By Charlotte Boyett-Compo
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Extra info for Tears of the Reaper
For a long moment he sat there staring unseeingly into the darkness before he found the strength to plow a shaky hand through his wet black hair. Swallowing convulsively, he tugged brutally at the thick strands in an effort to pull his mind from the horror that had invaded it. When the savage vision remained, he groaned with frustration. He knew there would be no more rest for him that night so he pushed to his feet and just stood there with his head bowed, his hands on his hips, his eyes closed, listening to his heart pounding brutally.
He slipped another finger into that sweet moistness and began to move his fingers in and out of her, going deeper, staying in longer with each slow thrust. ” she protested, and writhed against his invasion. Her hips lurched against his face. He knew the itch was starting high up inside her. He could feel the pulsing of her tender flesh around his invading fingers. He knew she was so close—so close—to ecstasy and he reveled in the knowledge that it would be he who took her to that wondrous place for the first time.
She began to tremble from the force of the need welling up forbidden inside her. “Get on with it, Sister Rachel,” Elder Barrow said, scowling as he saw where her attention had gone. “If you are to be a Daughter of Mercy for the healer, such you will see and touch on occasion. ” Her cheeks flaming, Rachel sloshed water all over her as she rewet the fleece rag and slicked it with the lye soap. When she turned with her eyes locked on the Reaper’s staff, her patient howled behind the restriction of Elder Barrow’s hand.
Tears of the Reaper by Charlotte Boyett-Compo