parentshiftbook Chapter 626 - 625- The Entry within Higher-Up Chamber
Chapter 626 - 625- The Entry within Higher-Up Chamber
The voice was sharp. Female. The commanding, clipped, you-should-be-somewhere-else tone of a woman who had been looking for him and had found him sitting down.Viktor looked up.
Berenga stood before him.
The commander — the woman he had fucked into the moss last night, the woman whose virgin blood was still dried on his shaft, the woman who had fled before dawn — was standing in front of him in full uniform.
The uniform was decent. The proper, military, Ktorian-family-regulation armor that she should have been wearing all along — the breastplate, the shoulder guards, the heavy skirt of leather strips. She was covered. Armored. Protected.
She also looked like she was trying to show off every curve she had.
The breastplate was tight — the metal conforming to the shape of her massive tits, the heavy flesh compressed but not concealed, the outline of her stiff nipples visible through the steel. The leather skirt hung from her hips — the wide, thick, bull-kin hips that he had gripped last night, the ones that had absorbed the impact of his thrusts, the ones that bore the bruises of his fingers. The skirt was short enough to show her thighs — the thick, muscular, bare thighs that had been spread wide in the moonlight.
"You rather look gorgeous in this dress," Viktor said.
The words were casual. Sincere. The particular, honest, I-mean-it compliment of a man who appreciated a woman’s body and was not afraid to say so.
Berenga’s face flushed.
The deep, burning, full-face crimson of a woman who had been called gorgeous by the man who had destroyed her last night and was now standing in front of him in armor that she had clearly spent time selecting.
He stood.
His hand found her wrist. The grip was firm, casual, the particular, I-am-taking-you-somewhere hold of a man who had decided something and was executing it. He pulled her — behind the trees, behind the tents, into the shadow between two oaks where the morning light did not reach.
He hugged her.
His arms wrapped around her from behind — the full, pressing, chest-to-back embrace that pulled her against him. His chin rested on her shoulder. His hands — both of them — found her ass.
The thick, dense, bull-kin flesh of her cheeks through the leather skirt. He gripped. Squeezed. The particular, proprietary, I-own-this grip of a man who had been inside this body and was now claiming it again.
She gasped.
"Please wait," she whispered. "Anyone would see."
Her pussy was wet. He could feel it — not through the armor, not through the leather, but through the particular, heat-radiating, body-telling-truth warmth that her hips were producing. The outline of her arousal — the wet patch forming on her undergarment beneath the skirt — was visible to him.
He leaned.
His lips found her ear.
"How dare you run away without letting me fuck you in the morning?" he said.
The words were warm. Not angry. The particular, amused, mock-offended, I-am-teasing-you tone of a man who was not actually upset but wanted her to think he was.
She trembled.
"Please," she begged. "You can do it some other time."
He nibbled her ear.
The gentle, teeth-on-cartilage, warm-breath-on-skin contact that made her entire body shiver. His teeth closed on the lobe — lightly, the pressure just enough to make her gasp.
"You are going to hand over your body to me for at least a week now," he said. "As punishment."
She trembled harder.
The word ’punishment’ — delivered with the particular, warm, suggestive, promise-laden weight that made it sound less like a threat and more like an appointment — landed in her body like a hot stone.
His hand grabbed her cunt.
Through the leather skirt, through the undergarment, through the layers of fabric. His palm found the outline of her pussy — the swollen, hairy, fucked-out lips that he had torn open last night — and pressed. The heel of his hand ground against her clit.
She moaned.
Soft. The particular, behind-the-trees, anyone-could-hear, muffled, desperate moan of a woman whose body was responding to a man’s hand and whose mind was trying to maintain the fiction that she was a dignified military commander.
He kissed her.
The full, deep, tongue-involved, French kiss of a man who was claiming her mouth the way he had claimed her cunt. His tongue pushed past her lips, found hers, the wet, warm, intimate contact that made her knees buckle and her hands grip his arms for support.
He pulled back.
Her lips were swollen. The particular, kissed-raw, bee-stung, blood-rushed, well-used quality of lips that had been thoroughly devoured. She stood there, trembling, flushed, her eyes half-closed, her mouth open, the particular, dazed, what-just-happened expression of a woman who had been kissed by a devil.
He turned.
His hand found her ass. Rested there. The casual, proprietary, my-hand-belongs-here placement of a palm on a thick cheek. He walked toward the tent. She walked beside him. His hand on her ass. Her face red. The soldiers who saw them looking away, pretending not to notice, the particular, military, I-didn’t-see-anything discretion of men who valued their lives.
They entered the tent.
The tent was large.
The particular, military, command-tent size — the canvas stretched over poles, the interior lit by lanterns, a table in the center covered with maps and markers. The higher-ups were gathered around it — company commanders, guards, officers. The people who made decisions. The people who decided who lived and who died and who walked into which forest.
Evriana sat at the head of the table.
The princess. The sword of the Ktorian family. Her amber eyes sharp, her posture rigid, her expression carrying the particular, focused, I-am-in-command authority of a woman who was running a military operation and was not playing.
Her eyes found Viktor.
Then found Berenga.
Then found Viktor’s hand on Berenga’s ass.
Then found Berenga’s swollen lips.
Then found Berenga’s flushed face.
The particular, connecting-the-dots, I-know-what-happened-last-night sequence of observations that crossed Evriana’s face in the space of two seconds. The amber eyes narrowed. The jaw tightened. The particular, white-knuckled, teeth-clenching, I-am-going-to-kill-someone expression of a woman who had sent a commander to seduce a man and was now watching the commander walk in with the man’s hand on her ass and his kiss on her lips.
’I should not have sent that idiot,’ Evriana thought.
The jealousy was — sharp. Hot. Immediate. The particular, irrational, possessive, she-is-mine-not-hers jealousy that Evriana had no right to feel and felt anyway. She had sent Berenga to Viktor. She had orchestrated this. And now she was watching the results of her orchestration and was furious that the results existed.
Viktor looked at her.
The violet eyes — calm, amused, the particular, knowing, I-see-what-you-are-thinking gaze of a man who could read women the way other men read books — found hers. He smiled.
The smile was small. Private. The particular, devil’s smile that carried with it the memory of last night — the fucking, the screaming, the coming, the particular, I-fucked-your-commander-and-I-know-you-watched acknowledgment that passed between them like electricity.
He took a seat.
The chair scraped against the ground as he pulled it out, the sound cutting through the tense silence. He sat. Leaned back. The particular, relaxed, unbothered, I-am-exactly-where-I-belong posture of a man who had been summoned and had arrived and was now waiting for the proceedings to begin.
One of the commanders — a thick-necked, scarred, bull-kin man with the particular, aggressive, who-the-hell-are-you expression of a military officer who did not recognize a face — spoke.
"What is he doing here?" he said. His voice was loud. Challenging. The particular, chest-puffed, authority-flexing tone of a man who had decided to establish dominance and had chosen the wrong target.
He looked at Viktor. At the cheap armor. At the young face. At the pretty features that did not belong in a room full of scarred commanders.
"Who is he?" the commander continued. "Why are you bringing a soldier here? How dare he—"