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“It’s not me as you need to apologize to. Two young lasses were snatched from the market last week. Your poor mother was shaken when she realized you had left alone.”
I feel twice as bad now. “Please, let’s just go home.”
When I look up, I see something on his face that I can’t readily decipher. I think he might kiss me… I hold my breath, certain, anticipating, and then he nods and sets me to my feet.
My face is hot and ravaged by tears, and my bottom stings.
I feel terrible for worrying my mother and am anxious to be home.
But, for reasons I cannot readily understand, the place between my legs is hot, needy, and tingling.
Lor
After the spanking, the lass is subdued as I escort her home and doesn’t even offer even a token complaint about me holding her hand. She is also needy and keeps sneaking glances at me under her lashes.
I should not have spanked her.
But fuck it, correcting her felt right even if I must suffer a painful erection for the rest of the fucking day.
But when we return home, it is to find that lordly prick Marshal waiting for Freya yet again. Does the pompous bastard not have any business to attend?
Freya hurries off to wash her face and make herself presentable.
I’m a nosy bastard, so I find reasons to hang around the house. Only to see Freya leaving the drawing room in tears a short time later.
The fuck did he do to her? If her mother wasn’t in the room, I’d already have charged in there and thumped the bastard.
Seeing the maid hurrying with a tea tray, I waylay her. She hates Marshal too, after he scolded her for cold tea the last time he visited. Asking her to leave the door open a crack after she delivers the tray, so I can listen in, meets with her swift approval.
“I don’t know what he said to the young miss, but she left in tears.” There is no mistaking the censure in her voice.
I nod. “Leave it to me.”
“Freya only wants to visit her friend for the last time,” I hear Mrs. Bramleigh saying as I loiter outside the door.
The plans for the wedding have been progressing post-haste. It is all I can do not to take the skinny fuck aside and strangle him to get it over with. That I have no practical means of disposing of the body is the only thing holding me back.
He is pompous, a prick, and full of his own importance. He will crush every ounce of joy in Freya’s heart before the first baby arrives.
“She does not need barbarian friends,” Marshal says. There is no mistaking the sneer in his voice. He’d piss himself if Aston turned up here.
I grin, playing out the alluring fantasy in my mind where Aston turns up unannounced and puts a thumping on the prick. At least there would be two of us to help dispose of the body… It’s not a well thought out fantasy, for the city guards would take one look at Aston and turn him away.
Having heard enough, I stalk off and busy myself in the stable.
Barbarians have a certain reputation, and many outsiders look down on their ways. It is different at the battlefront where we embrace the soldiering life, one that brings men of all kinds together with a common goal, and where rank or previous status means fuck all when you’re fighting for your life against the Blighten. What use is having a father with high standing when an orc is coming at you with an ax? Nor does it mean you are a capable fighter just because you hail from a barbarian clan.
I’ve seen weak barbarians, just as I’ve seen weak lordlings and strong versions of both.
Yet one becomes adept at taking the measure of a man when one must trust them to have his back. I do not trust the weaselly lord who can’t wait to get underneath Freya’s skirts with his small prick.
I busy myself in the stables. And soon enough, he arrives, demanding his horse. I nod. “I’ve got something to show you,” I say as casually as I can muster.
He gives me a withering look, but he follows me. If he knew how much I wanted to rip off his cock and feed it to him, he would not be so trusting.
I roll out my shoulders and try to trap down the image. I’m a big man. My wolf is bigger still. But I don’t have leave to let that side out often, and not here in the city. I’m definitely not a man who considers himself a bully, praying on someone weaker, but I have no issue correcting stuffy lordlings who snatch the last dreams from pretty lasses for no reason other than to exert their small power over them.
I take him by the throat and pin him up against a stable door.
