She trembled.
Her body — the lean, muscular body, the fighter's body — shook. Not from cold. From — everything. From the teleportation. From the room. From the bed. From the cock. From the order. From the — situation.
"I..." she stammered. "I cannot... I am a knight. I am a soldier. I am not... I have never..."
"You have never been fucked?" he said.
The question. Direct. Blunt. The question that a man asks when he does not care about the answer because the answer does not matter.
"I... I have trained... I have fought... I have killed... but I have never... I was saving myself for..." She trailed off. The sentence — the incomplete sentence, the abandoned thought — was the thought of a woman who had a plan for her virginity and who was now in a room where that plan did not matter.
"For what?" he said.
"For... marriage. For... love. For..."
"There is no marriage here," he said. "There is no love here. There is only me. And you. And my cock."
She looked at him.
