“Two are always better than one.” I shrug. “Not that I have much need of weapons. I usually fight as a Brag and my hooves are all I need.”
“And the swords?”
“It’s hard to fight as a Brag going up a spiral staircase,” I respond with a grin.
Lady Ryle shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
“Fine,” she says, the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. “Come on then, if you want to fight.”
She moves into a good stance, and instantly I feel my trousers tighten around my crotch. To distract myself, I too move into my fighting stance, lifting my sword and touching it tip to tip with hers.
My lady lunges at me but not in a forward movement. She goes sideways, putting me off balance and having to parry hard as she leaps away from my blade, which, impressively, does not catch at her clothing, despite the wind pulling at it.
“You’re not really trying, are you Warden?” she teases, doing yet another swift and deadly-for-the-unwary lunge.
“I cannot die,” I point out.
“I’m well aware,” she retorts with another set of strikes which I manage to parry. “You did a rather unpleasant demonstration of that fact.”
“But you can die, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then this is hardly a demonstration, is it?” She swings around me, a series of small slashes appearing on my torso, all of which heal again swiftly.
“You want me to kill you?”
“Absolutely not, but I’d like you to at least try.”
I genuinely think my trousers might explode. My lady is a warrior, and her strange sword is not for show. I press her, and she increases her battle with me. It should be easy for me to overpower her. I am large, she is small, but somehow she keeps going, keeps dodging my blows where necessary, blocking them when she is in the perfect position.
I feel like I am the pupil because her display is dazzling. I surge forward with a series of strikes designed to take down my enemy, and she holds her ground.
Right until the last strike, when her foot twists on the soft sand, and I have her.
I have her in my arms, pressed against my body, hers heaving with the effort of fighting the Brag, mine slick with sweat because she made me move so much more than I ever have in a fight.
I have her.
I have her.
This female is mine.
HAZEL
Warden’s lips hit mine. My breath is still coming in short, desperate pants, his sword now dangling from my hand. All the pent-up frustration in me, the deep desire to use my own sword, the effort made to keep it where it should always be, sheathed and silent, is all gone in this moment.
In the moment he kisses me, deeply, passionately, with none of the hesitation of our first kiss. This is everything, everything. Warden is something else. Without even trying, he’s pulled a strength out of me I didn’t know I had.
A resistance to the sword, an ability to use the fight seared into my brain for something other than destruction. He is a creature who cannot die and therefore I cannot kill him.
Warden’s hand is in my hair, and I run mine up his neck, feeling the softness of his hair as it swirls around my hand.
“My lady…” Warden moans over my mouth. His words are swallowed in a moment as my tongue tangles with his, and all I get is more groans as his hips press up against mine.
Whatever Warden is packing, it is huge…and angry. Unable to help myself, because how often do you kiss a centaur, I slidemy hand down his side and to his trousers. Warden pants as my fingers touch his hard length. It has to be bent double in there and I can’t imagine it’s comfortable.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pull at his waistband as I hold Warden’s lips to mine. He groans louder than ever as his cock pushes out, and I have the broad head in my hand.
A cock-head which is far more than a handful, and then there is the rest. It’s coated in slippery pre-cum, and as I swipe my thumb over the tip, it gushes even more.
