The Warlord's Concubine by J.E. Keep, M. Keep

arms
tightened about her just slightly, “As I grew older, and my
dark visage grew more and more pronounced, they decided I had to be
destroyed to save them from the curse of the devils.
    “My mother,” he hesitated, “would not allow it.
She paid a price too heinous to mention to see me to my safety. A
price she has never stopped paying, Mirella.” His dark lips
kissed along her ear for a brief pause in his telling, “When I
returned, many long years later, a grown man... she was battered.
Broken. Abused. A slave of a lowly battle-chief. I slayed him,
claimed my mother as my own in the spoils of combat.”
    With a deep intake of breath that swelled his chest out and made
her whole body rise he then sighed almost inaudibly. “She was
still cogent then. But she was broken. Blind. She felt a burden to
me” he rephrased, “she was a burden to me.”
    With a lick of his lips he hesitated once more, “She delved
into powers of the coven on her own that not even a hundred witches
should have. And she did it for me.” He kissed along her cheek,
and then tilted her head back, moving to her lips. “That is why
she is as you see her now, and shall forever remain so.”
    Her breathing had stilled to the point that for a moment it seemed
like she was asleep until that first bit of moisture hit his chest
and he felt her eyelashes bat against him, her body beginning to
tremble. Her clutch had grown on him and she nuzzled against his
throat so tightly she feared she might cut off his breath, but it
didn’t matter. She needed to be against him, to be a part of
him, and even though his cock still pressed to her, it wasn’t
enough to still her sobs.

Chapter 10

    Life as the God-King’s favoured concubine was not an easy
one. In the tent with the other women, Mirella had almost free reign
to do as she wished, except for those times she was called to serve.
Instead her day began early, for the warlord Kulav—as she’d
come to know his true name—was a demanding and insatiable
Master who awoke early, slept little and was ever busy.
    He was glorious to see in action though. His ebon body so toned
and muscular as he pounded into her from the break of dawn until his
morning lusts were sated in her, leaving her a panting, wet mess,
drooling his sacred seed.
    Slipping from the bed he stood gloriously nude, his massive shaft
still rigid as he prepared for the day. “Run and see that
breakfast is brought up,” he commanded in his gravely, early
morning husk. “The usual for me,” he instructed, “but
for you: two eggs, a sausage, and a tundra-berry pancake with as much
syrup as you like. Oh, and some tea for me, juice for you.”
    He was already assembling his usual attire, his long black hair
pushed behind his shoulders, for once, as he read from some parchment
arrayed on his dresser.
    She never deviated from his orders, not in the slightest, and
though she pulled on some pretty little underthings to please his
eyes, she felt no shame of it. Of course a God would be more
commanding than her prissy, stubborn princess, and she was grateful
for it.
    His orders, she understood. They weren’t for his vanity, or
to suit his whims. He had a purpose and she was joyous that he
included her in them. When she returned, it was with one of his
servants trailing her with his order, impeccably arranged, likely by
her.
    She nodded to the table, having him set everything up before
retreating, a soft smile playing at her lips.
    Dressed in his half kilt and boots, he moved to sit at his table,
beginning to eat immediately. After he had already dug in he gestured
to the other chair. “Sit. Eat,” he said in his gruff
voice. Those dark eyes of his studied her as she sat her increasingly
pregnant form next to him. “Have the seamstress make you some
new things today,” he stated firmly.
    She nodded with gratitude, beginning in on her food more slowly
and with great appreciation for both it, and his company. This was
the life she was meant for,