"THIS FEELS WEIRD," HERVOR TOLD him down a riverbank, "I've never talked before, in all my life." She touched her throat. "My voice—"
"...is beautiful." Eotigan finished in a low voice. Unlike his Bonecleavers of Hel when they needed a quick dick-suck at a pub, he wasn't blowing smoke up her ass. Hervor had a voice just as he'd imagined: low and calming. She was the complete picture now. And not to brag or anything but he'd done that. His cock had cured her.
If Eotigan was anything like that self-fucking cunt, Narkissos, this moment right here would be a colossal ego boost. In those primordial days, this was not a metaphor; Narkissos did like to fuck himself.
