Page 12 of Tamed for Her Pleasure

“Sire, we are…” He trails off.

I don’t turn to look at him. There is a woman with her blade against my throat, and that’s taking priority.

“Thank you, Aiden, I’ll be out shortly.”

“Sire?” His voice comes out in a strangled squeak.

“Don’t mind it, lad. The princess and I are just having a little chat.”

He stumbles back out of the tent. I hear a distinct thud and a grunt, followed by a curse—I believe he has just tripped over in his haste.

She takes the dagger away with an inelegant grunt and slots it back into a little sheath at her hip.

“Does nobody knock in your heathen culture?”

“When you’re in a tent it is a little hard to knock.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. For all he knows, we might have been…” She blushes as she trails off.

“Rutting… Happen he would have gotten an eyeful.” My grin is all teeth. “Besides, knocking is not really a barbarian thing. I am the king and need to be available at all times.” Sometimes lasses take that a little too literally with their propensity for sneaking into my fucking bed. “If I were busy and wanted him to leave, I would tell him to fuck off and come back later.”

Her expression is one of bafflement. She has called me a heathen, and her expression and words remind me constantly that I am coarse and uncultured to her.

I still want to take her under me and plow her needy cunt which does not mind my coarse ways. My eyes go to the mark on the right side of her throat—when an alpha marks a woman, it is very much a sign he has claiming on his mind.

She swallows as though sensing the wayward direction of my thoughts.

“I need to return to my father. You will let me go.”

Her constant issuing of orders is getting a little wearing. I roll, taking her under me, which is probably a dangerous thing to do, but I can’t fucking help myself.

Beyond the tent, the gray as dawn approaches, and I hear people moving about.

I just want everyone and my duties to fuck off so I can strip her of these leathers and remove her many daggers again, and stake my claim.

Alas, she is a princess. I am a barbarian king. I see no future where we might find a compromise on these two very varied and conflicting roles. And besides all of this, we are currently on the cusp of war.

Still, she is my prisoner, sort of, and it feels right to have her hands pinned above her head as she squirms against my hold. My dick is hard and wedged against the entrance to her pussy. I feel irrational hatred toward the leather clothing getting in my way. “You will accompany us when we talk to your father,” I say.

“Unhand me, barbarian!”

Her wriggling is doing predictable things to me. She is a beta. Even the lusty lasses of my clan, many of whom have been with alphas before, need a little training before they can handle me.

None of this matters to my dick which is making detailed plans.

Only, I am not a free man but one bound by duties, just as she is not a free woman and has responsibilities of her own.

And so, despite my clamoring instincts, I heave myself off of her and hold out my hand to her wary acceptance, helping Penelope to her feet.

Penelope

I’m disappointed when he rises and more so when he dons his clothes.

I question why this is.

Am I so bored with my life that I court the attention of the big, gruff alpha, who is clearly the worst choice of romantic interest I could possibly find?

No, it is not romantic interest, but the unmistakable pull of lust that makes me watch meekly as he opens a cloth-wrapped bundle and extracts a wicked looking axe. He inspects the two crescent blades before slipping a leather jacket over it and slotting it at his hip.

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