"Joanna Wylde - Price of Freedom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wylde Joanna)

fingers over him. He moved his own hand against his skin, pretending he wasn├Хt in a dark
barrack, filled with a hundred slaves. Instead he was with her, and they had all the time in the
world├Й
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├Хt 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├Хd 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├Хt as if they weren├Хt 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├Хt 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├Хs third wife, and the first two had given
him strapping boys and lovely girls. She had given him nothing├Й
Shaking off her thoughts, she separated her hair into three equal parts, braiding rapidly.
When she finished, she stood and pulled off her drab brown dress, hanging it carefully on a
peg near her door. Wearing only her shift, she padded softly across the room to her bed. It
was small, and she was often cold, but she realized how lucky she was to sleep alone. For
ten long years she had slept beside Avram, a man 30 years her senior. Every night, as she
had prepared for bed, she had wondered if it would be one of the evenings when he
reached for her. One of the times when he would pull up her shift and thrust his stiff penis into
her unwilling flesh. As a frightened bride of 14 his touch was terrifying; in later years it simply
became unpleasant. She could not bring herself to mourn his death as she slipped under the
covers.