And, Jord had to admit, that's what he was. A slave, waiting to be sold.Bandit slavers had raided the southern coast of his far northern homeland, and...to his back luck he has been one of the people captured. Oh well, suppose you should call it good luck, since it hadn't been his corpse in one of those holes they'd hastily dug before moving on.In Jord's case, on meant over the sea and far across the land. Not in comfortable conditions either, but he was not unaccustomed to discomfort.It was of. “I like when you hold me,” she said softly.“And I like holding you,” I replied.“Kiss me?” she asked, raising her head from my shoulder.Our lips touched, and then our tongues, and we shared a gentle French kiss. When we broke it after about two minutes, Elizaveta sighed and put her head on my shoulder again.“Six-and-a-half months...” she whispered.I had the same desire, but it had to wait for a host of reasons. We cuddled for a bit, then exchanged several more soft French kisses. I very much. More

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