Valgir roughly grabbed her slender shoulders and spun her over again. ‘What’s your name?’
He smacked her on the rump, a taut, petite yet suitably round peach. The slap was muffled by the linen of her tunic, but she yelped all the same.
‘Flora,’ the wench whimpered as he drew up the shift to expose her small round arse in its white undercloth. ‘You don’t have to do this, I know where the treasure is hidden.’
Valgir had heard all this before, and he knew the only treasure he was interested in plundering. The lass had a lovely little peach, a good fill of flesh despite her size. He slapped it again and watched the pale flesh ripple then turned her over to see her pretty, freckled face, eyes wide and fearful.
‘Stop it, I’ve done nothing,’ she pleaded.
‘You’re an outlaw,’ the rogue grunted dismissively as he started to unwrap her loincloth, her legs rubbing together to stop him. He forced her knees apart and pushed her back down on the sacks as she tried to sit up. As the cloth came off and her legs opened briefly he caught a glimpse of her luscious little lips, trimmed so close they were almost shaved, with only a few wisps of ginger hair dusting the patch.
‘Warrior, you don’t have to…’ but ignoring the wench he hauled her up and threw her over one of the crates, so that she landed prone and bent, her small breasts resting on the wooden slats, her little pale arse pointing up in the air.