The Whore of Babylon

Chapter 13 | part 1

The next time Eliana was summoned to Samsu's chambers, she knew her luck had run out.

He stood near the door, sober as a stone and waiting for her with a grim expression staining his face. The look in his eyes pierced her stomach and she felt her confidence draining away, replaced by a bubble of fear. She clenched her fists to stop her hands trembling and concentrated on breathing evenly to slow the gallop of her heart.

Ashan stood at his usual post. It lifted her spirits ever so slightly to know that she had a friend in the room; even silent support was welcome.

A light breeze blew in from the terrace behind him, stirring the blood-red gossamer curtains, making them swirl and dance.

Dressed in only a half-tunic, his scarred torso left bare, Samsu seized Eliana's upper arm in an iron grip, squeezing so hard that little darts of pain shot down through her fingertips. He pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers in a possessive kiss; he pulled away, leaving a lingering taste of onion and fish.

Revulsion was plain on her face, however hard she tried to keep her expression blank and impassive. Samsu saw it – her free arm flew to block the blow he aimed at her head, taking some of the force from it, but still it felt like a thunderclap inside her skull. Her head snapped back as he gave her a violent little shake.

'You have delayed long enough, karkittu. This is the night I will have you, whether you like it or not. If you are good for me, I shall send you a little gift. If not, you will make the experience more unpleasant for yourself than it needs to be.'

She spat on the floor at his feet.

The spittle barely hit the ground before she did, as he hurled her to the tiles and delivered a forceful kick to her stomach. All the air exploded out of her lungs with the impact and she struggled to draw breath, panicking, thinking that he might have broken her ribs, so sharp was the pain.

He stood over her, staring down as she fought to regain her breath. Winded, but not seriously injured, she recovered herself after several seconds. Samsu bent down and took her by the arm again, hauling her up and dragging her half-stumbling to the bed, where he sat and threw her back to the ground beside it.

'Do not make this harder for yourself.' He said coldly. Pulling up his tunic and exposing his member, he did not need to give any further instruction.

Eliana rolled her eyes insolently, but set herself to the task. If anything, it was less revolting than his kiss.

As his breathing became more laboured, she increased her pace and intensity, bobbing her head up and down. Like a duck on the river she thought, struggling not to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Samsu gave a gasp of pleasure. 'Stop!' he commanded.

She continued faster, hoping to make him spend himself now and prevent the invasion he planned.

'I said stop!' he growled, wrenching her head back by the hair. Pulling her up, he shoved her back onto the bed. The soft opulence of the red silk sheets did nothing to give her comfort.

He dropped himself on top of her, pinning her down with his weight. He was not a large man, but he was a military man and every inch of him was solid muscle and sinew, crushing her to the mattress. Fumbling at her legs, he got hold of her dress and pushed it up to her waist.

Eliana froze in horror – she had known this was coming, had known it for many moons, but the moment had finally arrived and panic flooded through her. She began to thrash beneath him, twisting like a cat to free herself.

He laughed. She might as well have been trying to fight her way out of a locked iron chest for all she was achieving. Catching both her wrists, he pinned them above her head easily with one hand.