Claiming: A Drow Rite - Part 2

Part 2

They stepped into a wooden building that neither the outside nor the inside was impressive. "It's really bad," Duilliath said wrinkling his nose at the place. "It's more of a converted pub by the smell of it. I'm sure enough bath oils will cover most of the unpleasantness." He looked to the hostess, "Do you have a masseuse? No? How utterly wretched. Private room, please."

What a talkabout, Æiristus thought. Not the expected behavior of an assassin. And he was awfully chatty for a noble, she noted. Looking around, she did not see any wretchedness about the place or any real reason Prince Duilliath should be disappointed with it. It was a bathhouse. Admittedly, not the greatest, but it was definitely not the worst she had been in before. Having recently been sloshed about with freezing cold, muddy water from buckets while sprawled on a floor of moldering straw, old urine, and more mud was the worst that came to mind. The room they were led to was large enough to support six or eight people with its metal tub and its steaming water. Duilliath continued his meaningless rant about pitiful accommodations as she walked over and dipped her hand in the water and splashed it on her face. It felt good, like the hot springs back home.

As Duilliath poured some of his preferred oils into the water Æiristus heard a splash and he began to stutter when she removed and dropped the dirty strip of cloth around her waist that had acted as a loincloth. "Prince Duilliath, are you all right?" she asked.

Duilliath's mouth hung open and his chin bobbed as his jaws worked reflexively in his surprise. He had dropped one of his oil bottles in the water and was staring. "Oh, gods. How . . . " he cleared his throat as he struggled to regain control of his composure as he gawked at her completely naked body. "How old are you, exactly?"

"A century and eight," she answered. "Why?"

"You . . . " he was still slightly bent over the tub, astounded. Again he cleared his throat, but he was warming back up into his senses. He straightened something at just below waist-level. "You have, um, no fur? You, um, you, you look . . . young."

Æiristus stepped back behind the edge of the tub partially hiding her nakedness to allow Duilliath a moment to gather himself. "I assure you," she insisted, "I have been of age for well over half my life now." At his perplexed expression she added, "Do you think the church would send a child after dangerous criminals the way the send me and other templar soldiers?"

"Uh, no. You're right," he straightened retrieving the bottle from the water, now empty of its oil and partially filled with scented water. "How stupid of me. No, they wouldn't. When I investigated your history they neglected to mention it, um, that," he offered poorly by way of an excuse.

"Not many people know about it," she replied, in effect offering him a more graceful out.

Duilliath plucked the bottle from the water, emptied it, and set it aside next to an array of toiletries, which included shaving implements. Waving his hand in a gesture to get her to come back around and closer, he asked her, "Are you this way naturally?"

Æiristus sidestepped the tub and did as she was bid by his gesture. "It has never been a thought to me."

Duilliath's loins itched and prickled. It was difficult not to fixate his eyes on the woman's bare crotch. He'd always preferred his women hairless in their lower region and had many of his consorts waxed clean or shaved, but to find one in such a way naturally was near impossible, unless she was a child. Gazing on such a woman was robbing him of rational thought.

"Prince Duilliath?"

"Hm-m? What?"

"I said does it trouble you?"

Duilliath shook his head. "No, no. By all means, no." He shrugged off the unfamiliar feeling of being caught off-balance and found himself warming up to her, thickening, hardening, feeling a little giddy. He smiled down on her now as though he had known her all of his life. "I just never expected to find you so . . . " he reached out to take her arm and pulled her toward him, to feel her against him.

Æiristus, still a little wary by events and admissions made in Duilliath's rented room earlier, resisted enough that her feet skidded just before she bumped bodily against the prince/assassin. He was taller than she by almost a head. He was strong, but she knew he was not physically stronger than she. Had she not recognized who this man was she would have never let him manage to get so close to her. Had she been her own person she would have lashed out at him and he would be picking himself up off of the floor until he stayed down. She knew lust when she saw it. She felt his hardness against her pressing through his robe. But this was no real stranger she faced; he was no mere man. He was her prince, who by a twist of fate owned her in more ways than one. He was also so easy to look upon that keeping her own senses was difficult.

Duilliath brought his hand to the side of Æiristus' head filling his palm with the softness of her hair. Drawing his hand around to her cheek he felt her fighting to control her breath. She was trembling. She felt good against him. Gently, he drew his thumb along the side of her face and then, with the tip of his finger, he drew down along the mark of her scar across her face, marveling at it. Marveling at the survival instinct behind it. "Perfect," he murmured.

Between her bare abdomen and his still robed body, Æiristus felt her own heat rising, flushing both her face and chest and pooling low and deep within her. Duilliath throbbed against her as his body hardened. Panic vied for control in her mind and emotions. But it was not the fearful kind of panic she knew back in the inn's room, this was nervous energy building. She had not been with a man in years. This one was handsome. He was dangerous. He was powerful. He was her noble prince, and wanted her! Her blood tingled in her veins as the man before her touched her and bent to kiss her. The thought of this being the kiss of death for her rattled around in the back of her uncooperative mind.

"And you are truly mine," Duilliath murmured. His lips were nearly touching hers.

"Twice over," she replied. Where are you going with this, Æiristus? She felt her self-control wavering. Too close.

Duilliath pulled back with a puzzled look. "Twice?"

"Yes. I am sworn to your family, to you. And you purchased me from the auction," she told him, feeling like she was becoming a blithering idiot herself all of a sudden. She could not stop the words from leaving her mouth. "Even without the auction being what it was, I am still at the service of you and your noble house."

Not for what I want, Duilliath's treacherous mind responded. His whole body shuddered. This was dangerous, he realized. She was a champion of the church. She was a defender of his house. She could easily do him harm. It was a bad idea, he told himself. Wanting her this badly was a very bad idea. He had just met her and she was bewitching him. He ducked his head away, scolding himself as he fought for some level of mental control. He bit hard into his lower lip as when he turned his hand brushed lightly against that bare crotch that had so effortlessly captivated him. So soft! "Get in the water."

She nodded and went. If this was it for her, she reasoned, it would be a good time to go. The thought of being drowned mocked her as she stepped into the water.

Duilliath near stumbled to the table with his bath goods. Holding himself up with straining arms his mind was awhirl with the notion of owning the woman and of having her. She was far more powerful an allure than he could have imagined. Her words were sincere. Her reactions were honest. She did not try to flee when he gave her the chance. The female was beautiful, even with—especially with—the scar. Her feminine scent was so potent he could lose his mind to it. She was young, a couple of centuries younger than he. Her body was hard with muscle. She was lithe and sinewy, yet her skin was soft to the touch. And she was completely barren of hair from the neck down! His mind reeled. He had to have her! Grabbing another bottle he turned toward her. Her green eyes were watching him. "Dunk down," he managed. "Get your hair wet."

Æiristus disappeared under the water momentarily and came back up. She moved to where Duilliath was gesturing for her and permitted him to fill her hair with amber scented lather. After weeks on the ship and in the gaol as a prisoner, his pampering was divine—and indulgences were something she normally scorned. Duilliath massaged her scalp and gently worked his fingers through her soapy hair. She felt his fingers slide gently up along the front slant of her ears and down the back. He rubbed the muscles of her neck, relaxing her. Beneath the amber was Duilliath's own scent beckoning to her.

"One more time," he whispered next to her ear, this time he assisted in rinsing the lather from her hair. Tremors shook through his body again at the thought of having her. His resolve was faltering. Her soft skin was slick with water and lather. His hand clenched on the back of her neck and, fearful that should he lose himself she would drown, he reached in with his other hand and pulled her back up. Her face and hair were soaking wet when she re-emerged and Duilliath took the opportunity to steal a kiss from that dark, glistening face. Never had a drow woman been so beautiful. Soft, wet and warm lips met his and, after a jolt of surprise, kissed him back.

Liquid flame shot through Æiristus where Duilliath touched her. At first feeling his hand tighten on her nape while she was underwater unnerved her. But then he pushed his arm into the water and cupping her breast he had gently pulled her up out of the water. Then with animal speed and strength, he wrapped both arms around her and crushed her wet body against his. His impulsive kiss sought to take the breath from her. Her wet breasts slid and separated erotically against his bare chest as his robe had fallen completely open in front. She could not seem to recall exactly when he had removed his other clothing.

Duilliath groaned into Æiristus' mouth from his unexpected overwhelming urge. A male possessed, he ravished the warrior woman's sodden curves, manhandling her firm bath-slick breasts like a fiery lover who had been away from his mate for far too long. As she moaned and growled passionately in return, Duilliath's need roiled and swelled within him, a beast clawing for release. The more she responded favorably the more he insistent his beast grew. He was no man, nor was he elf. He was drow. He was on fire for another drow and his desire was perilously blinding him.

Any dread Æiristus had of being executed faded as her body clenched anticipating Duilliath's moves. Sliding wet along his warm flesh, he had triggered her passion and it was growing wildly, choking out reason. It was an ocean swell snatching tiny treasures from the beach and pulling them into itself, each new swell bigger and greedier than the last. She seized both sides of Duilliath's head and feasted on the hungry mouth that sought hers. She growled as a pair of strong hands pressed firmly down along the curve of her back, dipped into the water and squeezed the swell of her ass, bringing her in closer to danger. This is insane, Æiristus, she barely heard her mind screaming at her. This man admitted he was there to kill you! Her animal instincts snapped and snarled like a rabid wolf at her voice of reason. Just let him try and kill her! What better way to die?

"I have got to have you!" Duilliath pressed breathless against Æiristus' mouth.

"Yes!" she hissed not realizing the panting in her own voice.

"Now!" he growled grasping her tightly to him and lifting her from the water. He swung her around easily and laid her on a pile of towels nearby and pushed her into them with his greedy kisses. Prying a knee between her thighs he easily parted her dark legs and covered her velvety-smooth, wet pussy with his entire hand. It was a small, warm pillow that fit naturally into the palm of his hand. Seeking her creamy heat, Duilliath slid a finger inside her, exploring the hot silk within. A second followed the first, stroking, teasing, calling out her inner animal.

Fire flowed molten through Æiristus' veins. Need consumed her. The assassin holding her, pressing down on her, teasing her was just a man. His eyes burned with desire, just as her own did. So close he came to taking her to climax with only his fingers. So close he came with teasing her that she nearly seized the dominating role away from him. She could have done so with no difficulty, as such was the way of their race. Even so, with the strength of her instincts raging at her, Duilliath was the first of their race to lay with her. She was not going to let him know that. This was new. This was exciting. This was something she needed to experience for herself. The scent of Duilliath's skin amazed her. His touch crazed her. Reckless abandon called to her.

Duilliath pressed a heavy hand to the center of Æiristus' chest intentionally pinning her down. In her state of mind and raging hormones she was as dangerous to him as a leopard on the hunt. He amazed himself that he managed to retain the level of mental control he had. It was not his intention to slip into the mating rage with its possible outcome of his claiming her as mate—or his more probable grisly death. Far from it. But the female was intoxicating. It was as if she was made for him alone. Her scent, stronger now, pulled mercilessly at him. He knew that the moment he lost himself completely to his own unbridled inner beast that would be the moment this one would kill him—or she would try. She would literally shred his body to pieces, tapping into an insane reservoir of strength and savagery, leaving bloody hunks of his flesh as meat for scavengers. The image of outwitting such a fate was a chilling thrill in its own right.

His eyes moved down the length of her body, drinking in the sight of her. She was so soft, and warm, and bare. Primeval impulses screamed to take over, to roll the female over onto her stomach, to dominate her, to pin her and claim her. Duilliath knew that so many bad things had happened to her that day, that week, and he did not care. The amber scent of the oils he had poured in the water mingled with the dizzying scent of her aroused state. He pressed her legs open wider and slowly lowered his face to her groin. His face brushed against hard abdomen muscles that rose and fell with her ragged breathing. He kissed and nuzzled his way down to her pussy taking pleasure in the feeling of the heat rising from her. His cheek pushed against the soft mound at the cleft of her thighs. His tongue slid across velvet, he luxuriated along the swollen lips of her opening and tasted the warm heavy cream that lubricated her entrance. He gasped softly at the taste of her and paused to catch his breath.

Æiristus panted, shuddering like a woman suffering. She stiffened. She throbbed maddeningly where Duilliath touched his tongue to her. Her body arched. Her legs spread wider in delicious reflex begging the drow male to continue. She wound her fingers into his hair, pulling and kneading as the frenzy built inside her. In moments he was licking and kissing her again, and then he drove his tongue inside her. "Yes!" she cried shoving her head back as waves of ecstasy rocked her.

Prolonged efforts in overriding the urge were getting impossible for either of them to ignore.

Duilliath knew the woman's sexual and survival instincts were taking over inside her too quickly. Things could get deadly. Duilliath crept up along her shivering, panting body to face her. "Slow down," he murmured taking her face in his hands pressing down on her body with his to maintain some level of control over her. "Relax." He looked into carnal eyes and kissed her. "There's no threat here." She was close. The killer's instinct was present.

Wide, wild eyes narrowed. A furious snarl escaped her as she grabbed forcefully at Duilliath's ears.

"There is no threat here," he repeated snatching both of her wrists in his hands bringing them down together, between them. He stared down her ferocity with an otherworldly calm. He had been with females of his own kind before. Many times.

"No—threat?" she panted struggling to regain her senses. Duilliath held his gaze, and her hands together, until she softened. "You—you stopped." She blinked and relaxed back against the towels, the inner ache still there pressing hard against her sanity. "My apologies, Prince. My—I forget myself."

"It's been a long time for you, hasn't it?" Duilliath asked. He kissed her curled fingers and watched her expression. Her face was flushed with passion. Her green eyes dark with desire.

"What?"

"Since you devoted any time to a man."

She gazed up at the splintery, wooden slats of the ceiling. "A long time," she breathed. Closing her eyes again, Æiristus drifted back to a similar rendezvous that was less than a decade ago. What was a pleasant diversion then, now seemed a lifetime away. And she missed him. Soft, ghostly fingers from the past merged with the smooth, firm touch of the present. Her lips parted for continued talk, but instead she felt the tender pressure of kissing. Her mouth responded to Duilliath's gentle prodding and seeking.

Then, in a soft, controlled voice, she heard him say, "We're going to try this again. You try not to get too feral on me this time."

She nodded but still the warmth wormed through her abdomen as she tingled where he touched her. His kisses taking in her mouth were hungry, but seeming not so ravenous as before. He allowed her to kiss in return, letting her own expression manifest to her will. Their tongues mingled and slid and she bit gently on his lip. Her mouth opened wide as she felt the tip of his tongue trace the lines of her upper and then her lower lip. She was transported to another plane of existence. She did now know when her hands were released to prowl again.

Duilliath felt her fingers kneading into his sides and back and shoulders as he kissed down along her dark outstretched neck. He nibbled over the rise and licked into the hollow of her shoulder. Her breathing sped up, growing shallow and anxious again.

Gasping and moaning, Æiristus shivered at his touch against her breast. His tongue traced the swell of her out-thrust nipple, a deep red-violet blossom against the velvety darkness of her breast. She twisted and bent a knee up. Duilliath's warm hand smoothed over the outside of her muscular thigh, keeping her leg close in. The softness of his white hair caressed the inside of her lifted thigh and he drew the tip of his tongue down along her quivering abdomen down to the swells of her pussy, seeking the inner lips.

Duilliath fought hard not to lose himself in the sight and silkiness of the woman's bald pussy. The scent and the heat rising still sweet and thick with the amber oils . . . he pushed his fingers over the woman's swelling pussy. Soft and bare . . . So slick. He spread the outer lips apart until the swollen nub beneath its hood stood up. She strained under his flicking tongue, groaning deep, beyond her throat, deep from her chest. Taking the firm reddened flesh between two fingers he isolated her reaching clitoris from her pussy lips and gently sucked on it, nursing it and nibbling it, encouraging it to grow harder and tighter, more sensitive. In agonizing moments she was dancing on her back at his touch.

She was throbbing. Aching. She was screeching, begging him to fuck her.

Duilliath slid two fingers inside her again and rocked back to watch her frenzy. He watched her as she slapped her hands down beside her, grasping at anything there. He was drunk with her pushing her hips hard against his hand working inside her. Her hair flew like silver fire as her head thrashed about with her shrieking. So beautiful . . .

In a flurry, the passion-engulfed female sat upright enough to grab him by the hair and yank him down. "You will fuck me!" she demanded down at him and straddled him in an easy swing of her leg. One hand held the male down as her mouth covered his and the other hand wrapped itself forcefully around his hardened member. A single rock of her hips and he was deep inside her, impaling her. Æiristus stiffened. Her whole body shuddered and curled in on itself. Her toes curled and her fingers clawed red grooves in Duilliath's chest.

Duilliath growled his objection as the female's sharp fingernails gouged him, blooding him. He grabbed her hips and thrust deep inside her aggressively provoking the ardent woman to thrust against him. Balancing on her knees, Æiristus obliged his demands. Pounding down hard against his rock-hard pelvis, she screamed in delight at the cock plunging so deep and solid within her. She barely noticed when Duilliath rolled up from beneath her, lifted her legs over his shoulders and drove yet deeper inside her from above her.

Æiristus clawed at everything around her. Towels slapped against Duilliath's back one moment and were replaced by scourging fingernails the next. His sides and back, shoulders and arms were a roadmap of the female's zeal. She rocked and huffed beneath him attuned to his passion like no other. Her head flew back making her hair fly as she arched. Her muscles squeezed him tight inside her as she curled. His balls slapped wetly against her hairless pussy fueling both their mad desires. He felt her fingers exploring between their mated pelvises. He cried out as he slammed against her feeling her find her own sensitive pleasure centers. She pushed further in, wrapping two fingers firmly around his drenched, rock-hard shaft. She felt him shudder as she reached his slick balls and pressed what she could to her bald pussy.

Duilliath's mind fled him, melted into the raging demands of his need and enraptured by the woman beneath him. He was animal. He was beast. His balls were enveloped by the firm grip of slick fingers and bald, wet pussy. His cock thrust in and out of the woman of its own. Hunger. Need. Brute, animal lust kept him going.

Æiristus bathed in the sweat falling from Duilliath's brow. She watched as he squeezed his eyes tight, his face flushed dark violet, his mouth opened in ecstasy. His brow furrowed with the strain his convulsing body demanded of him. She saw a god above her.

Duilliath propelled himself to greater heights, his thrusting more intense. Harder he slammed down inside her. Harder and faster. Harder and faster and deeper. He rained sweat down on her and narrowly opened his eyes to watch as she gladly bathed in it. It was all too much for him. He had her legs pressed high against her own shoulders as she gasped for breath and pressed both hands against her thighs supporting the pressure smashing down on her from above. A thought blinded the male drow looking down on the pinned female. His golden eyes glazed over. He was beyond stopping himself. His hands crept down the back of her up-stretched thighs with each downward thrust until he was balanced and could maneuver while holding her down with just one hand.

In a sudden motion that caught Æiristus by surprise, Duilliath pulled completely out of her and with an instinctual move of his free thumb, he positioned himself to plow his cock right into her unguarded anus. Æiristus stiffened instantly, howling in pain and shock. Shock blossomed into livid fury. Duilliath had dropped his full weight on top of her preventing her killing him in her rage. He buried himself so deeply inside her his balls pressed salaciously hard against her up-turned ass. The constriction around his cock was overwhelming. In an instant he felt his own body clench. He ducked his head and grunted, grinding his teeth together. He throbbed, flooding her ass with his seed. He held her tight. He pinched his eyes closed hard as he rasped against the enraged female struggling beneath him. "I claim you for my own, Æiristus Vrynn," he barely whispered. Lightheadedness closed in on him. He was still coming hard inside her. She would kill him if he lost himself as he so desperately wanted. "You are mine. Say it!"

Æiristus' incensed howl came out a gurgled cry. Her eyes watered and burned. She could not breathe. The male was so heavy on top of her. Her head swam in a confused collage of disjointed thoughts and emotions. She heard someone above her making demands of her. "Say it!" she heard very clearly. What was wrong with her? Her whole body screamed at her. A beast raged within her roaring to get out. Clawing to kill. She was in horrible pain and yet she shivered in overwhelming pleasure. She bit into blood. She shrieked and struggled. Something hard invaded her and injected its venom into her. With her every effort to fend it off it pushed into her deeper, harder, hurting her more, demanding more of her.

Duilliath pressed down harder on the struggling female. His instincts had driven him passed sanity. He was unable to stop himself. He had crossed the point of no return with her. He had to weaken her now. Had to get her to accept him. Slipping his forearm over her throat he drove himself deeper into her assaulted anus. Goddess, she felt good. "Relax and it won't hurt so much!" he growled, determined not to let go of her. "Admit you are mine!"

Æiristus heard the voice. Colored spots flickered before her closed eyes.

"Don't make me kill you."

Choking.

"Now!"

"I—" she croaked. The unnatural throbbing had stopped. She felt her tension yielding. Still, the pressure on her throat made her wheeze. She had no idea who was killing her now; her mind was fuzzy. Her abdomen tingled again. She was blacking out. "I—I am yours."

From a distance she heard a sigh of relief. Pressure lifted from her throat and air flooded her pained lungs. Weight lifted from her obscenely folded body. And the assault softened and slid from her completely. A body crashed down hard beside her. "Never again," she heard. An arm warm and damp with sweat fell protectively over her chest. Weakly, trembling from exertion, that same arm pulled her against the body that owned it. She felt herself curl up, away from the body behind her. She hurt. She hurt a lot. She tasted copper when she coughed. Her lungs hurt. Her head pounded. Her stomach lurched and tightened fighting nausea. She blocked her mind as to what her ass felt like. This kind of thing was only supposed to be a threat during the mid-century blooding. A hunt she had never participated in—and now knew why she had always missed it. She wanted nothing to do with it.

Duilliath pulled Æiristus in close. His arm encircled her waist until he buried his fist beneath her warmth and he buried his face into her thick hair against her back. He felt her shivering. Her aggrieved moans wounded him. He regretted the pain he inflicted on such a magnificent creature. But now she was his. She belonged to him fully. She acquiesced to being taken. By doing so, she accepted him as her lifemate. Although he very nearly had, now, he would not be required to kill her—at least not yet. The temple would be compelled to reconsider their position with her. She would still be a hunter—he would not take that from her.

Gawds, what was he going to do with a lifemate?

Duilliath felt his mind fading, beginning to doze. He lifted his head and wiped at his eyes not knowing how long he was out. Æiristus was curled up beside him. Her skin exposed to the air was cold. In a burst of fear, he pressed his fingers against the side of her throat and found her strong pulse. She was sleeping. "Oh, thank goddess," he murmured into her hair more heartfelt than he expected. "I've got to get you back to the room."

The End

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