Jax slammed the old dwarf woman onto the cold, hard anvil. The impact was a brutal thwack of flesh on unforgiving iron.
Her prized beer mug flew from her grip, exploding on the stone floor in a shower of glass and frothy ale.
All other movement in the room froze. Every eye was wide, every mouth agape.
Before the old hag could even draw breath to curse him, Jax's hands were on her. His fingers hooked into the waist of her rough-spun skirt. With one brutal, grating rriipp, he tore the garment down to her ankles, leaving her in nothing but a pair of stained, grimy underwear.
"What in the fiery hells are you doing, you son of a bitch!" she screeched, her voice like grinding stones.
Jax leaned in, his hot breath fogging in the cool air. "Oh? So you admit it? You are a bitch."
His face dipped toward her damp underwear. He was going to lick the old pussy waiting for him. But he stopped. He needed the real thing. He hooked a thick finger in the waistband and ripped them down.
