Far From Home One: The Warlord's Chosen-- A M/M Fantasy Romance

32- Retribution is Yours

AMER—

Geir's groans, grunts, and heavy pants had been like music to my ears the entire time he had been in my mouth. And when he had finally taken control, it had sent a thrill of lust through my entire body to hear him command me in what to do.

I bent down to retrieve the towel he had thrown out of the tub earlier, using it to wipe his spend from my face, before leaving him in the bath. His comment about me getting better at pleasuring him made me excited, hot, and embarrassed at the same time.

Just as I reached the doorway between the bathing room and the bedroom, I yelped as I was lifted off my feet and up into Geir's arms.

"W-w-wh-What are you doing!?"

Geir's laugh was the only answer I got before I was thrown onto his bed, laughing despite myself. His warm body engulfed mine, and before I could take a breath, his mouth was on mine. His tongue probing my mouth, seeking, tasting, savoring. And then I was lost to his taste, his touch, and the way he made me scream.

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The next few days went by in a blur of warmth, bliss, passion, hot baths, and long nights and days of lovemaking that left me sore and sated, and yet wanting more. Geir studied my body like it was a test he would have to pass, and dear gods, he passed with flying colors.

We were brought our meals, but otherwise left alone to our own pleasures. When we lay wrapped in each other's arms, sore, sated, sweating, our breaths mingling as they calmed, we spoke of our lives. Our passions, hopes, dreams.

Geir told me of his family, taking the Chief mantle from his father soon. He told me of giving up on finding a mate to spend his life with, and how he had feared he would spend his life alone, with only his siblings and their children bringing him joy.

He told me of the many mischiefs he got into as a child, and I told him of how opposite my upbringing had been. I told him of Chef Dew, Hestiel, and my dear Mem. I told him of my father, how he blamed me for something I never could have had control over.

When I told him the reason for my father's hatred, my own bitterness welled up, along with Geir's disbelief and disgust.

"You were a child," Geir growled, the deep vibrations tickling my ear and cheek. I pulled up, meeting his eyes, and shrugged. "Even if it was true, how could he blame you?"

"He love my mother. Much. Their love still spoke of in Veil, in whispers. That he changed after he meet her. And then change again when she die. But she wild, free spirit. And my father... unchanging. Stubborn. So the idea that she stray, even only one night, and was careless about it? It wasn't so strange idea. My father convinced I couldn't be his. I too small, too weak, couldn't fight, had no desire to learn to draw blood, cause pain... He and me had nothing in common, and that blindingly apparent from a very young age.

"So when you came... when you chose me?" I paused, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly before continuing. Geir had expressed confusion about why my father had treated me the way he had— almost gelding me, having me humiliated, treated like a slave. I wouldn't hold back, no matter how much it might hurt him. "My father always want a way to get rid of me. You give him one."

Geir was silent for a few minutes before his arms tightened around me. "How many more things will I discover the need to apologize to you for, little mate?"

I chuckled and nipped at his nipple, just beneath my cheek. "That's not why I tell you. You ask why he hate me, why he do what he did. That's why. I was the reminder that his wife was more than he could handle. You were our enemy— you could not have known."

"Well you have a choice, you know. Now that I'm no longer Warlord, I'd love nothing more than to return and show him how he erred in harming my mate. In hurting you for so many years. Retribution is yours, little mate, if you but ask for it."

I huffed out a steady breath. Even a week before, I would have been taken aback by his words. Now I knew his sincerity, and his desire to protect and take care of me.

"If you were to do anything, it would be seen as act of war. You may not be Warlord any longer, but my people don't understand that. We don't see that way. No, Geir," I whispered, digging my face under his arm and taking a deep breath of his scent. I couldn't get enough of it. "I want no further bloodshed. I want peace, I want you, I want my life entwined with yours. I want the past in the past."

"What about your sisters?" he said, so softly I wouldn't have heard him if I couldn't feel the words vibrating against my ear, pressed so tightly against his chest.

I paused, knowing what I wanted to say, but unsure how to phrase my words.

Geir's chest below me shook as he chuckled. "Speak, little mate. I can hear the words in your mind. Fear not, just tell me what you want to."

"I want to write them letter. They worried about me. They still think I... I worry about them too. May I...?"

Geir pulled up, meeting my eyes with a gentle smile. His lips met mine for just a breath before he pressed his forehead to mine.

"There are parchment and quills out in the front room. Write your letter, little mate. I'll make sure your sisters receive it as soon as a runner can reach them."