Chapter 45: Answer [5]

“Priya!” he barked, his voice carrying easily over the meadow.

The maid jumped a foot in the air, her massive tits bouncing violently beneath her top. She hesitated, taking three nervous, hurried steps back toward them, her face still burning with second-hand shame.

“I-is… is everything okay, Lady Yelena?” Priya stammered, wringing her hands, her eyes darting between Yelena’s exposed thighs and Cane’s predatory smirk. “Are you sure about this? You don’t have to—”

“It’s fine, Priya,” Yelena cut in, her voice surprisingly steady, though she refused to lift her head from Cane’s shoulder. She took a shuddering breath, her fingers digging lightly into his bicep. “I agreed to the terms. It’s my choice. Return to the tents and make sure Marcus stays away from the perimeter.”

Priya swallowed hard, looking at Cane with a mixture of terror and an odd, lingering envy.

“Y-yes, my lady.”

She turned on her heel and scurried back toward the camp, her round ass swaying furiously with each rapid step.

Cane grinned, thoroughly satisfied. “See? Perfect. The timing couldn’t be better.”

Yelena lifted her head, her golden-brown eyes narrowing with sudden, sharp suspicion. “What do you mean by that? What timing?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, commander,” Cane said smoothly.

To emphasize the point, his hand slipped down from her waist and came down with a resounding, open-palmed SMACK against the bare, fleshy curve of her upper thigh.

“Ahn!”

A high, startled yelp tore from Yelena’s throat, her hips jerking wildly against his lap. The sound was unmistakably erotic, a sharp intake of breath following immediately behind it as her thighs clamped together against his legs.

“Get up,” Cane commanded, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that left no room for backtalk. “Time to pay the toll.”

She scrambled off him like she’d been scalded, her hands frantically tugging at the hem of her skirt to drag it down over her flushed skin. Her chest heaved, her small, pert boobs straining against the knotted fabric of her top as she glared at him with tears of fury pricking the corners of her eyes.

Without waiting for him, she turned and marched toward the shadowed boundary of the forest, her hips snapping with aggressive, defiant energy.

Cane pushed himself to his feet, stretched his broad shoulders, and fell into step three paces behind her.

As they crossed the bright meadow and entered the cool, emerald gloom beneath the canopy, the distant chatter of the camp faded into a muffled hum. The air grew damp and cool, rich with the smell of wet earth, moss, and pine sap. Shafts of pale green sunlight sliced through the thick leaves, illuminating the dust motes dancing around them.

Cane watched the tight, rhythmic bounce of her backside as she picked her way over exposed roots.

“You know,” he remarked casually, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, “most girls would be a little worried about walking into a secluded forest with a guy who has a reputation like mine. You aren’t afraid I might get a little… rough? Force the issue beyond the terms?”

Yelena didn’t look back, but the tension in her shoulders flared.

“If you try to force anything beyond what I offered, Cane, I will shatter your kneecaps and leave you for the duskfangs.” Her voice was flat, carrying the cold, practiced edge of someone who had trained with royal duelists since childhood. “Don’t mistake my compliance for weakness. You have more stat points than the rumors suggested, but you have no technique. I could flatten you in five seconds if I actually wanted to.”

Cane let out an easy, appreciative laugh. “You probably could.”

And it was the god’s honest truth. His Strength was sitting at thirteen, respectable enough to overpower a commoner or throw a clumsy parry, but against a trained noble heir with sword forms drilled into her bones? She would turn him into a pretzel. The system’s trickle of rewards hadn’t turned him into a monster yet.

Not yet, he thought with a wolfish grin. Let’s see what this little field trip does for the stat sheet.

Ten paces deeper into the brush, the undergrowth cleared into a small, shadowed pocket of dead needles and thick roots. A massive, ancient oak stood at the center, its gnarled trunk wider than a carriage.

Cane didn’t give her time to think.

He closed the distance in two silent strides, caught her by the waist, and spun her around.

Yelena let out a sharp gasp, her spine slamming flat against the rough, mossy bark of the oak. Before she could bring her arms up to push him off, Cane planted both hands on the trunk on either side of her head, trapping her in the cage of his broad shoulders and bare chest.

She turned her face sharply to the side, her chin raised, eyes squeezed shut in a desperate display of defiance. Her breath came in hot, ragged bursts, her throat working furiously.

“Go on then,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Get it over with.”

Cane chuckled, a low, rumbling vibration in his chest.

He reached up with his right hand, curled his fingers gently around the delicate curve of her jaw, and pulled. Firm. Unyielding.

He forced her face back toward him, his thumb pressing lightly against the fullness of her lower lip. Her eyes snapped open, wide and startled, golden-brown irises trembling with genuine panic.

She opened her mouth to snap an insult.

Cane leaned in and crushed his mouth against hers.

Her lips were soft, cool, and tasted faintly of wild mint. She went rigid against the tree, letting out a muffled, furious squawk against his mouth, her fists balling up against his bare ribs to shove him back. She fought it for a second, her body locked in stubborn, rigid resistance.

Cane didn’t let up. He leaned his full weight into her, pressing his pelvis firmly against the apex of her thighs, pinning her completely against the oak.