Joanna Wylde: The Price of Freedom

Damn, he ached.

Jess stared into the darkness above his bunk, willing himself to sleep. His body wasn’t cooperating.

He was exhausted from his work in the mines that shift—fourteen hours of pure hell. His cock didn’t seem to understand that, though. He was rock hard, and his mind kept filling with picture of her .

He had seen her for the first time a week earlier, pushing a cart loaded with food into the dormitories. She had been wearing a long, shapeless dress and a head scarf, like all those damn women did. She pushed the cart with slow, steady steps, refusing to look at any of them. A hundred men starved for food and sex surrounded her. No wonder she'd been afraid to look at them.

Their guards hadn’t treated her with any respect. Of course, they never treated any of their women with respect, but this had been somehow different. It was as if she was an outcast even among her own people. They didn’t speak to her, they didn’t joke among themselves. They looked at her with disdain, as if she wasn’t worthy to call herself a Pilgrim.

He had known she was different from the others, too. Even swathed in dark fabric, he had felt her presence across the room. He could sense her, smell her. She smelled like woman, and that first instant he saw her, he knew he wanted her.

Of course, they all wanted her. They wanted her even though her fear of them was palpable, as was the fear of every woman who brought them food. Twice a day, one of them would wheel a loaded cart in to the mass of starved, frustrated, angry men. The women would be escorted by two guards, men who carried instruments capable of killing any of the men instantly, but the fear was still there. After all, men under enough pressure will do desperate things, even if it leads to their own death. The women had to know that…

He had been at the far end of the barracks when she entered, but there was something about her that drew him to her. Maybe it was the way she carried herself; she was surrounded by a hundred men starved for a woman's touch, yet she remained calm and poised. Distant. As if she were walking through a world of her own. He had moved through the ranks of waiting slaves until he was in front of her, taking the cart and pulling it away gently. She looked up at him, startled by his action. The guards watched in silence, hands on their weapons, but he did nothing threatening. He simply eased the cart out of her hands.

Her eyes had been wide with surprise when they met his. They were a brilliant green and almond-shaped; feline, like a cat. He had felt like he was falling into them. Her face was pale, slightly dirty, as if she had been working all day. Perhaps cleaning. There was exhaustion there, and a bit of defiance. She hadn’t ducked his gaze, but met it head on. She might have been afraid of him, but she wasn’t going to show it.

In that moment, he’d known she should be his. Of course, he had no idea how he’d ever get her.

She was probably married—all Pilgrim women married young. She had to be in her mid-twenties, so she might even have several children, and a husband who had a right to touch her body whenever he wanted.

Jess’ fists clenched at the thought, and he pushed it from his mind, frowning into the darkness. He didn’t want to think about another man with his woman. Instead, he imagined what she looked like under her robes. Her hair was dark brown, he knew that much. Her face was pretty, pale skin, luscious ripe lips.

She was thin, her hands roughened from hard work.

What would her hair look like, loose and hanging around her naked body? He formed a mental image of her standing before him. Her breasts, high and pert, would peek out between the long locks.

She would smile up at him, those green cat-eyes filled with secrets. She would lick her lips and they would shine with her moisture. Then she would run her eyes up and down his own powerful, naked form, smiling at him with a sultry question written on her face. How did he want her? On her knees before him…under him…riding him?

Unable to help himself, Jess slipped one hand under his ragged blanket in the darkness of the barracks. Reaching into his pants, he found the long, smooth length of his cock. His eyes closed as his fingers grazed the head, a tingle of sensation stabbing through his groin. He touched the groove on the under side, rubbing one fingertip across it. His muscles clenched; he stiffened. The delicate touch was almost painful in its intensity.

He turned his thoughts to her again. She would kneel before him, and smile up at him with that peculiar look only a woman could give. As if she existed to rule and serve him at the same time. Then she would lift one hand and take his cock into her grasp, running her fingers over him. He moved his own hand against his skin, pretending he wasn’t in a dark barrack, filled with a hundred slaves. Instead he was with her, and they had all the time in the world…

She gently touched her lips to the end of his cock, running her tongue around the head. He fought to control a gasp as she sucked his length into her hot, wet mouth. Then she started working her head back and forth. She raised one hand, firmly gripping the based of his erection and squeezing him in time with her movements. Her cheeks hollowed with each stroke, the suction of her mouth tugging on him in a slow, steady rhythm that was mesmerizing.

In the darkness of the barracks, it was easy to imagine that it wasn’t his own hand stroking his hard length. Instead, she was with him, sucking him, pulling him. Each time her lips slid down the length of him, the pressure in his balls built a little higher. In his mind, he imagined what it would feel like to pull her up until she stood before him. He would kiss her mouth with strong, penetrating strokes of his tongue. Then he would raise her in his arms and thrust his length into the hot, wet opening between her legs. Hard.

He could feel her wet lips, feel himself sinking into her again and again. His hand moved faster, roughly stroking up and down the length of his cock. He squeezed his fingers, imagining it was the pressure of her body around him. She would pulse under him, and when her own pleasure overtook her she would cry out in ecstasy. She’d go wild, muscles clenching his body. He pressed himself harder against his hand, imagining shooting his seed deep into her body. Again and again he stroked himself and with each touch the pressure grew until his balls tightened, ready to release. Orgasm hit, and his entire body stiffened. He stifled his moan, not willing to let the other men know what he was doing. Of course, it wasn’t as if they weren’t doing the same thing. There were very few secrets in the barracks.

Slowly, the pleasure of his release left him. Once again, he was alone in the darkness. Around him were the snores, sighs and soft moans of a hundred other men. For all he knew, they were sharing the same fantasy he had. In all likelihood he would never have sex with a woman again, let alone this woman he had come to think of as his. Hell, he didn’t even know her name. He was a slave, and she belonged to one of his captors.

Morning would come all too soon, and with it another day of back-breaking labor in the mines. This was his life now, Jess told himself firmly. There was no room for self-pity, and there was no room for obsession with this woman. He closed his eyes and, for the thousandth time, willed himself to sleep.

Bethany pulled the brush through her long hair. Every sleep cycle, since childhood, she had performed the same ritual. Her mother helped her when she was young. She had always imagined that some day she would do the same with her own daughters. There were no children, however. She had been her husband’s third wife, and the first two had given him strapping boys and lovely girls. She had given him nothing…