by Jane Godman
The smile deepened. “Yes?”
“I need…” She bit her lip. “I need you to finish it.”
He started to laugh. “You mean you are aroused?”
Shamefaced, she nodded.
“I see. Well, I’m not sure what I can do about that.”
His enormous erection pressed against his hose, letting her know he was tormenting her for his own enjoyment. “And if you do something about it yourself, I will have to punish you all over again.”
She gnawed on her lip now, half crazy with desire. “I don’t understand.”
“Oh, I think you do. If you decided to finish yourself off, Igraine. I might have to redden that delightful bottom of yours even more.”
Just hearing the words aloud made her wetter, and she groaned. Gorlois’ cock jerked violently in response. Lifting her skirts to her waist with one hand, she widened her stance so that he could watch what she was doing. “You mean if I did this?” Holding her outer lips apart with two fingers, she thrust her hips forward, allowing him a clear view of how wet she was.
His expression was entranced. Lifting his gaze from what her hand was doing, Gorlois nodded. “If you went any further, I would have to punish you again.”
Maintaining eye contact with him, Igraine slid one finger down her over her nub, along her slit, and into her cunt. “Punish me, Gorlois. I’ve been a bad girl.” Her voice was a husky whisper.
He lost control then. Seizing her, her threw her face down onto the bed and raised her with an arm under her hips. She heard him fumble quickly with his clothing and felt the silken head of his cock brush against her thigh. Without warning, he thrust into her from behind so hard her upper body was propelled forward.
Gorlois smoothed his fingers over the heated skin of her buttocks and she nodded, her voice muffled by the mattress. “Yes. God, yes.”
He spread his fingers wide and curled them into her flesh, digging as hard as he could, hurting her exactly the way she wanted him to. She knew he felt the shiver run through her because that was when he began to move.
Soon he was slamming in and out of her, spanking her as hard as he could between thrusts. Igraine barely recognized herself in the creature she had become. She growled, howled, clawed at the coverlet, pushing back against his body and hands, trying to get him to hurt her more while fucking her as hard and fast as he could.
They both came within minutes, and Gorlois pressed her down onto the bed with his body. Igraine arched against him, the abrasive hairs of his abdomen rubbing against her abused flesh. He moved his weight off her and rolled her over, tucking her into the curve of his arm and placing his lips against her forehead. His fingers slid down to her still throbbing nub and he rubbed gently as he kissed her forehead.
“All better now?”
Igraine nodded as she came again.
From then on, no matter where they were, Gorlois only had to whisper the words, “Across my lap, Igraine,” and her cheeks flushed, her nipples hardened, and she became instantly wet as her buttocks longed for the stinging blows of his dominant hand.
Sometimes, God rot him, he would do it when they were in the most public place, leaving her squirming in a frenzy of anticipation for hours until they could be alone and he could grant her the release she craved.
* * *
Tintagel, Cornwall 469 AD
Returning from a lengthy campaign and going straight from the stables to his wife’s bedchamber, Gorlois strode into the room, closing the door behind him. The sight that met his eyes made him pause. Igraine was spread-eagled on the bed, her prominent belly gleaming with scented oil as Marigold massaged her flesh.
Both women were naked. Igraine’s knees were raised, her legs spread wide, and Marigold’s head was buried between them as she lapped eagerly at her mistress’s clitoris. Marigold’s own gleaming pink cunt was delightfully exposed as she knelt with her buttocks in the air. Neither woman had noticed his arrival.
Giving a grunt of satisfaction, Gorlois loosened the cord at the waist of his hose, freeing his cock, which sprang immediately to attention. Without warning, he stepped up to the bed and plunged hilt-deep into Marigold, who gave a little squeal of surprise.
“Continue with your task, wench,” he growled as he pumped his hips, his balls slapping rhythmically against Marigold’s cheeks. “You may service your master and your mistress at the same time.”
Marigold, her body bucking back against him in delight, continued licking and sucking Igraine as Gorlois pounded into her. He shifted position so he could watch his wife’s face. God, she was beautiful. Within minutes, she was coming, arching her back and sighing with pleasure. Gorlois took the opportunity to withdraw from Marigold and tip her onto her back on the bed.
“Join us.” He beckoned to his wife.
Igraine looked at her most beautiful in the last stages of pregnancy as she knelt beside them. She took his cock in her hand, pumping his shaft before placing it against Marigold’s entrance. Marigold, her eyes glazed with longing, lifted her hips eagerly. With a grunt, Gorlois thrust home. Igraine bent her head, tonguing Gorlois’ cock as he pulled out, and Marigold’s nub as he pushed back in.
Nothing could have increased Gorlois’ lust more than this connection to his wife. The woman beneath him was nothing compared to her. He reached for Igraine’s breast and tweaked her nipple, delighting in her indrawn breath.
Marigold squealed and writhed, and Igraine concentrated on her for a final few seconds, until the other woman collapsed, panting on the bed, beneath Gorlois. Feeling his own tingling release approaching, he pulled out of her. Kneeling astride Marigold, he jacked his throbbing cock hard, letting go as he leaned over her. The first stream spilled warm and sticky over her breasts and Marigold sat up, eagerly opening her mouth to catch the remaining spurts.
Now her job was done, Gorlois sent Marigold away and lay back on the bed, studying Igraine. She was a good wife and a devoted mother to their two young daughters. Pregnant now with their third child, she was as beautiful as she had been the day he met her. He wanted her as much now as he had then. His longing for her was an ache he carried with him always.
Maybe it was because she would never truly be his, there was that part of her he would never be able to claim, that he was constantly enthralled by her. Whatever it was, even now, as she fastened her robe about her body and he wiped Marigold’s juices from his cock, he was becoming hard again just looking at her.
“How went the campaign?” Igraine poured ale and brought a tankard to him as he moved into a sitting position.
“Our borders are safe from Saxon insurgents once more. The child is well?”
She dropped a hand to her belly with a smile. “Impatient to be with us, I think. ‘Twill be only a day or two. We must hope for a boy this time.”
He nodded. “His name will be Cador. A fine name for a Cornishman.” He drew her to him, his hands reaching for the tie of her robe. “Is he ready to meet his father this day?”
Igraine blushed at his meaning, her nipples—bigger and darker than usual in her blue veined breasts—hardening instantly. “I think that could be arranged.”
She lay on her side on the bed and Gorlois fitted his body to hers from behind, his hands coming around to cup her plump breasts. She was still wet from Marigold’s ministrations and, raising her knee, he slid two fingers into her. Reaching behind her, Igraine gripped his shaft, bringing him to the entrance of her sex.
Withdrawing his fingers, Gorlois tilted his hips and slid straight in. For him, this was what heaven felt like. Any other man might call it love. Gorlois of Cornwall was not such a man. Tender emotions were beneath him.
He commenced a slow, steady thrust that threatened to rob him of his sanity, dragging his throbbing length back and forth within the grip of her tight muscles. Again and again until Igraine was breathing hard.
“Faster now, Gorlois.”
“Not yet.” He spoke the words through gritted teeth, determined to torture her the way she tor
tured him every minute of every day. “Did you like watching me fuck your little maidservant?”
Igraine gasped and then nodded her head.
He felt her excitement in the way her muscles tightened around him. “Tell me about it.” He brushed her hair aside, nipping at the tender flesh of her neck with his teeth.
“I loved seeing your huge cock fill her tight, little channel.”
Gorlois groaned. One hand slid down from her breast to her clitoris, and he commenced rubbing in time with his thrusts. “More.”
“It was amazing to watch her face when you drove your hard length in and out. And when you pulled out and spilled your seed in her mouth, I was so overcome, I came just watching you.” Igraine pushed back against him. “Faster, I beg you.”
Obligingly, he pistoned into her, the action so wild he had to hold onto Igraine’s hips to keep her from slipping away from him. Immediately, her muscles spasmed around him, the intensity triggering his own release so that his cock jerked wildly inside her.
When she spoke again, there was a hint of amusement in Igraine’s voice. “Marigold has wanted to feel your cock inside her these many years.”
“She may feel it again one day if ever I feel the need of an urgent fuck and you are otherwise engaged, as you were today.”
He raised himself on one elbow, studying her features as she turned to face him. “I do not count the girl in the same category as a lover. If she pleases you with her hands and her tongue when I am not here, I am happy for that arrangement to continue.
“My warnings to you about other men remain, Igraine. Just because I choose to fuck another does not mean you may do so. Do I make myself clear?”
Did he imagine the shadow that darkened the blue of her eyes? Was it anger or something more? Could it have been fear? It was gone before he could say it had been there at all. Igraine nodded her head. “Perfectly clear, Gorlois.”
Chapter Four
Tintagel, Cornwall 470 AD
“You play with fire, my lady” Marigold shook her head sadly as she brushed the violet-scented length of Igraine’s hair.
“What else can I do? His glances are becoming more lovelorn, his letters more explicit. Before long, people will notice.” Igraine met her friend’s eyes in the looking glass. “If Gorlois should suspect…”
“He will kill him.”
“And all for daring to glance my way. I must meet him and tell him to leave Tintagel before it is too late.”
Marigold’s glance was sly. “Is that the only reason you wish to meet the knight they call Alain the Handsome? Never before have I seen a man so fair of face, so fine of body, so full of charm. ‘Tis clear he is in love with you.”
Igraine’s blush heated her cheeks. “Of course, it is the only reason I must see him. I cannot risk placing the poor fool in danger.” Her mischievous smile peeped. “Not even if he does fill his breeches better than any man I have ever beheld.”
Covering her mouth with her hands, Marigold smothered a shocked laugh. “Have a care, my lady. Your children need you. Morgan, Niniane, and Cador all depend upon their mother.”
Igraine tossed her head. “Gorlois would not hurt me.” She said the words with more conviction than she felt. “Ever since our marriage it has been thus. Some poor knight believes himself to be in love with me, and I must send him on his way before my brute of a husband hears about his longing sighs. I have succeeded each time with no hint of suspicion.”
“None of those other men were Alain the Handsome.” Marigold shook her head, her face filled with foreboding.
* * *
Tintagel truly must be the most beautiful castle in the world, Igraine decided, as she rode along the cliff top and looked back at her home. Marigold’s foolishness had troubled her, but now, as she allowed the sun to warm her face and the sea breeze to blow through her hair, she dismissed them. Seven years of marriage to Gorlois had brought its highs and lows.
Her children were the highest point, of course. Being mistress of this fine castle brought with it a privileged lifestyle. She took her duties seriously, caring for her tenants and those less fortunate with compassion and tenderness. She was well loved throughout Cornwall. Gorlois was happy to leave Tintagel in her charge during his many absences.
And Gorlois? Her feelings for her husband were still mixed. She could not love him, yet she no longer hated him as she once had done. He commanded her respect, but she feared his cruelty, even though it had never been turned against her.
Igraine had come to terms with the fact that men desired her. Something more than her physical beauty drew them to her. She didn’t know what that something was. There had always been those strange rumors about her mother. Some said she was a sorceress who had cast a spell on Igraine’s warrior father.
Perhaps I inherited something of her enchantment without any knowledge of it?
She certainly didn’t want this ability. It brought her only trouble and worry. Every time a man cast his eyes in her direction—and every man she met seemed to do so—she thought of Gorlois’ warnings and trembled for the other man’s safety.
Gorlois had been away for about a month this time. He was securing the borders with his new ally, the great Uther Pendragon. During his absence, Alain the Handsome, a knight from distant Brittany, had arrived in search of a place to stay before traveling to London. As soon as he had set eyes on Igraine, his journey to the great city had become unimportant.
He was a delightful companion, and Igraine found herself increasingly drawn to him. It matters not. I cannot allow myself to be tempted. Igraine tried to be firm with herself as she rode toward the secluded glade where she had arranged to meet the besotted knight. I cannot have his—or any other man’s—death on my conscience.
Alain was already waiting when she arrived, his hands reaching up help her dismount. This was one of Igraine’s favorite places—a secret bower, known to very few. The trees gave way abruptly to a tiny hollow with soft grass of vivid green. Light stealing through the surrounding trees simulated candlelight flickering on the walls of a lady’s bedchamber. Thick clover covered the budding ground and dried mounds of leaves filled each nook and hollow. It was a place of peace and magic. She tethered her horse next to Alain’s, and they sat together on grass that was a soft as any mattress.
“I did not dare hope you would agree to meet me.” His eyes were as green as the leaves on the trees, his features heartbreakingly handsome. He was so beautiful, it hurt to look at him. When he reached for her hands, Igraine did not pull away. “You must know what I feel for you.”
“Alain, this cannot be. You do not know my husband, but you must have heard of his reputation.”
He nodded.
“Every word is true. Gorlois has sworn to kill any man who looks at me…and he means it. He is a cruel man, and he guards me fiercely. I would not endanger you for the world. He has sent me word that he returns to Tintagel within seven nights.”
“If what you say is true, I must leave here or place you in danger. Before I go, will you grant me one request?”
He looked so handsome and so forlorn that a smile trembled on Igraine’s lips. “If I can.”
“Your lips remind me of the fairest rose. May I taste them, just once, to speed me on my way?”
How could she refuse a request so sweetly expressed? “We must be quick…”
Alain did not allow her to finish. He slid a hand behind her neck and pulled her to him. His breath touched her cheek. His lips parted hers. Then she was lost. Minutes swam by in a blurred state of crushed lips and caressing tongues. Heat rose within Igraine until, at last, reason surfaced and she pulled away. “This is wrong.”
He kissed her cheek, her neck, her throat, then gazed into her eyes. “Sometimes the best things are those which are wrong.”
Helpless to resist him, Igraine trembled with longing. He laid her back against the ground and trailed kisses down her neck to the point where her breasts swelled above her bodice.
“Ala
in.” She pressed her hands to his chest. “We cannot.”
“The only reason to stop is because you do not want to continue.” He leaned on his elbow and looked down at her. “I am humbled by your beauty day and night, constantly consumed by thoughts of you. I want to taste you, feel your skin, smell your scent. I want to explore every inch of your body. Tell me you don’t want the same thing, and I will leave here and never return.”
Igraine’s lips parted. Of course, she could tell him that. It would be for his own good. So why would the words not come? Why was it all she could think about was how much she wanted his lips on hers again?
With a soft sigh of surrender, she reached up and slid her hand behind his head, pulling him back down to her. “Once. Just this one time, and then you must get on your horse, and I will never see you again.”
That smile of his was heartbreaking. Slowly, he traced the outline of her lips with his tongue. Tracking a line down her body with his mouth, he returned to anoint the swell of her breasts with soft, fluttering kisses. Behind her back, his hands worked at her laces until he was able to slide her bodice down to her waist. Leaning over, he brushed a featherlight kiss across one nipple, and then licked the delicate pink flesh. Slipping the tender bud between his lips, he suckled her like a baby. Igraine’s back arched, her breathing becoming a sharp burst of gasps.
While he pleasured her breasts, Alain lifted her skirts. His hands were tender as they pressed her legs apart. Freeing himself from his breeches, he knelt between her legs. “Your scent—” he lapped once before circling her clitoris with his tongue, “—your taste. My God, I have longed for this moment.”
He reached between their bodies and slipped two fingers inside her, caressing her as he used his other hand to circle her nub before loosening his clothing and positioning the tip of his cock at the glistening opening of her cunt. He entered her and pressed a passionate kiss onto her mouth. His tongue swirled around hers, and Igraine tasted her own juices on his mouth.
