Captive Warrior - ISBN #1-4199-0191-5
Born and raised as enemies.
Loyalty to her lord sends the Sakar woman-warrior, Nuwaa, to where her tribe’s hated enemy, the Kebo, are hunting.
Her mission-to kill the Kebo leader. Instead, she becomes the prisoner of their powerful war-liege, Bor. His mission-to turn the bound woman into a sex-hungry creature worthy of his leader.
But Nuwaa is nothing like the submissive slave-whores Bor is accustomed to. Instead, he finds himself pitted against a courageous if helpless adversary. His plan to strip her of her pride doesn’t count on the undaunted warrior spirit that is part of her heart and soul. A mutual but wary respect blooms. Still neither is prepared for the intense attraction that engulfs them.
During their days and nights together on the trip back to the Kebo village, each reveals things about themselves that will change them forever. But unquestioned loyalty to their lieges is ingrained, and neither suspects the treachery and deceit awaiting them at journey’s end, that will threaten their survival and rip them apart.
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Excerpt
“How does she feel?” the older warrior who’d spoken before asked. “Like every man’s fantasy?”
Bor looked up to see a number of warriors standing around, their expressions hungry. He concentrated on not revealing the same emotion himself, succeeding because he’d had seasons upon seasons of burying what his heart felt beneath bravery and dedication.
“Soft,” he teased as he sampled her again. “In her prime.”
That garnered a collective sigh. Several warriors grabbed their penises and began satisfying themselves. His own ached.
Sudden anger ran through him. He was a fighter, Kebo war-liege-lord! No mere female had ever weakened him or ever would! She was an animal, a prisoner, barely human and certainly not his equal.
She stirred and sighed, the sound faint as a morning breeze. His cock twitched. “Ropes,” he ordered. The time for your training has begun, he added silently.
Although he sensed he was doing something dangerous, he continued to stroke her labia while he waited for something to bind her with. She tried to close her legs, but her movements were without strength, and he easily kept his fingers where they wanted to be, shifting position so he hid what he was doing from view. The men grumbled. The woman’s sigh became a barely audible chant. She started to move her hips.
“You are alive,” he muttered. “Ripe.” He allowed a fingertip to briefly slip into her opening. “Today you are a flower bud. Before I am done with you, you will blossom and become a great and beautiful flower.” He slid in again. “And you will hate me for what I have done to you.”
And the lessons will test me in ways you will never know.
He didn’t look up to see who had thrown the two pieces of rope at him. Instead, wondering if she was awake enough to know what was happening, he pulled her arms behind her and bound her wrists together. Next, he straightened her legs and tied her ankles, leaving just enough room that she could hobble. He felt resistance from her as he tied the last knot.
A moment later, he rolled her over onto her back and waited. As he did, he touched his side but barely noted the fresh, still trickling blood.
Her black eyes flickered open, closed, opened again. He felt as if he had stepped inside her mind as slow understanding crept over her. After a while, the eyes of slave-whores became like water at night, barely visible. They seemed to have no depth to them as if what they might have or could have become, had died. In contrast, his captive’s eyes screamed oaths at him.
“I am Bor,” he said, relying on the common trade language that connected all tribes. “I am the Kebo war-liege, and you are my captive.”
No, her eyes screamed, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t move, but he sensed that she was testing her bonds.
“You cannot free yourself because I know what I am doing. Do not try.”
Do not tell me what to do, her eyes said. He’d never felt more hated.
Good. You should hate me. “I will not kill you,” he said. “At least not now. Maybe I should so I can be done with you, but you intrigue me.” Determined to give her a demonstration of what he meant, he dropped to his knees beside her and pushed up her top, exposing her high, full breasts. Her glare intensified. Tradition dictated that he lay claim to her breasts and inflict pain on her so she’d understand, at least a little, the breadth and depth of his mastery. Instead, he regarded the part of her that was woman. A woman’s breasts were soft and sensual. They responded to touch and helped bring a woman to the point where she wanted nothing more than to spread her legs. […] He’d long wondered what he could accomplish given time and inclination with a fresh female captive relegated to use as a service beast, but for now little interested him beyond this former fighter’s breasts.
On a woman-warrior, breasts were little more than a hindrance and if large enough could get in the way of her ability to fight. Undoubtedly she’d learned how to deal with hers although he was surprised she hadn’t bound them. Maybe she understood their ability to taunt and tease and distract a man. But not me. I refuse to allow you that power.
“These belong to me,” he said and grabbed the hard nipples between thumb and fingers. At his touch, they became larger, even harder, as did his cock. She shifted on the ground but didn’t make the mistake of trying to fight him. He’d have to remember her wisdom in such things. “Everything about you belongs to me.” Determined to make his point, he squeezed.
She sucked in a breath. Her eyes were like knives.