Unfettered
Boromir dares not cry out; he does not know what her father nor Aragorn might do
to him upon finding them together. He never expected an Elf to possess such
skills, nor such desires.
Arwen presses a wet finger into him, touching a spot no one has ever found
before, shocking him into shouting; and he is further shocked by the name he
cries.
"I cannot," insists Boromir. "Please understand."
"But you want him, and he loves you." Arwen's serene smile belies the
impropriety of her suggestion. "You are not in Minas Tirith; you are in the
House of Elrond. The restraints of your people do not hold sway here."
"It would not be right." The words sound cowardly, though Boromir knows he has
no choice but to say them. His actions have already disgraced his home and
family—coupling with an Elf, the daughter of his host, beloved of another
man. Yet when Aragorn's lover comes to him, he can deny her nothing.
"You do not have to be ashamed," Aragorn whispers, holding Boromir upright while
his thighs quake as Arwen presses her tongue inside him. "The Elves find no
dishonor in taking such pleasure."
"You are no Elf," rasps Boromir, trembling anew when he remembers the first time
he spoke those words and the feelings that surged through even then. Aragorn
merely chuckles and sinks to his knees.
"No, I am only a Ranger," the man says, parting his lips to press wet kisses on
Boromir's cock. When Arwen's tongue makes his seed burst out, it is Aragorn he
showers with it.
His hands are bound high above his head, ankles held apart by unbreakable Elvish
rope. Arwen presses over him, kissing his lips, engulfing him again and again in
her wet heat as beneath him Aragorn breaches him, eliciting a cry that his
betrothed swallows.
"Boromir," Aragorn gasps, licking salt from his throat, though his arms slide
past Boromir's chest to stroke Arwen's breasts as her hips set a rhythm they all
follow. Boromir is buffeted between them like a boat caught between two strong
currents, penetrated and penetrating until he can no longer guess where he ends
and they begin.
It is not the same without her there, without her sweet river scent, her soft
hands, her demanding tongue. Yet Boromir trembles when Aragorn takes his mouth,
moves down his body, licks his skin and sucks his cock and pushes his tongue
into the secret dark burning place that splits Boromir open, makes him offer
himself as no Lord of Gondor should.
"No, take me," Aragorn begs him. And this is something he will never share with
Arwen...something Boromir will never have to share with an Elf, a promised
bride. This he can take back to the world of men.
by Your Cruise Director
he is like a princess among the Elves, betrothed to the man who would be
Boromir's King. Yet she is in his bed, having crept into his room while he
slept. Her mouth works him relentlessly.
