by Annice Sands
Savage Want
By
Annice Sands
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2015, Annice Sands
Cover Art by Alyssa Breck
All Rights Reserved.
This book, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author. The uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Author bio
Chapter One
I clasped my hands until the knuckles turned white as my father delivered the news. I was to be married off, to the son of Duke Penbroke, no less. Father had broken the news without any forewarning one day as I cleaned up the wood shavings from the shop floor.
“This is an unprecedented opportunity for you,” my father said, “to be given a second chance at marriage. Not very many widows could consider themselves to be so fortunate.”
He smiled. “Cecil is taken by your beauty. I am proud.”
Father busied himself with a broken hinge, working the jointed pieces back and forth in his hands. Father was a skilled craftsman, capable of fashioning all sorts of hinges and door latches, locks and keys. His specialty seemed to rely specifically on the existence of doors.
I shook my head. “I loved Phillip until the day he was overcome by the great sickness, and do still. Besides, I want to stay with you. I’ve just started to learn the business.”
“Which is not a proper place for a lady.” His smile faded into a stern scowl. “Cecil Penbroke is a promising young lord, and when he becomes Duke, you will come to have land and money. Your children will never want.”
“I don’t want children. I want to remain here, by your side.”
“You would be a widower for the rest of your life then? Not while breath remains in my body, Elena.” His face was kind, his eyes the same green as mine. Although his fair hair had long ago succumbed to the gray of age, his smile was young and rinsed away the years. “My daughter. My only daughter. If your mother could see you now.”
“She would never force such an arrangement upon me.” My words were harsh, given my father’s attempts to provide security for my future, but I did not care.
He rose to his full height and looked down at me seated there. “This is already done. You will meet with Cecil in the morning. Now off with you to bed.”
I hurried away, my cheeks burning. I’d fallen in love with Phillip at an early age and we had been blessed enough to pull together a small ceremony to celebrate our matrimony. But heaven did not smile upon our union. The first loss had been of our unborn son, barely large enough to fill my hand. Then Phillip’s crops suffered a long drought and freezing winters for three years in a row. Finally, Phillip had succumbed to the great sickness that took one-third of the kingdom’s population in a ravaging three-week period. I had buried him next to our son. My father had taken me back in, as I was left penniless and whatever land Phillip owned was soon taken by his debtors.
What my father was proposing was a great opportunity indeed. For someone else. Anyone but me. As an insult to injury perhaps, Cecil was younger than me by three years. I hardly expected a year or two to go by and once I held our second or third child on womanly hips, his eye would wander. And he was quite mad, or so the stories in the township went. A hunter and would-be warrior, Cecil was well-known for his love of the chase and thrill of the killing of wild beasts. This was in drastic contrast to my Phillip, who was but a simple farmer, kind and gentle to all manners and walks of life. His mother held a firm belief that heaven was missing an angel and had so called her son home to glory.
And so, heaven had. He’d died out there while working among his tall, golden stalks of grain, a bit of sweat drying on his brow and left me here to contemplate the rest of my own mortality. I did not believe in love. To me, love had died along with him.
* * *
Morning came after restless sleep, the clatter of dishes somewhere below. I rose from my bed slowly, drifting toward the washbasin like a ghost in a dream. I was to meet Cecil, so Father had cooked us both breakfast.
“Dear daughter, you look as beautiful as s spring rosebud,” my father said as I sat across from him at the table. He pushed a bowl of buttered grits toward me. “Eat up.”
I had never met Cecil in person, and the anticipation was less than authentic. I’d rather have hidden in Father’s workshop, busied with tedious tasks.
“How has the Duke agreed to marriage between me and his son? We are not nobles.”
Father smiled. “He has taken it upon himself to gain the trust of the artisans and craftsmen for his new cathedral and prisons. Even the rich need doors. With my support, he’ll have the best in the kingdom in his pocket and so I arranged for your future as part of the agreement. Besides, Cecil is quite fond of you.”
I blinked and nibbled at the hot grains.
“I’ve been approached by more than one willing suitor or another, all vying for your fair hand, Elena.”
My look of surprise must have melted into scorn.
“You can’t be astonished by the news?” Father raised his thick iron-colored brows.
I said nothing. I was indeed astonished. The way he was talking would lead one to believe I was something to squabble over, when in truth, I should be serving the Duchess her afternoon tea and polishing her silver brushes instead.
“The Duke is sending a carriage for us,” Father said, and presented a very large box to me there at the table with a proud flourish. “Put this on.”
I opened the box to find an incredibly beautiful dress inside. The material appeared to be silk—a rich dark blue of the night sky—along with a matching ribbon to contrast with my golden hair. I stood and started to reach for the bowls to wash up, but Father shook his head.
“Not today. Your only worry this day is to live up to the Duke’s expectations.”
He shooed me off and I went to my little room to put on the dress. Little silvery heels were underneath the lace and rich embroidery, and soon I was standing there in a daze, wearing a gown fit for a princess and wondering where the money for it had come from. Father couldn’t afford such a luxury.
He called my name and rapped on the door. “The coach is here. Are you ready, my dear?”
I drifted out of my room in mild disbelief that all of this was happening to me. We should be on our way to the workshop, or to market. In a way, I suppose I was on the way to market, to bargain for my future.
Father’s smile brightened upon seeing me.
“You look ravishing. The young lord will no doubt agree.”
My cheeks burned at the compliment. “I don’t want to leave you. He’ll see right through this dress. He’ll see the real me.”
“Let us hope not before consummation night.”
“You know what I mean.” I put my hands on my hips.
Father took my hands and straightened out my arms. “Nonsense. You’ll do well as the future duchess. So
on you’ll have many new dresses. You’ll not have to toil in a workshop any longer.”
I hated the sound of the whine in my voice. “But I like being in the workshop!”
“Do not raise your voice at me, daughter, and come along. We’ll be late if we tarry any longer.”
We left our little house and stepped up into the carriage that the Duke had sent. I sat there wrapped in silk and lace like a living gift, while my father perched confident opposite me. The coach moved, and I gasped. I had not ridden in such a contraption before. The body of the coach rested on a cushioning flexor of some sort, granting a smoother ride than one would expect from what at first glance, appeared to be an enclosed cart on wheels. Father had a similar cart with which he would deliver his finished goods to their respective claimants, and the ride was not in any way comfortable.
After we had taken a path through a part of the forest, Father reached out to pat my hand.
“Manage to not look so frightened,” he said.
I mustered a smile.
When we drew close to the Duke’s manor, the rough road transformed beneath us. Gates opened before us and we moved over soft ground like a cloud. The carriage came to a halt and the driver dismounted. The coach’s door was opened by a small man in a neat frock with silver buttons. I stepped out with the aid of his strong grip supporting me. The Duke’s manor towered before us, the rooftops seeming to tickle the underbelly of the heavens. The twin doors had been crafted by my father, and were made of rich, dark woods with intertwining knot work. Animals twisted within the design. I vaguely recalled the length of time the project had taken, when I was still very young. Flowering shrubs flanked the grand entrance, and the air was scented with the blossoms’ perfume.
The two doors parted to grant us entrance and I found myself face-to-face with the Duke.
“My lady Elena, so good of you to join us. My name is Antoine Penbroke and this,” he gestured to his right where a tall young lad stood, “is my son, Cecil.”
I could hardly raise my gaze to meet his. Our first wistful glances should have taken place over studies, or perhaps as he rode by in the village. This had not happened, and so he was a stranger to me. I locked gazes with Cecil but for a brief moment, then my eyes were cast downward once again.
His eyes were the same color as the dress I wore. His afterimage burned in my mind. Luxurious dark-gold hair, a few shades darker than mine. Long, elegant fingers. Narrow waist and broad shoulders. I looked at him again and caught a smile playing on his lips. It was clear to me that he enjoyed the view. His gaze boldly dipped to take in my cleavage, plumped up by the narrow bodice of my fitted gown.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he said in a honeyed voice, offering a bow.
Father and the Duke walked off for a distance, engaged in talks of business and grandchildren and whatever else it is old fathers speak of, while Cecil and I were left to get to know one another.
“We finally meet,” he said first.
I raised an eyebrow. “Finally?”
Cecil nodded and offered an arm held out at an angle, meant for me to take hold of. We strolled out toward the garden as he explained.
“I have seen you before, and my condolences on the passing of your husband. Phillip was a good man, and honest worker and we were all sorry to hear of his untimely death.”
I nodded in agreement and let him keep on talking.
“When I first saw you, radiant in the square, playing with children on the street, I was encouraged to look a second time. Your unearthly beauty...” He faltered for words then cleared his throat. “Forgive me for being so forward. I can only hope that we find happiness together. With me, you shall never be in need of anything and if you are, your every desire can be fulfilled.”
His soft hand patted mine that was tucked into the crook of his arm affectionately, or like that of a cherished pet. His skin was warm and perfumed, or it could just have been the blooms in season all around us.
His gleaming sword hilt flashed in its sheath on his belt, reminding me of the stories about him from the village. His odd enthusiasm for slaughtering animals, possibly fondness for the drink. But today he was all put together, a stunning example of a lord’s young son and I relaxed. Perhaps they were just rumors, after all.
We walked a bit further into the garden, almost to the edge of the forest which was held back by the perimeter fencing. He stopped and stared into the darkened gloom of the underbrush. A crackle of dry twigs sounded from somewhere within. Cecil rested a hand on the hilt of his sword even though there was no possible way anything could reach us.
“Wolves,” he whispered. “They’ve been in the woods lately.” This he said with the same small smile playing on his lips, giving his words an opportunistic lilt.
“We should get back to the manor,” I said, turning to look behind us. The house seemed small at this distance and all too far away. “Our fathers will wonder where we’ve gone off to.”
Cecil hesitated then nodded. “Of course.”
We walked back at a faster pace than the leisurely stroll we’d taken coming out. I held the hem of my dress higher as to not snag the delicate fabric on the roses’ thorns, although my legs had scratches on them from working in the shop worse than any damage those little pinpricks could manage.
I was playing a starring role; this was theatre, where I pretended to be the lady I knew I was not. Still, my father had a good amount riding on my successful bond with Cecil, and the Duke’s son was not hard to look at. Perhaps it could work, this union of nobility and artisan blood. If only I could overlook that strange coldness in those deep blue eyes.
* * *
Cecil, I would learn soon enough, had quite the erotic appetite. Though I was no chaste maiden, having been married before, I still wished to hold off consummation until we were proper man and wife. This did not deter Cecil, who had me over numerous times for brunch, i.e., sensual liaisons, during which he put my hands to work in a different way.
Our families, eager to forge the bond, expedited the date, until all seemed a blur. The day stalked me on cat’s-feet, only to pounce upon me.
“Our wedding day is tomorrow,” I said, my voice shaking from the jerking motions I made with my hand encircling his cock. For all his noble blood, his penis was no larger than I’d experienced before, that being only Phillip besides. I was equal parts relieved and disappointed at the same time. It had been a good amount of time since I had felt a man inside me. But I had urges of my own. Each orgasm Cecil experienced, I shared in part. Only my portion left me more frustrated than satisfied, even as he would lie with his head on my chest, his hardness easing back into compliance.
“Tomorrow,” he said, twirling my loosened golden hair around a finger, “you will be all mine. And we will go into the bedchamber and not come out for many days.” He laughed, amused by the idea, so it seemed.
At least I could manage my own satisfaction, rather than pleasuring him with nothing in return except excessive moisture between my thighs and a thorough rubbing of myself in the bath.
Ultimately, I harbored a fear of losing a husband once again for Cecil invited danger every time he went to hunt. My heart wavered, unwilling to fall in his favor, yet my duty as his soon-to-be wife would not change. Whether I wanted to participate in his carnal acts was negligible. Cecil would expect me to and I would comply.
Cecil purred slightly under his breath as he undid his breeches. Our breaths were the only sounds in that moment, his gaze meeting mine before I was thrown onto the bed.
“I need a bit more like the actual act,” was his graveled commentary as he straddled my body. His member bobbed close to my face.
“What am I to do with this?”
He paused to look down at me. “I want you to suckle it.”
I started to laugh but quickly stopped when I realized he was serious. And my cunt was filled with warmth as my womanhood responded to this treatment. Suckle that? Phillip had never made such a request. Couldn’t be all that
difficult.
I wrapped my hand around his hot shaft and relaxed my jaw to admit entrance. His cock was hard in its engorgement. As my fingers slid over it, I could feel the pronounced veins that stood out along its length. Once he slid in carefully, he slid it back out. And back in. Deeper and deeper until the tip bumped against the back of my throat. This did not seem to concern him, for he eased in pace, encouraging me to tickle it with my tongue and apply suction.
“Mm, Lady Elena,” was his deep response, as he moved faster. He was fucking my face in simpler terms and the weight of him on my breasts, along with the inability to do much else but claw my fingernails into his buttocks was quite the excitement. I twisted my face a half-turn on his cock’s return and nipped at little at the base.
He had ceased talking altogether and seemed primarily focused on his impending orgasm. He pulled my hands from around him to pin me by the wrists as he pounded his cock into my mouth, without care that I could not draw breath. Still, I could not deny that his arousal in turn sparked mine and lit my body afire with need.
When he was not looking, I reached for and spit his seed into a handkerchief.
Many would have called me most fortunate to have been matched to the son of such a powerful lord. I felt grateful, really I did, but still mourned my husband’s passing. Phillip had been a determined worker with a well-muscled body that fit perfectly to mine as we engaged in the act of love. Not that my betrothed was guilty of sloth, only that he had a tendency for subtle cruelty to others and seemed to imagine himself far more important than he truly was. I made no mistake in ever questioning his decisions, and only played the part of the doting woman, best seen and rarely heard. And Cecil had the soft skin of a lord, shining hair and magnificent clothes, so foreign to what I’d experienced. If we stood together, he could tuck his chin just over my head.
I dressed myself again as Cecil was buckling his sword back on. He seemed revived by the bedsport—invigorated even as I struggled to think of anything besides finishing the act with him deep inside me.
