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Will Scarlet was a slender young man underneath that red sash and the elegant garb he must have stolen from a man of higher station. His muscles were sinewy and corded, vascular. Sinfully attractive. His dark hair plastered tight against his head as he submerged into the water and reemerged glistening like a dark devil.
Friar Tuck, while portly in the belly, couldn’t be considered soft. He was bulky, stout, and sturdy. His bald head shone under the morning sunlight.
Alan-a-Dale was tanned. Prim and proper with his hair and short-cropped beard. Middle-aged, though he obviously kept good care of himself. His body showed the least number of scars, and was completely shaved, it appeared. He looked slippery in a way that made me want to grab him to see if he’d slide through my grasp.
And Little John was a monster in every way. Huge, hulking, broader in shoulder than the others. He was powerfully built, rugged in his posture and appearance, and looked like he could snap me in two with a single big hand. I wanted to run my fingers through the forest of his dark chest hair.
Though the river was waist-high in most places, it varied in depth. When the men came closer to the bank it sloped off down to their knees.
Which gave me an eyeful of their endowments, which I shamefully gawked at to compare and contrast and daydream about. Each man was well-hung and impossibly potent and intimidating. To see so much huge, swinging masculinity, all at once, so close to one another, nearly broke my brain.
The men were unabashed in their nudity. In their proximity to each other. At one point, Alan-a-Dale even scrubbed a spot on Will Scarlet’s back that the younger man couldn’t get to.
If these men weren’t lovers, they were surely brothers. Their camaraderie, even in something as simple as bathing, was evident and palpable. Their trust in each other hung in the air, thick as their cocks.
My initial thought was an alarming kneejerk reaction: I want this.
I wasn’t sure what part of it I wanted—the camaraderie? The trust? The liberated way they lived their lives? Perhaps I just wanted what they had slapping between their muscled thighs.
I drank them in within twenty seconds, and it wasn’t long before Little John’s head whipped over to me under the patch of tree shade.
It took effort to peel my gaze away from the slab of his massive cock swaying between his legs, half-submerged in the water. I wondered what something like that would feel like as it plowed into me—what any of these barbarians would be like ravaging me.
Shame and guilt riddled me. In less than a full day, I’d become a whore, hungry for attention. Aching for something these men couldn’t give me, because they only saw me as a bartering tool. I knew I would never find love in a place like this . . . but what I might find here seemed a lot better than the alternative back in Wilford.
When I ripped my eyes up from John’s hips, and saw him looking at me, my cheeks flamed worse than ever.
“There he is. Our little hooded star.” He smiled wryly at me, slapping the surface of the water. “Get your skinny ass over here, lad.”
My head was already shaking. “W-What? No.”
Why am I stammering so much around these hard men? I’ve never quailed before men before, except my father.
Likely because I’ve never seen any men like this, or been treated in such a way. Demeaned yet somehow respected? It was difficult to understand how I felt about these vagabonds.
“Unlike the highborns living in their keeps and towers, we aren’t savages,” John continued. “We bathe near daily.”
I inhaled through my mouth and breathed out through my nose. Long and steady. Trying to contain the desire thrumming at the pit of my stomach, making me slick between the legs. “I see,” I said, managing to compose my voice and speak lowly. “I’ll wash after you’re all done, then.”
John barked a laugh. “Don’t be shy, lad.” He gestured at his comrades. “No one here cares how small your cock is.”
Alan-a-Dale raised a finger from the water. “I do.”
“I told you he wouldn’t join,” Will Scarlet said. “He’s too scared of us big, bad men.”
“You aren’t big,” I snarled at him, eyeing the young man up and down. I tried to act tough, alluding that he wasn’t as impressive as the others. The truth was, what he lacked in height compared to the others, he made up for with that long, fat snake that gave him no reason to be timid.
He bristled at my goading, wading through the water toward me, anger twisting his features. “You fucking brat.”
My heart seized in my chest, throat constricting. Shit. I’ve woken the angry bear cub.
When he got close to the bank, I backed up against the tree. I wouldn’t stand down and run away—not with the other bandit over the hill promising sick things if I tried escaping.
Will stopped short, barred by Little John’s arm. “Let him be, Will. He’ll learn soon enough that we don’t bite.”
“I do,” Alan-a-Dale chirped again, from behind the others, paying little attention to Will Scarlet’s advance on me. It seemed this wasn’t an unusual thing for the temperamental young man to go through.
“He’s not part of the brotherhood,” Friar Tuck added. “Why would he listen to you two, hmm? Why would he oblige your requests, John? All we’ve done is stolen him from his family.”
