Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 58110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
"Wait for what?" I purr, pleased that she's already getting aroused again.
"Shouldn't we clean up first?"
I shake my head, sliding my dripping fingers out of her equally wet cunt and teasing them over her clit. "When I'm about to fill you again, love? There's no point." I roll her clit between wet fingers and her face contorts with pleasure. "You're ready for me again anyhow, aren't you?"
"Oh, goddess Belara," she pants as I guide myself between her thighs again.
It's a good prayer, I decide. Belara would be well pleased at our lusty efforts. I add my prayer to hers and then send one up to Gental, Lord of Family, and ask that he blesses us, too.
EPILOGUE
Three Months Later
IOLANTHE
Sitting by the fire in the great hall, I'm doing my best to concentrate on my sewing, but it's proving difficult. My chair is comfortable, I have enough light to see by thanks to the cozy fire blazing nearby, and my stomach has settled from this morning's heavings. It's just that I can't help but overhear the crude jokes that Turnip is telling Hogar nearby. She's loud. Very loud. And in typical Turnip fashion, she's crude.
The gray-haired orc watches Turnip with fascination as the washerwoman-now-housekeeper gesticulates wildly. "So she took the men's coin and said, aye, I can do that! Took them three melons and stuffed them up her twat—"
"Turnip," I cry out, face burning. I set down my sewing in my lap and give her an exasperated look.
She wrinkles her nose at me, as if just now realizing I'm overhearing her. Ironic, since she's loud enough for her voice to carry down the halls. "Sorry, m'lady." She leans in towards Hogar. "Three melons and stuffed them right into her cunny. Walked right out the door with 'em and won the bet."
I sigh, giving up. It's impossible to make a lady out of Turnip. Not that I've tried, since we try not to enforce titles too much at Cragshold. Agakor is officially Lord of Cragshold and its lands according to King Mathior, but my husband prefers to simply be Agakor of Broketusk. Unless we're meeting with the other human lords. Then he uses his title, if only to shove it into the faces of the others who look down on him.
Turnip gives Hogar a wink. "I'll save my dirty jokes for later, Hogger. You come back and see me when you're done with your patrol."
"You know I will," the orc tells her, grinning.
Shaking my head, I pick up my sewing again. Hogar leaves, and Turnip flops down in the lord's chair next to the fire across from me. "He's a good male, that one. Generous with his mouth, too."
"Turnip, please." I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. I'm so telling Agakor about this later. "And his name is Hogar, not Hogger."
"Y'ain't seen him without his kilt on, have you? Biggest prick I've ever seen. He likes that I call him Hogger." She gives me a lewd grin.
Oh dear. I think I've just learned far more about Hogar than I ever wanted to. "I'm trying to sew," I protest. "I need to concentrate."
"Look at you, so busy with your sewing," Turnip says, leaning back on the cushions and folding her hands over her belly. "Is that all you do is sew and read?"
I give her a cross look and she chortles. We both know very well that I don't get much time to sit and sew lately. There's too much to do with the running of the keep. Between myself and Tindal and Turnip, we get it covered, but there's always a menu to be planned, cleaning to be organized, linens to be aired, books to be balanced, supplies to be ordered—and everyone checks in with me on everything. I like being part of all of it, but just yesterday Agakor protested that I was working too hard and Tindal and Turnip needed to take on more duties.
So here I am, sitting and sewing today instead of inspecting the newest shipment of cheeses and wine from Yshrem. "I'm letting seams out on my dresses," I tell Turnip. "Rather than buying new ones entirely."
"Shoulda let your man just buy you new ones," she grumbles. "I would have."
"He tried," I admit, sewing a neat stitch into the worn fabric. "But I like sewing, and it doesn't make sense to get new clothes when I'm about to have a baby."
Turnip sits upright, a look of disgust on her face. "That baby's not coming for at least six more months. Spend some coins, damn. I would."
I just shake my head again and go back to sewing. The truth is, I like modifying my own dresses. It makes the fact that I'm having a baby feel more real than just buying new gowns, since I'm adjusting my existing world to the new life growing inside me. It makes me happy. I run a hand down my belly, which is just now starting to get hard and swell. It's early, I think, but Agakor is a big man and he says that women pregnant with orcs show early. I imagine I'm going to get as big as a house, but the thought is an exciting one instead of frightening.