killers, but now Condor’s name was in the mix, and people were disturbed by a priest doing something like that.
Then the second came, and the third, and Cora realized that something was going on. The grip Condor had had on his operation before was crumbling, like there was something scarier out there than the maniacal priest.
Cora could think of only one answer.
"One last thing," she said, choosing her words carefully. "So you would not think Corgans are doing nothing. I have reported this before, but the chieftain's son Brocke Brenger is chasing a lead as we speak. I believe the influx of informants is proof that Brocke has found a way to cause trouble for Condor. All we can do now is pull the net tighter around Condor and force him to show his true colors. We will bring justice to that monster, I give you my word."
The others nodded or saluted to her and the call was ended. Cora stepped off the platform, letting out a breath she hadn't known she'd held.
She was glad that there were finally results and that Brocke was apparently succeeding in whatever he was doing, but Cora couldn’t entirely suppress the dread that shot through her like a knife.
She had seen Brocke fight at the factory, witnessed him jump on top of a fighter, and heard numerous rumors, but nothing took away from a woman’s worry. Cora knew it was silly, but for all his prowess, Brocke wasn’t immortal. The fact he was better than the men he hunted didn’t make him immune to sneak attacks, and rifle fire, and gods knew what else.
He’s fine. He’ll come back. He promised he would.
But none of those reassurances worked. Cora started to miss him with a passion that made it difficult to focus on anything else.
The nights were the worst.
She was used to sleeping alone, but now her bed felt way too big and empty. Unable to fall asleep, she tossed and turned until finally falling into restless dreams of him.
A week after Brocke’s departure, Cora was no longer able to resist.
She slipped a hand between her thighs late at night, squeezing her eyes shut to remember the night they’d spent together. Her pussy was already wet, reacting to memories and images of Brocke at once. Cora bit her lips, grinding her legs together to give herself more pleasure. With her other hand, she pulled up the silky blue gown she slept in, fondling her breasts. At first, her touch was a poor substitute for how Brocke’s big, strong hands had felt, but as she got more turned on, it all blended together in her mind.
Cora pushed a finger into her pussy, feeling it clench down on the digit, needing more. She did too. Brocke had instilled a longing in him, an addiction she couldn’t hope to cure alone or be free of. Cora had no doubt she wanted more of him, could not go back. What other man could possibly hope to compare once she’d had the warlord?
Cora moaned, arching her back on the sheets as she fingered herself, thinking of him. The sound of his voice came back to her, and Cora imagined Brocke growling commands to her in that deep, impossibly sexy voice of his. She could almost feel him there beside her, watching her work herself open for his huge cock.
The avatar of Brocke urged her on, reminding Cora that she couldn’t hope to take him without preparation, but the teasing was driving her insane with desire. She would have given anything to just reach out in that moment and run her hands over the smooth, taunt skin of his amazing abs.
She tried to recall every detail of their fucking, knowing the overall sensation had been incredible. Cora tried to replicate Brocke’s motions, the way he’d gently teased her clit in sharp contrast to how achingly fast he had scissored his fingers inside her.
She kicked the sheets off her body, exposing herself to the chilly temperature of her quarters. Cora was infinitely grateful that the safety measures didn’t include cameras or microphones, just buttons to push.
“ Brocke …” she whispered, the name falling from
Then the second came, and the third, and Cora realized that something was going on. The grip Condor had had on his operation before was crumbling, like there was something scarier out there than the maniacal priest.
Cora could think of only one answer.
"One last thing," she said, choosing her words carefully. "So you would not think Corgans are doing nothing. I have reported this before, but the chieftain's son Brocke Brenger is chasing a lead as we speak. I believe the influx of informants is proof that Brocke has found a way to cause trouble for Condor. All we can do now is pull the net tighter around Condor and force him to show his true colors. We will bring justice to that monster, I give you my word."
The others nodded or saluted to her and the call was ended. Cora stepped off the platform, letting out a breath she hadn't known she'd held.
She was glad that there were finally results and that Brocke was apparently succeeding in whatever he was doing, but Cora couldn’t entirely suppress the dread that shot through her like a knife.
She had seen Brocke fight at the factory, witnessed him jump on top of a fighter, and heard numerous rumors, but nothing took away from a woman’s worry. Cora knew it was silly, but for all his prowess, Brocke wasn’t immortal. The fact he was better than the men he hunted didn’t make him immune to sneak attacks, and rifle fire, and gods knew what else.
He’s fine. He’ll come back. He promised he would.
But none of those reassurances worked. Cora started to miss him with a passion that made it difficult to focus on anything else.
The nights were the worst.
She was used to sleeping alone, but now her bed felt way too big and empty. Unable to fall asleep, she tossed and turned until finally falling into restless dreams of him.
A week after Brocke’s departure, Cora was no longer able to resist.
She slipped a hand between her thighs late at night, squeezing her eyes shut to remember the night they’d spent together. Her pussy was already wet, reacting to memories and images of Brocke at once. Cora bit her lips, grinding her legs together to give herself more pleasure. With her other hand, she pulled up the silky blue gown she slept in, fondling her breasts. At first, her touch was a poor substitute for how Brocke’s big, strong hands had felt, but as she got more turned on, it all blended together in her mind.
Cora pushed a finger into her pussy, feeling it clench down on the digit, needing more. She did too. Brocke had instilled a longing in him, an addiction she couldn’t hope to cure alone or be free of. Cora had no doubt she wanted more of him, could not go back. What other man could possibly hope to compare once she’d had the warlord?
Cora moaned, arching her back on the sheets as she fingered herself, thinking of him. The sound of his voice came back to her, and Cora imagined Brocke growling commands to her in that deep, impossibly sexy voice of his. She could almost feel him there beside her, watching her work herself open for his huge cock.
The avatar of Brocke urged her on, reminding Cora that she couldn’t hope to take him without preparation, but the teasing was driving her insane with desire. She would have given anything to just reach out in that moment and run her hands over the smooth, taunt skin of his amazing abs.
She tried to recall every detail of their fucking, knowing the overall sensation had been incredible. Cora tried to replicate Brocke’s motions, the way he’d gently teased her clit in sharp contrast to how achingly fast he had scissored his fingers inside her.
She kicked the sheets off her body, exposing herself to the chilly temperature of her quarters. Cora was infinitely grateful that the safety measures didn’t include cameras or microphones, just buttons to push.
“ Brocke …” she whispered, the name falling from
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