What is a forked tale?

Well, it’s a tale we write together. I write and give you two options….We all vote. Majority rules and the story takes root…

Welcome to the forth installment of Ellie Masters’ Whiskey Wednesday. Haven’t read part one of Cursed to Walk in the Light? Well click here to catch yourself up!

ahimoth-b

PART FOUR BEGINS NOW….

ICE

Sluggish from the chill, Irynia’s blood squeezed through the chambers of her heart. Heat leached from her inner core, failing to warm her life’s essence. She needed…warmth, sustenance, something to heat this soulless body.

The man’s arm gripped tight, holding her against his armored chest. The cool metal only deepened the cold dragging through her veins. Her breasts bounced against his bare arm, making him tense. Then he suddenly kicked the horse in the ribs with his booted heels. The beast surged forward, racing down the forest path, tearing up the ground with its sharp hooves.

The man’s breath pulsed in her ears, driving her hunger to a frenzied height. So parched. She was dying of…well, not thirst, but something equally life-giving. She gripped his arm, trying to balance astride the galloping horse.

A menacing chuckle escaped from somewhere deep within his chest. A dark, wretched sound, it promised pain. Which she didn’t understand. Not when she could provide him the most sensual pleasure. Ahimoth had trained her in the art of pleasing men. She’d always thought him selfish with his lessons. His animalistic roars used to shake the very foundations of hell with his climaxes. He’d made her sing too, a long keening sound, needy, desperate…and ravenous.

That's what she craved!

“Ye should not be out wandering the forest alone,” the man said with a laugh. “Rogues infest these woods.”

“Are you a rogue?”

“I’m a trusted champion. You’re safe with me.”

Her fingers drifted up the knight’s arm, dancing along the prominence of his veins, and fluttering with whisper softness to stir the fine hairs until his skin prickled and the nerves beneath sizzled with sensation. His breathing changed. The menace mutating to desire, and while his breath turned ragged and raw, Irynia’s blood heated, feeding off his desire until she needed more.

“Well, such a shame,” she said. “I could use a rogue. A man who's not afraid to fuck.”

They broke into a clearing and he pulled sharply on the reins. The horse reared on its back legs, pawing at the air with a protest at the rough handling. He soothed the animal until it calmed and forced it to a stop.

“Ye want to fuck me?” Without another word, he vaulted off the horse, and then reached up and wrenched her off her perch. His eyes darkened with desire and the veins in his neck pulsed with the urgency of his need.

She reached up to cup his jaw, knowing exactly what he needed. Her need was nearly as potent and primal as his. “I want you to fuck me.”

He found a grassy spot and tossed her to the ground. The thin stalks tickled her skin, and tiny rocks poked her back. With a yank to the buckles of his armor, he divested himself of the metallic skin. A coarse linen shirt stretched agains the expanse of his chest, and he pulled that off with his eyes never once leaving the swell of her breasts.

Entranced by his urgent need, she lifted up to her elbows, pushing her chest forward to give him the best view, then she spread her creamy thighs to further entice him. Not that he needed any encouragement.

His eyes latched on to the dark tuft of hair between her legs and he licked his lower lip. “I will fuck ye lass until ye can’t even walk.” He tugged on the fasteners of his pants, and in his haste to undress, he neglected his boots, realizing his mistake too late when he took a step and tumbled to the ground.

Irynia bit her lower lip to hold back her laughter as he fought to free himself from his boots and pants.

She had only one question. Should she kill him now, or wait, and see exactly how talented he was with that cock?