Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set

by Jill Elaine Hughes

  With that, he’s gone. My eyes sting with tears as I watch him disappear out the door and down the hall.

  Bridget places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Don’t cry, milady.Ye cannot get too attached to one whose love is forbidden ye. Yer body, it don’t belong to ye no more. After all, this is the Hall of Harlots.” She hands me a fresh silk nightgown from my wardrobe, which I slip on with a heavy sigh. “Buck up, lass. ‘Tis almost time fer ye to service the Rose Knight. He’ll be here inside of a minute.”

  My head is spinning. I don’t want to “service” the Rose Knight. I don’t want to “service” anyone but Pembroke. But Bridget is right—as long as I’m a kidnapped sex slave in the Hall of Harlots, my life is no longer my own. Whatever stolen moments I share with Pembroke are fleeting bliss that I may never have the chance to enjoy again. And as such, I have to learn to make the best of a bad situation. I’ve done all right at that so far—I suppose I can keep right on doing it. There are plenty of worse things besides getting laid at the drop of a hat, I suppose.

  “So what’s the Rose Knight like?” I ask. “Is he one of Lord Verdigris’ vassals?”

  Bridget nods. “Yes, lass. And one of the most important, too. The Rose Knight oversees all of His Lordship’s lands to the north. An’ he commands six sailing ships besides.”

  “Why do they call him the Rose Knight?” I ask. “Doesn’t he have a regular name?”

  Bridget purses her lips. “No, lass. ‘Tis a mystery who and what the Rose Knight really and truly is. They call ‘im the Rose Knight because ‘e has a rose in ‘is coat-o-arms. I don’t know fer sure the rose’s meaning, but I ‘ave heard a rumor or two ‘bout it.”

  “Oh yeah? Such as?”

  Bridget glances over both shoulders and lowers her voice. “They say that the rose on ‘is shield is a symbol for a great lady, whom the Rose Knight loved with all ‘is heart, and who is now dead. They say that all ‘is glory in battle is to avenge the death o’ his love.”

  “How romantic! Like William Wallace in the movie Braveheart,” I say.

  Bridget looks puzzled. “What’s a movie, lass?”

  I laugh. “Never mind. Do you know anything about this mystery woman of his?”

  “Only a little, and all o’ that’s rumor,” she says. “But I’ve heard from more than one person that the Rose Knight’s one true love was a powerful sorceress who’uz burned at the stake by Lord Verdigris ‘imself.”

  Now I’m puzzled. “But that doesn’t make any sense! If that were true, then why would the Rose Knight serve Lord Verdigris as a loyal vassal? I’d think he’d want to kill him instead!”

  Bridget shrugs. “Sometimes the world works in mysterious ways, lass. And as I said, ‘tis only rumors. The truth may be somethin’ diff’rent, far an’ away.” She peeks her head out my door into the hallway, then jerks it back. “Look sharp, milady! The Rose Knight’s a-comin’!” Bridget leaves the room.

  The Rose Knight strides in, and I am immediately in awe.

  The Rose Knight stands six-foot-five, with impossibly broad shoulders and a physique that would have aroused Michelangelo. His hair is long, shaggy, and red, his eyes a deep green, his cheeks and forehead freckled. His chin is strong and angular, his lips full and soft. Dressed from head to toe in shining chainmail and metal plate armor, and carrying a huge polished wooden lance—it’s taller than he is—the Rose Knight is a force to be reckoned with.

  He looks me up and down, obviously undressing me with his eyes. “You are the Lady Louisa of the Crossroads?”

  I stand up to face him, feeling my stomach do a flip-flop when those penetrating green eyes pierce right through me. “I am. And you are the Rose Knight, I take it?”

  “Yes.” He says nothing more, just keeps those deep green eyes focused on me like lasers.

  An awkward silence. “Do you—um, like to be called something other than the Rose Knight? What should I, um, call you?”

  “I have no name,” he booms. “My identity died the same day as my beloved lady. But you may bestow a bedchamber name upon me of your choosing, if you so desire.”

  “I do so desire,” I chirp, never once breaking his gaze and trying to assume my powerful Lady Louisa of the Crossroads persona as quickly as possible—not easy, as intimidating as the man appears. “I do not feel comfortable calling you the Rose Knight when we are—ahem—being intimate. I shall call you Trenton instead, after my hometown.”

  It’s a good thing he doesn’t know how much of a dumpy hellhole Trenton, New Jersey really is—if he did, he’d probably be offended to be its namesake. And somehow I’m guessing the Rose Knight isn’t a person you should offend.

  He gives me a gruff nod. “Trenton it is. Now, Lady Louisa of the Crossroads, I hear from my lord and master Lord Verdigris that you know how to pleasure a man. Is that so?”

  I grin. “Yes, it is. Provided that man obeys my rules of the bedchamber.”

  Trenton clears his throat brusquely. “Whatever rules you set, milady, I shall obey. I desire nothing better than a woman with power. My dearly departed beloved was a woman with power. So much power, in fact, that certain lords of the manor saw her as a threat, and had her eliminated.”

  My heart goes out to him. “I’m so sorry,” I say. Now my curiosity is piqued. Was what Bridget said about Lord Verdigris killing his lady true? And if so, why was the Rose Knight still his loyal vassal? What exactly did he have to gain from that loyalty?

  But that was another matter for another time. Right now, I had a big, powerful knight to fuck.

  I pull my head up as high as I can, trying to seem bigger than I am. “First, Trenton, you must remove all your armor. One piece at a time, please. And make a show of it. I want to enjoy every minute of watching the metal part ways with your flesh.”

  Trenton gives me a single nod, and obeys. He starts with his chainmail coif, which he pulls slowly over his head. Some of the chainmail links catch in his deep red locks, pulling a few stray strands away from his head. I reach out and take one, and run it between my lips, as if wetting a thread for a needle, being sure to run the tip of my tongue along the edge of my mouth as I do so. The Rose Knight’s eyes glisten at the sheer sensuality of my gesture. “You are indeed a powerful one, milady,” he says.

  “Trenton, you will not speak unless spoken to,” I bark. “Understand?”

  “Yes, milady,” he whispers, meek as a mouse. All at once, the Rose Knight’s intimidating façade falls away, revealing a timid and sad little boy beneath.

  “Continue to disrobe,” I order him. “And if your disrobing fails to satisfy me, Trenton, there will be punishment. Understand?”

  “Yes, milady,” he squeaks, then begins to unlace the neckline of his tunic. Slowly, slowly, the neckline loosens, until Trenton can pull it up and over his head, revealing a chainmail shirt and shiny breastplate beneath. He unlaces the worn leather thongs that hold the breastplate onto his rippled body, takes it off, sets it against the wall. The chainmail shirt is next. He shimmies and shakes it off his body, the chainmail links ringing out like tiny bells with every movement of his torso. Then all at once, his glorious chest is bare. The light of my candle shines on his sweaty pecs, dappled as they are with a light coating of red-blonde hair that glistens like gold in the low afternoon sunlight and flickering candlelight.

  Trenton looks at me expectantly, as if seeking my approval. So I give it. “That’s very good, Trenton. The sight of your bare chest pleases me greatly.”

  “Thank you, milady,” he says, his voice soft as brushed cotton. His deep green eyes, which are made even deeper by the pain and loss etched into the lines on his rugged face, penetrate my heart. An obedient slave, he waits in silence for my next order.

  “You may continue to disrobe, Trenton,” I say. “Quickly, now. We still have much to do together.”

  His hand strays to the knotted cords holding up his loose linen breeches. Dexterously, he unties and unknots the cords with two fingers of one hand. My spine tingles as I imagine
what else those adept two fingers are capable of.

  Then, for a split second, my thoughts turn back to Pembroke. He must have known what would transpire between the Rose Knight and me once he left. What does he think about it? Moreover, what does he think about me? Is he jealous? Does he understand that I have no choice—and even if I did, I wouldn’t exactly turn down sex with a gorgeous man like the Rose Knight, especially considering this intimidating, powerful warrior obviously has no problem turning tables in the bedchamber and becoming my sex slave?

  But then I realize that Pembroke is no fool. Of course he knows and understands I will fuck other men besides him. I’m a Harlot in the Hall of Harlots, after all. Fucking men is what we do here. It’s what Lord Verdigris traveled across the centuries to bring me here for. It’s my job—my very means of survival, in fact—to turn anything with a penis that walks through my bedchamber door into a quivering mass of exploded, dominated desire. For I am Lady Louisa of the Crossroads, medieval dominatrix extraordinaire. And my heart melts at the knowledge that Pembroke adores me no matter how many other men I tie up to my suspended Cross and then subsequently fuck their brains out.

  Pembroke—an old-school, Regency English gentleman who makes Colin Firth look like trailer trash—loves me, a low-class Jersey toll collector, for me, sex or no sex.

  Carrie Bradshaw eat your heart out.

  When I finally stop daydreaming about Pembroke and look up, I see Trenton standing naked before me. And what a sight it is to see.

  I’ve never seen such a beautiful naked man in my life. Well, maybe except for Pembroke. But even he doesn’t look like this. The Rose Knight belongs to another category of gorgeous nude man entirely.

  For one thing, his pubic hair is red. Carrot red. And he has little freckles on his cock. Cute freckles.

  Freckles on both sides of his cock, in fact. I know because it’s pointing straight up, and I’m staring at the underside. And the tip of Trenton’s uncircumcised cock is bursting forth through its foreskin like a dewy wet rose.

  Looks like the Rose Knight has a rose of his own.

  My eyes scan every inch of Trenton’s heaving, sweat-soaked body. He’s already turned on to the point of exhaustion, and I haven’t even touched him.

  This will be my greatest work yet.

  “Your nudity pleases me, Trenton,” I hear myself say. “Now if you will be so kind as to assume the position on the Cross, we’ll be in business.”

  Trenton looks up at me, petulant but obviously afraid to speak aloud. So I prompt him. “What is it, Trenton? Do you wish to say something?” He nods. “Go on, then.”

  “What position shall I assume, milady? Kindly forgive my ignorance, but I have not enjoyed the pleasures of a powerful woman such as yourself since my beloved died, and I seem to have lost my way. You have a powerful effect on me, milady.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. Oh, how vulnerable and small the Rose Knight has become in my presence! Mere moments ago I quaked in his presence, intimidated by his sheer masculinity. Now, the tables are turned. “Prostrate yourself face-up on the Cross of Satisfaction, Trenton. Just as Our Lord and Savior did, many centuries ago. I will tie you down, and then I shall give you satisfaction.”

  Without another word, the Rose Knight obeys my command. I tie him down tightly with leather straps, leaving him no room for movement whatsoever. Then I take up my cat-o-nine-tails—he’s far too big and masculine for my wimpy little paddle—and begin to use it on him. And no light, flirty blows here, either—the Rose Knight clearly is looking for a little more oomph in his bondage-and-submission preferences. I wield the cat-o-nine tails with the ferocity of a Roman centurion. Before I know it, little red welts the same color as Trenton’s freckles are standing out on his chest.

  I feel my stomach do a little flip-flop, partially from fear, but partially from arousal. I’ve never actually injured anyone before. I can’t help but feel a little worried about it. To be on the safe side, I decide to ask Trenton how he’s doing, since I’ve forbidden him to speak unless spoken to.

  “Are you all right, Trenton? If ever you feel I’ve gone too far, your safe word is ‘broadsword.’”

  Trenton takes a deep sigh of pleasure, followed by a delightful little moan. “I am very well, milady. I feel better now than I have in years. Do hit me some more, please, milady. I love the blissful stinging you inflict upon me so.”

  So much for being worried. It’s clear Trenton loves being whipped as much as I love whipping him. Still, I’ll be careful. I don’t want to draw any blood. That could get messy.

  I make the cat-o-nine-tails dance across Trenton’s whole body until every inch of his skin is bright red, his eyes squinting and his mouth twisting into an expression of deep pleasure. The sound of his labored breathing and the musky scent of his arousal fill the room. And I’m caught up in the heat of the moment as much as he is. Every time the whip comes crashing down, I feel my cunt get hotter and wetter. I’m a natural-born dominatrix, and it seems there is nothing my body loves more than a good whipping session.

  Soon, Trenton and I are both whipped into a frenzy. His body arches up on the cross, his bulging cock seeking something to push into. He’s ready to fuck, and how!

  And I’m ready to fuck him back.

  I pull my light linen nightdress over my head, and stand naked before him. All my worries about Pembroke, Lord Verdigris, how I’ll get back to my own time, et cetera, all melt away as my attention shifts towards satisfying the ache in my cunt. Right now, my cunt and his cock are the only things that exist in the universe. And they are each tailor-made for the other.

  I pull a chair up to the edge of the cross and sit down with my legs wide so Trenton can look inside my wet, dripping cunt. I part my lips and begin to stroke my clit, bringing myself to orgasm almost immediately. The Rose Knight’s eyes widen and he licks his lips as he watches me touch myself. His hips begin to grind and thrust the empty air in anticipation of getting inside the dewy wet flower between my legs. He sniffs the air, smelling the salty-sweet scent of my pussy, and licks his lips, almost as if he’s trying to eat the image of my cunt from his imagination.

  Watching his tongue work the air in front of his face just makes me want the real thing. So I stand up, straddle the Cross so my cunt hovers over Trenton’s open mouth, and let him eat me raw. The tip of his tongue probes all my nooks and crannies, does acrobatics against my clit I never knew were physically possible. Before I know it I’m coming again, rocking and rolling my hips against Trenton’s face as the power of my orgasm takes hold of my whole body, spasming up and out from the deepest folds of my cunt through my belly, down my legs, and finally exploding out the top of my head.

  “Unnnnnnuuuuuhhhhh,” I grunt, completely losing control. I come so hard, I see stars.

  A moment later I return to earth, and my cunt cries out for more. So I rotate my hips in a counterclockwise circle against Trenton’s darting tongue, and am riding another wild round of orgasmic vibrations almost immediately. When they finally subside, I know it’s time to get that beautiful freckled cock inside me before it explodes its seed into the air.

  I slide myself slowly along Trenton’s sweat-soaked, heaving body until my cunt is perched just above his glistening cock. I lower myself onto it, making swirling motions with my hips to maximize the sensation of entry, until the tip of his cock hits my G-spot with a resounding thud.

  We fuck fast and hard, making the wood of the Cross creak and bend beneath our bucking, banging bodies. I throw my head back and scream as I come one final, resounding time, and feel Trenton’s climax explode into me a split-second later. It’s a fuck for the ages.

  I collapse against the Rose Knight’s chest, exhausted from so many orgasms in such a short span of time. I doze there for a few minutes, until I see the afternoon light start to bend, the shadows on the floor to lengthen. Trenton’s breathing becomes long, slow and even as he dozes, too.

  Finally, we stir. I life my hips off his sleeping cock and go to unt
ie the straps holding down the Rose Knight’s arms and legs to the cross. We both transfer ourselves to the four-poster bed, where Trenton stretches his stiff limbs and relaxes. But he still doesn’t speak. Obviously he’s still seeking his mistress’ permission.

  “You are released, Trenton,” I say, my voice soft, my tone gentle. “You may now do whatever you wish.”

  He reaches over and strokes my cheek. “What I wish is to remain in your presence forever, milady Louisa.”

  I giggle and blush. “I’m afraid Lord Verdigris won’t allow that. I’m his slave, after all, and also his favorite.” I think about Pembroke’s hold on me too, though I don’t dare mention it.

  Trenton sighs. “This I know, milady. I’m afraid I understand Lord Verdigris’ wrath all too well.”

  I know now that I’ve earned the Rose Knight’s trust, so I decide to find out if what Bridget told me about him is true. “I’ve heard a rumor that Lord Verdigris had your Beloved killed. Is that true?”

  He nods, his eyes going from green to black.

  I ponder this for a moment. “So you are the most loyal vassal of the lord who killed your Beloved? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Trenton sighs. “Things are not always as they seem, milady. As the saying goes, one keeps his friends close, but his enemies closer.”

  “So you’re trying to infiltrate him from the inside, then. Very shrewd. What’s your plan?”

  Trenton stares at the ceiling, expressionless. “I’m afraid I cannot reveal too much, milady. Lest my plan be destroyed.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” I promise. “There are others among us in the House of Harlots who wish to be free of Lord Verdigris’ tyranny, too.”

  Trenton relaxes, and his eyes go back to their deep green again. “I shall remember that, Lady Louisa. Perhaps when the time is right, I will engage you in my plans.”

  He stands up, stretches. I study the rippled muscles that form a corded pattern on his freckled back. A beautiful man who has been scarred by tragedy. A beautiful man who has lost his Beloved, and seeks to avenge her.