by Dee Brice
Walker’s shaft stood at attention in a nest of ebony curls. Adrian’s cock poked her buttocks as he curved his hands over her breasts, his fingers plucking her nipples into rigid peaks.
Walker left the bed to light candles placed around the room. Finished, he motioned her to a high-backed leather chair piled with colorful pillows.
Adrian, now seeming completely sober, nudged her toward the chair.
Before she sat, each man placed a pillow on the floor. Eyeing the spacing between them, she imagined her knee on each. They were too far apart for her to kneel on, so might serve a different purpose.
“Sit,” the men said together.
Not knowing what to expect, she gingerly sank onto the chair. Their somewhat softer cocks waved as the men knelt at her knees.
Adrian cleared his throat as he took her hand. His bright-blue eyes focused on her, he said, “Have you decided, Diane, which of us you will marry?”
Of all the things he might have said, this surprised her. “Y-you said I had four months.”
“We see no need for more time,” Walker told her. “Have you decided?”
“N-no.” She should give them reasons, but her mind had gone missing. Everything in her yearned to keep them both. An impossibility, given the times and mores and who they were. She also found Henry’s giving her to both men improbable, but Henry had sired a child while still married to Catherine of Aragon. So what could she draw from that? That morals were missing and the king might have decided on both men for her? No, there had to be another reason—perhaps one relating to her dowry, if she had one in this era. Henry’s father had kept Catherine of Aragon prisoner until the church agreed to let her marry Henry—all because he needed to keep her dowry. He’d incurred so much debt, he left his country almost bankrupt.
Walker captured her other hand, halting her pleating then smoothing her nightgown, effectively silencing her troublesome thoughts. “Then you must take us both. Are you ready to do that, Diane?”
Her body was more than ready. All that research she’d done using butt plugs so she could describe anal sex was about to pay dividends. Unless her ring had shrunk from lack of use. If so, this experience could really hurt.
“Diane?” Adrian prompted, squeezing her hand.
“Can’t we go on as we are?” Her face heating, she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t see the displeasure in theirs.
“One at a time but together?” Walker said, as if to clarify what she meant for himself. “We’d miss the—”
“Wonder,” Adrian muttered as if already relinquishing it, “of our joining as one. Sharing every nuance of our bodies’ reactions. Touching in ways we have only imagined.”
Compromise, that treacherous female whispered in Diane’s mind. What are morals when compared to utter bliss?
Opening her eyes, half expecting to see her own face floating above her, she said, “Slut.”
Walker opened his mouth—no doubt to inform her that she’d already proven herself just that—but shut it again.
“Why haven’t you done it already?” she demanded, standing to pace away. “You’re bigger than I am. You could simply hold me down and do as you will.”
“We do not rape, milady.” Adrian sounded disappointed that she would think that of them.
A rude noise—half laugh, half snort—escaped her. “You could seduce me into agreeing. Make me want you so badly I would give you anything you want. Do anything you want.”
“Absolve you of all guilt for any pleasure you feel.”
Walker’s laconic voice seemed to surround her in guilty pleasure. Perhaps because he was so right. She had to take responsibility for her own actions. Grab the opportunity to experience a joining she might never have in her own time and place.
She supposed she would never go to court, but would live quietly here with her men. No hardship there unless the king decided to visit. Would she have to disappear or pretend to be the housekeeper? Or would the men agree that one should marry her, for appearances sake, while they continued to share each other? She’d be like Sophia Loren in the movie Lady L—married to a wealthy lord while bearing her lover’s children.
If she couldn’t go home, she could live with that. At least she’d maintain a decent reputation.
Turning to face them, she looked at each in turn. “Yes,” she said, her voice strong with conviction. “I agree, with one caveat. You’ll stop when I say stop.”
Standing, Adrian nodded.
Walker went to gather items off the fireplace mantel. “We want to bring you pleasure, Diane. If you feel pain, it robs us all.” He deposited his cache on a bedside table. “These should aid us in that quest.”
Crossing to him, she examined each stoppered bottle. “Essential oils from cinnamon and nutmeg,” she said after sniffing each and replacing the stoppers in two bottles. A TV commercial for a product claiming to heighten a woman’s pleasure popped into her mind. Soon she’d have personal knowledge if the spices worked as advertised. “Honey?”
Adrian flashed a cheeky grin. “Not restricted to your ring.”
Oh good God! Did he mean to lick her there? Walker gestured at a basin and linen squares.
“Whatever eliminates your pain,” he said, his pupils dilating as he stared at her. His shaft began to harden. So did her nipples.
“Your own juices along with ours will also help,” Adrian whispered in her ear.
Mesmerized by Walker’s growing erection, she had neither seen nor heard Adrian’s approach.
“Will you tell me what you’re going to do? I mean—”
“You’ll feel it,” Adrian told her with a grin.
“We’ll start with something small.” Walker made a fist, his little finger extended. “Then progress until you are ready for my shaft—”
“My cock,” Adrian corrected as if they’d already decided who would take her butt’s virginity.
She could see a kind of fairness in the arrangement. Walker had taken one virginity, therefore Adrian should have the other. She only hoped Adrian had more control than Walker had displayed. On the other hand, she’d been in such a hurry herself to have him in her, she’d barely felt the pain. Now, however, knowing what would happen made all her muscles tighten.
As if they knew she would react that way, Adrian offered her a glass of wine. Walker carried two more glasses to the bed, handing one to Adrian as they all sat. The mattress gave only a little—more like her mattress at home than those she’d slept on here.
“You are thinking,” Walker teased, tapping her forehead.
“Which is why you’re giving me wine.” She took a healthy swallow.
“Not to get you drunk, but to relax you.” Adrian took the glass from her suddenly trembling hand. “We do not intend to hurry you.”
“Or to hurt you.” Seeing her grimace, Walker added, “Unnecessarily.”
Expelling her pent-up breath, she nodded. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Not yet,” they said together.
Adrian repeated not yet, his whisper hot and moist against her ear.
She shrugged. “Tickles.”
“Because you are thinking about what will happen,” Walker said, dealing with the ties holding her nightgown closed. He eased it off her shoulders, his fingers featherlight along her arms.
Adrian kissed his way down her neck and chest to her already hardened right nipple. Walker mirrored the action, but used his fingers to tease her left nipple to painful need.
On a soft moan, she worked her arms around their necks to press their heads to her aching breasts.
“Say what you want, Diane.”
“Suck my nipples. Kiss me.” Realizing the impossibility of one man doing both, she gave a breathless laugh.
Adrian sucked her nipple into his hot mouth. She felt as if he’d sucked on her clit as his clever tongue laved and darted and drove her wild. Walker’s fingers pinched then soothed as he tongued the whorls in her ear before kissing his leisurely way to her mouth.
&n
bsp; One of them lifted her enough for the other to pull her nightgown out from under her. From that point on, they all moved in perfect synchronicity. Reaching the middle of the bed, they stretched out, arms and legs entwining, tongues mating with increasing need. Not wanting to know which one sucked her breasts while the other sucked her clit, she kept her eyes closed and gave up her body to their tender ministrations.
Her first climax whispered through her, a zephyr coaxing autumn leaves from almost bare branches. Her juices seeped down her folds. The scent of clover honey, cinnamon and nutmeg wafted from between her thighs to her nose. She felt fingers slide over her ring. It puckered, anticipating insertion of a little finger or something that small.
A shiver of delicious need coursed through her, her fear of pain blown away. A gentle slap on her buttocks reminded her she should relax.
Other fingers slid between her folds, caressing her clit, easing into her pussy before finding that spongy soft spot that made her entire body clench as her impending release coiled tighter and tighter.
This climax ripped through her, a tornado spinning her senses into an ever-tightening curl. A sudden gale catapulted her free and sent her soaring. Gasping, flying apart, she barely felt something inside her ring.
It pressed a little harder, stretching her yet somehow adding to the exhilaration cascading in her veins, through her body.
“Look at me,” Adrian demanded.
Turning her head, she looked over her shoulder. His dilated pupils made his eyes look black. A band of crystal blue still showed around the outer edges. The blackness warned of imminent loss of control—the blue assured her Adrian, her tender lover, still held sway.
“Do you trust me?” he whispered, his lips compressed while curving up at the corners.
Without hesitation, she said, “Yes.”
“Do you trust me?” Walker asked, his voice as tight as the climax once more gathering inside her.
“Yes.”
With that, Walker plunged into her spasming pussy. Adrian surged up, burying his cock to his balls. It hurt, but the pleasure soon eclipsed the pain.
It felt as if their cocks touched through whatever barrier separated her cavities. Then all she felt was pleasure as they stroked and fondled and pumped. Faster. Harder. All their bodies slick with sweat, their pants and moans and groans a curious harmony of voices. Of bliss as each climaxed in quick succession. When she recovered enough to breathe, she realized she’d never known such happiness, never felt such a complete connection to anyone as she now felt to her lovers.
They fell asleep like a tangle of blind, newborn kittens.
* * * * *
That evening
The Gypsy camp lay within easy walking distance of Adrian’s troops. Walker, having informed Adrian and her of an uneasy agreement between himself and the Gypsy king, recommended they ride to the military camp, then proceed on foot. He also suggested they dress in their most casual clothing. Diane assumed that was to avoid attracting cutpurses and pickpockets, then chastised herself for stereotyping people she had yet to meet.
Walker had given his servants and crofters permission to visit the Gypsy camp—a tradition on the night before the Romany left the area. In truth, Diane found the scene much like the atmosphere at a torch-lit county fair. Colorful wagons formed an irregular circle around the large clearing. She supposed the arrangement provided a sense of privacy while still allowing the occupants to call for help if needed. Jugglers, wrestlers, musicians and dancers added to the cacophony.
In the distance, she heard dogs barking and growling, soon followed by a roar and yelps of pain. Her heart sped as she looked from Walker to Adrian to a brightly lighted area beyond the wagons. Human voices joined with those of the animals.
“Bear baiting,” Walker told her, his scowl and tone of voice revealing her he disapproved of the sport.
“If you dislike it so much, why don’t you stop it?” she said, wincing as she slipped on an unseen rock. After the day’s delightful activities, she marveled she could take a step without aching all over. She did, however, hope for a day or two of respite between bouts of utter pleasure. Despite her initial fears, their joining had proved wondrous indeed.
Adrian cleared his throat, but said nothing. Walker avoided her question altogether. “Would you enjoy having your fortune told?”
She started to refuse, but soon reconsidered. She might think the idea archaic and a form of blatant chicanery, but—given her current circumstances—she could ill afford to dismiss any possible explanation of why she was here. Or how she might escape and return home.
“Perhaps not enjoy,” Adrian suggested, earning a smile of gratitude from her. At least he seemed to understand her up-and-down moods—which was more than Walker did.
“I wouldn’t mind hearing what my future holds.” Especially if it leads me home.
“Note how she does not include us,” Walker drawled as if it mattered not a jot if she remained or left at dawn with the Gypsies.
Wretched man, reading my mind!
“Had I coin of my own,” she said in a haughty voice, “I would pay for each of you to join me. As it is, I haven’t the wherewithal to have my own fortune told.”
Leaning down to murmur the words into her ear, Walker said, “Had I intended you to pay, I would not have offered.”
His hot breath stirred desire, but she squelched it, determined not to let emotion or lust influence what might happen later tonight. If the fortuneteller provided a means of escape, Diane would take it.
“Let us dine first.” Looping her hand around his crooked elbow, Adrian led her toward an open spit surrounded by rough-hewn benches. Roasting meat of some kind reminded her of their picnic—or should she call it a tent-nic? The thought also revived her lust. Determined not to let emotions get in her way, she sat.
Diane doubted she’d be able to eat a bite. Her stomach seemed unable to decide whether it preferred acidity or roiling. Her mouth felt as dry as a desert one minute, then flooded to the point of drowning her the next.
To her mind, fortunetelling was nothing more than lucky guesses and gutsy lies. Or generalities that could apply to anyone at any stage of her life.
You will fall in love. You will meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger—and one slightly shorter and blondish—who will whisk you away to strange lands and heretofore unknown pleasures.
Well, that much at least hit home. But then it should, since she played her own fortuneteller. But it also most likely summarized what the Gypsy would tell her tonight.
Arching both dark brows, Walker said, “Perhaps Diane would rather wait to eat.”
Striving to match his nonchalance, Diane nodded. “Unless the earl is too hungry to delay.”
The look Adrian gave her could have melted her clothes. “I am able to wait, if you wish,” he said, innuendo rampant in his voice.
Had she brought a fan, she’d have rapped him with it. By now Adrian should realize she intended to let him bed her again. He needn’t press his seduction. Or did he sense a change in her attitude toward Walker? A weakening in her resolve to maintain an emotional distance from her first lover even while still sharing his bed? Could Adrian feel jealous of Walker?
And what of the duke’s sudden indifference? Had her yielding so eagerly this afternoon branded her a harlot? Lessened his regard for her? It now seemed obvious that men’s attitudes toward women hadn’t changed at all. They pursued until they caught them, then stepped away—their new goal the latest woman who had rejected them. Conquest itself mattered more than the spoils of victory—a willing bedmate.
Well, she wouldn’t allow either Walker or Adrian to know how she’d begun to accept her life here. Oh, she’d continue to pretend to enjoy all the jewels and furs Walker showered upon her and she welcomed how lavishly he’d treated her once she’d agreed to take Adrian to their bed. But given a choice, she still wanted to go home.
“Are you ill?” Walker’s solicitous voice intruded upon her growing ire, al
l but destroying it.
Wishing she had a Save command in her brain so as to preserve her emotions for long enough to recapture them later, she mustered a smile. “I think I would like something to eat. A little bread and cheese perhaps. A piece of fruit.”
The men laughed. Despite recognizing the sound as friendly, it still rankled and renewed her put-upon feelings. Jerking her hand from Adrian’s arm, she stood, turning toward the military encampment. She’d walk there, then ride back to Mornay Castle alone.
“‘Tis only that what’s offered here is rabbit or duck,” Walker said, catching her elbow then steering her back toward the spits. “Caught on our own lands.”
Diane closed her gaping mouth, unwilling to chastise Walker for allowing Gypsies to poach what belonged to him. Perhaps that was part of the duke’s agreement with the Gypsy king. His uneasy agreement, she reminded herself before saying, “A small cup of wine? If such is available.”
Adrian sketched a half-bow. “I shall see to it.”
And just when had she become such a bigot? People in these times saw Gypsies as witches and child-stealers, but she didn’t belong in these times. She knew how hard life was for nomadic tribes—not just to put food in their mouths, but to avoid being driven away or burned out. Everything destroyed by superstitious folks with their own worries.
Settling her skirts around her and hoping she presented an attractive picture, Diane watched the earl stride away with, to her mind, undue haste. In a moment she saw him join a shapely young woman in a dance that seemed indecent in this day and age. Recalling all the lewd gyrations of her own time, she admitted Adrian’s were far more restrained. Which didn’t mean she found his dancing with the Gypsy girl more acceptable. In truth, the way the curvaceous brunette moved against Adrian reminded Diane of her own couplings with him and stirred jealousy in her soul.
