5Word Romance Novel

Lady Morona gasped at the savage sight of the golden haired and manacled form which now towered menacingly above her. Even in the half light of the oil lamp she knew that the muscled torso and chiseled profile could belong to no other than Flatulus, barbarian leader of the Wind People!

“You!” she said in a quavering whisper as flood of emotions welled up in her stomach.

Flatulus, silently but deadly in his warrior ways moved like lightning; throwing aside the massive wooden table that stood between them like it was no more than a bundle of twigs. Morona shrieked in terror as the barbarian cruelly grasped the front of her gossamer tunic and with a short grunt of satisfaction reeled her supple body in close to his massive chest. She could hear his breathing and smell his sweat tinged by the rust of the iron bands that encircled his wrists.

“Yes, it is I Morona standing before you once again, just as I swore to the woodland gods that I would on that terrible, bloody day in the gladiator’s pit so many seasons ago.”

Eyes wide with fright and brimming with tears, Moronda tried to speak but found she was rendered mute by the force of the barbarian’s intense gold-green eyes. Feeling her tremble, Flatulus tugged her closer still, roughly tearing away the fine garment that covered her delicate shoulders.

“But now I’m free my haughty Roman princess. Now I’ve come to claim that which I’ve longed for from the moment I first saw you smirking at me like I was nothing more than a pitiful goat tethered for the slaughter. Back then you dared to mock me from the safe company of your pretty Roman friends, but tonight Lady Morona I will not be hindered from having my desire fulfilled!”

Quick as an eagle’s strike the barbarian pinned Morona's slender body against the frescoed wall of the bed chamber. Her proud Roman blood was pounding in her ears and her half exposed breasts heaved in expectation as the peasant king pressed his lips next to her ear. She knew then that she hated him, not for his rough barbarian ways, but out of shame for the elation and molten desire she felt for him, and so wished she could deign.

“Now, upon pain of death my lady, you will please me!” Flatulus commanded as he ran a chained hand down the length of her belly; the cold links feeling to Morona like they were burning into the skin of her naked thighs.

“What, what do you want of me, you damn forest devil?” Morona stammered breathlessly.

A faint smile curled across the mouth of her rugged captor and the corners of his eyes crinkled with a secret mirth. He carefully reached into the sheepskin pouch lashed around his narrow hips and carefully removed its contents. The first object he wielded appeared to be round and hard.

“Lady Morona, I want you to take this piece of Greek cheese here and hold it between your knees for me and then I want you to take this black olive and squeeze it in the cleft of your noble Roman bootie!

Lips parted, the princess’ face flushed red and contorted in disgust.

“Oh man, that’s totally fucked up Flatulus!”

“Yes, yes I know”, the barbarian softly replied.