The Tollkeeper (Fairy Tales Behaving Badly) Read online

  She stopped, looking back at him, alarm in her voice. “How did you know he was my grandfather?”

  Silently, he cursed his tongue. “I had asked about you, but few people knew who you were.”

  “But why?” Astonishment was clear on her face.

  “Because I was worried. About you.”

  “I…” she looked down at the ground, then back at him. “Thank you,” she said softly, “We have only just met, but no one has ever been kinder to me than you have. But,” And now she drew herself up, her spine rigid, “I will pay you back. As soon as my grandfather is well again, I promise I will pay you back, and with it all the interest I owe. Next month, when I come for the fair again, I swear to honor that bargain. I have always paid my way before, however little we have had, and I will not stop now.” She stopped, embarrassed that she had said too much. Hurriedly, she whipped at the horse’s reins, and the mare leaped forward before he could stop her, small clouds of dust marking their departure.

  He could not run fast enough to reach the horse, and the Mountain had to stifle a surge of impatience, of anger at himself for frightening her. He would approach her more gently next time, he thought, calm her down before he would ask her questions.

  She was sweet and shy and fey, and the Mountain wanted her. But he had never taken a girl against her will before, and so he pushed down that sudden burst of desire.

  For the first time in months, he missed having a woman in his bed. In the dead of night he would fist himself furiously, jerking his hand up and down his shaft until he spilled his seed, with thoughts of the beautiful red-haired girl haunting his vision. It did not stop his desire for her, but it satiated his physical needs for the moment.

  He had traveled to Barton’s Common and made his own inquiries, but could find no clear answer. The doctor who had sold her the medicine had merely assumed she belonged to another nearby village. She had paid in full, and he had asked no questions.

  On the third month it rained without remorse. It was not bad enough to flood the large river, but fewer people traveled out of the villages most nights, keeping to their houses whenever possible. It rained during the night of the Olyta Fair, and there were fewer caravans passing through. The Mountain himself remained inside his stone house, certain that his beautiful redhead would not risk the storm to come. As before, whenever thoughts of her entered his head, he reached down to grasp his thick cock, began to jerk himself furiously, seeking to appease his lust.

  He was mistaken. He heard the jangle of bells and groaned. He was not on the verge of spending yet, but he was hard and throbbing, impatient for satisfaction. Still, a job was a job. He braced himself against the cold wind outside, walked up the stone steps to unlatch the gate. If he was fast enough, he could return quickly, and finish what he started.

  The scrawny horse greeted him with a small neigh, and his breathing quickened at the sight of the young girl, sitting upright in her little wagon. He was alarmed by the pallor in her face, and she had lost some noticeable weight. Her red hair was pulled back from her face, tied in a short bun, which only drew attention to her thinness.

  To his surprise, she climbed down to greet him, though he had already unlocked the gate to let her pass. “I have come to repay what I owe you,” she whispered, and the tremors in her voice was not caused by the winds around them, or by the steady rain. “You see, my grandfather died last week, and I….”

  She swayed, and the Mountain caught her in his arms. It was his first time touching her. She felt soft and frail, and he wanted to protect her, to carry her down to his little house, to keep her warm and loved. But his cock was still hard, straining against his breeches, and he knew that if he let her into his stone house he would soon give in to his dark desires. She would be on her back, and he would be pushing his thickness into her sweet little body.

  She melted into his chest, relaxing into the bulkiness of him, rather than pushing him away. “Tonight will be the last time I go to the fair,” she whispered against his chest. “Without Grandfather, I cannot harvest the crops we have alone. So I will leave for Olyta and sell what I can. But when I return, I would like to settle all my accounts with you.”

  The Mountain swallowed. He had decided months ago that he would never ask her for payment, but he knew in what few meetings they shared that her stubbornness, her desire for independence, was just as strong as his was. The idea that this may be the last time he would see her was nearly unbearable. “A kiss,” he dared to say against her hair, before he could stop himself.

  “What?” She took a step back, searched his face.

  “A kiss,” he said again, dreading her answer. “One kiss, after which you will owe me nothing.”

  She did not draw closer, but neither did she move away. The Mountain waited, sure that she would reject him, would run from this fearful-looking stranger who had dared to ask so much of her.

  But then she moved, and laid a hand across his massive chest. That movement sent white-hot fire lancing through his groin, even as he watched her tilt her face up toward his in acceptance.

  He had intended for the kiss to be gentle. His mouth touched hers, softer than he thought he ever could; aware that one wrong move could have her hating him forever. But she melted easily enough into his embrace, and her lips met his shyly, a heady mix of cautious and welcoming.

  Despite his misgivings he deepened the kiss, coaxing her lips apart with his, so he could sample the taste of her, to slowly explore her sweet depths. A small shudder ran through her body, and her moan was louder, needy. But it was when she touched her tongue to his own - bold enough to explore him just as much as he was exploring her, for all her shyness - and that proved to be his undoing.

  He crushed her to him, and his tongue plundered, ignoring her swift gasp. He lifted her so that her feet dangled in the air, that she had to cling to him for balance, even as he ran quick kisses up her jawline, her cheek, her temple, before returning to the sweetness of her lips. His fingers threaded through her loose locks until they came to rest at the nape of her neck, holding her in place. If he had expected her to pull away then, he was wrong as well. Her tongue slid eagerly against his, sucked his as he thrusted into her mouth unabashedly.

  His hips ground against her, his massive length hard against her waist. She had no other family now, he thought, no one else to protect her or hear her cries if he were to take her. She was so small and fragile, and it would take no effort at all to lift her higher, to lift her skirts and….

  With one final effort, he tore his mouth away from hers. It was he who pushed her away, the girl swaying on her feet again but staying upright. With a harsh sound, he turned away, disgusted at himself and what he had considered doing. He was not a good man, but he was not this, either.

  “Leave,” he said hoarsely. She was breathing hard, staring at him with wide eyes. Strangely enough, she did not look terrified of him at all. “Go!” He said, with more vehemence than he wanted to, and she took a step back, her expression hurt as she climbed back onto the wagon. The Mountain watched her leave without another word.

  It was with a heavy heart that he returned to the river banks, still hard. Outside the house, in the rain, he stood, jerking furiously and coming with gritted teeth, more out of the need to ease the physical needs of his cock than from any burning desire or lust. He lost her, he thought. She would never see him again. If he searched for her, gave her money to help her, would she refuse him?

  Yes, he thought. She would never accept charity, and she might despise him more for it.

  He held his breath each time the caravans arrived to cross back into th villages, but his red-haired girl was not among those who returned. He wanted to apologize, was prepared to let her pass without paying the toll for as long as she lived, if she would only forgive him.

  As time went by and she did not appear, the guilt turned into worry. Had something happened to her? Was she lying hurt by the roadside? The rains had made the roads slippery, he knew, and neither he
r horse nor her wagon were in any condition to brave the weather, for the rains had began to increase.

  He was already readying himself to leave, hoping to follow the path she had taken to search, when he caught sight of the straggly horse approaching, and his relief was great. Already he was unlatching the gate leading onto the bridge, fingers for the first time clumsy and unsure. The girl was soaked to the skin, shivering against the night air, and her poor horse was faring no better, skidding and stumbling a little by the road.

  Once the wagon had approached the gate she instead guided her horse to a large tree to keep it out of the rain, and climbed down. She turned to face him. Her clothes clung to her like second skin, her red hair plastered to her head like a doused flame. She was trembling.

  “Your payment,” she whispered, holding out a small bag toward him.

  “I do not want money from you,” he said harshly, “I want only your forgiveness, for my presumption.”

  She shook her head, and continued to speak like she had not heard him. “This is for the three months where I had neglected to pay the bridge toll,” she said, her voice low. “But there is still the matter of the interest I owe, compounded over that time.”

  “I do not want - “

  “Would another kiss suffice?”

  He froze. She gazed back at him fearfully, unsure if she had overstepped her bounds.

  “Would you like another kiss?” she whispered. “If you feel that this does not cover the rest of what I owe, then what… what else would you like me to….”

  He could have resisted her, could have forced her away, if he knew she was being compelled to obey him. But not like this. Not when she was soft and lush and, for all her naivety, eager.

  He made himself speak, though it was no higher than a growl, as his desire built again. “Come here.”

  She walked toward him with dainty, mincing steps, but with no hesitation. When she was near enough to touch, he pulled her to him, feasting hungrily at her mouth. He undid the unbecoming bun in her hair, allowing red locks to fall wild around her shoulders. He gathered a fistful of it up with his large hand, to keep her pressed against him. Her arms wrapped around his thick neck, allowing him to plunder her mouth with his tongue, a quick sound of surprise rising to her lips when he pushed her legs apart, his knee coming to rest in between, bending slightly. His other hand carried her easily, so that he could force her against his growing hardness, letting her sensitive little mound ride up against him, letting her feel just how much he wanted her.

  He lifted her higher, bent his head so he could suckle at her breast through the wet cloth, and her moan was pleasure to his ears. His tongue teased at the hard nipple, causing her to arch her back against him.

  “You owe me nothing, little one.” He said thickly, when he finally raised his head. “And you are still free to go, if you wish to. But if you choose to remain, know that I am going to do more than kiss you.”

  “More than kiss me?” She whispered, looking dazed.

  “I would kiss you here,” he licked at her breast again, and she gasped. “And I would kiss you in many other places. Like here,” his hand traced down her thighs, pressing against her folds, at the heat he could feel there. “Or here,” his hand moved toward her backside and squeezed, gently. She moaned. “Feel this, little one.” He took her own hands, nestled in his massive palm, and pressed it against his clothed cock. “I would do many things to you, and it will involve this. If you do not want it - if you do not want me - then you must leave, now, before I can no longer stop myself.”

  Her hand gripped his length in response, and he groaned. Her touch was light at first, but soon grew bolder, running up and down his breeches, her gaze locked there in rapt fascination, at the large object hiding therein. If she had not answered his question with words, then she had already done so in action. The Mountain had lost, and there was no going back.

  She gave a little squeak when he lifted her into his arms, carrying her past the bridge, down the steps leading into his warm stone house. They had barely made it through the doorway before he had her pinned against the wall, kissing her furiously. His hands gripped at her wet dress, tearing them in his haste to get at her body. She made little protest even when he ripped the worn fabric off of her, but she let out a cry of alarm and sought to hide her breasts from his view, blushing hard.

  “No,” He growled. “Do not hide from me. I want to see all of you.”

  She paused, then obeyed him. Her breasts were small and raised, rouge circling its tips. Wanting to know how they tasted without her gown in his way, the Mountain leaned down and took nearly all of it in his mouth, stroking and laving at the sensitive nub. The girl threw her head back, her heady cries filling the room.

  He peeled more of the gown off of her, revealing a flat, pale stomach, and then the lower juncture of her thighs, where red curls peeped out at him, inviting.

  Her own hands explored him, but they were awkward and nervous, tugging futilely at his shirt, and then lower, at his breeches. He chuckled at her efforts, a low rumble against her neck that made her stop and shiver, before taking pity. He kicked his boots off. With one free hand, he undid his breeches, leaned back long enough so he could shrug out of his shirt, before returning to the swell of her breasts. He switched often, first nursing at the left tip, and then abandoning it to concentrate on the right, making her squirm. Her hands roamed his chest, raking across the thick tufts of hair there.

  Her eyes widened when she took in his cock for the first time, as large and as intimidating as the rest of him. When he lowered her back down to take off the rest of his clothing, her hand brushed against it, running down its length with small fingers. The touch alone made him grunt in pleasure, his hips jerking toward her palm. She took this for encouragement, and wrapped her fingers around the center and squeezed gently. Her hand looked so tiny against his length, but there was no look of shame or embarrassment on her face the way she had about her own nakedness. She began to move her hand up and down his shaft, watching how he bucked against her, running over the swollen head before traveling back down.

  He wanted to let her explore to her heart’s content, but wasn’t sure how long he could stand it before he had to take action. His breathing grew ragged when she stroked him more evenly, succeeding in drawing a long moan out of him when she squeezed again.

  “Stop,” he said, hoarse.

  Her mistake was looking back at him for approval, and her eyes widened at the fiery look in his gaze.

  It was raining harder now, lightning flickering against the sky. In those quick flashes he loomed over her, hard muscles silhouetted against the twilight. For one minute, he rose like some silent stone statue above her - in the darkness, he was like a depiction of what the god Hephaestus should have been, had he been strong and tall instead of weak and lame.

  And then the statue moved again, shifting back into mortal, and took her hand. He kissed her there, his rough stubble scraping pleasantly across her wrist as his mouth moved along her arm, gently pulling her into his embrace. He paused at the crook of her elbow and his tongue flicked out. He felt her shudder, at how sensitive that spot could be. He moved further up, nuzzling into her shoulder, then lifted her without warning, carrying her toward his bed - a simple cot he had built himself, large enough to suit his frame and stuffed generously with hay and peat. He kept her in his arms, stripping off the last of her clothes, before settling her down on the mattress.

  He saw the slight fear on her face, the sudden realization of what he might do to her, and he responded by gently turning her over so she was on her stomach. His hands found her shoulders again, and began to knead the taut muscles there. She sighed into the bed, his big strong hands surprisingly gentle as he massaged her back, the anxiety slowly easing out of her with every movement.

  By the time he had reached her legs she was sighing happily, her body limp. When he spread her thighs, she parted for him with little comment. She moaned softly when his fingers began t
o work her buttocks the way he had done her shoulders and back. But when his fingers grazed at that secret part of her, a wide thumb brushing past her tender little entrance, she gasped.

  He was lowering his head before she could make another sound, or before she could move away. His mouth replaced his thumb, licking along the path of her tiny slit. Her thighs spread wider of her own volition, and the Mountain planted his wide, heavy tongue into her, parting her soft folds so he could work it deeper and savor her taste. She was pushing back, trying desperately to take more of him inside her, but this time it was the Mountain’s turn to resist, his large hands keeping her in place and preventing her from doing more. She was still prone on the bed, and only her buttocks were raised in the air, her legs spread as wide as they could go without falling over. Seeking to tease her, he withdrew, this time planting wet kisses somewhere higher, focusing on the hidden nub there and leaving her desperately empty. She whined her displeasure.

  “No,” she gasped out. “Oh, Roland. Lower. Lower, please….”

  He chuckled but complied, and his thick tongue was burrowing into her again. The red-haired girl did not hold back her cries, filling the small room with their intensity. He began to thrust in and out of her in controlled bursts. He knew she was swollen and sensitive, and he pushed the first of his fingers into her even as his tongue continued. She cried out in ecstasy, at the feeling of two long objects moving inside her, deep enough to evoke such pleasure, but shallow enough that her maidenhead remained intact.

  He waited until she grew accustomed to this new intrusion, until her hips began to sway back and forth once more, entreating him to go deeper. He added a second finger, and her cunt walls squeezed him so hard he thought she would break them. She would be so tight around his cock, he thought. “Relax, little one,” he whispered, lifting his mouth from her delicious cunny and rising up so he was towering over her form. She was so small against him, the contrast now all too obvious. His fingers did not stop their shallow thrusting, even as he bent and whispered against her ear.