Woman of Power

by Toni Sands

  He wasn’t disappointed. Her tongue pushed inside his mouth. Exciting him. Exploring. Titillating. Flicking. Probing. His guts were on the point of meltdown. His cock about to explode. He longed to ram himself inside her. Spend himself with her firm, shapely legs trapping him as she wrapped them around his hips. He didn’t want her ever to let him go. He wanted to hear her gasp. Moan. Scream for more. More. More. More of him.

  Her hands were inside his pants. Pushing, tugging to get at the part of him fast taking on a life of its own. Fumbling with his big macho knight’s buckle. She gave a little “ah” of triumph and he let her unfasten him. She’d already undone his senses. Why shouldn’t she now claim his body? And he leapt to meet her, his cock tight and weighty, as the thick fabric peeled away and he pulled off his high quality worsted fancy pants as if they were rags.

  Her delicate hands felt cool upon his warm flesh. Facing each other, Gavin and Amara knelt on their bed of fragrant hay, eyes fixed upon one another. Waiting and watching like two coiled serpents. She pushed him back and lowered her head between his thighs, taking his cock in both hands. He watched that sensuous mouth begin making his fantasy real. She licked the tip of him with a tongue flicking like a feather. Tickling him. Circling him. Becoming wetter and wetter as it speeded up.

  Her hands cupped his taut balls. She took the length of him inside her mouth. Sucked. Teeth grazing. Lightly. Pulling at him. Wrenching him in a fabulous, frightening, rocking rhythm till he no longer heard the storm raging outside because his own emotions crashed and tumbled like a tower demolished by cannon fire. And his heartbeat filled his ears with its thrumming and drumming.

  He could stand it no longer. She knew it too. Released him. Cool fingers moving away reluctantly, as if she didn’t want to let go. He reached his hands under her. Scooped her bum cheeks into his hands. Pulled down her lacy drawers. Moved his mouth, hoping she’d play with his hair and tease his ears while he played with the toy of his dreams. His need more urgent than ever, he focused on pleasuring her. Beguiling her.

  She was sticky. Wet. She’d be even wetter after he finished playing her like the stunning instrument she was. He’d never experienced passion like this. Forgotten were the inept fumblings with one of his father’s servants. The drunken tumbles with tavern wenches. A couple of trysts with willing whores, stinking of cheap scent – all nothing compared to rolling in the hay with the lady Amara. He’d die for her. In truth, he’d probably have to.

  When he pinned her beneath him, she parted her legs, wrapping them around his body as he’d pictured in his dreams. Frantic for her, he took time to scoop handfuls of hay, constructing a crafty bolster beneath her so her warm body tilted towards his.

  ‘Forget everything,’ she urged. ‘Push inside me … More. Ah … He moves so slowly. You drive me insane, knight. It’s ridiculous. I can’t stop wanting you.’

  ‘And now you have me.’ He withdrew a little. Plunged back inside her. Thrust again. And again. Faster. Harder. Pumping her now, his balls slapping her hot wet flesh.

  She cried out. Joyful. Greedy. A ravening, wild, beautiful animal. He heard her keening with need. He heard her begging him …

  ‘Make me come. Quickly. Please. Oh please … I can’t wait.’

  It was as though he crossed the Crystal Cleft again. A timeless moment stranded in space. Breathless. Dazzled. His seed flowed into her, the primitive, gnawing urge to claim her for his own, too powerful to resist. Just as he’d known it would be. Whatever happened to him, he’d known ecstasy. Utter, mind-blowing ecstasy.

  When they’d rested enough, the storm outside abating, they goaded one another into doing it again. Nipping and nuzzling, caressing and kissing, Amara laughed in triumph as his magnificent beast, as she called it, sprang to life. She rode him this time. Sliding her sticky pussy lips up and down his length so he begged for mercy. Bunching her muscles, squeezing his velvety tip, then releasing him so she could slide her satiny walls down his rigid cock one more time. Then she did the whole thing again. And again, till he yelled his impatience to possess his beautiful, wanton mistress before tumbling her on her back and plunging into her once more.

  This time, as they lay in one another’s arms, it was his turn to whisper, ‘I love you.’ Even though he knew that way spelled madness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Advancing. Luring. Inciting. Pouncing. Thrusting. Lunging. Jabbing. Retreating. Fleeting images of Amara’s naked body. Her swollen nipple between his lips; her hot cunny encircling his cock …

  Gavin’s workout the next day with Zebal, the master fencer, had him dodging, sweating, gasping, twisting, and jumping. Had him captivated by the older man’s feather-light movements, his grace, and superb swordsmanship. His sheer skill.

  ‘We’ll take a break,’ said Zebal at last. ‘You know, you’re not as bad as you made out you were.’

  ‘Thank you, but you’re magic. Compared to you I’m a peasant.’

  Zebal chuckled. ‘Where the hell is a page when you want one? I’m parched. What about you? Couldn’t you murder a beer?’

  ‘I’ll go and find a jug of ale, shall I’

  ‘That sounds good. The servants might be having a meal just now, so try not to disturb them.’

  Gavin wandered towards the stillroom. Zebal didn’t stand on ceremony. His ancestry was probably of higher lineage than that of his liege lord, yet he played it down. Sure enough, when Gavin looked through a doorway, most of the indoor servants were clustered around a table, eating and chatting.

  A pretty young maid saw Gavin and leapt to her feet.

  ‘Can I get you anything, sir?’

  ‘I’m not inclined to interrupt your food. May I help myself to ale for Sir Zebal and myself?’ He smiled at her. Nice boobs. The women of Arcandos were all so bloody delectable. Back home, his friends use to rib him about having a smile that could strip off ladies’ drawers. Now this wench was blushing scarlet. She nodded. Bit her lip. Sat down with a thump. After he’d gone, he reckoned she’d be teased within an inch of her life, poor kid. Lovely boobs.

  He made his way back to Zebal, who he found sitting on an oak settle, plucking at the strings of a small zither.

  ‘A musician as well as all your other talents?’ Gavin poured ale for his mentor.

  ‘I dabble.’ Zebal downed half the golden liquid, then continued picking out the melody.

  ‘Good tune,’ said Gavin. ‘Catchy.’

  ‘Thanks, love. It’s all my own work. Unrequited love is the theme.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Cordale writes poetry but I don’t want to touch a nerve. He’s another one lusting from afar after fair lady.’ He shot Gavin a sly look. ‘And Amara’s good with words too. I might ask my lady to pen some for my little ditty.’

  Gavin’s ale went down the wrong way. He spluttered and apologised.

  Zebal put down his zither. ‘Before we get back to feinting and crossing and all that stuff, could I maybe have a word?’

  ‘By all means,’ said Gavin, praying the older knight didn’t suspect anything.

  ‘You, being a gorgeous young man, have caused something of a stir around the place. What’s more, Gavin, you’re nice with it. You’re kind to servants and to dogs and horses. My favourite page tells me no fewer than three of his mates have a massive crush on you.’ Zebal smiled, seeing the expression on Gavin’s face. ‘They know you’re not into pageboys, so please don’t fret. As for the maids of honour, well, you’ve already ruffled Tev’s feathers in that direction.’

  ‘Believe me, I haven’t done anything to encourage this kind of thing!’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Zebal. ‘But watch your back, old son. I’d hate to see you end up in a duel over a woman. I can’t stand the sight of blood.’

  Gavin balled his fists. ‘That’s not going to happen. I need to work hard to get out of here. When I see Tev later, I intend putting things back to rights.’

  Zebal’s face showed no expression. ‘That’s good to hear. But what about other temptations? It’s not really my
business, but I know married women whose husbands are busy being knights, and so on, do become bored, poor dears. Might give you the eye … Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘Very clearly, thank you. I’ll bear that in mind.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. Now, if you’re ready, I want to explain the difference between a French grip and an Italian one. Then you can practise lunging and getting your whip-over.’ He batted his eyelashes at Gavin.

  ‘Explain away, Sir Zebal. I want to learn as much as I can.’ Gavin’s fervent request came straight from the heart. But a part of him longed for the woman who could never be his beyond a stolen hour or two.

  Sibilla lifted her crystal ball and palmed it. Cupped it, her hands warming its cold nakedness. Her essence still ebbed low. Her pawn, the knight she’d captured, seduced, and tossed into a giddy game of love and swords, proved hard to draw strength from. Even though she’d seduced him by witchcraft, his strong will, his innate resistance to her caprices, made him a difficult player to control. Energy leached from her rather than flowed into her. Her white face and sunken eyes painted a telling picture. Something wasn’t right. Her careful calculations should have elicited an important response. A significant happening that would fire her spirit and restore her energy level.

  Ethan arrived at her side. He too looked diminished. Lacking the charisma so apparent when the young knight Gavin had first ridden his dark stallion through the gate and into the courtyard. He raised his hand to his mouth and coughed.

  She frowned at him. ‘Yes? What is it, Ethan? Can’t you see I’m busy?’

  ‘My apologies, mistress. I know you look into the inner depths of the crystal but I come to tell you we have a visitor.’

  Sibilla stiffened, still holding tight to the precious artefact. ‘The one we expect? Tell me, Ethan.’

  Ethan inclined his head, arms held straight by his sides.

  ‘You must give me a few minutes. Offer the knight refreshment. You know exactly what to serve. Show him to my drawing room in the White Tower. I shall attend him there. My need is great.’

  ‘Yes, mistress.’ The elderly man turned and walked from the room.

  Sibilla bent to gaze into the heart of the smooth gemstone. ‘I must leave you now,’ she whispered, lips almost touching its surface. ‘I daren’t keep a Jupiter Knight waiting. Especially when he brings the essence of life to me. He has arrived and not before time. Thank you, my master.’

  * * *

  Sir Saladin paced the chamber into which the old man had shown him. The knight had drunk deeply of the delicious wine served to him. He felt weary from weeks and days of riding. Needed to discuss refreshments and shelter for his two companions and their mounts. Most of all, he wanted to go home. Back to his liege lord and his peers. Back to the steamy, healing, companionable atmosphere of the knights’ bathhouse. Back to the warm bed and soft, cushiony thighs of his glossy-haired, darling wife whose lips could suck him into oblivion.

  News he’d garnered from the eastern side of Tiernan’s kingdom was not encouraging. His liege lord would have decisions to make. There were championships looming, reputations to defend. Now Saladin wanted to carry out the second part of his mission and, once dawn arrived, get the hell out of this creepy castle. Once he’d spoken to the woman said to be an enchantress. What a load of bullshit.

  ‘It is a pleasure to see you, my lord. I am Sibilla.’

  Saladin whirled around to face the figure in the doorway, embarrassed by his sarcastic thoughts. He blinked. Her face seemed familiar. Caught off his guard, embarrassment hit him as he came to his senses. She reminded him of his wife. There was the smooth, olive skin, full lips, and snub nose. The small, sharp, white teeth. How he longed to lie with his wife again, groaning with pleasure, being nipped by those small, oh so sharp, white teeth. Saladin liked a little pain with his pleasure.

  He pulled himself together enough to stride, like the accomplished knight he was, across the room to take both Sibilla’s hands in his. ‘Thank you a thousand times for receiving me, mistress. I have two questions for you from my liege lord, Tiernan. These concern matters of much significance to him.’

  She nodded. ‘Tell him the rising in his eastern territory needs to be quelled by a knight who seeks prominence. This will happen soon enough, once the wheel spins to a halt. The other matter concerning Sir Tiernan and his lady will also be resolved.’

  As she spoke, Saladin’s expression had flickered from anxiety to wonderment to disbelief and finally to delight. ‘If you speak the truth, mistress, I cannot tell you how relieved I am. And how delighted and pleased will be my liege lord. I am at a loss to know what else to say.’

  She glided past him and sank onto her favourite velvet couch.

  Her perfume further stirred his senses. Saladin moved closer. The walls of the chamber, impressive, rose-tinged stone, seemed to close in on him, yet not unpleasantly because he found the sensation almost welcoming. The stone reminded him of the castle that was his home. The wine he’d drunk had soothed his frayed nerves, satisfied his thirst, warmed his innards. Hell, had aroused his libido too.

  He hadn’t expected this to happen. The enchantress became more desirable each time he looked at her. His gaze dropped. Drawn to the swell of those magnificent melon breasts. They almost spilled over the low neckline of her black gown. Plump and creamy, they cried out for his big, capable hands to grasp them. Squeeze them. Suckle them. Like he did when alone with his wife. Stark naked. In bed. With many leagues to go before he saw his adored lady again, surely no man would blame him for taking what was offered so willingly?

  He moved forward as if in a dream. Sank to his knees before Sibilla. Felt her arms encircle him. Comfort him.

  ‘Such a gentle knight,’ she murmured. ‘But I need to release the beast in you. Need you to undress me and take me. Ravish me. Here, in this room. Quickly.’

  Amazingly, his sludgy brain stirred. ‘What about my companions?’

  ‘They are taken care of.’ She reached out and touched him through his garments. Her fingers probed his chest, his belly, and lower still, where he bulged. The fingers lingered at that place. Nothing else seemed to matter.

  He groaned the groan of a man greedy for the caresses of a woman. The groan of a man missing his conjugal rights and set to fall like a ripe mango into the hands of a cunning witch.

  Slowly at first, then more assertively, he pulled at the witch’s bodice, her skirts, her camisole. Nothing could stop him now.

  ‘You are beautiful,’ he said when he’d stripped her. He tore at his own clothes then. Stepped from the pool of leather, chainmail, and wool to stand in honed, ebony majesty before her.

  When Ethan walked by the door some minutes later, he paused, listening to the telling sounds from within. Smiling to himself, he hurried to his bedchamber to sit behind his special painting. To sit watching the handsome black knight as he laid siege to Sibilla’s body.

  The knight was pumping his virility inside Sibilla like a stallion servicing a brood mare. The magnificence of his cock was a sight to savour. Ethan sighed with satisfaction.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gavin hesitated on the threshold of the knights’ bathhouse, feeling very much the new boy. He’d heard someone say Tev had gone for a dunk and a massage after his hard day practising in the jousting run. A curly-haired pageboy ceased lolling against the wall and hurried towards him.

  ‘Need any help undressing, sir?’

  ‘Um, you’re all right, thanks. Do I go over there?’

  The page gestured. ‘You can leave your kit on the bench and go straight into the steam room. One or two knights are in there already.’

  Gavin crossed the stone-flagged floor and began shucking off his clothes. In a way, he wished he’d asked Zebal to accompany him on this first visit. But that might have sent the wrong message. He needed to stand on his own feet. Naked, Gavin padded towards the door the page had indicated. Opened it and stepped into another world.

  Eucalyptus-sc
ented air, warm and damp, curled itself around him, entered his nostrils, and seeped into his orifices. There was a frisson in the air – a sense of being invigorated and lulled, all at the same time. Intriguing. Challenging. He sat down near the door and waited for the mysterious shapes swathed by steam to transform into recognisable beings.

  ‘I expect you’re feeling very pleased with yourself.’ The words sounded like a snarl, rather than a pleasantry.

  Gavin turned to locate the speaker. There were only two others in the steam room, one unquestionably Braden. The other shaven-headed, pony-tailed; unquestionably animosity personified.

  ‘Tev, could I have a word, please?’

  Braden rose from the bench. ‘I’ll leave you two dudes to it. I need a splash in the cold pool then a massage. See you at supper.’

  Gavin closed his eyes. ‘See you, Braden. Thanks.’

  The door closed with a clunk. Was it his imagination, or did the steam seem to increase in intensity? Surge. Swirl. Hiss. Of course. Tev had thrown more water on the hot coals. The sizzling, the mint-pine smell, and the relentless, sweltering heat rocked Gavin’s equilibrium. Warm air tickled his nostrils. This was his first Turkish bath. Such a thing didn’t exist back where he came from. All his senses were being invaded at once. He felt an intense and shocking urge to be hugged.

  ‘Cut me some slack, Tev, please,’ he begged. ‘I didn’t have a clue what was going on. Back in my world, things don’t happen as quickly as they do here. Everything’s over the top in this amazing kingdom of yours.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Tev’s words from the topmost bench dripped ice, all the more chilling given the sultry atmosphere.

  ‘I couldn’t believe it when those ladies began passing me those favours.’ Gavin stumbled on. ‘I have it on good authority that the little blonde you admire only did it for a dare.’ He spoke with authority, hoping he wouldn’t be questioned too meticulously.