Her Lord and Master Read Online Free PDF Page A

including the right to carry arms, to speak their mind openly, and even to divorce if they were mistreated. Most men considered their wife their most faithful advisor and trusted ally. She was their cherished companion to be cared for and protected at all times. Ragnor’s father honored his mother above all others, and relied on her as an equal partner in both work and wisdom.
    Someday, he hoped to find what his parents had.
    But today, he would start by breaking in his new slave, he thought. Ragnor suckled gently on the young woman’s earlobe, enjoying the slow process of seducing her. As his prisoner of war, he could have just tossed her over a log behind a tree, pulled up her skirt, and rutted her like a randy stag. But there was no thrill in that. Building up her desire slowly, teasing her relentlessly, stirring up her passion into a boiling cauldron of rhapsody - and then watching her explode in a cataclysm of rapture – it was all worth the wait. And the momentary discomfort in his balls, he mused, shifting in his seat. 
    Although she was afraid, she had left the convent without putting up much of a fight, he thought, all things considered. She would prove to be a willing partner and a lusty one, too, he anticipated eagerly. Tonight, he would teach her joy like she had never imagined.
    He would start right now, he thought. His tongue swirled in her ear, invading it. He probed in and out, mimicking what he knew he would do to her below, both with his tongue and his cock, before this day was through. He brushed her long braid away from her neck, kissing it lightly above the rope that bound her to him. He thought of removing it, for her comfort, but for some reason he liked it. She tried half-heartedly to resist him, but her efforts were wasted. Every inch of her body cried out for his touch. She was already his.
    Still holding the reins, he dropped his left hand to her leg. Agonizingly, he made long, slow circles around the inside of her knee, moving his fingers like the accomplished bowman he was, drawing her strings tighter and tighter, until they were ready to snap with tension. He knew exactly where to touch a woman, for precisely how long, to enflame her senses and make her lose control of her body. He could read her mind better than she could read it herself; anticipate her next desire even before she did.
    His hand grew bolder, caressing the inside of the girl’s thigh, but going no further, knowing the pause would only augment her longing for him. He continued sucking her earlobes, laving her neck, and planting kisses across her flesh. His hands never left her breasts and thighs. By the time they reached camp, she would be ready to tear off her clothes and throw herself flat upon her back, he thought arrogantly.
    Ah, but so would he.
    He imagined unbinding her braids leisurely, and wrapping his hands in her hair. Her long, silky tresses smelled sweet, like spring and rain, and he envisioned himself burying his face in their waves. He would lie back upon the bed of fur in his tent, and she would climb upon him, like a shield maiden scaling her mount. Her creamy thighs would spread for him, breast dangling in his face, and he would watch as she slid his long, smooth sword slowly into her wet, slick sheath. Inch by inch, she would devour it. Then, when she was filled to the hilt with him, she would cry out her climax and ride his hips frantically like a wild, unbroken filly, showering him with milk and honey.    
    Ragnor groaned aloud and pulled her tighter against him. Elizabeth felt the heat of the man’s powerful thighs, encasing hers from behind, and a firm bulge rubbing up and down against her, as he posted upon the horse. From knee to hip to buttock, his flesh branded her. An image flashed unbidden in her mind of a wild bull she had once seen mounting a cow in the field behind the abbey.
    She imagined Ragnor pushing her head forward, and propelling violently into her from behind, biting her neck and