I grin at his back. Someday, someone’s going to make that hard, old bastard soften up a little too. How I’ll fucking laugh.
Branwen and I take a walk in the grounds of the mansion, getting her acquainted with her new home. There’s a chapel and Branwen goes in and crosses herself, reminding me of the little almost-nun she used to be.
I watch her, smiling, thinking how happy she looks now. Every time she speaks to me, I hear her beautiful voice.
I take her up to my room in the mansion, a large space with an old-fashioned four poster bed. I’m hungry to touch her, because there’s been so little time since we returned from our trip. Arthur saw to that. But I’ve got all the time in the world now.
I unzip her dress and let it fall to the ground, and then pull her warm body against my own, her back against my chest. She’s still wearing her high heels and black lingerie, and my cock surges just looking at her. My little nun has turned into my little minx.
“Are you daddy’s good girl?” I ask, stroking a finger along her jaw.
“Yes, daddy,” she whispers, grinding her ass against my cock.
“I knew you were.” I slip my fingers down to her sex and find she’s slippery for me, and I stroke lovingly through her folds, making her shudder and cry out in my arms. “I want to hear you make some noise, babygirl.”
Her cries are throaty and plaintive as I work her clit. She grows hot and restless in my arms, saying my name, calling me daddy. It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
Reaching behind her, she unzips my trousers and I pull her panties to one side. I can’t wait much longer. I need to be inside her again. Bending her over the mattress, I spread her legs open and sink inside of her, feeling her squeeze every inch of me. I go on rubbing her clit as I fuck her hard, her hands braced against the bed and her back arched to meet my thrusts.
“Yes, fuck me, daddy, please,” she pants.
When she comes, she cries out loudly, unashamed, and the sound of her is enough to tip me over the edge. I withdraw and give her pert ass a spank. “Good fucking girl.”
She slides down onto the bed, fully sated. I join her, and she cuddles herself against me, smiling happily. I think of a time she didn’t smile so easily, and I realize I still don’t know the full story. We’ve had too much else to talk about. Happy things. I’ve only wanted to make her smile.
But now, I need to know. “What happened that night, babygirl? The night I found you running.”
Her face immediately dims, and she picks at the fabric of my shirt. “Let’s not talk about it, now. Today is about you and Trefor.”
“It’s about you and me. Tell me, please. I want us to leave all our grief behind us. I want us to start again together.”
And so, she tells m
e. About hitchhiking across the states, not really knowing where she was going but paranoid her father’s men were on her tail. About ending up in San Antonio and being alone and afraid. “And so, I just started running.”
“Right into my arms.” I tighten them around her. “I love you, baby.”
She reaches up to my loosened collar and touches the silver chain around my neck. I still wear the crucifix. I always will, for Trefor, and for my mother.
“Yes, right into your arms. Which is where I mean to stay, forever. I love you too, daddy.”
A Sneak Peek at Martyris
Prologue
My hands are heavy.
The gloves that weigh them down are made of light, but sturdy iron metal and are caked with blood. I don't know how I'm supposed to go home and act like everything is okay when the adrenaline is still coursing through my veins.
This was one of the easier marks; a bastard that Arthur branded a turncoat, and because of that, he wanted him to suffer. That's why he assigned me to this bastard. My methods are much different than those of my brothers in the Cavalieri Della Morte. I like to take my time and make these moments count because when Arthur asks for me specifically to take down someone that's wronged him, he expects them to suffer.
I sit back against the old and dusty brick wall behind me, turning my eyes to the ceiling. This building has long since been abandoned and it was easy to get him to follow me. I told him that Arthur forgave his transgression, requested a private audience with him to make amends, and when he turned his back to me, I pulled my gloves out of the backpack I had strapped over my shoulder and ripped him to shreds.
Talons are the best way to describe what these specially made weapons look like. And if I want to prolong the process, there are spikes affixed to the knuckles. Sometimes, I like to interrogate the condemned. It's more for my own sanity than to listen to them beg for mercy. While I'm never one to turn away from an assignment once it's given, I have to be sure that the person whose life I'm personally going to end deserves it.
It only happened once.
A man condemned by Arthur's word on bad information.