Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set

by Jill Elaine Hughes

  I lean into him, and he leans into the Cross, which has gone slick with our sweat and sex juices. I turn my body to face his, keeping his slowly wilting cock inside me for as long as I can. The connection between the two of us is so strong, though, that even when he must be gone from me, we shall never be severed.

  “Madam, that was by far the most colossal experience of my life,” Pembroke whispers into my ear. “I thank you sincerely for the privilege of sharing myself with you this day.”

  Good God, even this man’s pillow talk is high-class.

  “You’re welcome,” I whisper back. “Though from now on, can you just call me Louise? All this ‘madam’ and ‘milady’ stuff just makes me feel weird.”

  He squeezes me tight and kisses me playfully on the cheek. “As you wish, Louise. And if I may be so bold, perhaps the next time you and I share ourselves with one another, could you please tie me up entirely? I should like nothing more than to submit entirely to your will.”

  I play with the soft, fine hair dappling Pembroke’s chest. “I think that can be arranged. How about I untie your legs for now, though, so we can spend a little time cozied up in bed?”

  He nods, and a moment later we’re free and loose together among my satin sheets. Pembroke’s cock is already stirring again, and to help him along, I go down on him, taking the tip of his sweaty, salty glans into my mouth, running my tongue up and down along the little ridge leading to the small divot that is already dripping happy juice. He groans and grinds into me in reply. “Ohhhh, Louise—you are incorrigible.”

  “I’m just getting started,” I say between sucks. I send my tongue up and down the back of his shaft, following the pulsing, throbbing veins on his now fully erect cock into the place where they meet behind his balls. He writhes and moans underneath me, grabbing and pulling at my hair. I suck him hard now, squeezing his balls with one hand until he’s almost on the verge of coming again. Then I pull away, push him back against the headboard with my hands. “Stay here,” I say. “Don’t move.”

  I reach over onto my dressing table and pick up a long satin sash that came off one of my underdresses when Pembroke ravished my clothes off my body. I stretch it out to check its length, find it suitable, then rummage around the scattered piles of discarded clothing for something similar. I settle on Pembroke’s cravat, which is almost as long as my sash. Perfect.

  Pembroke waits obediently in the bed, motionless up against my heavy teak headboard. I take his right arm, use one end of the cravat to tie it to a bedpost, then use the other end to tie up his left. Then I move on to his legs. I spreadeagle him, stretching him as far as his body will allow. He lets out a delighted whimper as his muscles stretch and strain under my hands. Once he’s spread wide open into a massive “X”, I use my long satin sash to tie each ankle to a bedpost.

  Now Pembroke is spread-eagled, prostate, motionless—and incredibly aroused—before me.

  He is mine, all mine.

  I step between Pembroke’s spread legs, enjoying the view I have of the backside of his erect cock and balls. His balls are already drawn far back, close to his groin, mere seconds from blowing their load. But if I have my way, they’ll be holding on to that salty-sweet essence for a good while.

  I take up my smooth wooden paddle again, intent on using it on Pembroke.

  I work my way up each of Pembroke’s spread-eagled legs with the paddle, giving him light, smacking taps, relishing the reddening trail the paddle leaves behind.Pembroke lets out a cry of pleasure with each delectable blow, and drops of happy juice build up one by one on his glans as his ecstasy builds.

  I work the paddle lightly over his entire body, which writhes and strains with delight against the silken scarves tying him tightly down. Once I’ve got every inch of Pemboke’s skin stinging and burning, I set to work on his cock. I start by working the foreskin slowly back and forth over the glans, working up some tension there while simultaneously squeezing his cock at the base to keep him from coming. Pembroke groans. “Yes, Louise. Oh, yes, yes. Don’t stop, oh please.” He raises his hips up off the bed, grinding up against my hand.

  I keep right on working the foreskin until it is slick with sweat and juices. I squeeze the base of his cock even harder, sending Pembroke’s eyes rolling back into his head in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Satisfied that I can hold off his climax for as long as I want to now, I mount him, taking the full length of his shaft into me all at once. I move up and down, around and around in a slow, steady rhythm, controlling exactly how much of his cock goes into me, how hard, how fast. Once I’ve found the kind of penetration I want I keep moving steadily, starting to touch myself. I part my lips wide to give Pembroke the best view of my slick, shiny pussy, which has turned itself into a beautiful, fragrant wet rose. He stares at me wide-eyed as I ride him hard and bring myself to orgasm again and again.

  “Louise, darling, you are truly a wonder to behold,” Pembroke sighs.

  Then he comes hard.

  He comes so hard, in fact, that his seed spurts out and down the walls of my vag once it’s deposited there, forming a sticky pool in the soft, furred recess of skin at the base of his groin, the same place where my cunt rests and grinds against him. I come one last final time, spellbound as I watch my velvet mound grow milky, frothy and wet with Pembroke’s dew.

  My hips come to rest against Pembroke’s groin as the last few spasms rock my vagina. Exhausted and spent, I collapse against his chest and neck, breathing in his musky, manly scent.

  We lay entangled together for a long time, just listening to each others’ breathing. After a long moment, Pembroke speaks. “I daresay we make a good team, Lady Louisa of the Crossroads.”

  “Mmmm-hmmmm,” I say into his hair, which smells of peppermint and woodsmoke. “You haven’t told me much about yourself,” I say as I gingerly untie his wrists and ankles from the bedposts. He responds by curling tightly into me like a cat.

  “I’ve never been much good at telling stories, I’m afraid,” he sighs, wistful. “And I’ve been trapped here in Bellweather Castle for an eternity. Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember who and what I truly am. Or rather, was.”

  I run my finger up and down along his collarbone. “Well, I know you were an English gentleman once. Still are, in fact. But what else? And how did you end up trapped here? Were you kidnapped from your own time, like I was?”

  Pembroke stretches his stiff limbs, then leans up against some pillows. “I’m afraid I’m a rather complicated man, Louise. From a very complicated set of circumstances. Frankly, I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “Begin at the beginning.”

  He laughs. “All right. I’m the younger son of the Ninth Earl of Pembroke, lord of the most valuable estate in all of Cornwall. My elder brother Robert was due to inherit the earldom when my father passed, so he was raised up to be a gentleman. I, on the other hand, was raised up to be a rake, and a soldier. But the roles my parents carved out for the two of us didn’t fit our personalities at all. Robert might have been the elder brother, but he wasn’t earl material. He was never at all interested in learning to run the estate or attend to the duties of an earl, including the frequent business trips to London and quarterly visits with the King. He wanted to do nothing but gamble, shoot, and chase women.”

  I giggled. “In other words, he was a rake.”

  “Precisely. I, on the other hand, wanted my father to teach me to be an earl. I wanted to run the estate profitably and help the local peasants who worked its lands—not double-mortgage it to pay gambling debts and keep a half-dozen mistresses in London, like my brother did. But the cursed law of primogeniture in Britain—it cares not for personal preferences. No matter how much my brother might be an irresponsible rake, and I a decent gentleman worthy of noble rank, the law is the law, and it favored my brother over me. As the younger son, I had no right to inherit Elysia at all so long as Robert lived, even if my father were to decree so in his will. Everything went to Robert, lock, stock, and barr
el. When Father died, I had to go off and fight in the Napoleonic Wars for pittance pay in order to make my living, while my brother squandered almost a thousand years’ worth of wealth playing baccarat. And there wasn’t a damn bloody thing I could do about it.”

  My heart goes out to him. His life sounds like the plot of every Regency romance novel I’ve ever read, save for the happy ending. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. But how did you end up here in the Hall of Harlots?”

  Pembroke sighs. “Well, I ended up here because I was foolhardy enough to think that I could somehow get Elysia back after my brother squandered it. You see, Lord Verdigris, in addition to being an immortal time traveler, kidnapper of beautiful women, and powerful knight, is a bit of a gambler himself. I happened upon him in the year of Our Lord 1805, shortly after the Battle of Ulm. I was acting as quartermaster to my small cavalry unit in the field, trying to procure some riding boots from a local shoemaker until we could ride back to British headquarters in Brussels. The man I would later know as Lord Verdigris overheard me haggling in English with a local German who spoke a bit of the language—my own German is atrocious—and approached me.

  “’You are an Englishman,’ Lord Verdigris said. Of course I identified myself as such. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ Lord Verdigris replied. And he was none too polite about it. Rather crass, I’m afraid.”

  I’m puzzled. “Why?”

  Pembroke sighs heavily. “Well, the Battle of Ulm didn’t go well for the British and our allies, the Austrians. Napoleon defeated us rather handily, I’m afraid. Those of us who weren’t slaughtered in the battle were left literally scavenging the mud for the food and clothing we needed to survive. I suppose the comment was Lord Verdigris’ idea of making humor out of the situation.”

  “I see,” I say, not really understanding. The Napoleonic Wars were never my historical specialty in college. Everything after the year 1600 or so is kind of a wash for me.

  “At any rate, Lord Verdigris—though I knew him only as Verd at this time—and I struck up a conversation. He asked me how I, an obvious English gentleman, ended up scavenging for cheap leather boots on a stinking battlefield. I explained to him about my situation as the penniless second son of a now-failing noble estate thanks to my elder brother’s shenanigans, and Lord Verdigris made me a rather strange offer. He wagered that if I deserted what remained of my ragtag cavalry unit and came away with him, that he’d be able to devise a way for me to regain Elysia for the Pembrokes once again, free and clear of all mortgages and debts incurred by my freeloading brother. Not only that, I’d be able to usurp my brother for the title of Ninth Earl of Pembroke, and restore the good name of my family and title for all time.”

  My eyebrows raise. “Let me guess. There was a catch.”

  Pembroke chuckles. “But of course. And what do you think it was?”

  I shrug. “I have no idea.”

  “Lord Verdigris—Verd—challenged me to a saber duel. I laughed the whole thing off at first, of course. The very idea that a total stranger I met upon a bloodstained battlefield could somehow restore the lost glory of the Pembrokes to me was a totally preposterous idea. But then again, what did I have to lose? I was a master soldier, having been trained as a youth in swordsmanship by the greatest swordsmen of the day. And Verd hardly looked like a master swordsman himself. He was shabbily dressed, in something that resembled a dirty burlap sack, and his saber was battered and rusty. So, to humor him, I agreed to his little wager. The agreement was, if I defeated him, he would immediately secure me safe travel back to Cornwall without penalty for my desertion, and set about getting Elysia released from the bank lenders and my brother’s rightful ownership somehow transferred over to me—probably by Robert’s death, since that was the only way it could happen under the laws of the time. But if by chance he defeated me, I agreed to become his personal bondservant.

  “In my arrogance, I didn’t think there was a chance in Christendom that he would win the saber duel. I thought for sure I would win, and even if I did, I doubted there was any chance he would follow through on his outrageous promises anyway. But I was bored and weary for some amusement after being so long a solder, so I went on a lark and agreed to the whole folly.”

  I can see where this is going. “Let me guess. You lost the duel.”

  Pembroke winces. “Yes, I did. And then some. Lord Verdigris very nearly killed me.”

  I gasp. “Really?”

  Pembroke nods. “The man is hands-down the best swordsman I’ve ever encountered. Which isn’t surprising, since I’m told he’s had literally hundreds of years’ worth of practice.”

  “So you know he’s immortal, then.”

  “Yes, I do. And I’ve come to know a great deal more about Lord Verdigris over the years I’ve been indentured to him. Like the fact he has a considerable weakness for dominant women in the bedchamber.” Pembroke pauses, chuckles. “As do I.”

  I bat him playfully on the shoulder. “So I’ve noticed.”

  Pembroke sits up, folds his arms across his barrel-like chest. “Lady Louisa of the Crossroads, I have a proposition for you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What say you and I join forces in a plot to free ourselves from Lord Verdigris’ grasp? I believe if we combine my intimate understanding of Verd’s habits and the Private Guard’s assets with your considerable talents in the bedchamber, we just might be able to bust our way out of Bellweather Castle.”

  His plan certainly sounds intriguing. There’s only one problem. “But what would we do once we got outside the castle walls? Lord Verdigris owns all the land for miles around. We’d just get captured and brought back. It’s not as if we can travel back to our own times.”

  Pembroke raises his index finger. “Ah, but that’s not necessarily so. You see, in my many years of servitude to Lord Verdigris, I’ve also had the benefit of doing some time traveling with him.”

  My eyes fly wide. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Of course not, Louise. How do you think I got from a Napoleonic battlefield all the way back to the twelfth century?”

  I shrug. “I just figured Verd kidnapped you, like he did me. I got teleported here through some kind of magic men’s room. I have no idea how it happened, just that it did.”

  “Actually, Louise, you understand more than you think you do. You understand that Verdigris teleports through time using magic portals. Which is exactly what he does. And teleporting through magic portals doesn’t require any special magic skills other than knowing exactly where the portals naturally occur, and how to turn them on and off.”

  Now I’m lost. “But how do you do that?”

  “It all has to do with sensing cosmic vibrations,” Pembroke explains. “I’ve accompanied Lord Verdigris as his personal servant and guard on a number of his time-traveling expeditions up and down the epochs of history, and I’ve observed the motions he goes through whenever he activates a portal very closely. He’s even volunteered some information on the subject to me a few times. And yet I haven’t quite mastered the secret of detecting the vibrations necessary to activate a time portal myself. But you, Louise, with your heightened sensual skills—I’d bet the barley fields at Elysia that you could detect them easily.”

  I’m dumbfounded. “Me? B-but I don’t know a thing about magic, or time travel, or cosmic vibrations, or cosmic anything!”

  “Ah, Lady Louisa, but you do. You know instinctively how to tap into the most sensitive channels of a man’s body and make them explode with pleasure beyond description. That’s a kind of cosmic vibration in and of itself. All you have to do is learn to tap into these magic portals the same way you do the male anatomy. Then you can return to New Jersey, I can return to Elysia, and we’ll live happily ever after.”

  I pout. “But if you go back to your farm in England and I go back to New Jersey, I’ll never see you again.”

  Pembroke’s face falls. “I suppose you’re right. And I would miss you terribly.”

  “You
would?”

  Pembroke takes both my hands in his. “I’ve known a great many women in my life, Louise. And you are the only one who was won me over completely, body and soul. If I didn’t know how much you adore your beloved New Jersey, I’d travel back in time, have my good-for-nothing brother killed somehow so I could inherit the estate before he has a chance to destroy it—then I’d marry you and have you dwell with me in the nineteenth century at Elysia as my Countess of Pembroke for all eternity.”

  I’m almost moved to tears. “Really? You would? Wow. Wow!”

  I don’t know what else to say, so I kiss him. With tongue. Lots and lots of tongue.

  He kisses back. And we don’t come up for air until both our tongues have done the tango, the cha-cha, the waltz, and the meringue. When our lips finally part, my whole body is buzzing with arousal again.

  “Well, Louise? What do you think of my little proposition?”

  “I think I could give it a try,” I say. “Though I think I’m going to need a little more practice on that whole cosmic vibrations thing.”

  Pembroke guides my hand down to his cock, which is ready for action once more. “And I know just the way for you to get some.”

  This is going to be a lot of fun.

  Chapter 8

  I’m just about to take Pembroke’s beautiful cock back into my mouth when Bridget bursts into the room.

  “Milady! Milady! Beware, milady! For the Rose Knight approaches! He wishes to bed with ye!” Bridget notices Pembroke and me in our very nude and uncompromising position, and blushes. “Beggin’ yer pardon, milady. And milord. But I’m afeared yer little party is over now.”

  Pembroke stands and sweeps his clothing up into his arms. “I shall make a swift departure at once,” he says, getting dressed. “Be well, Louisa. Until we meet again.”