An especially brutal fey story. Please read with caution as there is animalistic violence and raw sexual aggression.
I knew I would have her the first time I looked at her.
The lust of fey men is world-renowned. Our women know what we are and what to expect.
I didn’t want one that was different. I wanted one that would do as I bid and lay in my bed to receive me when I told her.
After all, I ruled this land.
I’d been refusing my father’s directive to find a bride to take to my bed and bear me little fey babes because I’d never laid eyes on one I wanted as more than a passing fancy.
But as I walked through the woods with my bow. My thick black tunic in place over my glistening white skin, I spotted one unlike anything I’d ever seen.
She was crouched petting a fawn.
I knew there was a female out here. I could smell her. But when I’d come to fetch the doe I’d killed for supper the last thing I expected was to find her coddling the thing as if it were her own child.
I was enjoying the view of long swaying silvery hair falling down her back. Delicate shoulders narrowing to a point at her tiny waist as sharp as the tip of my arrow. Then flaring into a perfectly heart-shaped ass that would have any man’s mouth watering.
I already envisioned reaching under her and scooping those perfect cheeks to tug her back onto my rock hard cock. She was shaped so sweetly that I found myself barely caring what the front of her would look like.
But as a twig crunched under my foot she whirled around. Rising to a height nearly as tall as mine. Heavy breasts swayed like pendulums as she turned. Straining the formed leaf dress she wore with spider webbing straps over the shoulder and around the back. The shadow of dark nipples was almost visible through the worn gown.
Something she only wore in the woods no doubt.
She looked like something that should be served to me on a plate.
Far finer than any of the little housemaids I had back in the castle.
This woman had the height I admired and the willowy shape but was heavy-breasted and round hipped beyond what most fey were.
And I desired her.
I was thickening just looking at her.
“Did you do this?” She raged. Crystal green eyes bright with fury.
“Kill the doe?” I looked from her to the dead deer. “I did. Fine shot, I think.”
To my shock she abandoned the infantile deer to come at me. Swinging a fist which clubbed me in the cheek before I shoved her back against the nearest tree. Catching her throat.
“Who do you think you are?” I snarled through gritted teeth. Staring down at her through narrowed eyes.
Brazen little fool.
“I’m the Lady of Neville.” Her hands gripped mine, reminding me how much smaller than me she was. And her feet skid against the tree trying to find footing. “Who are you to be poaching these woods?” She accused, gasping for air around my grip.
Just enough to hold her there but not enough to crush her. Though, I knew I could.
Fury made my hands shake. She’d dare coldcock the Prince of this land?
I knew she was a Lady of my father’s realm.
But in that moment, I didn’t give a shit.
She’d punched me and got my blood pulsing in my veins. So what I did next was her own fault.
I pulled her off the tree and brought her to me.
Studying her pretty green gaze with my icy blue one.
“You’re going to pay for that.” I bit out. Realizing my jaw already ached.
I could have her put to death for striking me.
But I didn’t want her dead.
I wanted her.
I turned slightly and pushed her back, sweeping her foot with one of mine so she’d land on her backside in the pile of leaves behind her.
“I can’t be poaching.” I watched her hit the ground and begin crawling backward. Sensing now that she’d bit off more than she could chew. “I can’t poach my own land.”
My lip jerked in disdain.
“You’re the Prince.”
She hissed through her teeth. Knowing now her mistake.
I flattened my feet, angling them toward her.
She froze, going painfully still as she watched in horror. Wondering what I’d do next.
I methodically pulled my quiver off my shoulder and set it to the side of my boots. Then tugged my bow from my torso, and over my head to set it across the quiver.