The Vixen Torn (4 page)

So by the time he was panting over her, his dick swelling with
impending release, she was a ragged mess of having been fucked and
used for so long. He quaked and shook, struck her ass with his palm
again. “Gonna cum,” he managed hoarsely.

Her body prickled with sensation, her mouth hung open as she
panted and cried into the bedroom air. Her mind was hazy, and no more
were there thoughts of manipulation. All there was, was his cock and
her body and the things he could do to her, and it was more than
enough.

With a violent shudder he came inside her. His thick cock spasmed
wildly as it disgorged its seed, filling both her ass and cunt with
the rich pearly white essence. He was so noisome in the process, his
mouth hung open as he gasped and groaned. “Fuck... yes! Take
it,” he managed with a bit of a drunken slur, right up until he
was drained dry and he slumped onto her back panting.

Her dress was wrapped around her waist like a belt, and she felt
like her body was on fire. She hadn’t even realized that tears
had wetted the blanket beneath her, and she moaned appreciatively as
his weight fell against hers.

He didn’t stir again though, his heavy, much larger—and
stronger—form lay atop her. His face buried in her dark hair as
their sweaty, exhausted bodies lay prone together.

The little cafe was not in the nicer side of town. In fact it sat
perched on the very edge of the old city itself, and from where
Anjasa sat at the outdoor table she could look through the
dilapidated wall onto the slums beyond.

Broken down by age and lack of care more than the warfare it was
meant to guard against, the old wall gave way to a view of poorly
constructed wood homes and shanties beyond. The cobblestone of the
city’s roadways melting into hard packed dirt and filth that
the impoverished commoners there trod upon daily.

So even though the outdoor cafe lingered so near to squalor,
Anjasa couldn’t help but feel she still sat in luxury looking
upon that scene.

“Cousin Zarach lives nearby,” murmured the young, hung
over noble beside her, his voice rich with distaste. Whether at the
very thought of his cousin, who’d ‘stolen’ his
inheritance, or at the low born neighbourhood in which he lived in,
so near to the slums, Anjasa couldn’t tell. Probably both.

“No wonder he’s trying to bilk your father for all
he’s worth,” she sneered as she forced a smile to her
lips. “Well, no matter. You have far more persistence and worth
than he.” Her fingertips found his jaw and stroked him there,
feeling his pampered flesh. “We won’t tarry long.”

The handsome young noble still wore his fancy suit from the night
before, though it had lost a bit of its splendor after their night
together drinking. The stubble she felt beneath her fingertips added
to his looks. If you could get rid of the sullen, hung over
expression on his face as he sipped the brown brew, she could even
appreciate it as quite rugged.

“We don’t have much time,” he grumbled, eyes
squinted from the bright morning light. Then with a deep inhale she
could sense his feelings of frustration rise again. “What are
we even doing here?” he moaned. “We can’t very well
steal the thing from him. Living here—of all places—he’s
probably more prepared for thievery than anyone.”

“Common thieves, dear. I’m not common. You just sip
your drink and point me in the right direction. I’ll check
things out and tell you what I think,” she gazed at him
seductively. She was still looking bright and vibrant despite their
debauchery and drinking from the night before. Her hair had taken on
a sexy slept in look, and her skin was glowing with her excitement
even though her dress was far too salacious for such an early hour.

Furrowing his brow, the handsome young noble gave her a quizzical
look, though it only lasted for a heartbeat. He was far too sore and
sour from his state of post inebriation to do more than that. “Just
over there,” he said, and he gestured off down the street.

The place didn’t take long for her to pick out from the rows
of homes. It was larger than the others, but more than that it was
gated and barred with wrought iron metal bars and spikes. From the
gates to the windows it was all barred up and shut off. It was
obvious that the owners possessed great wealth for the part of town
they resided in, for who else would go through such trouble of
protecting a home along the edge of the Stink Streets, as they were
colloquially named.

She had to hold back a laugh as her fingertips grazed her lover’s
stubble and down his Adam’s apple, “Tell me what I need
to know about your dear cousin. Who lives with him? What hours does
he keep? What weaknesses does he have?”

Anjasa stroked down his chest, edging further and further down
until she brushed across the top of his tailored pants. “Quickly,
before I get distracted.”

That, more than anything that day, got Loren’s attention. He
perked a bit and sat straighter in the chair. “I... I dunno,”
he said, only looking flustered for a brief moment before he seemed
to regain some of that confidence she had instilled in him the night
before. “He had dropped out of the family’s notice for a
long while before he popped up and impressed dad—” he
cleared his throat, “—my father.”

“Well,” she cooed and swept her hand lower, teasing
over the thickness of his pants. “I guess I’ll just have
to get acquainted. I’m a little over dressed, but I’ll
return soon,” she promised with a broad grin.

The baffled young noble watched her get up and leave. The slinky
red dress she wore hardly seeming to match his own idea of
‘overdressed’. That merciful, surprised silence gave her
the opportunity to slip off.

Early morning street goers were too tired and preoccupied with a
day of work ahead to give her the kind of notice she could’ve
expected at any other time of day, but that was ideal. It gave her
the opportunity to more casually inspect the ominous manor. She
noticed it was recessed in from the other homes. Making it not so
deep, but broader and taller. It was definitely a manor as judged by
the neighbourhood, though not like any she’d ever known a noble
to live in.

Merchants? Definitely. Crooked guards on the take? Maybe. Nobles?
No, never.

Though one thing she did note was that the front gate was
unlocked. Even there, on the edge of the Stink Streets, the owners
didn’t seem to expect robbery so early in the day.

Aside from that, none of the windows seemed vulnerable; the bars
thick and fairly new. The home was obviously recently fortified by
the standards of the old part of the city. The iron gating definitely
put in within the last half decade by her judgement.

It would suit her needs just fine. The actress in her craved
challenge, but making a scene was... less preferable. At least in
public.

Still, she had no shame as she kicked off one of her shoes,
running barefoot to the door as forced tears trailed from her eyes.
She was wearing a tight red dress, but it looked slept in and used,
and her hair was already a tousled mess of waves and curls. The
vibrancy and light in her eyes shifted to one of terror and fear as
she brought her small fist to the door, looking around frantically.

“Someone, please! Let me in!” she pleaded with the
heavy door. Her fingers clasped the knocker and brought it down again
and again.

Her panic seemed so real, so genuine that even she began to feel
her pulse race and adrenaline kick in, the skilled con woman slipping
easily into the role of damsel in distress.

Anjasa didn’t get the immediate sort of response she was
hoping for, but at last she could hear the sound of metal and wood
moving on the other side of the heavyset door. When it pulled open,
she found herself staring eye to eye with a big, muscled man. Thick
biceps stuck out of a short sleeved shirt that looked old and worn.
Hair was tied back from a face pock marked and full of scars.

“The fuck is this?” he cursed, looking her over with
utter confusion.

“They’re after me, please let me in,” she
pleaded, her green eyes going wide as her hands reached out for his
arm. “Please, I’ll do anything!” Her voice quivered
and her eyes held such big tears as she begged.

The large, brutish looking man stood his ground, a hard gaze on
his face as he watched her. “Git off a me, ya skank!” he
bellowed and gave her a push away. To which she allowed herself a
graceless fall to her rear, in keeping with the act.

“Berro!” came a stern, commanding voice at which the
brute halted and stiffened.

“Jes’ some trollop lookin’ for a handout, boss.
Tha’s all,” he insisted.

She looked behind her, as if someone were hot on her trail, before
she leapt to her feet once more and began bawling harder. “I
don’t want anything! I just need a place to hide. Please, I’ll
pay you back! Whatever you want and then some!”

The large man, Berro, appeared ready to push her off again, but
then from out of the dark manor behind him a pale hand descended on
his shoulder. “Go back to the Stink Streets and tend to
business,” came the commanding voice.

“But boss—” Berro started to protest.

“Just do it. And close the gate this time,” and with
that he hesitated just a moment before slipping past her, a deathly
glare as the voice invited her inside to the gloomy dark abode. “Come
in, hun. Shut the door with you. You’ll be safe.”

She almost lost her footing, for a moment forgetting the
discrepancy without her left heel. It only added to the effect,
though, as she practically toppled into the house and struggled to
close the door behind her. She was out of breath and tears still
reddened her cheeks, but her big, watery eyes went to her ‘saviour’.
Her target.

It took her keen elven eyes a while to adjust to the sudden change
in lighting. The only illumination a few strands of light that seeped
in from around the thick drapes over all the windows.

Though once she did she was greeted with a surprising sight. The
tall man before her looked like no noble she’d ever seen.
Bigger than the young wannabe Lord Faro, this man was pale, and
sported a long head of equally colourless hair. She might’ve
mistaken him for an older, distinguished gentleman, except his face
looked young and unblemished. All but for the large scar that ran
from his chin across his cheek.

“Who is after you?” he asked, standing there calmly,
confidently. Not the poise of a noble, but with an air of confidence
and command nonetheless. It made him look like more of a swashbuckler
than a lord to be.

“I don’t know, some guys,” she whimpered, moving
towards the large man as if seeking his comfort. “I woke up,
and the last thing I remember was going in for a drink last night...”

When she touched him she found out he was tall, but not so large
as she thought. The vest and billowy shirt he wore beneath gave him
the appearance of being bulky, but beneath she felt hardness. Lean
muscle as he placed his cool hands upon her arms just beneath her
shoulders.

“Hmm,” was all she got out of him at first, but he
moved one hand up to her neck, and she felt the cold metal of his
rings as he tilted her head back and gazed down at her. His eyes
seemed dark, though she couldn’t make out their colour clearly
in the dark light. He had a pair of lovely lips that were contorted
in contemplation. “Bad business, that,” he stated. “Where
did you get the drink?” he asked, studying her.

She caught her gaze before it lingered over long on his mouth,
trying to shake her mind free of the thought. “At one of the
clubs... not around here. I’ve never been here before,”
she said with a tremor to her voice. “What if they find me?”

His almond shaped eyes narrowed just a bit as he casually
inspected her. His gaze was piercing, but casually so. He radiated
authority, and though he wasn’t the most handsome man she’d
seen as of late, his calm control, unique features, careful tending
and rugged look all added up to something worthy of notice.

“You’re fine here,” he said, perhaps satisfied
with her tale at last. “Come,” he said, his strong hand
guiding her towards one of the rooms along the main entryway. He
pulled out a wooden chair for her. “Sit down, miss...?”

“Anjasa,” she whispered, leaning into him more than
necessary. Perhaps a little too much, even for her ruse. He smelled
so nice, though. Felt so warm. She’d slipped into the role with
such ease, the distress and fear coming so naturally to her that her
instinctual behaviours started kicking in.

She needed men; their strength, their scent, their flesh. It was a
compulsion beaten into her, but it was something that brought only
warmth and need to her body.

She slipped into the chair, taking in a deep breath. “I owe
you my life,” she said, staring up at him. He had the perfect
vantage point of her overflowing cleavage, and her pulse quickened.

The flicker of the man’s eyes towards her generous figure
did not go unnoticed, but he did not swoon as she might’ve
hoped he would. Instead he helped her into the chair and squeezed her
shoulder. “It is not common to meet an elven lady such as
yourself so far down the by the wall, Miss Anjasa.” His voice
was husky and rich, not the same sort of carefully trained voice of
Loren, but with its own charms.

She drew in her lower lip and let her head tilt forward, “I’m
just so lucky you were home. Who knows what those brutes were
planning!” Her voice constricted and squeaked at her final
word, and her hand trembled against his thigh. It was a casual motion
to almost any, but for her it was planned and professional.

Despite his calm, in control demeanor, the trick did its job, and
he looked directly where she wanted him to. “There there,”
he comforted with a squeeze of her shoulder. “How about a cup
of tea?” he asked, already stepping away from her towards a
doorway at the other side of the dining room. As he pushed back the
drapes she could see—with her dark adjusted eyes—that it
was the kitchen. Modest for the manor’s size.