My Prize (12 page)

A wicked smile crossed his lips.

"Spread your legs wide, my love," he urged. He knelt and pulled her thighs even further apart.

"I...what..." She did as she was bid, not taking her eyes off the massive broadsword that rested on Rory's equally massive thigh.

"The Laird's sword is his right arm. His badge of honor. It's the standard for his clan to rally around, and the sign of his leadership. It's the single most important piece of property he'll ever own as Laird. Next to his woman."

He reached down and picked up his sword, grasping it just beneath the hilt, and before the razor sharp blade flattened into deadly steel.

He rested the handle on Boralle's mound.

"My sword and my life are yours, Boralle." He said the words softly, letting them fall into the suddenly still air of their little glen. "With ma sword I touch your body..." He pressed the pommel into her clit making her squirm, "...and with ma sword I touch our bairns that will come..." He gently opened her with his fingers and slipped the hilt of his sword into her.

Boralle sucked in a breath and held it as the cool metal entered her body. He knew she would feel the hardness with every single aroused inch of her sweet wet cunny. His fingers gently found her clit and circled it, as her eyes closed and a moan squeezed from her lungs.

Gently, he withdrew his sword, shining now with her slippery juices.

"And with my sword I pledge my heart unto you. Only you." He brought the sword to his lips and kissed it, licking her liquids from it with his tongue.

"I take you into my body, Boralle, as you will take me into yours."

He had no idea why he was doing this. These vows were sacred vows to a Laird of the McAllen clan. He had no idea if he'd ever be able to make good on this pledge. He also didn't know if she understood the significance of his words.

None of it mattered.

Here, underneath the scudding clouds of a perfect Scottish day, Rory McAllen was about to claim his woman.

Her blue eyes were full of emotion as he raised himself over her. Perhaps the significance of his little ceremony was not lost on her after all.

"Rory," she whispered, "Rory..."

"I know, lass."

He reached for himself, never looking away from her gaze. "Keep your eyes on me, lass. I want to watch you as I take you...love you..."

Carefully, he placed the head of his now aching cock at the opening to her body. It was hot and ready, greeting his hardness with honeyed drops of welcome.

Slowly, so slowly, Rory slid into Boralle's cunt.

He watched her eyes as he pushed deeper. They lost focus and glazed, the blue darkening to a stormy sky as her body accepted his.

He shifted his weight and sank to his length inside her.

He was home.

Boralle's breath left her body as she felt him enter and fill her so completely. Her experience with the TUNG systems had been fulfilling and satisfactory. She'd orgasmed regularly and considered herself experienced.

It had been almost completely
nothing
like this.

Her belly felt full of Rory. Her body flexed and rippled as it accommodated his hard length inside the soft mass of silk covered muscles.

His face loomed over her, red hair fiery in the sunlight, eyes as green as the neon clouds over Probius Epsilon Nine.

His gaze pinned her and held her motionless for those first few seconds as he easily slid the entire length of his massive cock into her receptive body. It was an amazing feeling, compounded by the expression in his eyes as he pushed himself further and finally nestled his balls against her.

"Are you all right, Boralle?" he breathed, holding himself still above her.

"Define 'all right,'" she whispered back, something driving her to tighten her inner muscles around him, holding him exactly where he was.

He groaned as he felt her movements. "Yessss," he hissed, "you're all right."

A smile spread over her face, curving her lips. She could see her face reflected in his eyes. It was the face of a woman loving her man.

His expression changed a little, darkening, as he raised his hips and pulled away from her.

She gasped and reached for him, not wanting to lose this wonderful new sensation that was warming her cunt and filling her mind so fully.

"I'm not leaving you, love," he said, "it's just beginning."

"What? What's just begin...oooh..."

Boralle's question was cut off as Rory plunged back into her body. His powerful thighs helped him as he set up a rhythm, slow to start, but then increasing in speed and intensity.

Her breath began to keep pace with his thrusts, almost as if his cock beat against her lungs as well as her womb, her spleen, one kidney and possibly her eardrums.

She felt as if she was overflowing with Rory McAllen.

He dipped his head and sucked a nipple, adding yet another sensory shock to her system.

She gasped. Her mind was spinning now, free-falling into some wild, gravity-free environment where rational thought clung upside down by its toenails to the ceiling and insanity beckoned seductively through an open door.

Rory's body took hers, seizing it, demanding it respond, allowing no quarter from the pounding and thrusting of his cock.

Sweat soaked his hair and made it cling damply to his cheeks, and she felt her own body awash in moisture. Her sweat, his sweat, her juices, all were blending, mixing, melding into one sensual soup that could support them as they swam to completion.

His mouth gave her breasts no relief either. Just when one was aroused to the point of pain, Rory would pull his lips away and move to the other, starting the process all over again.

His cock was stretching her to an amazingly wonderful limit. It was so completely unlike the TUNG machine, that she wondered if the designers had ever actually been fucked by a human. Then he slipped a hand between their bodies, groped for her clit, and Boralle lost all capability for rational thought.

As his hips pounded her, his hand teased her. His fingers found her sensitive bud of tissue and flicked it, circling it in time with his thrusts.

He slid his other hand beneath her hips and raised his body away from her, angling her so that he could penetrate as deep as it was possible for him to go.

She could swear he was touching her soul.

"Look at me, Boralle. Look at me." His words percolated through her aroused turmoil and she realized she'd closed her eyes.

Obedient to his command, she opened them.

He held her against him as he took her, one strong arm beneath her hips, and the other between her legs.

"Slip your feet up behind me, love," he said, tugging her even closer.

Lost in his lovemaking, Boralle blindly followed his directions, letting her ankles cross behind his back. She found she could pull him closer, and loved the feel of his cock as she helped him plunge even deeper.

His finger had found her most sensitive spot and her gasps became more like sobs. Air, it seemed, was getting scarce, and her lungs were starving.

"Come for me, Boralle. Let's take that leap. Watch me, we'll go together."

Scarcely knowing what he was saying, Boralle writhed, hands grasping plaids, ruffles, grass, heather, anything that was near. She moaned aloud, letting her sounds drift on the soft Highland breezes.

Rory's grunts matched hers, and she could feel his body tense between her legs.

The sounds of their lovemaking were extraordinary, and added to the amazing overload of sensations that were winding Boralle up like a clock.

Or a bomb. About to explode.

Her world narrowed down to a pair of blazing green eyes and her clit which was now electrified and shivering beneath Rory's fingers and the rapid pounding of his body against hers.

"Boralle...let it come..." gasped Rory. "Noooowww..."

He threw his head back and cried out, pressing so deep inside her she lost track of where he ended and she began.

Then, she felt it. His cock throbbed inside her, and she could feel it. Life was flowing from him to her, he was emptying himself into her body.

Her buttocks tingled. Her thighs tensed.

Her clit stretched to the point of pain.

As her existence exploded, she screamed.

Every single piece of molecular matter that was Boralle North went nova at the same moment.

For several microseconds she lost consciousness, floating on a pulsing cloud of sensation. Then she opened her eyes again to find her body shrieking its release.

Her cunt was spasming in a frenzy, trying to grab hold of Rory's cock and suck it into the next quadrant. Or milk it dry. Or something.

Her breasts felt like they'd tripled in size, her lungs were useless, and her mouth was hanging open, emitting strange whimpering sounds. Her legs had locked around Rory's hips like docking clamps. It was quite obvious that the spacecraft known as Boralle North wasn't going anywhere for quite a while.

As if watching a datavid, Boralle saw her body continue to orgasm. The trembling pulses showed no signs of slowing down.

She pulled in a rough breath, gasping, as she watched Rory watch her come.

He pushed, a little more, against her screaming clit.

It started again.

"Oh mercy," she shuddered. Another orgasm tore through her, rocking her all the way to her feet and sending fierce cramps through her thighs. "Rory," she screamed, unaware now of anything but him.

"Hang on, lass," he choked, thrusting once more, and following her movements as her hips bucked beneath him.

"No more," she sobbed, her strength sapped, her cunt twitching and her legs rapidly turning into overcooked pasta.

"No more. Not right now," he sighed.

Gently he lowered her back to the ground, following her down, as if hesitant to withdraw his body from hers.

Her legs unlocked and she sucked in a sigh of relief as her cramped muscles eased away from his hips.

His mouth touched hers. "Boralle, my lass," he whispered, letting his lips brush her sweaty face. "Ah, Boralle."

He raised his hips slightly and let his now-softening cock slide free.

A cloud of blue fog gushed from her body, making him cough a little.

Boralle would have enjoyed examining the phenomenon, but Rory had pulled himself up beside her and was cradling her in his arms.

Scientific investigation and phenomena could wait.

She'd rather cuddle.

Boralle awoke to the most terrible sound she could possibly ever have imagined. In fact, it was so terrible she couldn't have imagined it. It had to be real.

Sitting up with a sudden rush, she looked for Rory.

Oh God. He was being attacked.

Ungodly screams were coming from whatever it was that was attempting to smother him. Several legs and tails stood away from his body, and the thing seemed to be attached to his chest somehow.

One tube was snaking up his body and into his mouth. It was surely killing him, sucking the life-giving oxygen from his lungs.

Her mind ran through an assortment of violent species that met the description as she watched, stunned, while Rory's muscles worked and he struggled with this beast. But to no avail—she had no clue what this terrible thing was, just that it was viciously attacking her man.

Boralle reached for her small sidearm, only to grasp a handful of naked thigh. To her horror, she remembered where she was—in some sort of virtual dreamworld, where the air was soft and the landscape incredibly beautiful.

And she was unarmed.

Leaping from her makeshift bed, Boralle grasped the only weapon she could find—Rory's broadsword.

It was heavy, but she could just lift it.

Enough, she hoped, to pry this terrible creature away from Rory before it was too late.

The screaming continued, like the harsh mating sounds of Atraxian wildbeasts as they fucked themselves into oblivion. The sound was so terrible that the Atraxians had developed an additional flap within their inner ears, which they could close at will to block the aural onslaught. With their hearing protected, they had been able to develop the galaxy's most powerful boom box speakers and install them into the smallest space while simultaneously perfecting the best painkillers since ibuprofen had been discovered on old Earth.

Boralle carefully circled Rory as he stood still, obviously trying to pry this savage attacker away from his body.

"Rory, don't move..." She said quietly. It would be a bad idea to startle him and enrage the creature any further.

He jumped, and she took advantage of his sudden move to thrust the broadsword between him and the long thing that was even now falling away from his mouth.

It took a swift, double-handed swipe, but Boralle dislodged the creature and saw it fall in a tumble of legs and guts onto the ground at Rory's feet.

"Yesss..." She shouted into the now silent air.

Raising the sword, she plunged it into the beast, listening as a low whine signaled its death throes.

"Awww, lass, you've killed my bagpipes."

Boralle blinked. "Your what?"

"My bagpipes."

"It was attacking you."

"Nay, lass. That's a musical instrument. I was going to wake you to the sound of Scottish pipes playing a love song."

Boralle shook her head slightly. "That was a musical instrument?
That
was a love song?"

Rory had the grace to blush slightly. "Well, I've been told I need a wee bit of practice."

She gazed down at the muddled mess of dead bagpipes at their feet, pierced through with his broadsword.

Many responses trembled on her lips. The noise that had awakened her bore more resemblance to the sound of a mis-mated cargo receptacle spewing out its contents than it did to a love song. Perhaps somewhere there were Atraxian wildbeasts who'd be driven mad with lust by it, but she wasn't an Atraxian female wildbeast.

"Your people must be very strong, Rory," she compromised. After all, that's what loving someone was all about. Compromise.

Then she realized what she had just thought.

Love.