Through the thin fabric of her panty, he could feel it — the heat, the hair, the particular, warm, soft, swollen shape of a cunt that had never been entered. His fingers rubbed. The cloth pressed into her cleft, the friction stimulating her lips, her clit.
She cried.
"It was Lady Evriana," she said.
Her voice was broken — the tears, the fear, the unwanted pleasure of his hand on her pussy mixing together into a sound that was half-confession and half-moan.
"She told me to seduce you," she continued. "To make you fall for me. To bear your child."
His fingers rubbed harder.
The panty was damp — the involuntary, physiological response of a body that was being stimulated, regardless of the fear, regardless of the context. The fabric was warm, wet, the cotton clinging to her hairy lips.
"The reason we arrived here," she said, gasping, "for the demon hunt—"
His mouth found her nipple.
