AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She nodded, unable to speak. He was embedding himself into her over and over, his cock rubbing against her deliciously, and she couldn’t help but tilt her bottom up in submissive invitation. She burrowed one hand underneath and found her nub as he filled her again and again, his hardness sliding against her wet fingers.
His breath caught and he swiveled his hips, grinding against her, leaning close over her, whispering low in her ear. “You’re touching yourself, aren’t you?”
She swallowed, closing her eyes in bliss. “Y-yes.”
“God,” he muttered, and she wondered if he’d finally lost the power of speech.
Perhaps he had, for he suddenly planted one hand over her shoulder and shoved hard into her, pressing her into the mattress. He was pushing her body up the bed with quick, forceful jabs that spread her apart, made her see a starburst behind her closed lids.
A spike of near-painful pleasure bloomed between her legs, flowing and expanding through her, a river of sweet completion. She moaned, loud and low.
He stiffened behind her, his hips still working, even as his hot seed filled her, as if he didn’t want to stop. And then he fell against her, his heat surrounding and cradling her. She felt his chest pressing into her back as he fought to catch his breath.
She should feel squashed beneath him, but instead she felt protected and oddly cherished.
She watched out of the corner of her eye as he moved his right arm—the one with the white bandage—and twined his fingers with hers, squeezing gently.
Were it up to her, they would stay this way forever.
Chapter Seventeen
“Do you see these things trapped in the sand of the Plain of Madness?” Loss hissed at Faith. He’d seen the fate of his imp comrades, so he was cautious of Faith, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to wallow in her horror.
“What are they?” Faith whispered, filled with dread. “They are the souls of those who died insane,” Loss said with glee. “They meander aimlessly now, flowing with the shifting dust, and will remain so until men no longer walk the earth.” …
—From The Legend of the Hellequin
If Hell existed on earth, Artemis Greaves was walking into it. Her shoes crunched on fine gravel in a huge, nearly empty courtyard. Behind her were the tall iron gates. Before her, the baroque façade of a magnificent, beautiful building. White Corinthian columns marched in paired rows along the front, crowned by a central dome with a clock, the Roman numerals picked out in gold. The gilding was repeated on the top of the dome, a spinet with the figure of a veiled woman.
Artemis shivered and glanced at the front doors.
Hell might have a gorgeous shell, but it still roasted the damned within.
She passed the porter and paid him her precious penny, though she wasn’t here to sightsee. Under the dome was an echoing hall with two long galleries leading off to her left and her right. It was early yet and the visitors were few, but that didn’t mean the inhabitants of Hell weren’t awake. They moaned or babbled, if they could make utterance, except for the few who simply howled.
Artemis ignored the galleries, walking straight on. Beyond the dome, two staircases curved away into space. She mounted the one to the left, holding her covered basket carefully. It wouldn’t do to spill her few, meager offerings.
At the top of the stairs, a man sat on a wooden stool, looking bored. He was tall and thin and Artemis had amused herself—rather morbidly—on previous visits by noting his resemblance to Charon.
She paid Charon his due—a tuppence—and watched as he took out his key and unlocked the depths of Hell.
The stink hit her first, a thing so solid it was like wading into filth. Artemis held the handkerchief on which she’d sprinkled lavender water up to her nose as she made her way. The inhabitants here were always chained, and many could not or did not make it to their chamber pots. To either side were small, open rooms, almost like stable stalls, though most stables smelled better and were cleaner than this place. Each room held a denizen of Hell, and she tried to avoid looking in as she passed.
She’d had nightmares in the past from what she’d seen.
It was actually quieter up here than the vast galleries below, whether because the inhabitants were fewer or because they’d long since given up hope. Still there was a low droning of something that once might’ve been song and a high giggling that stopped and started fitfully. She knew to skip swiftly past a cell on her right, dodging the foul missile that flew out, hitting the wall opposite.
The last chamber on the left was where she found him. He squatted on filthy straw like Samson restrained: manacles on both ankles and a new one—she saw to her horror—about his neck. The heavy iron ring encircling his neck chained him to the wall with not enough slack to let him lie down fully. He was forced to crouch, leaning against the wall if he wanted to rest, and she wondered what would happen if he slept and fell forward. Would he strangle himself in the night without anyone knowing?
He looked up as she hesitated in the entrance to the chamber, and a broad smile lit his face. “Artemis.”
She went immediately to him. “What have they done to you, my heart?”
She knelt before him and took his face in her hands. There was a lump over one hairy eyebrow, a scabbed graze high on his right cheekbone, and a cut on his too-broad nose. It looked broken.
But then it always had.
He shrugged massive shoulders covered only in a filthy shirt and coarse waistcoat. “It’s a new beauty regime. All the court ladies are following it, I hear.”
