Page 3 of By the Horns (Royal Artifactual Guild #2)

Two

Gwenna

What in all the mucking hells am I doing? The thought bounces in my head even as I lock the door to the Taurian’s quarters and approach his bedside. He clearly thinks I’m here for a hand job—or more—and not that I’m here to clean the windows. I should tell him no.

And yet…I love this idea.

I’ve been crawling out of my own skin all afternoon with the dead man nearby.

Haven’t I been going on and on in my head about how I need some sort of diversion?

A release of some sort to distract my body?

This is perfect. Anonymous, delicious sex.

Zero strings attached, tons of distraction.

“I’ll do it,” I tell him, setting my bucket down quietly. “But I have rules.”

“Rules?” He huffs, his snout turning in my direction. “What rules, exactly?”

“I want to come, too. If I get you off, I need at least one orgasm of my own or else I’m not touching you.”

His mouth curls into what looks like an amused smile. When he speaks, his voice is a low, sultry purr. “Oh, sweet female. That’s an easy task. Just come climb on my knot and I’ll make you feel very, very good.”

I shiver, and this time not because there’s a body in the alley. This time it’s because of anticipation.

“Do we need to discuss your payment?”

“Already taken care of by the guild,” I lie.

No need to point out that I’ll be using him as much as he’s using me.

I shimmy out of my bloomers and skirts, then strip my tunic off after a moment’s hesitation and kick off my boots.

Umala likes for the nestmaids to wear skirts, repeaters or not, so my clothing is a bastardized version of a guild fledgling’s uniform, along with the black repeater sash.

But if he realizes that, he won’t think that I’m a hired sex worker, so it all goes by the wayside.

I leave my frayed and much-patched corset on, since it’s trickier to get on and off, and move to the edge of the bed.

He immediately reaches for me, gripping one of my butt cheeks in a bandaged mitt. The Taurian’s groan of pleasure is loud in the room. “Nice, thick flanks. My favorite.”

And he squeezes even as he hisses with pain.

I bite back a squeak because his handling makes me slippery with arousal.

The buzzing from the corpse in the alley below is fading behind nervous excitement.

I’m not the type to jump into bed with just anyone, though I’ve had my share of lovers in the past. Before, I’d always had a relationship of some kind with my sex partner.

Before, they’d always been human. The sheer size of this Taurian and the knot are all new to me.

But new is definitely distracting. It’s just what I need.

I reach out and stroke his cock, fascinated at how thick he is. A long strand of pre-cum glazes the head of his cock and I run my fingers through the wetness, using it to slick my hand.

“Spit,” he tells me.

I lean over and spit on his cock, clenching my thighs together even as I do. He knows what he wants to the point of being pushy, and for some reason, it really turns me on. He’s so big I have to spit a second time, and the lubricant quickly dries up with a few strokes of my hand.

“You’re too large,” I tell him, amused. “I don’t have enough spit. I don’t know that any woman does.”

He chuckles, reaching for me. “Use your mouth on me, then.”

“You don’t tell me what to do. I’m in charge here.” And I reach up and flick his nipple.

The big Taurian stiffens on the bed, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve gone too far. But then he groans, his hips pumping instinctively at the air. “Bossy little wench. Fine. You’re in charge. Spit, use your hand, whatever. Just touch me.”

“I’ve a better idea than spit,” I say, sliding away before he can grab me.

I love the frustrated growl he makes as I slip out of his grasp.

Heading over to the small table nearby, I spot a pot of lotion.

I noticed the other day when cleaning that most of these rooms have extra lotion on hand.

The constant bathing and soaps make skin dry, and so the healer is constantly lotioning her patients after washing them.

But I’ve got a far naughtier use for that lotion.

It’s mild and unscented, which makes it perfect for sex.

Scooping up a handful, I move back to his side and slather his cock with it.

He sucks in a breath, no doubt surprised at the cool sensation, but when my hand wraps around him again, his irritation turns to pleasure.

“Aye, that’s it,” he growls, reaching for me again. His bandaged hand drifts through the air, searching, and I drop it on my breast. “Just like that. Nice tits on you, too. Are you tall?”

I am short and absolutely stout, but who cares in this moment? Certainly not me. “Tall and blond.”

“Mmm.” He handles my breast, his wrapped palm big enough to practically cover one. When he feels my corset, he slips the ties over his hand and tugs them loose, my breasts spilling out. “Better.”

His bandaged hand against my bare skin makes me suck in a breath.

Arousal throbs through me, and I squeeze and pump his cock with my fist, moving harder and faster.

My fingers can’t close all the way around his thickness, and I can’t even imagine how that knot will possibly fit inside anyone.

Is that why he must pay sex workers? Because no sane woman would put herself through that?

Yet my friend Aspeth has been through a rut with her husband, and she spoke of it quite fondly, blushing the entire time. It can’t be that awful. Boldly, I reach down and grasp his knot with my slippery, lotion-covered hand.

The big Taurian makes a choking sound, his back bowing off the bed.

I immediately draw back, my impression that of intense, almost painful heat radiating from his knot. “Should I not have—?”

He wheezes, trying to catch his breath. “Sensitive…”

“So I shouldn’t play with it?” I lightly tease a finger along that hard, violently red bulge at the base of his cock. Even his balls, flushed and huge, are nowhere near as tight-looking as that knot.

The Taurian’s head goes back and he sucks in a breath. One heavily bandaged hand tightens on my breast—in an exciting, possessive way, not a bad way. He rubs his wrapped hand over my nipple, teasing back and forth even as his hips lift in another silent entreaty.

His knot might be sensitive, but he doesn’t seem to mind me playing with it.

I take my time, tracing along the edge of it where it meets his shaft, then along the underside, where it pulses against the base of his cock.

I tickle it with featherlight touches and give it a squeeze, which seems to elicit the most reaction from him.

It’s probably like my clit, then. Teasing touches are well and good, but I need a proper rubbing if I’m going to get off.

“Just like that,” he encourages.

“Just like what?” I ask innocently, pulling my hand away. He growls, and I feel powerful. “You didn’t want just my hand, did you?”

“You going to keep toying with me or you going to mount me, woman?” He brushes my nipple with his mitt.

I’m feeling playful, though. I push his hand away and slowly make my way down the side of the bed.

I should probably hurry things along because we could get caught at any moment, but I like the edge of danger.

It helps drown out the hum of the dead man’s presence.

I drag my fingers along his legs, brushing over his hooves as I circle the bed and then move to the other side.

I want him aware of where I am, because I imagine he doesn’t like to be startled, but I want to keep teasing.

“I’ll give you two choices,” I say in a flirty voice.

“You can have my hand, and I’ll even throw in my tongue.

I’ll wipe all that lotion off and mouth you good. Or you can have my cunt.”

“Cunt,” he says immediately, and gestures to his thighs. “Come sit on me. I’ll make you feel amazing.”

I’m a little surprised at his choice. If it’s just about getting off, most men would take a hand and go on about their day.

That he wants my body means he’s interested—even slightly—in my pleasure, too.

Maybe it’s a Taurian thing to be a generous lover.

If so, I’ve been seeing the wrong men all my life. “I’m warning you, I’m a heavy woman.”

“You say that like it’s a problem. I like thick thighs.” He angles his head, as if he wants to get a look at me, even though there’s no way he’ll be able to see my face through those heavy bandages.

“And what about that big knot of yours? Is that supposed to fit?” I drag my finger over the heated band of flesh, enjoying the hiss he makes.

“Just take what you can and enjoy yourself.” The big Taurian manages a roguish grin. “I know I will.”

I roll my eyes at that one, but I’m still amused at his confidence. It’s hard not to be attracted to that, and I’m enjoying this diversion probably far more than I should. “I’m coming up, then. Tell me if I hurt you.”

He holds a bandaged hand out to help me up, but I gently nudge it aside, and that makes him laugh anew, just as I figured it would.

He’s a lot of fun to toy with, this Taurian.

I climb up the side of the bed, glad that it’s low to the ground.

My thighs brush over his and then I rest my slick, lotion-covered hands on his stomach as I straddle him and keep my hips high in the air.

His enormous prick pushes straight up to the sky, and I lower myself onto it just enough for the head to graze my cunt, and then I lift up again.

He groans, head jerking to the side. “Mucking tease.” The words are harsh but his tone is affectionate. “You just want to make me suffer.”

“It’s my job to torture those at the hospital,” I flirt. “I like to hear the begging.”

And I drag my slick cunt along the head of his cock again. His hips surge upward—as I knew they would—but I shift my weight away again. He makes a ragged sound in response.

“Ask me nicely,” I purr at him.