Fighting Lady Jayne (Divinity Warriors 2)

by Pillow Michelle M.

  “Ah,” she gasped, pushing his head, “down.”

  The short plea was all she could manage.

  Ronen chuckled, not moved by her strength as he took his time. Instead of obeying, he kissed his way to her neck, clearly not stopping until he’d touched and explored every inch of her.

  “It is your turn to be teased, my devilish lady,” he whispered before sucking the lobe of her ear.

  Jayne became more aggressive, scratching at his arms and back, mindlessly trying to push him where she wanted him. Ronen resisted all her silent efforts as he made his leisurely way back down, reversing the path he’d first taken. Lips wrapped her nipples. His tongue flicked its way down her abdomen. Fingers gripped hips and ass.

  “Please, Ronen.” Jayne went from commanding to begging. There wasn’t an inch of her flesh that didn’t tingle, and she worried he’d make her turn over so he could journey up and down her backside. She couldn’t take the torture if he did.

  The bright light of late morning washed over them. To her relief, he merely ran his hands over her legs, not following with his slow moving mouth. Harsh breath hit against her sex, cooling and heating it at the same time. She felt the moisture gathered there, ready to ease his way.

  Finally, he dipped his tongue into her folds, parting her sex as he tasted her. She grabbed his hair, doing her best to keep him there as she wrapped her legs around his shoulders. Ronen gave her pussy the same attention he’d given the rest of her. He probed her clit with his mouth until she cried out in sheer ecstasy. She watched the top of his head bob gently. Jayne squirmed, rocking into his mouth. He ran his hands up her stomach to rub her breasts. Her legs tightened, forcing him harder against her sex.

  A sensual chuckle escaped him and he braced himself on the bed to push up. He inhaled deeply. “I will be no good to you passed out between your thighs.”

  Jayne was too close to completion. She moaned, tightening her grip to slam his face back into her sex. He bumped her clit and she jerked, nearly coming off the bed. Her leg slipped off his shoulder. She came hard, violently shuddering.

  Her limbs sprawled on the mattress. She couldn’t move and wasn’t sure she wanted to. Ronen crawled next to her, grinning with pride as he lay on his side.

  “You look proud.” Jayne laughed weakly.

  “That is one, my lady,” Ronen answered. “Catch your breath, I owe you fourteen more.”

  Jayne rolled to face him, searching his face to see if he was serious. There was no way her body could take that another fourteen times in one evening. He merely smiled at her like a man who was very willing to try. She placed her hand on his neck, tracing his cheek with her thumb. “When did you shave?”

  “On the horse last night while you slept. Soldiers learn to do what we can on the move.”

  “What else do you do on the move?” She continued to trace his cheek before moving to brush past his lips.

  “We eat.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jayne lazily swiped along the seam of his mouth when his lips closed.

  Ronen nipped at her thumb, sucking it between his lips and biting gently. His lids lowered over his eyes. “We drink.”

  Now wet from his mouth, she again ran her finger around his lips. Her heart quickened. “And?”

  “When we are alone, traveling those dark nights, we occasionally find our release.” He turned his face into her palm, licking it. “And, when we are fortunate enough to have a woman, we fuck.”

  “While riding?”

  “Yea, my lady.”

  Jayne furrowed her brow, trying to picture them doing such a thing.

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, “Here, I will show you.”

  “You want to go for a ride now?” she inquired in disbelief. Jayne glanced at the lighted window. It still looked early in the day. Even so, she doubted she’d have the energy to make it out of the castle, let alone to the stables and onto a horse.

  “No, my lady.” He moved up on the bed so his upper back was pressed against the headboard. His cock was full and she realized whereas she had found release, he had not. He absently rubbed his stiff erection. “I wish for you to ride now.”

  Jayne licked her lips, eyeing his cock. “What if I don’t want to ride? What if I’m hungry instead?” She lifted her leg, straddling his calves before leaning over. “What if I want to…”

  Jayne flicked her tongue over the mushroomed tip, tracing the small indention she found there. His hips jerked and he reached over his head to grab hold of the headboard. She continued to tease him as he had her, flicking and licking, kissing and tasting. His legs worked against the bed, bumping up into her moistening pussy. Her breasts brushed along his muscled thighs until her own teasing began to torture her as well.

  “Either take me fully into your mouth or mount up, my lady,” he grunted. “For if you don’t, I cannot promise to control my actions.”

  “Oh?” She sucked lightly on the tip, but only taking him as deep as the top ridge of his penis. Jayne wanted to ride him, but she also wanted to hear what else he had in mind. “What will you do when you lose control, warrior?”

  “I will either grab you by the hair to forcibly fuck that temptress mouth of yours until I come down the back of your throat, or I will turn you around so that I may pound into you from behind like a wild beast in heat.” The words came out harsh and panted, and he looked almost as if he didn’t want to say them. “I have no desire to treat you so roughly and am ashamed I am so close to losing control.”

  Jayne had a very big desire for him to treat her so roughly. She crawled up onto his lap. Grabbing the headboard for support, she lifted up. Ronen grabbed her hips, as he maneuvered his cock along her slit. Quickly finding what he sought, he pulled her down onto him. A loud moan sounded over her as he buried himself deep.

  Jayne lifted up and let her weight carry her back down, keeping it slow and steady as she impaled herself on his cock. Ronen gripped her tight, digging his fingers into her flesh as he tried to make her go faster. His face buried between her breasts as he made animalistic noises along her flesh.

  “This is my ride, Lord Ronen,” Jayne said, nipping at his ear. He groaned, finally giving over all control. As a reward, Jayne moved faster, slamming onto him. The pleasure built and she had to throw back her head in order to catch her breath. She gasped and panted, both fighting and accepting the rush of tremors that overtook her body, radiating from her sex.

  Stiffening, she couldn’t move. She came hard. Ronen cried out, his stomach tensing as his hips jerked up. He spilled his seed inside her, not letting go of his tight hold on her until every last ounce of their climax was spent. Jayne’s forehead fell against his shoulder.

  “There are so many ways my mind wishes me to take you,” he said into her hair. “But my body needs to recover.”

  Jayne suppressed a yawn, too spent to move. “Now that you mention it, I am a little tired. We might have to hold off on numbers three through fifteen until later.”

  “As my lady wishes.” He kissed her temple as he rolled her onto her back. “Would you like me to carry you to your bed?”

  He really was going to kick her out of his bed? Jayne stretched her arms over her head. It was just as well. She couldn’t sleep on the soft mattress anyway. Closing her eyes, she yawned, not in any hurry to move. “No, I can do it.”

  When she made no move to get up, she felt his arms slip under her back and legs. Ronen lifted her, carrying her naked across the chamber to her room. She didn’t open her eyes, too tired to demand he put her down.

  “Rest you well, my lady,” he said, laying her on a different but equally soft bed. His hand brushed over her hair before the sound of his footfall faded across the chamber floor.

  The cool mattress was an odd contrast to her heated body as he let her go. Mumbling, she answered, “Goodnight, Ronen.”

  Chapter Eight

  She did it again. She left him.

  Ronen stared at Jayne’s empty bed in disbelief. He’d awoken rested
and ready to make good on his promise to give her pleasure. Almost eagerly he went to her chambers, hoping to slip into her bed and pull her from sleep with his kisses. But she wasn’t there. The bed was made, untouched.

  Outside, the telltale streaks of evening encroached upon the land. How long had she been gone? How did she sneak past him without rousing him? He was a trained knight. No one was supposed to enter his sleeping quarters without him knowing. Men could tiptoe across the dirt outside his tent and he would notice. But somehow his wife went right by him and he didn’t know it.

  She left him.

  Ronen felt a panic rise inside him causing his hands to shake. How could she do it? Here? The same day Ronen assured the king he’d make his marriage work.

  Maybe she didn’t leave. Maybe she went below stairs and even now sat with the queen, dining and talking of the secret things women discussed.

  Going to the trunk in his room, he found a loose tunic and breeches. The soft linen material wasn’t cut to fit him but, considering he didn’t have his own clothes, he couldn’t complain. He grabbed his boots, tugging them on before hurrying toward the main hall.

  Be there, Jayne. Be in the main hall. Do not leave me.

  He paused, hidden around the corner as he tried to center himself. His hands still shook and his heart pounded hard. Anxiety gripped him, tightening his chest and throat.

  Be there, Jayne.

  He strode into the hall, seeking the head table. Queen Patricia sat by herself, her hands folded in her lap, her chin lifted regally as she watched the hall. Occasionally, she would motion a silent command to a servant. Much of the evidence of the eve meal had been removed from the tables, but knights still sat, drinking and talking. King Wilhelm joined his men at a lower table, drawing his finger over the wood to illustrate his point. The knights around him laughed, pounding their fists on the tabletop.

  Seeing Ronen, the king’s expression dropped and he stood, leaving his companions to watch after him. When he was within speaking range, he said, “Is there news from the forest?”

  “No, Majesty,” Ronen answered. “It is my wife.”

  “Is she injured? Did the Caniba violate her?” The king took his arm, leading him to the privacy of the passageway beyond the main hall.

  “Methinks she has run off again. I woke up and she was gone.” Admitting as much pained him, but he would not dishonor himself more by lying to the king. “Has she been to the hall?”

  “No,” the king shook his head in denial. “The queen would have demanded her presence at the head table had she arrived.”

  “I will ask about the encampment and see if any have seen her pass. With your permission, I ride at once.”

  “Yea, in a moment.” The king made a low noise of irritation. “You are right, Lord Ronen. If a bride of Firewall, with all its power and glory, cannot be convinced to stay, then we cannot risk others coming here under the present agreement. I will suspend trade with Divinity, but we will keep this between us. I have no wish to dampen the spirits of the men with Sorceress Magda threatening our borders. The knights need a reason to fight, and the hope of a lady always seems to be the best motivation. Moreover, I am not ready to give up on this alliance. I will not have the trade agreement tarnished by rumors of the gods being angered with us for trying to take more brides than they readily bestow.”

  “Agreed.” Ronen itched to be dismissed so he could run for his horse. Hopefully someone in the encampment stopped her. Surely news of her first attempt to escape him had made the rounds amongst the men. Just the thought made him tense. The embarrassment to his honor was unbearable. First, she chose him for all to see, and then she ran from him—twice. Any way a man analyzed the situation, it looked bad for Ronen.

  Then there was his private torment, the insecurities he’d never felt before. Ronen had no instinct as to how to deal with them. Show him a battle and his instinct was to fight. Show him a sword and his instinct was to swing. Show him a wife and his instinct was to make love to her and protect her from all harm. Jayne didn’t want him to protect her.

  Why did she run? He didn’t mistreat her. He had money and power. She would never want for anything. What more could she want from him? Was facing the Caniba in the forest so much better than staying as his wife? What had he done? And the most humiliating question of all, was he a bad lover? The women in his past never complained, though he knew he wasn’t as experienced as a man who’d been wed for several years. It’s not like women lined every street yearning for a man to take them. When women of trade were available, he had to wait his turn like everyone else.

  “When you find her, Lord Ronen, the queen would like to speak with Lady Jayne. She will ensure the new bride knows her place.” The king motioned that Ronen should go.

  As he hurried through the passageway, avoiding those gathered in the main hall, his irritation only deepened. Now the queen wished to interfere in his marriage?

  Ronen’s fists tightened and he fought the urge to scream. This was too much. It was beyond anything a knight of his station and training should have to deal with. Jayne embarrassed him in front of his king and his people. She humiliated him, tormented him and worried him. All he wanted was a wife he could take care of and do his duty by. He wanted ease in his home and happiness.

  Why did the gods curse him?

  * * * * *

  Jayne stretched her arms over her head and yawned. The fur pelt beneath her naked body tickled her flesh, padding it from the cool stone floor. She felt as if she’d slept for a year, glad for a bed that wasn’t a pile of dirt beneath a shrub.

  Grabbing the side of the bed, she pulled herself up from the floor. On the opposite side of the thick mattress, the door to Ronen’s room was closed. The fire that burned when she walked into the room had died down to a soft glow. Combined with the darkened skies outside her windows, it made for heavy shadows. Jayne crossed to the fireplace and tossed in a log. The wood had been soaked in a sticky substance that instantly ignited but apparently caused the wood to burn slower and last longer.

  Light crept brighter over the walls. The room was smaller than the one originally provided for her at Battlewar Castle. Two windows dominated one wall on either side of a thick chair. A small table, trunk and the box of firewood took up the other. The centerpiece of the room was the large bed whose thick mattress forced Jayne to sleep on the floor atop the fur rug.

  A basin of water had been left on the small table and Jayne washed her hands. Next to it, she found a white, shapeless gown and a red corset top. A pair of short boots had been placed nearby on the floor. She’d seen how the women of this dimension dressed but refused to wear a corset tightened to the point she couldn’t breathe for the sake of her cleavage. Before putting the clothes on, she tiptoed to the door leading to Ronen’s room. He had promised to make her come, what was it? Fifteen times? Her rested body eagerly wanted to make good on the claim. Cracking open the door, she found the bedcovers messed up and the room empty.

  She sighed in disappointment. So much for the idea of a quick romp before searching for food. Her stomach growled loudly. The maid who’d shown her to the guest chambers when they first arrived had offered to bring her food. Jayne should have said yes but, at the time, conceding she needed anything from Ronen or his people had been too much of a sting to her pride.

  Slipping into her clothes, she left the corset loose and headed toward the passageways outside the chamber door. The castle was quiet. Each step sounded on the floor with a decisive hit. Jayne itched at her arm, pulling up her sleeve to check the wound. It had healed to a light pink, the skin only slightly textured.

  The castle’s layout was relatively simple compared to the maze of Battlewar. All passageways seemed to converge on one center spot—the main hall. Thick tapestries lined the walls, covering the stone with bright blues, reds and golds. They depicted bloody battles against legions of hairy Caniba warriors. From what she could decipher of the stories, they rarely ended happily for the hero.

&
nbsp; Jayne understood fighting and the images didn’t bother her as it might a more delicate lady. She might not go into battle, but each time she went into the ring she risked her life. Matches where death was a possibility paid more. Sure, she never actually killed someone in the ring, and the thought of killing for sport made her stomach curl, but she would if she had to. That’s what some people didn’t seem to get. Life wasn’t some pretty day at the park, picnicking and laughing. Life was dirty and raw and filled with things she’d rather not think of. Jayne touched a tapestry, running her finger over a thick Starian hero marred with the horrors of war. The Starians seemed to have the concept down, though. Maybe she and Ronen were more alike than she first imagined.

  What was she thinking? Ronen was her captor and every good prisoner knew there were only two options—live and die under the will of another or escape. It wasn’t in her nature not to fight and, if she died, it would be her own doing.

  “I must be delirious. I need food,” she mumbled to herself, swatting aimlessly at the embroidered hero before walking toward a narrow patch of light coming from the direction of the main hall.

  Though remnants of a crowd remained, giving evidence through scattered goblets and pitchers of liquor, the hall was nearly empty. A few servants cleared the remaining trenchers of mostly eaten food. Jayne’s gaze swept over the hall, landing on a long table set high above the others on a stone platform. For a moment she thought the lady staring back at her was a statue. The woman didn’t move, merely sitting with her chin imperially in the air and eyes narrowed in irritation.

  “Lady Jayne, I presume,” the woman said, coming slowly to her feet. Each movement was slow and steady. Her red gown and perfectly matched corset contrasted the drab color of the stone behind her and the muted brown and cream of her tablecloth. It set her apart from the hall. Her hair had been pulled up high on her head, piled in curls, and she wore a thick band of gold around the base of her throat. “You may approach.”