Joelle tried to quiet her tumbling mind. She tried to think slower and more thoroughly. The Marquess had protected her. "No. Do not think that. Think of what Hellion said," she muttered. Yet, it was hard not to think of the Marquess and the feelings she felt toward him.
Forcing herself, she thought of the, "cock of God." It seemed nearly as though Hellion coveted it as a separate entity and that she with her virgin's blood was to have consecrated it in some vulgar ceremony. What then? Would Hellion want to have sex with the cock of God as his followers watched? Joelle knew that men having sex with men existed, but it all seemed so bizarre. Hellion saying, "The last piece," kept sticking in her mind. The Marquess had saved her, but it seemed that he was in worse physical danger than she was.
Suddenly the door opened and Joelle tensed, turning her head to look. The room was so dark that she could not make out who it was until he was nearly upon her. It was Hellion and he stopped next to her chair, holding out a small silver wine chalice.
"Drink this if you want to see, Seducteur, again," Hellion said.
The fact that Hellion knew her thoughts and desires so well frightened Joelle more than reaching out with a trembling hand and drinking the liquid. It was dark red wine with a bitter aftertaste that slid harshly down her throat.
What happened next, Joelle always wondered if it took minutes or hours. Hellion began to talk to her, his voice never stopping with slow methodical deep tones. His fingers caressed the back of her hair, not really touching, but brushing just lightly enough so that she could feel it. At first she fought against his words. They were harsh of meaning to begin with, while he spoke in his melodious deep tones.
"You are lonely. All alone now. No family to embrace you." Joelle bit her bottom lip. "You must dream of children to bear and cuddle to your breasts. The smiles on your husband's face." Joelle thought she should try to argue with him. Tell him he knew nothing, as the words continued on. "There is no one for you to tell your small tales to each day. To greet you in the morning. To touch you or to hear your voice." But Hellion's words and his inflection brought small tears to her eyes.
"You must miss your mother terribly. Wouldn't you love to tell her of your worries of growing old alone, of sitting alone in a dark cold burrow with no one around you? What would you give for the feel of your mother's arms around you?" Joelle moaned once with tears burning as she tried to speak out against Hellion's words.
But her mouth seemed made of putty and only mumbled words came out. "N-Not true."
"Ah, but it is true, sweet, sweet Joelle," Hellion murmured, and then Joelle felt his fingers massaging both sides of her temple. She wondered how and when she had tilted her head back. "The Marquess is so warm. Those deep brown eyes."
When had the subject changed, Joelle wondered, thinking of the Marquess? He was so warm and alive. "What would you give for his embrace and his warmth to chase your loneliness away?"
"A-Anything," Joelle muttered, and she wondered where her thoughts came from to find a voice that she barely felt connected to.
"Look into the jewel, Joelle. Never stop looking."
When had Hellion moved? Why was the jewel swaying?
"Close your eyes and listen to my voice, sweet Joelle. Nothing but my voice."
But he was evil, Joelle thought, right before her eyelids fell shut.
"You will listen to my commands above anyone else. Tell me that you understand."
"Yes," Joelle whispered.
"You want to touch, Seducteur. To cleanse his body for the ceremony. And, I will let you do that. I want you to do that. Ask me, Joelle. Ask me for permission."
"Please, may I?"
"You may. And, you want, Seducteur's, hand on your body washing you, preparing you for the ceremony. You will listen to his voice alone, until you next hear mine. You want to serve him. But you want to serve me more."
"Yes," Joelle breathed.
"When you hear this bell ring once, you will do whatever my voice tells you too. When you hear this bell ring twice, your only desire is to serve and touch, Seducteur. When you hear the bell ring three times, you are to awaken and remember what you have done from the last time you heard the bell.
"Yes," Joelle whispered.
"This time, Joelle, you will awaken when I count to three. When you hear me arrive at three, you will open your eyes and you will be as you were and remember nothing. One, two . . . three."
Chapter Ten
When Joelle next saw him, she murmured with longing, seeing the beauty of him as nude as she was. The room was warm, draped with soft tapestries and candlelight. Steam rose in tendrils from a large sunken bath, weaving through the sparkles of the candle flames. There were velvet screens placed around the edges of the room and a padded table in the center. The red, gold's, and blues in the room twirled through her irises, but her gaze was only for him.
They stood facing each other from either side of the room, ten steps apart. He had entered from one door and she had entered from another. She wanted to rush to him, to embrace him, even as she worried about the cloak that the guard had taken and left on the other side of the closed door. The cloak with the key hidden in its folds.
Foolishly, she stood with her hands cupping the dark-red tufted mound between her thighs, while her black-cherry colored hair covered her bare breasts. Somehow, she felt the need to do something important and it urged her, unnamed into trembling frustration. But then, suddenly she remembered. "Your name," she gasped. "Please!"
"Saxon," he murmured as he stood oddly with one arm bent behind his back. And then, at the same moment his name finally caressed her hearing, a small bell rang twice from within the room.
And then, the man called Saxon said, "My name is Seducteur."
Immediately, Joelle ardently ran to him. Knowing only joy and desire with his name a blessing on her lips, and in the back of her mind she barely wondered how the bell could have rung so closely in the room. He caught her embrace against his warm flesh. Neither of them seeming to wonder why there was no hesitation.
"Ardente," he breathed, scooping her dark red hair back on one side, bracing her spine with his arm caressing the indent there as her mound cuddled over his lax male organ. Her nipples brushed the light sandy hair on his sinewy chest as her arms curled over his shoulders and her head tilted upward to look at him. His eyes lured her into their warm and mysterious mahogany depths.
"Let me wash you, touch you. I never want to stop," she breathed.
"Nor I you," his full sensuous lips murmured.
They turned as one toward the steamy sunken bath, rich brown hair curling around deep red hair as they walked side by side to the steps. Joelle could not seem to stop touching Seducteur as they stepped down into the hot water together. Her hands stroked his back, and then lower to his tightly curved buttocks, until they turned to face each other in the water, with it lapping about her waist and his groin. The long ends of their hair flowed in the water beside and behind them as her hands continued their search, caressing his chest, his sides, and his lean belly.
"Your hands are like warm honey on me," he murmured.
"I never want to stop touching you." She yearned with uncontrolled force in her soul.
Joelle scooped water up into her palms and began cleansing Seducteur's handsome and lean muscular body. Some part of her knew that she'd never done this with a man before, yet her craving swept the thoughts away. Seducteur used his hand to lift the hair off her back, scooping it over her shoulder. Then, he cupped water in his palm also and drizzled it down her spine as she cleansed his chest with wet sliding strokes.
Their bodies swayed closer and closer as they moved and washed, until her breasts were lilting across his chest and their sexes were touching and caressing. Her mouth and tongue found his neck and his hand cupped over her buttocks, kneading and stroking the willing curves.
Joelle's throat ached with moans of pleasure as his cock hardened against her sex beneath the water. It lengthened and nudged between her th
ighs until she straddled it lightly with her soft flesh. Her lips found his jaw and their mouths moved close to each other, but not touching. Their breath heated the space between their lips as their bodies undulated. No words, just movements, light breathless panting and small moans. Then, Seducteur began pressing her backwards with his solid chest plied to her breasts and his arm across her spine.
"Back, beautiful firefly," he murmured against her lips, still not kissing, only panting softly.
Joelle's irises flared for one brief moment of recognition to the endearment that she remembered. But then, she was arched backward over Seducteur's arm, bowing her spine until her long hair floated into the water up to the back of her head. Their thighs cleaved together with one of her legs bent at the knee over his hip, and the tumescence shaft of Seducteur's cock burrowed between the lips of her aching sex.
Joelle rubbed her loins against the rigidness as he washed water through her hair. She could feel the shaft of Seducteur's cock throbbing in the tender cleft of her loins, as her breasts stretched upward with the arch of her body. Small moans trickled from her throat as Seducteur's hips began to move slowly and the motion coursed the stiffness of his cock through the clinging lips of her sex.
He made a sound of longing as he lifted her back upright with her hair running rivulets down her back. Their lips met then, urgently, as he used his hand lowered to her buttocks. He lifted her body upward against him. His cock cleaved between her thighs came upright, until the broad head was kissing the entrance to her core. A wild needy sound rushed from her throat as their tongues lashed passionately against each other. Seducteur's chest heaved strongly against her breasts and she knew he was about to enter her aching womb, as a mewling of beckoning bubbled up from inside her.
Suddenly, a bell rang once.
Joelle's body stiffened. Her mind abruptly went blank with her limbs tensing. The Marquess' mouth shifted from her mouth as she wondered how it had been there to begin with, while her body seemed to be throbbing like the bass drums in a tormented symphony.
"No fucking. Neither of you will orgasm. Is that clear?" The deep voice seemed to come from a long way off, yet it was all around them.
Joelle found her mouth saying, "Yes."
Joelle heard the Marquess' voice answering the same, as the distant voice said, "You will oil each other's body thoroughly and shave each other's genitals, then oil each other's sex thoroughly again."
"Yes," Joelle said stepping back from the Marquess to turn toward the steps leading out of the sunken bath and onto the table with oils set beside it.
Before she took her first step though, a bell rang twice.
Saxon's penis ached as though the skin was stretched too tightly. It beat through the sacs of his testicles up into the meat of his buttocks, but most strongly it thrummed in the shaft, and rolled in throbs around the enlarged head. He sucked his ranting arousal inward as the bell rang twice again and the lovely, soft, iridescent Joelle reached her impassioned hands to his body again.
Eluding, he bent and then he swept her up into his arms to carry her to the table. She still found one side of his chest, then his nipple with one caressing hand, while her other hand stroked his back and through his hair. Saxon set Joelle on the puffy linens covering the top of the table and he urged her and her erotic fingers to lie down, until she lay on her stomach. The view of her naked feminine sumptuousness had his prick vibrating with dominate chords from the base to the tip. Yet, something inside him kept him sane. It kept him from throwing himself on top of her, and then embedding his engorged penis to the hilt. It urged him to the oil. It urged him to saturate his senses with touch instead of the tactile feel of fucking. Of ramming over and over.
He had never wanted a woman so much and it was not just his prick's command. It was his soul. The sinewy molding of his body was tense with his desire as he reached for one of the small porcelain cups of oil set beside the table.
"Lay still, Ardente," he murmured as he swept Joelle's hair aside, to fall like an undulating stream over the side of the table nearly to the floor. She made a disappointed needy sound, but lay quivering to his instruction, as he drizzled the oil down the beautiful slope of her spine.
He had never touched a woman so slowly and sensually before. Never immersed himself so completely into the contours of flesh, nor felt his irises flare over the sight of oil-kissed glistening female curves. It was like working on a supple piece of art, but the masterpiece was warm and trembling with arousal. When his hand cupped the curve of her buttocks and he felt Joelle's slow undulations, his breath caught. How would he ever survive the guise, he wondered? Because you are a man and you must be stronger, the answer came back to him.
Joelle's skin shone like wet polished ivory when he finished the back of her thighs, calves, heels, and feet. Danger be-damned, he would have never known this moment, if it was not for the danger. Saxon lifted upright looking down at the oily contours of Joelle's body. He pressed the wrist of his handless arm nearly into the small of his back, and then he said the fateful words . . .
"Turn over, lovely Ardente."
Watching Joelle as she turned was a lustful event. Breasts swaying, then bouncing with taut dark-pink nipples. Hips turning, with small toes pointing, and glimpses of a rosy damp cleft. The curls topping Joelle's pussy glinted in deep red against her white-satin thighs, as the gossamer flesh of her bottom lip pouted slightly.
"I need to touch you," she whispered with a soulful plea.
"Soon," Saxon murmured. Soon he would be fighting the tremendous battle even more.
Saxon lifted the cup of oil forward and drizzled oil between Joelle's breasts, while the black in her eyes deepened to onyx as she bit her bottom lip. He set the cup down, then he followed the dripping oil with his hand. He slowly skimmed the alluring line between the full mounds of her breasts. He could feel her heartbeat as her belly concaved inward with delicate tremors and his palm and fingers slid with a molding curve over her left breast. The prod of her nipple drew across the center of his palm and she gasped a needy moan, while a drop of seed squeezed out of the slit of his penis, with a pang of lust. The tartness of the throbbing made his balls ache more as his breath came more deeply, while his hand painted oil over the curving globes of Joelle's breasts.
A craving leached in his mouth as he gazed at her jutting and glistening nipple tips, while he lathered her breasts with oil. Each time that he thought he could stand no more carnal torment without positioning his penis for release . . . something stopped him. And it held him on the edge of pounding arousal with his hand the only outlet for the charge of passion reaching a fevered pitch through his body.
Then, he reached Joelle's pussy as her hips rolled on the table and her thighs spread partially with equal willingness. Small whimpers of hope panted from her throat and his eyelids closed with pure survival in mind. Perhaps if he could not see, then it would lessen his torrential need. Fool, nothing would but completion, and his arousal laughed at him like a sound he'd heard only once . . . the devilish sound of a laughing jackal, as his fingers caressed the silken lips of Joelle's torrid pussy.
Joelle moaned, half in passion and half in nerve-tingling frustration. The combination made her nearly senseless. She hung on the pinnacle of a great eruption. Yet, while the sparks flared and her loins rose higher and higher, she could not manage to topple over. Seducteur's fingers petted rhapsody in her loins, stroking and oiling her passion to fevered heights and she undulated like a wanton. Then suddenly it stopped, with her thighs opened with lusty beckoning, but Seducteur's fingers gone from their torment. Her loins and belly quivered with unrequited need for many throbbing beats that slowly began to ebb without the intimate stroking of Seducteur's fingers. She wanted to touch herself. She begged herself inwardly to do so, or to beg Seducteur to touch her again to ripen the aches in her loins for climax. Yet, something held her back. Something urged her oiled and glistening nude body upright, to perform duties she had no understanding of...
&n
bsp; "Lay down," Joelle whispered, standing beside Seducteur with his cock rigid and engorged, while his head was bowed.
"I cannot," he rasped, and the sinew of his back and buttocks rippled once with an erotic shiver.
"Then, I will serve you standing," she intoned, never wondering where the strange words came from as she reached for a small cup of oil.
She oiled his body like a passionate worshiper, fondling, petting, and feeling intimately every edge, slope, bound up muscle, and lean curve he had. Seducteur remained tense, his sinewy body tight and firm to the touch. She moved his hair aside whenever she needed to, glorying in the heavy damp feel of it. She found that her fingers were magically talented as she stroked and massaged his buttocks, finding so much pleasure there. More pleasure to kneel at his feet and lubricate his legs from top to bottom. She rose and applied oil to his chest as he looked down on her with his breathing deep and the nubs of his nipples taut. She moved to his right arm, circling the mound of his biceps with her oily fingers. She leaned forward, sliding her nipples over his chest, as she did, a moan curved from her throat. But then, when she reached for his left arm, he resisted.
"No, not that one," he whispered tightly.
Her head lifted with deeper commands inside that she must oil his entire body. But suddenly, Seducteur's lips covered her lips and the urges of the inner command fled beneath his heated mouth. Then, their mouths instantly moved from tender to wild. Her breasts slid over his chest, pressing deeply, while their turbulent lips burned over each other's and her slippery fingers found the turgid and heavy spike of his cock.
"Ah hh," he groaned, with his piping breath billowing into her throat as his hips pumped instantly, and her fingers curled tighter.
Their heads turned with their lips twisting feverishly and he pressed her back into the edge of the table. His fingers slipped over the lips of her sex, impatiently burrowing between the lips to strongly rub her clitoris. She surged against him, mewling passion, while her fingers began pumping his large cock with vigorous motion.
My Lady Series Bundle (1-5) Page 45
