Page 95 of Ruthless Scoundrel
And it was incredible.
I pull my hand out of my pants and look around the tent. There’s nowhere for me to deposit my load. I grunt to myself in displeasure. I’m not going to leave this anywhere for her to find.
I close my fist and use one hand to get my boots on. Finally outside, I flick my wrist at the grass, then wipe the rest off on a nearby tree. I’d much prefer Reina to be eating it out of my hand—the thought of which has me half hard already—but it’s likely too soon to ask her something like that.
Hello, princess, I just jacked off, will you lick it out of my palm for me?
I shake my head.
“Mornin’,” calls a familiar voice and I jump. It’s the man whose wife lent me thethingfor Reina’s monthly bleeding.
“Good morning,” I call back, waving before quickly tucking my still-damp hand away.
“She gettin’ on all right?” he asks.
“She is, yes. Amaya, my wife,” I say, stupidly.
“I’m Anthony, wife’s Gizelle,” he says.
Squid ink. I don’t have a cover name.
What’s a name for a Fynish man?
“I’m Geoff.”
Fuck.
Stupid name.
“Hi, Geoff, nice to be travelin’ with such nice folk from the north,” he says, approaching for a handshake. I reach out and take his hand in the one I didn’t just jerk off in, noting that Wols do not shake, but Fyns do.
“Not many speak Common Fynish ’round here,” he says.
“Amaya is Fynish.”
Anthony chuckles. “I noticed. She’s high-born, a lady?”
I stiffen. “What makes you say that?”
He shrugs. “Her way of talkin’. It’s very proper.”
I would have to coach her in less proper dialect so we can remain incognito.
Anthony laughs. “Don’t get your dick in a twist, I’m not sayin’ anything. I think it’s sweet.”
“What is?” I ask, thoroughly confused.
“Obviously, she gave it all up for you. And you’re doin’ everything you can to make her life as comfortable as it was.”
I stare at him, waiting for the point.
He scoffs. “You’re in love! Love is a wonderful thing. Not enough of it out there anymore.”
I nod, unsure what to do with this revelation. If someone else saw it, how is it that I didn’t? Love…something I didn’t thinkI was capable of without the abdication of my guilt. With that close at hand, though, perhaps I have space in my head for more.
“Anyway, I’ve gotta get moving. Caravan’s leaving in thirty,” he says, giving a gentle wave.
“Let me know if you need any help,” I call out, uncertain what’s provoked me to offer my assistance to him, a Man.
