by Dee Brice
She shivered. He knew ‘twas not fear, but excitement coursing through her.
“Will you play that game with me, Edina?”
She met his gaze, looked down then up at him once more. “Will you remove the hood the instant I ask? Will you untie my hands when I wish them unbound?”
“I’ve no desire to frighten you again. What I do desire is to pleasure you again and again.”
“I could simply keep my eyes closed. I could pretend my hands are bound.”
“You could, aye.”
Once more she looked away. For an interminable time, he thought she would say nothing more. He believed kissing her would bring her to a quick decision but, unable to tell whether she would accept his kisses or not, he waited.
“It wouldn’t be the same, would it? Pretending, I mean.”
“No.”
She raised her hands, holding her wrists together. “Very well, Gerard, I’ll play your game.”
His held breath soughed out.
“But if you frighten me again…”
“I promise I shan’t.”
“Or fail to bring me pleasure, I shall have Yvonne slice you into little pieces then feed you to her hounds.”
Although she made the threat in a mild voice, Gerard believed her. His shaft and balls—believing as well—drew upward. Braving her rebuff, he stroked a finger down her soft cheek. “You may stop me whenever you wish.”
Edina gazed into his earnest face and saw the truth in his eyes. Besides, she admitted as he retrieved the hood, she wanted his lovemaking. Craved it and him. Lusted for him and everything he’d promised to give her.
Dangling the mask from his fingertips, he smiled down at her. “May I kiss you first?”
“Yes.” Please, please, please, she thought, rising on her tiptoes and wreathing her arms around his neck.
He brushed his lips over hers. Moist and soft, they returned to linger. She slid her fingers into his hair, pressed his head to bring his lips more firmly to hers, parted her own lips to welcome his tongue inside her mouth.
While he made love to her—soon, please!—she would remember his expression at this moment. Tenderness and desire mixed together. Determination and shyness. Need and longing to match her own.
Pulling back to look into his eyes, she nodded. He eased the hood over her head.
“I’ll leave your hands free.” She felt a chuckle rumble through his chest. “In case you cannot resist touching me while I touch you…everywhere.”
Today, hoping she and Gerard would make love, she’d dressed with special care. Beneath her sleeveless yellow serge surcote, she wore a blousy smock and a kirtle in deep green samitel—the fabric so fine it looked and felt like satin. Pearls were woven into the snood in which Joan had confined her hair. Now, with infinite care, Gerard unfastened the jeweled morse holding her surcote closed at her waist. Drifted his fingers over her cheeks and down her neck to untie her linen smock.
“I would free your hair except…” His low chuckle whispered along her naked shoulders. “I suspect I could not stuff it back again.”
“Best leave the snood as it is,” she murmured, wondering if he too imagined a different kind of stuffing.
A calloused finger touched the birthmark on her left shoulder. Her lover chuckled as his fingers drifted to her swelling breasts. Afraid to break the spell his touch wove around her, Edina took a cautious breath. Her breasts seemed to rush into his hands.
For a long, breathless moment he simply held them while her nipples hardened against his palms.
“You like this,” he muttered. The satisfaction in his voice made her grind her teeth.
“’Tis an involuntary response. Most likely due to the cooler air on them.”
“Hmmm.”
His hair—stubble?—scraped gently over her skin. He shifted his grasp until she could feel her breasts touch each other. His tongue lapped each nipple in turn. Her legs began to tremble and her juices seeped between her nether lips.
“You cannot blame this on cool air. You enjoy my tasting you.”
She bit her lower lip, but her moan escaped.
“You dressed for me,” he said. She felt her kirtle slide down her legs and pool around her ankles.
One large, warm, calloused hand stroked down her belly. Gooseflesh rose all over her body. Too late she recognized the advantage her spread stance gave him. Closing her legs only pressed his hand more tightly against her tuft. His finger slipped easily inside.
She groaned, widening her stance once more. Everything in her seemed to center on his finger as it slid in and out of her moistening channel.
“Ah,” he said, his voice husky. “Here it is. This little button inside your sweet core that brings you the greatest pleasure.”
He withdrew. She cried out, frustration and desire in her voice.
“Will you blame cool air for this, Edina?”
“Y-You know I cannot.”
“At last! Honesty.”
She felt tears seep down her cheeks. Helpless to do more than brush her hood against them, she straightened, her legs now closed against intrusion.
A faint rustling reached her ears. Was he leaving her? Now when her traitorous body most needed him inside her? Cock or finger or clever tongue, she wanted release from this sweet torment.
His naked arms slipped around her. Relieved, she relaxed against him and felt his cock throb against her belly.
“You are very tall, m’lord,” she murmured, more than willing to continue this game.
“You are very short, m’lady. But now,” he lifted her, laid her on the soft but firm ground, “the difference in our heights won’t matter.” He sucked one breast and pinched the other nipple.
Pleasure and pain wrested a gasp from her.
“Spread your legs, Edina.”
She shook her head but her body obeyed. More than she wanted her next breath, she wanted Gerard inside her.
He moved away. Bereft without his warmth, she shivered.
Feeling his hands on her legs, she almost sobbed in relief. When he spread her nether lips, desire and embarrassment heated every pore in her body.
“Next time,” he whispered against her nub, “I shall insist you hold yourself open. For now…” He lapped from her channel to her nubbin. “Beg, Edina. Beg me to swive you and I shall take us both to heaven.”
Her “No-o-o” sounded more like a plea for him to continue the sweet torment.
He lapped, plunged his tongue deep. His finger teased her ring then filled her there.
“Have mercy, sir!”
“Beg!”
“Yes! Take me. I want you to…sweet heaven! Swive me. Please. Please. Swive me, Gerard! Please!”
“I will, Edina. But first I want your sweet juices in my mouth.”
As if the words had destroyed restraint, spasms racked her body. Wave after wave after wave crashed over and through her. She would die from this—this release she wanted to end yet prayed would go on forever.
“Gerard!” Her voice sounded raw.
Her spasms had only begun to lessen when he filled her. They began again and went on until he shouted her name. Tearing the hood off her head, he plunged his tongue into her welcoming mouth and buried his erupting shaft deep inside her.
* * * * *
Edgar buried his nose in the fragrant cloud Rowena’s hair made over the pillows beneath her head.
“You smell different than Edina.”
“Should I feel jealous? What do you mean—different how?”
“No, and I don’t know. Just…different. Not that your sister smells bad. Just…”
“Different. I think you smell her paints and whatever she uses to clean her brushes. Which—if you are wise—is all you will say about Edina.”
“Then I shall say that you, my dear Rowena, smell like violets. Or is it roses I smell on your breasts?” He nuzzled the underside of each breast. She giggled. Giggled, by damn! As if she might confuse him even now with her sister’s laugh�
�with her naked body exposed to his gaze and his hands.
“You claim you don’t want to talk about Edina. Yet you seek to convince me you are she and not yourself. Not Rowena.”
“’Twas not duplicity, Edgar. Your hair tickled me.”
“Which hair? That on my head?” He drew her hand down his chest to the nest of coarse curls surrounding his rigid cock. “Or the hair here?”
As her fingers curled gently around him, his breath caught. When they dipped lower to cup his balls, he swallowed a groan of pleasure. Since she still wore the blindfold, he could not see her eyes. Instead he gauged her feelings by how her body reacted.
Her tongue darted out, stroked her lips only to disappear again. Her breasts seemed to swell and her nipples pearled. She took shallow breaths as if afraid to take a deeper gulp. Her belly—flat and firm—fluttered as if his babe already grew within it. Her legs shifted restlessly, drawing his gaze to her nether curls. Flaxen silk only slightly darker than the hair on her head hid her sex from his sight.
“You…you are very large, Edgar.”
“And my size frightens you.”
“A little. I…I have heard my mother and her ladies tell of the pain. The serving girls and maids speak only of the pleasure of lying with a man.”
“I believe your mother and her ladies—gentlewomen and of noble birth?—have been deprived of the joy swiving can bring. They tolerate it because they must. They must bear an heir or two—that is their purpose. Pleasure is beyond their duty.”
As he would calm a skittish horse, Edgar smoothed his hand from Rowena’s neck to her hip. Sighing, she relaxed. Her legs opened, permitting him to touch her. Her curls were damp with her own juices. His cock proclaimed her ready to have it in her.
“And the other women? Those not…ahh, that feels good.” She raised her hips and spread her legs wider. He stroked her pleasure nub while he slowly eased one finger inside her canal. “Sweet heavens, Edgar. What is happening to me?”
“’Tis but a prelude to joy, Rowena. Relax and let it come. Tell me what you feel.”
A blush flooded her entire body. Her hips rose and fell with the rhythm his hand set for her.
“Everything…is there. Between my legs. But ‘tis very different from when…I touch myself.” She bit her lip. “Edgar!”
Her fingers dug into his thigh. Her voice rose until she sang his name and release shook her slender frame.
When her spasms ceased, Edgar stroked damp curls off her face then removed her blindfold. Lambent blue eyes blinked up at him. A small smile curved her lips.
He kissed her gently then said, “Did I hurt you?”
“No. That was very…pleasant.”
“Pleasant? I’ll show you pleasant.” Laughing, he tickled her ribs until she pleaded for him to stop.
Lying atop her, his cock throbbed against her nether lips. Her eyes widened and darkened. Her breath puffed his cheeks. He slid his hand between their bodies to rub his cock head over her nub. Their combined juices dampened her curls.
“This will hurt, Rowena. Only for a moment, I promise. You are so very tight and I am large.”
“I trust you, Edgar. I…I want you in me.”
He needed no other encouragement. He plunged deep. Felt her body recoil against the pain and try to escape it. He kissed away her tears and felt her accepting sigh against his cheek. Some of the tension in her body eased.
“Better?”
“If one enjoys having a battleaxe up one’s innards,” she said, frowning up at him.
“’Tis the wealthy spear for which I am named. Long and thick, but blunted to give you the most pleasure.”
“Braggart!”
“You will sing my name again, Rowena. Scream it and beg me to swive you again and again.”
“Shan’t.”
“Shall.” He eased out. Slid deep. Felt her queynte draw him deeper still. Repeated the thrust and parry until their bodies flowed in perfect rhythm. And all the while they gazed into each other’s eyes. He saw her struggle against her own pleasure. Felt her writhe despite her resolve not to give way to passion. Fought his own urgent need for release until—finally—her spasms began and she surrendered completely.
“Sweet…ahh…Edgar. Yes. Yes. Yessss! Swive me, Edgar. Ed-gar!”
Her eyes widened, the blue deepening to an impossible hue that ensnared his heart. Her voice, her climax, brought him to his own release. Collapsing against her, he rolled to his back with her in his arms.
“I told you ‘twould be so,” he said, grinning up at her.
“You did,” she grudgingly admitted. “But can you do it again?”
“Right now?”
“Aye. Right now, Sir Soft and Small.”
His cock twitched. Hardened. Lengthened.
Her eyes widened. A grin curving her lips, she slid up and down his growing cock.
“Still think me soft and small?”
She moaned and posted harder. Faster. “I think you…perfect.”
* * * * *
Under the limbs of a willow, Yvonne leaned against Gareth’s chest and sighed. Their punt rocked gently as the tide began to ebb.
His lips soft, Gareth laved the shell of his wife’s ear and felt her shiver.
“Well, my queen, are you ready now for that large, soft bed?”
“I cannot wait so long, my king.” Turning in his arms, she grasped his cock. “Neither, it seems, can you.”
“I want what my brothers are having,” Gareth admitted, laughter in his deep voice.
“You will settle for me,” she retorted. His black eyes—so often shadowed with the weight of responsibility—filled with mirth.
“I shared you with them. ‘Tis only fair they share with me.”
“The twins may think otherwise. Although,” she snaked her hand into his breeches then squeezed his balls, “were they to see your magnificent shaft, they might reconsider. And you, sirrah, would like nothing better than having three women make love to you.”
“True. That is, before I met you… Never mind. ‘Tis all behind me now.” His wide chest rose and fell with his dramatic sigh.
“If you wish to keep this succulent cock, those days will remain behind you.” Pulling his laces, she freed his shaft.
“Succulent, eh?”
“Aye, m’lord. Succulent.” She ran her tongue around his cock head, licked his dew from it. “Sweet enough to eat.” With that she took him into her mouth.
His breath hissed out. “Enough! I will be in you, Yvonne. Now.”
“Aye, m’lord? And if I will not take you in me? What then?”
“I can smell your need, m’lady. I’ll taste you first then play in your hot, wet quim until you beg me to swive you.”
“Why is it men demand women beg?”
“To prove a woman’s need is as great as his. Other than your nipples, I have no visual clue that you want me.” Rubbing her chemise over her nipples, he watched them rise to even more rigid peaks.
“But you can smell my need?” She helped him remove her clothes. Sliding his breeches down his powerful thighs, lowering her head, she sniffed the curls around his needy shaft. “I can smell your need as well.”
“Aye. When you are close enough to swallow me. On the other hand,” he laid her on the pillows in the punt’s flat bottom, “I have a more discerning nose. I can smell your desire on your cheeks.” He kissed them. “On your breasts.” He suckled each in turn. “And most especially here.” He laved her pearl then buried his nose between her nether folds.
“Bartholomew’s balls,” she murmured as she arched her hips to press him deeper.
“Say it, Yvonne.”
“I would have you…”
“What?”
“Drink me. Ahh, Gareth… Love… Yessss!”
Tasting her cream, feeling her very core clench at his tongue nearly drove him over the edge. He knew he could make her say the words he wanted to hear. He slid his finger into her, found the little nub hidden inside, rubbing
it as he suckled her breasts. It gave him such pleasure to know her moans, her sighs, her screams were because of him. And he took pride in wresting the crudest words from her prim lips.
“St. Chris-to-pher…!”
“Say the words, Yvonne.”
“Swive. Swive me, Gareth.” Panting, her green eyes as dark as a pine forest, she gazed up at him. “Swive me so hard your balls slap my quim. Swive me so fast, your lungs may burst. Swive me with all the love I see in your eyes.”
He did. And her eyes—those remarkable emerald eyes—gave him back the love she had seen in his.
Chapter Six
Gareth’s Encampment
Gareth, sitting on a throne-like chair in the middle of his luxurious tent, flicked a contemptuous glare at his younger brothers.
“Well, Gerard? Edgar? Have you discovered how to tell them apart?”
His censorious tone made his siblings cast nervous sidelong glances at each other. Gerard, apparently feeling the pressure of being older, spoke first.
“There are subtle differences. Edina walks more cautiously than Rowena.”
“Rowena is left-handed,” Edgar contributed.
So, Edgar, you wish to seem as discerning as Gerard.
“Edina’s birthmark is on her left shoulder while—”
“Rowena’s is on her right. And she plays the lute and…” At Gareth’s glower, Edgar’s voice failed him.
I’ll wager, little brother, you wish you’d been excluded from this upbraiding, Gareth thought. “Am I to assume, Edgar, that you will insist your bride play you to sleep? What will you do if she refuses?”
“I shall ask her to sing instead,” Edgar muttered, his tone mulish. “She has a glorious voice.”
“As does Edina,” Gareth countered. “Ahh. You didn’t know that, did you, Gerard?”
“She said she cannot sing.”
Gareth surged to his feet, kingly outrage in his posture. Yet his voice was calm when he said, “You both seem to have forgotten that these women have played these games all their lives. It is as natural as breathing for them to…let us say pretend rather than lie.” He strode to stand before his brothers. “I expected better of you.”
