Bors’ smile, and my eyes. I could already imagine the pattern I would follow to embroider his swaddling clothes.
Bors shifted, rising up on his knees, and I saw the hunger on his face, knowing with a clutch in my belly that he meant to take me again. Though I was sore, and my sex still thrummed with the orgasms he had given me, I opened my legs willingly and without hesitation.
I was and would always be his, to do with as he pleased.