Free The Chieftain’s Daughter by Leia Rice

not to care. She stopped crawling only when she could rest on her knees in front of Ishara, and reached out and stroked the side of the chieftain slave’s face, fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “And when you are on your knees, you cannot help but to think of his cock pressing against the back of your mouth.”
    Ishara felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”
    Dahlia pushed a hand up Ishara’s dress, and at the same time, she urged them both to lie back in the furs. The Manahotchi woman rested to the side, propped up above Ishara. Dahlia grazed her fingers up the soft, sensitive skin of Ishara’s inner thigh, and before she could even try to stop her, Dahlia pressed her thumb against the swollen nub between Ishara’s legs.
    Her thumb circled around Ishara’s clit, enticing moans. She remembered the way the Manahotchi women dusted her in gold. She remembered their wandering fingers and the coiling sensation inside her. It felt the same way now—intoxicating. Ishara could not focus. The overwhelming lust blinded her. She thought she’d never be able to contain herself, and just as Ishara’s self-control unraveled, Dahlia pulled her fingers away, drawing them from between Ishara’s legs.
    A glittering string of her sweet juices pulled between Dahlia’s fingers like a spider web. “See? You are just as I said you would be—wet.”
    Ishara’s chest rapidly rose and fell. She could not move. If she did, she would set her body off and come. She stayed perfectly still, staring up at Dahlia in confusion.
    “Oh, come on. I see the way you look at me. Is it the way you look at him?”
    “No!” Ishara immediately replied.
    Dahlia noticed it too, her smile said it what her lips didn’t.
    “I mean… This…this isn’t feeling. This isn’t caring. This is…it is…”
    “Lust?”
    “Yes. Lust. It is lust.”
    “And do you not lust for him, Ishara?”
    “I…”
    Dahlia’s fingertips rested on Ishara’s thigh, drawing her attention back to her throbbing pussy.
    “You do. So, you lust for him. But you do not care for him?”
    “Why would I care about my father’s enemy?” Ishara wanted the fingers back between her legs. She wanted Dahlia’s lips on her skin. She wanted to taste the woman, but imagine Mechan. He was both gentle and rough at once. She was yearning for him all over again.
    “Why would you have held on to his wife’s necklace?” Dahlia removed her fingers from Ishara’s leg, lifting them instead to touch the necklace that rested at the base of her throat. The Manahotchi woman pulled Ishara’s dress down and trailed the fingers down between Ishara’s naked breasts, circling each one of her nipples, encouraging them to stiffen.
    Ishara paused, gasping. “I…I forgot that I wore it.”
    “Then why not throw it away?”
    Arching her back, Ishara pushed her breasts up toward Dahlia’s hands and whimpered her answer. “I don’t know. I don’t know!” Darting upward, Ishara grabbed Dahlia by her face, placing her fingers by each ear, and drew her in to kiss her roughly. Her tongue pressed beyond Dahlia’s lips; she wanted to taste her, and in tasting her, she could taste herself.
    Ishara adjusted herself, kneeling as Dahlia did earlier. She drew the other woman up to kneel as well, though Dahlia would not let Ishara gain the upper hand. The Manahotchi knew well where Ishara’s place should be, and with a yank of the woman’s hair, Ishara was pulled downward, on top of Dahlia’s knee.
    She brushed her cunt against the knee, moaning into the kiss that had yet to be broken. Ishara did not know if this is what Dahlia wanted her to do, but the contact brought pleasure, so she kept grinding against the huntress’ knee and thigh, soaking it with wetness.
    Dahlia had her fingers twisted into Ishara’s braids, and each time the slave’s hips gyrated against her leg, Ishara received a tug, pulling her down to grind harder. As she ground into