He is not a good man.That persistent little nag tugs on her.
What do I care? I will escape from him the next chance I get.
Another release builds. To keep from screaming his name again, she bites her lower lip.
“I know you want to finish again. Just fucking do it.” He pumps faster and squeezes her wrists tight, keeping her restrained on the table.
“No.” She hisses.
“Fucking cum for me.”
Her head thrashes side to side. “Do not order me!” Her words are shaky at best.
He relinquishes a wrist to slap his hand over her mouth, “What the fuck did I tell you? You are mine, Timber Queen. My orders are the only ones you will accept until I decide to end you. I want to feel you come undone around my cock like the good little whore you are.”
His large palm muffles her scream while her hips undulate against his pelvis, chasing the orgasm until she convulses on the table. He rips out of her after she barely finishes. Before she can react, he covers his hot seed across her face and chest.
She shakes with disgust while he grins down at her. Humiliation like she has never known flushes her warm cheeks.
He traces his cum over her chin and forces it into her mouth. “Swallow.” He commands.
She obeys and not even from fear. More than anything, shewantsto taste him. She wants to hear him praise her actions.
And she hates it.
She hates him!
He pulls her back to her feet, his proud eyes traipsing along her cum-covered body. “Let us go.” He shoves her back into the corridor.
Kar and Helga stand, arms crossed, leaning against opposite walls, appearing visibly uncomfortable.
“Kar and Helga, this is the Timber bitch.”
Their shared expression ranges somewhere between amusement and confusion while Avina’s body shakes from torment and arousal.
No matter what happens next, she must get home to Nellie. Who will protect her? Her people deserve a better ruler than Samson. What will happen to them if he manages to drag her back to Toftlund?
“Remove her from the Arena, Helga.” Sigvid commands. “Kar, you will follow me.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” Avina forces herself to meet his eyes, which remain cold and merciless.
“Do not,” he catches her hands, attempting to clean his seed off of her skin. “I need them all to see you like this.”
Her quivering lip curls in disgust.
“You will return home with me. There, I will decide if you shall live or die.”
She shudders beneath him as his knuckles drag along her temple. His voice lowers even further. “You are my prize for surviving the Arena. The only prize I’m ever going to need.”
Her mouth goes dry, and her body stiffens. She grinds her teeth to keep from lashing out as he shoves her body into Helga’s arms.
Avina’s eyes narrow at him, wondering if he possesses a heart at all.
When Rendel ordered her to his room to demean her, she grew to expect his appalling actions. After all, a scorpion will always try to sting. But she always fancied the Prince of Salt to be a different breed of man—someone she often dreamed would never dismiss her to nothing but a womb.
“Keep her alive, or heads will roll,” He warns his two Drengr.
Avina snorts. Why care about her safety? He would take her home and then place her on a polished shelf covered in cum so all can see he bested the Timber Queen. Why does it matter if she sits on that shelf alive or dead?
