spirits high.
The sun was a fiery orb hanging just above the horizon when Azrael arrived at her tent. Her perimeter check had gone well, all the soldiers relaxed and alert. Ducking inside, she found food and wine waiting at the table. Her slaves were laying sheets on the bed, both dropping to their knees when they saw her.
“Ursula, attend me,” the general ordered, taking off her sword belt. “Carry on, Midia.”
Obediently, the brunette went to her mistress and began helping her out of her leather armor. Ursula piled it to one side for the moment, looking up at Azrael. “We brought food, Milady. Are you hungry?”
“Very,” the general agreed, sitting at the table. As the slave poured a mug of wine, Azrael asked, “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, Milady. While you were out.” Seeing her mistress was taken care of, Ursula collected the armor and laid it out in one corner. While there had been no battles that day, it had gotten sunny and warm through the afternoon. The armor was damp and needed to dry.
Azrael tucked into the stew as if starved, the day’s ride whetting her appetite. In no time she was wiping the bottom of her bowl with a piece of bread. Finished, she drained her mug and reached for her saddlebags, retrieving a scroll and quill.
Ursula refilled the mug from an ewer, collecting the empty bowl. “Would you like more, Milady?”
“No,” Azrael said with a wave of her hand, her attention on the scroll as she prepared to make an entry for the day.
Preparing to take the bowl to the kitchen, Midia intercepted the brunette with a shake of her head.
“You are to attend her,” the blonde whispered, taking the bowl. “Stay with her.”
Nodding, Ursula watched her go. She turned to gaze at the general who was engrossed in writing. Uncertain of what to do next, Ursula settled nearby on her knees, awaiting a command.
Azrael finished the day’s report, pleased it was short and sweet. She blew on the ink until it was dry and then rolled the parchment into a scroll, putting it away. Yawning, she sat back, mug in hand, dark eyes regarding her slave.
Ursula, head bowed, was well aware of her mistress’ attention. She felt it as an almost palpable thing, surrounding her, filling her, seeming to vibrate the very air she breathed. The brunette wondered it Azrael would hold her again, touch her, maybe kiss her once more.
“Attend me.”
A shiver of anticipation flickered through Ursula as she rose. She found Azrael’s mug half empty and refilled it. As soon as she set the ewer down, callused hands found her waist and she was pulled onto the general’s lap.
Azrael took satisfaction that the brunette didn’t stiffen at the sudden familiarity. Her hand caressed an olive toned thigh, pushing up beneath Ursula’s dress to gain further access. She watched the slave’s amber eyes close, saw the gentle rise and fall of her breathing increase, noted when full lips opened in a quiet sigh. “Ursula.”
The brunette dragged her eyes open. “Yes, Milady?” she asked, the husky sound of her voice surprising her.
“How is your jaw?” Azrael asked.
“Much better, Milady.”
“Good.”
Her mistress’ deep burr caused Ursula’s heart to flip flop in her chest. When Azrael kissed her, she was a bit more prepared, responding to the gentle demands with tentative grace.
Ursula’s lips moved with hers and Azrael sank into the kiss. As at the river, she teased her way inside, keeping her touch light. With thorough care, she explored the brunette’s mouth, finding it hot and sweet like warm honey.
Her jaw still a little sore, Ursula nevertheless forgot her pain. Azrael’s questing tongue played with hers in languid movements that set her body on fire. The brunette was finding it difficult to breathe under the onslaught, unsure of exactly what she was feeling. She only knew she didn’t want it to stop.
Azrael backed out of the kiss, amused at her slave’s attempt to prolong it. It was too soon, however,
The sun was a fiery orb hanging just above the horizon when Azrael arrived at her tent. Her perimeter check had gone well, all the soldiers relaxed and alert. Ducking inside, she found food and wine waiting at the table. Her slaves were laying sheets on the bed, both dropping to their knees when they saw her.
“Ursula, attend me,” the general ordered, taking off her sword belt. “Carry on, Midia.”
Obediently, the brunette went to her mistress and began helping her out of her leather armor. Ursula piled it to one side for the moment, looking up at Azrael. “We brought food, Milady. Are you hungry?”
“Very,” the general agreed, sitting at the table. As the slave poured a mug of wine, Azrael asked, “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, Milady. While you were out.” Seeing her mistress was taken care of, Ursula collected the armor and laid it out in one corner. While there had been no battles that day, it had gotten sunny and warm through the afternoon. The armor was damp and needed to dry.
Azrael tucked into the stew as if starved, the day’s ride whetting her appetite. In no time she was wiping the bottom of her bowl with a piece of bread. Finished, she drained her mug and reached for her saddlebags, retrieving a scroll and quill.
Ursula refilled the mug from an ewer, collecting the empty bowl. “Would you like more, Milady?”
“No,” Azrael said with a wave of her hand, her attention on the scroll as she prepared to make an entry for the day.
Preparing to take the bowl to the kitchen, Midia intercepted the brunette with a shake of her head.
“You are to attend her,” the blonde whispered, taking the bowl. “Stay with her.”
Nodding, Ursula watched her go. She turned to gaze at the general who was engrossed in writing. Uncertain of what to do next, Ursula settled nearby on her knees, awaiting a command.
Azrael finished the day’s report, pleased it was short and sweet. She blew on the ink until it was dry and then rolled the parchment into a scroll, putting it away. Yawning, she sat back, mug in hand, dark eyes regarding her slave.
Ursula, head bowed, was well aware of her mistress’ attention. She felt it as an almost palpable thing, surrounding her, filling her, seeming to vibrate the very air she breathed. The brunette wondered it Azrael would hold her again, touch her, maybe kiss her once more.
“Attend me.”
A shiver of anticipation flickered through Ursula as she rose. She found Azrael’s mug half empty and refilled it. As soon as she set the ewer down, callused hands found her waist and she was pulled onto the general’s lap.
Azrael took satisfaction that the brunette didn’t stiffen at the sudden familiarity. Her hand caressed an olive toned thigh, pushing up beneath Ursula’s dress to gain further access. She watched the slave’s amber eyes close, saw the gentle rise and fall of her breathing increase, noted when full lips opened in a quiet sigh. “Ursula.”
The brunette dragged her eyes open. “Yes, Milady?” she asked, the husky sound of her voice surprising her.
“How is your jaw?” Azrael asked.
“Much better, Milady.”
“Good.”
Her mistress’ deep burr caused Ursula’s heart to flip flop in her chest. When Azrael kissed her, she was a bit more prepared, responding to the gentle demands with tentative grace.
Ursula’s lips moved with hers and Azrael sank into the kiss. As at the river, she teased her way inside, keeping her touch light. With thorough care, she explored the brunette’s mouth, finding it hot and sweet like warm honey.
Her jaw still a little sore, Ursula nevertheless forgot her pain. Azrael’s questing tongue played with hers in languid movements that set her body on fire. The brunette was finding it difficult to breathe under the onslaught, unsure of exactly what she was feeling. She only knew she didn’t want it to stop.
Azrael backed out of the kiss, amused at her slave’s attempt to prolong it. It was too soon, however,
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