Maids with Blades

by Glynnis Campbell

  She fought him then, or at least she thought she fought him. She twisted beneath him, making fists of her hands. Yet when he released her wrists and she might have shoved him away, instead she pushed against his chest with no more force than a child brushing aside a curtain. “Nay.”

  “Aye.” His fingers tangled in her hair as he nibbled along her jaw. “Ah, here’s a choice morsel.” He lapped at the corner of her mouth, as if tasting her. Then he caught her lower lip gently between his teeth.

  She didn’t mean to kiss him. It was an accident. She nipped tentatively at his lips, once, twice, innocently enough. But then her tongue slipped out to taste his mouth, and he lapped at hers in return. Suddenly she couldn’t stop. If he was a hungry beast, she was just as voracious. She slanted her mouth over his, pressing and sucking and licking, smashing her lips against his, demanding his response with such vehemence that she unwittingly bit him.

  He jerked back. “Soft, my lady,” he said on a chuckle. “Who is the beast now?”

  His remark stunned her for a moment. Mother of God, what had possessed her? She should be fighting him off. Were those her fists tangled in his shirt?

  Then his mouth descended upon hers again, tender, inviting, and her concerns faded into a haze of desire.

  As if the touch of his lips was not enough to send her senses careening, he let one of his hands drift down along her neck, over her shoulder, down her sleeve. Everywhere he made contact, her skin seemed to waken, like the fur of a cat in a windstorm. He caressed the curve of her waist, and even through her gown she could feel the heat of his palm. While she held her breath, his hand stole slowly upward along her ribs until his thumb reached the crease below her breast.

  She broke away from the kiss. “Nay,” she gasped, sensing his intent.

  “Aye,” he assured her. Yet he lingered there, gazing into her eyes, smiling, stroking deliberately back and forth beneath her breast, teasing her until she thought she would go mad with longing, for her nipple began to ache for his touch.

  And God help her, eventually she arched up toward him, hungry for that contact.

  Only then did he proceed. With a gentle hand, he cupped the underside of her breast, hefting its malleable weight in his palm.

  “So appetizing,” he murmured.

  Then he at last brushed his thumb across the fabric over her straining nipple.

  She gasped as desire exploded through her body like a shower of sparks, targeting her breasts and the burning spot between her thighs.

  Yet it was only the beginning. He lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “Ah, another delicious place.”

  Still rasping his thumb over her nipple, he slipped the tip of his tongue into the shell of her ear, and it was as if she’d touched a sword hot from the forge. She twitched with the shock of it. She squeezed her eyes shut, craving yet abhorring the intense sensation, writhing and wallowing between ecstasy and despair.

  Beyond thought, she moaned and reveled and suffered, yet grew desperate somehow for more. His breath, blown gently into her ear, sent intoxicating quivers through her. Her nipple stiffened to an almost painful tension. And her skin grew so hot that she plucked urgently at her clothes, eager to dispense with them.

  He must have read her mind, for in the next moment, his hand left off its torment to loosen the ties of her gown.

  “Nay,” she said, clutching at her bodice, even as her rebellious fingers helped to spread the laces.

  “Oh, aye, my lady.”

  She’d thought his touch warm before, but nothing compared to the heat of flesh upon flesh as he let his hand delve within. Though his hands were callused from the sword, his caress was amazingly gentle as he cradled her breast, then tenderly squeezed her nipple.

  Her fingers clawed and tangled in his shirt, and she clung to him like to a wild warhorse as yearning engulfed and overwhelmed her.

  He murmured against her mouth. “Oh, my lady, you are most delectable there.”

  She thought to say him nay, but the word wouldn’t form upon her lips. She could only manage a quiet mewl of protest.

  “Aye, most delectable.”

  He left a trail of kisses along her neck and over her bosom, then slipped her loosened surcoat down. She quivered as the fabric rasped across her flesh. She’d thought no greater bliss could be endured until he licked lightly across her nipple, then lowered his lips and took sweet suckle.

  She sobbed out, moving her hands to the back of his head, as if she might hold him to her bosom forever. Waves of pleasure washed over her as he used his lips and tongue to suck in a rhythm that simultaneously calmed and aroused her.

  Soon her other breast yearned for the sorcery of his touch. Instinctively, she guided his head there, shivering as his lusty chuckle tickled her belly, moaning as his mouth claimed that nipple as well, kindling in her a fresh shock of euphoria.

  Still she was not fully satisfied. She squirmed beneath him, thwarted, feeling as helpless as an unseasoned warrior, unable to choose the weapon that would vanquish her foe.

  But Colin chose for her, and he chose expertly.

  With a final brush of his tongue, he released her breast and moved up to kiss her mouth again. If it was possible, his lips had grown even softer. Or maybe it was her own willing response that made them seem so. Their lips coupled, and their tongues intertwined, yet all the while, the fire increased betwixt her legs. She whimpered softly against his mouth.

  “I know, love, I know,” he murmured.

  He began gathering her skirts in his fist, inching her hem slowly upward, baring her legs. Though it was what she desired, her hands moved out of habit to block him.

  “Shh.” He gently lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the back of her knuckles in reassurance.

  Against her instincts, she let him proceed. He slipped his hand beneath her skirts, caressing the inside of her thigh. Her muscles twitched, unaccustomed to such contact, until his soothing strokes calmed them.

  And yet this arousing touch did nothing to slake her thirst. An ache grew in her womb that somehow his hand was not quite satisfying.

  She grunted in frustration and eased her hips forward, willing his fingers…there. And yet they skipped elusively away. She arched up, trying to force his hand.

  “So eager,” he teased.

  Searing need overrode her pride. She sobbed in dismay as he withheld what she craved most.

  At long last, he yielded to her unspoken demands. “Is this what you desire?” he whispered.

  His fingers smoothed the curls of her woman’s mound and brushed lower, delving into the moist folds, and pressing against the core of her need. She cried out and pushed against his palm, rocking instinctively against his hand.

  His mouth returned to hers then, and he kissed her tenderly as he began to use his fingers upon her in a most exquisite dance.

  “Oh, Helena, my sweet,” he breathed against her mouth, as if he suffered along with her. “So warm. So wet.”

  His words spurred her to new passions. Soon, like a rising flood, lust swept her away faster than she could swim. Breathless, she grabbed for purchase, seizing his shoulders, as the tide climbed higher and higher.

  “Oh, my lady,” he panted, “I would devour you wholly now.”

  She dared not even think of what he meant.

  But he didn’t give her time to think.

  “Nay!” she cried, her eyes wide as he slipped down her body.

  “Aye,” he growled softly.

  Panicked, she seized handfuls of his hair, half-trying to prevent him. But he moved inexorably downward until his breath stirred the soft curls guarding her womanhood.

  Devour didn’t begin to describe what he did. With his lips and tongue, he tasted her, savored her, feasted upon her, suckled tenderly at the core of her need until she thought she would die from the pleasure of it. Sounds came from her throat that she’d never made before, sounds of primal hunger, of womanly distress. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth as he honed h
er desire to a sharper and sharper point.

  And then a wave of incredible heat enveloped her, as powerful as fire, as sweet-hot as victory. She snarled her fingers in his hair, afraid he might abandon her in her time of need. But he stayed with her, easing his hands beneath her hips to lift her for his final devouring. When sweet release coursed through her, she thrust up, giving herself to him completely, letting him feed upon her while she shook in the throes of surrender.

  Afterward, drained of all her strength and will and pride, she half dozed upon the pallet. Colin’s head lay heavy upon her belly, and his hand covered the curls below, as if to protect them.

  But it was too late for that.

  He’d already violated her.

  She swallowed hard and closed her eyes tightly. Nay, she thought. That wasn’t the truth. She’d wanted this as much as he did. And it had been pleasurable, immensely pleasurable.

  Yet somehow, as the day wore on and they gradually resumed their normal activities, Helena felt as if she’d lost a contest of arms. They’d battled, and she’d fallen. It stung her to know she’d been vanquished so easily.

  Thankfully, Colin seemed particularly careful not to gloat over his victory. Whenever their glances met, his gaze softened, as if he looked upon her with new eyes. Gone was his ruthless teasing. Vanished were his lusty grins and sly stares. Indeed, if she didn’t know any better, she’d suspect it was affection she read in his face. Still, she was haunted by the fact she’d left herself completely vulnerable to him.

  By nightfall, she decided there was but one way to erase her shame. It was what any bested knight would do to recover his honor. She intended to meet Colin on the field of battle again. But this time, she planned to emerge the victor.

  She approached him after supper, as he reclined upon the pallet, watching her put away the last of the pots. She’d been notably nervous, thinking about what she’d plotted. Even now she wiped sweaty palms upon her skirts.

  Helena had little experience when it came to trysting. Everything she knew, she’d learned from watching maidservants and stable lads. But a Warrior Maid of Rivenloch never shied away from a challenge, and so she was determined to carry out her mission.

  Steeling herself as for a tournament, she smoothed her skirts, then straightened to her full height and walked directly to the pallet. She cleared her throat. He lifted his brows. She opened her mouth to speak, then forgot what she intended to say.

  “Aye?” he asked, clearly amused.

  “I wish…”

  “You wish…” he prompted.

  Bloody hell, it was hard to talk to him when he lay there, looking so handsome and desirable and delicious. “I wish to…” Her gaze darted unwittingly to his groin.

  The corner of his mouth curved up. “Would you like me to feed on your flesh again?”

  “Nay!”

  “Because you need only ask, my lady.”

  “Nay, ’tisn’t that at all.” God’s bones, why was this so difficult? She could seduce mercenaries all night. Why should one paltry Norman give her so much trouble?

  “Perhaps you’d like to play a different game?” he guessed, his eyes sparkling softly in the firelight.

  “Aye. Nay! That is…” She blew out a hard breath. This was ridiculous. She was a Warrior Maid of Rivenloch. Bold. Strong. Fearless. “I wish to…to return the favor.”

  His brow creased. “The favor?”

  “Aye.”

  After a moment, his expression cleared. “Ah. You wish to,” he said, his voice cracking, “you wish to devour me?”

  Colin’s cock might have sprung to instantaneous attention at her blushing nod, but he was still sane enough to think with his brain. Barely.

  All day long he’d savored the taste of Helena upon his lips. All day long he’d imagined the further delights they might share this eve. All day long he’d relived her beautiful release, so sweet, so pure, so intense. Indeed, he’d never found himself so obsessed with a woman.

  But something wasn’t quite right. During supper, Helena had been as edgy as a bride on her wedding night. Yet this was the same woman who had openly flaunted her charms to a camp full of mercenaries. It made no sense. So despite an intense yearning for her and despite her intoxicating closeness, Colin had to know her motives.

  “Why?” he croaked.

  “Why?”

  “Why do you wish to…return the favor?”

  “Because…because ’tis only fair.”

  “Fair?” He frowned.

  She lowered her gaze to her fidgeting fingers. “You…pleasured me. I wish to pleasure you.”

  He knew women well enough to know their eyes told the truth when their lips did not. “Indeed?”

  She glanced up, and he locked gazes with her, seeking an answer. She flashed him a fleeting smile, one about as convincing as a harlot in a nun’s habit. Then he considered the woman. She was a warrior. She thought like a warrior. In her mind, she’d lost their first bout of lovemaking by surrendering to him. She wanted a second chance to secure his defeat.

  “It has nothing to do with pleasure, Hel-fire.” He nodded. “’Tis retribution you seek.”

  He let her stammer and stutter over that. Her blush deepened, lending truth to his speculation. The little vixen wanted vengeance.

  He gave her the hint of a smile. “Fortunately, I’m not a man to quarrel over motive.” His smile broadened, and he spread his arms in welcome surrender. “Take your revenge, my lady.”

  Despite his aching groin, despite the lusty thoughts that had tormented him all day, despite the almost unbearable anticipation, Colin couldn’t help but be amused by Helena’s manner as she began to initiate his seduction. He wondered if it was some new game she’d devised wherein she serviced her lover with no emotional engagement whatsoever. Or maybe it was a survival skill she’d acquired trysting with so many stable lads.

  She gingerly loosened his braies as if the laces had thorns, and then hauled them down with little ceremony. When she gazed down at what she’d exposed, her face took on a grave cast, as if she were about to spar with a perilous dragon. But when she took a deep breath, then dripped spittle into her right palm, and frowned down at his proud staff, he stopped her.

  “May I have…I don’t know…maybe a kiss first?”

  She seemed startled. “Oh. Aye.” She bent forward, giving him a chaste peck upon the lips.

  “Nay, Hel-fire, I mean a real kiss. A kiss that says, I wish to pleasure you.”

  She tried again. This time he sensed the return of the passion she’d exhibited earlier. Her lips softened upon his, and she relaxed into his embrace. She sighed against his mouth, and he parted his lips, allowing her access. Her kisses started out tenuous, then her tongue began to mate enthusiastically with his, swirling and circling in a seductive dance. After a moment, he could almost convince himself that she was seeking his pleasure, not her own vengeance.

  Then, too soon, she ended the kiss. With no further ado, almost as if she had to begin the daunting task before she lost her nerve, she abruptly seized him with her wet hand and started pumping. If he hadn’t been so desperate, if it hadn’t been so long since he’d had a woman, he might not have responded to such brusque handling. Colin was a man of romance and style. He enjoyed the lazy art of playfulness, the leisurely pace of seduction. Seldom did he engage in hasty haystack trysts.

  But it had been a long time, and his cock cared not a whit whether it was stroked fast or slow, gently or firmly, by a beautiful woman or a toothless old hag, only that it was stroked.

  Still, she pumped at him as if it were a race, and he feared he wouldn’t last long if she continued.

  Gently, he surrounded her hand with his own and guided her movements, slowing her pace, shuddering at the sweet friction of her flesh around him. He felt her eyes upon him, watching his face, and he gazed up at her through half-closed lids, sharing his smoldering pleasure.

  His heart was already pounding and his breath coming in shallow drafts when she cauti
ously lowered her head. Her hair tickled as it draped across his belly and thighs. The instant she touched her tongue to the tip of him, he felt as if a bolt of lightning struck. He stiffened, careful not to lunge upward.

  But when she took him fully into her mouth, that thoughtful restraint took all his willpower. He groaned in ecstasy as she slid down his staff, inch by luscious inch. By the Saints, it was heavenly. Her mouth was hot and wet and slick and soft, demanding yet generous as she began to move. His nostrils flared, and his fists clenched in the coverlet as she worked her enchantment upon him. His head tossed back and forth as waves of desire threatened to drown him.

  Then he made a grave mistake. A curtain of hair obscured her face, and he brushed it aside to enjoy the provocative sight. But once he glimpsed her soft pink lips wrapped around him so intimately, his control slipped away, and his passions rose faster than bubbles in ale.

  He hissed, fighting an unbearable need to thrust.

  She spared him a glance of unmitigated triumph, but he was past care. He knew only that he needed her, desperately, and her mouth was far too delicate for the violent release he required.

  Using brute strength, he lifted her off him and rolled her onto her back. Her eyes widened as he tugged up her skirts. But she didn’t fight him. Instead, she sought out his mouth with hers, and the salty taste of him upon her lips drove him mad with need.

  But he was not so crass as to use a woman solely for his own pleasure. As they kissed, he swept one hand through her feminine curls and delved into the secret folds beneath, using his fingers tenderly, skillfully, increasing her desires to match his own. Her passions rose so quickly and with such force that it took his breath away and taxed his restraint.

  “Ah, God, Helena, I want you.”

  “Aye!” she gasped.

  Still, fearing he would explode the moment he entered her, he waited until she was on the verge of release. Her fingertips dug into his shoulders, and she drew in three sharp breaths. Then he plunged forward, sheathing himself fully in her warm, wet, inviting womb.

  She cried out sharply.

  But it wasn’t in ecstasy.