The Pleasure in Surrender (an erotic historical short story)

by Delilah Devlin

  Her insides quivered, but not from fear that she’d angered him. She couldn’t drag her gaze from his body.

  He approached the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. So close, she was tempted to reach out to discover if his body was as hard as it appeared. She was his wife. She did have the right, and yet, she squared her shoulders in resistance.

  “I will be gentle and quick. You need not fear me.”

  She let her gaze drop to his large cock. Her mouth grew dry. “How can you promise me gentleness?”

  “If you will put your trust in me, I will show you.” And then he held still. His large frame unmoving. Waiting for her answer. Something he didn’t have to do. She already belonged to him. Every bit as much as her castle, her people, and the large tract of her demesne. But it seemed he wanted her cooperation—her surrender, she amended. And shouldn’t she try to appease him?

  She was at his mercy. A thought that swirled endlessly in her mind. Years of Malcolm’s debauchery had cooled her ardor, for a time, but lovers had entered her dreams. Was she foolish to believe there could be pleasure in surrender?

  Glancing away from his dark eyes, she lowered the sheet she’d clutched against her chest. She drew up her shift and tossed it to the floor, and then sat silently, afraid to glance his way, afraid to read into his expression because she knew she was slender, her breasts small, and didn’t men prefer a more bountiful frame to slake their urges against?

  A rasp against her tight nipple drew her gaze downward. His fingertip, so large and calloused, touched her with surprising delicacy. Her nipple responded, blooming beneath his scrape, her areola dimpling as the tip ripened and protruded.

  “Such a pretty pink,” he murmured.

  A blush heated her cheeks. “You don’t have to praise me. I know that I am as thin as a pike.”

  “You think you lack womanly attributes?” he murmured.

  “I am simply saying that you don’t have to woo me with pretty phrases. I want this done. Over.” Liar.

  His jaw tightened, and he ripped back the sheet. “Very well. Prepare to receive me.”

  Her eyes widened.

  His brow arched. “You wanted brevity.”

  “I did,” she said feeling a little faint. But she did as he asked, scooting down the bed and stretching her legs. Now lying, she parted her thighs, crossed her arms over her chest, and closed her eyes.

  When he didn’t move for the longest time, she peeked at him from beneath her lashes. He was staring, a dark scowl twisting his face. Her belly tightened as she reminded herself there was much to fear in being alone with this man.

  He cursed under his breath. “This will not be quick, Edwina.”

  “I am cooperating,” she said, her voice shrill.

  His sigh was deep. “This husband of yours, how did he manage the consummation?”

  She shrugged. “He came on top of me, thrust a few times, and was done. Thankfully, his seed never took.”

  “Just the once?” he asked arching a brow.

  “Of course not, but he soon found others he enjoyed more, and who seemed to enjoy him.”

  “And you didn’t mind that he shamed you?”

  She cleared her throat. “I was relieved he didn’t seek my bed. And he must not have found a fertile woman because he didn’t leave his spawn littering the castle.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you really this harsh or does the act frighten you?”

  “I’m not afraid.” Not of him. Not of sex. She feared another disappointing experience. She raised her gaze to his, noted the hard light in his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I am ready.”

  “You are not. By far, you are not. But then, it is my responsibility to school you, Edwina, to prove to you there is more to this act than something repulsive and demeaning.” He raked a hand through his dark hair and blew out a harsh breath that billowed his cheeks. When he turned away and jerked open her chamber door, she stared.

  Not until several minutes had passed did she understand that he’d left her. She almost smiled. She’d won. And then she remembered how he’d looked, large and brutish, but with blue eyes that glinted with a hint of wild promise, and her shoulders slumped. Had she finally met the man who could tempt her only to turn him away?

  *

  Edwina stubbornly went about her daily tasks the next morning, ignoring her added guests. There were so many people crowding the hall she sent the villagers back to their homes and the shepherds to move the flocks outside the walls. The strangers among Alred’s men, her husband’s men, gave her surreptitious stares, but kept silent, taking their cue from Grimvarr, who sat on the dais next to Alred, maps spread across the table while they drank and parleyed.

  She tried to ignore her husband’s steady stares, but every time his gaze rested on her, heat infused her body. She grew uncomfortable in her own skin and her clothing felt tight. Every time she claimed the nerve to meet his glance with a direct one of her own, she felt as though she was falling, leaning toward him, darkness closing around her sight, like she was looking through a tunnel where only he existed at the end.

  Ridiculous! She wasn’t falling. Wasn’t afraid. Wasn’t some half-witted slut lusting after a man. And yet, lust rose up often enough throughout the day that she was nearly exhausted from fighting her inner turmoil. So much so, that after she’d seen to the dinner meal, she slipped away, retiring to her room. Hoping he’d never notice she’d shown weakness, but hoping too that he’d seek her out.

  She wanted to matter to him. To be more than a means to wealth and privilege. Good Lord, she wanted him.

  Behind her, the door creaked open. She glanced over her shoulder to find Grimvarr leaning his back against the door.

  “Thank you for your efforts today. Alred had nothing but praise for your hospitality.”

  “As you already knew, I am a competent chatelaine,” she said, lifting her chin, challenge thrown down, should he bother to accept.

  “You do know that Alred will not quit this keep until we are truly wed.”

  She blinked, realizing he was giving her a strong reason to capitulate—one other than the fact desire swirled thick in the room, and so urgently she found it hard to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth to reply. But she did. “He and his men will eat and drink their way through the stores.”

  Grimvarr’s lips twitched. And there in his dark eyes, she saw a glint of humor. Something that eased the stiffness of her back. There was a sly wit beneath his brutish appearance. Intelligence beyond his prowess on the battlefield. And a lambent heat in his cool eyes that spoke to her across the silence. He wasn’t asking for surrender. Rather, he sought her cooperation to achieve a common goal. He was saving her pride. A concession as a sign of respect. Could she offer him no less?

  Slowly, Edwina reached for the ties at her shoulders and pulled at the soft knots, beginning to disrobe. “We should save the best wines for the harvest celebration in the fall.” There, she’d told him she no longer objected to this union.

  His mouth stretched slowly, and he too began to strip. In minutes, they stood nude, gazes raking the other’s frame until she took the initiative and slipped backward onto the mattress.

  He followed, coming over her, bracing his weight on his arms, his glance sliding down her narrow frame, then up again, and centering on her mouth. “You have a generous mouth.”

  She sniffed, pretending more confidence than she felt. His weight pinned her to the bed. “It is large.”

  “I am large, and one day you will understand how perfectly we suit.”

  He said it with a crooked smile, but she was breathless, too excited to wonder what he meant, because he bent toward her and rubbed his mouth against hers. His kiss was softer than she’d expected, but demanding all the same, lips slanting and drawing on hers, waiting until she followed his circular motions, acceding to the kiss.

  When his teeth bit her lower lip, she gasped and his tongued entered her, surprising her. His tongue slid along the meat of hers
, lashing it, rimming her teeth.

  They kissed with their eyes wide open—her eyes crossing from the nearness, his smoldering. Without thought, she tightened her lips and suctioned on his tongue.

  A groan passed from his mouth into hers, and she gave it back, at last closing her eyes and simply feeling the way he patiently prodded and licked, awakening something inside her—a curl of heat, deep inside her womb.

  He was large and brutal, this she knew from the stories she’d heard, but he was also terribly insistent—and he would make sure she enjoyed this, whether she wanted to or not.

  And suddenly…she wanted. Desperately. Again, she remembered him breaking from the line astride his warhorse, his body frighteningly large, his dark hair fluttering from beneath his conical helm. She’d felt a shiver of unwanted attraction and tamped it down. He’d looked like a Norse god come to life, but she’d feared he’d be every bit as brutish. And yet, here he was, set on seducing her.

  By the time he drew back, breaking the kiss, she was breathing hard, her nipples hard points catching in the fur of his chest. She wanted to rub against him, to chafe in the silky curls.

  His hands framed her face; his thumbs caressed her bottom lip. “Tonight, we find our pleasure, Edwina. Tomorrow, we can war.”

  She felt as though a great weight had lifted—the weight of her responsibility to herself to resist. As though something broke inside her, warmth rushed through her. The promise in his eyes was seductive. He made pleasure seem possible. Even inevitable. She swallowed and gave him a nod.

  His reaction was swift, a one-sided smile, an even more smoldering gaze. He scooted down the bed until his head hovered over one small breast. She slid her hand between them, covering it. He tugged her hand away then lowered, sticking out his tongue to stroke the nipple.

  She gasped as her areola dimpled and the tip tightened. He aimed breath in a narrow stream, cooling the wet bud, then kissed it, sucking it into his mouth where he teased it with his tongue.

  Heat swept over her skin. Gooseflesh prickled. Her legs moved restlessly, trapped by his weight as he moved to the other breast and renewed the sweet torture.

  Her head thrashed, so many sensations bombarding her—the rasp of his beard, the pull of his lips, the liquid spilling from inside her… How had he brought her to arousal so quickly?

  Again, he moved downward, his tongue tracing her ribs, dipping into her navel, then lower still. When his face was above her mound, she bowed upward in alarm. “What are you doing?”

  “What I must,” he said, his voice rasping.

  “’Tis sinful,” she gasped as his tongue stroked her outer folds. Sinful, but oh so pleasurable.

  He raised his head to give her a narrow stare. “You would not have barred your gates against your husband if you feared Hell.”

  “I barred my gates against a barbarian, knowing God would understand.”

  He grunted and bent over her again, parting her with his fingers.

  Good Lord, why was he looking there? She slipped her hand between them to cup her sex. “I am already wet. You have accomplished what you sought. You can enter me now.”

  His head shook, as did his chest. Was he laughing at her? With her free hand, she sank her fingers in his hair and pulled. But he would not be dislodged. He pulled away her hand, and his mouth burrowed between her folds; his tongue stroked her entrance.

  “Sinful,” she whispered. But, oh, it was also glorious. Her hips bucked when his thumb rasped across the sensitive knot at the top of her folds. “Oh, please, please stop.” But her hands clutched his hair, pulling her to him, anchoring him there, because now, she was desperate for the release his efforts promised.

  When his lips latched around her hard knot, she whimpered. When two of his thick fingers entered her, she bucked. But he held her still, drawing hard on her knot, fingers pumping inside her. Her back arched and she cried out, darkness closing around her vision.

  When she came back to herself, he was kneeling between her thighs.

  She waited, spellbound, as he came over her and began to push inside her.

  Although she was wet, her quim burned as he stretched her, shallow thrusts breaching her then sinking deeper with each steady forward push. She slid her heels up the mattress, curving her hips to accept his thrusts. Glancing between them, she watched, fascinated with the sight of his thick shaft disappearing inside her. Tension built inside her womb again.

  He made a growling sound, and she glanced up. Passion tightened his cheeks. A deep flush was spreading there. His eyes were losing their focus, becoming smokier, his lids falling. He was finding pleasure, intense pleasure, if the quivering of his arms and shoulders was any indication.

  And suddenly she felt powerful, no longer the conquered one. Her own motives began to disintegrate beneath the blistering heat they built. There was pleasure in surrender, but it went both ways.

  “Stop,” she whispered.

  He went still, his gaze falling to her face. Slowly he pulled free of her. His chest billowed around deep breaths, and he held himself on his arms above her. “Did I cause you pain?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  She shook her head. Then without saying a word, she reached down and slid her fingers around the base of his cock, all the while marveling at the thickness, the steel-like firmness wrapped in warm, supple skin. She pulled him forward, fit his head against her entrance, then glanced up to meet his gaze. “I am not sorry I barred my gates to you.”

  He held still, his gaze studying her face.

  “Had we met in a normal fashion, I would have dismissed you as I have a dozen suitors before you. I have had little respect or need for a man. And I suppose my first husband spoiled something inside me.”

  His eyes closed for a moment, and then he speared her with a hot look. “I will never dishonor your trust in me. I will never strike you. You know these lands and your people. I will listen to your counsel.”

  Her eyes filled, knowing they were speaking their private vows. That this was the true consummation of their union. “I will honor you. I will try never to disagree with you in public, and I will trust you with my property as I will trust you with my body.” And then she offered him a smile. Her first.

  His smile was warm and beautiful as he entered her. And this time, there was no discomfort, no burning, just a luscious fullness that spread upward, filling her chest with hope for their shared future. This burly knight, this dark barbarian, was only a man who wished a home. A place of his own. Well, perhaps he only wanted the respect and stature being lord of the keep would bring, but wasn’t it her role to make him appreciate the other things she brought?

  Starting now. She raised her head and bit his shoulder, hoping she hadn’t read him wrongly.

  His swift, tight smile was followed by a blazing glare. He captured her hands, drawing them up and together, holding them easily as she writhed beneath him, her movements seeming to incite him. His own measured thrusts grew harsher, deeper, and she reveled in the violence, meeting his darkening gaze with a narrowed one of her own.

  “Our passions are well matched,” he growled.

  She jutted her chin, unwilling to bend enough to agree.

  Abruptly, he pulled free. In an instant, he rolled her, forcing her with his hard hands to her knees. His cock nudged her entrance then thrust, impaling her, and she groaned, coming up on her arms and twisting to give him a quelling stare.

  His laughter filled the air, and she turned toward the wall to hide her own grin. Their lovemaking was becoming a contest. One she found she relished.

  A smack landed on her backside, and her quim tightened around him even as a fresh wash of fluid drenched his cock. With a glide of his finger on her small nubbin, she went rigid, pleasure exploding.

  Moments later, he gave a shout. His motions slowed then stopped. They both hung there, their bodies still connected, ragged breaths punctuating the air.

  A kiss landed on her shoulder. His face nuzzled into the corner of her neck. “
Well played, milady.”

  She shook her head, no dismay creeping in to sour the moment. “You have won, it seems.”

  A chuckle shook her. Rather than withdraw, he held her hips as he brought them to the mattress then spooned his body around hers. She rested on his thick upper arm, inhaling the scent of sex, his musk, surrounded by the man. Captured. In his thrall. And happily so.

  *

  The next morning, Grimvarr held her hand as they entered the hall. Lord Alred was already seated on the dais breaking his fast. Everyone stared as the couple crossed to take their places at the head table.

  She knew what they saw. Her cheeks were still rosy from having awakened with him hard and sliding inside her. His face bore the expression of a man who had been well pleasured. Together, they exuded an aura of sensual ease. They were lovers.

  Geade glanced up from his table and raised his glass, a silent toast. Relief was apparent in his smile.

  Grimvarr made of show of helping her take her seat then lifted her hand from her lap, turned it, and kissed her palm. Edwina’s eyes filled at the tender gesture. Still bent over her hand, Grimvarr offered her a smile, one filled with wicked promise.

  Beside her, Lord Alred lifted his beaker of mulled wine. “To a glorious siege!”

  About Delilah Devlin

  Delilah Devlin is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of erotica and erotic romance with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. She has published over a hundred forty erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths, and she is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.

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