Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time

by Knight Blindness

  The corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic half smile empty of any warmth. “Then, I am

  yours foolish, foolish lady.”

  He turned his head to face forward. With his legs positioned the way they were, he

  wondered how she’d find comfort and ease in seducing him.

  Her arm brushed his chest as she leaned across him and with a firm hand pushed his

  raised knee down. When she started to move away, she angled herself and the unmistakable

  softness of breast trailed over him. He stirred and grew hard at the touch of her fingernails

  dragging along the zipper of his jods, then lingering to gently rub lower. She slid her hand up, squeezed him and then released but her hand remained on his bulging erection. Lust fired through him. His thighs opened wider and he pressed against her palm. He sucked in a long hiss of air and his head snapped back hard on the tree’s trunk. The pain unheeded as he unbuckled his belt and

  unzipped. He wanted, no needed for her to feel him skin to skin.

  She pulled her hand from his when he tried to slip it into his underwear.

  With the long campaign in France, months went by without a lady’s touch. His heart raced

  from Esme’s brief caresses. Embarrassed by his clumsy lack of control, Stephen took a deep

  breath, counted to five, and then exhaled slowly. He refused to pant like a hunting hound weak

  from the chase in front of her. Not yet. No doubt she’d bring him to a point where he wouldn’t

  give a whit what he looked like.

  The kiss he thought she’d deliver next didn’t happen. He sensed her standing. Her body

  heat warmed his upper arm she stood so close. She placed her booted foot lightly on his thigh.

  What mischief she intended he had no idea, but he trusted her. Had a man put a boot anywhere on Stephen, he’d have been on his feet in a thrice in challenge.

  “Help me get my boots off.”

  Stephen unlaced the first and grasped the heel tight. “Step back as I tug.”

  “I’ll lose my balance without something to hold onto. Right now I’m using the tree trunk.”

  He stood and stepped in front of her. “Lean against the trunk and put your foot between

  my knees. I’ll pull them both off that way,” he told her, mourning the loss when part of his rock hard erection ebbed.

  “Like shoeing a horse,” she said.

  “Something like that.”

  Once he had both boots off, he moved away.

  “Don’t sit down. Stay standing.”

  Something soft fell to the ground. The leaves rustled beneath her feet followed by the

  sound of a zipper being either done up or going down. A moment later Esme closed the short

  distance between them and began unbuttoning his shirt. When she finished, she peeled it off him and tossed it aside.

  “You should be naked. I am,” she said and brought his hands up to cup her breasts.

  He’d have thought stripping out of her clothes where privacy wasn’t guaranteed out of

  character. “Do you do this often, run naked that is?”

  “Never,” she said and kissed the scar on his chin.

  A spark of conceit flared learning she’d done this for him alone.

  The breeze rippled through the trees, strands of her fine hair tickled his nose. The gust

  continued on to ruffle his chest hair and her nipples peaked.

  “You’re cold.”

  She gripped the waistband of his jods and licked the hollow below his Adam’s Apple

  before nuzzling his neck. Her breath warm on his skin, she murmured, “Not that cold. It’s you,

  your touch.”

  Nestled in his hands, her breasts rose and fell with the words. He closed his eyes,

  visualizing the shaded rosiness of her nipples and the lighter pink of the flesh around them. Silken in his palms, the tender undersides were soft and weighty like ripe fruit. A tiny whimper escaped her as the back of his fingers feathered over the sides and the tops, teasing, enticing.

  “Stephen,” she whispered when he bent to taste her.

  The kiss started at the sensitive curve of her ear, his lips grazing the delicate shell, teeth

  nipping on her lobe, and then moving in an ever so slow pace down her to the delicious skin below.

  She shivered and melted into him, pressing her body to his, nails digging into his chest.

  The journey had just begun. He’d drive her mad, mad as she thought him. Each tiny bump

  of gooseflesh would know his lips, his tongue, and his depth of desire. With lips and tongue he forged a sensual path down her creamy throat, nipping here and there to leave his mark. A pinky-red signature left on her unseen but known to him, a reminder of what he would do to her today.

  He paused over the tiny vein that pulsed with pleasure and anticipation under his lips. He dropped his hands from her breasts and gripped her ass, drawing her tight against him.

  “My turn.” She planted a kiss on the only soft spot on the palm of his sword hand. Such a

  small thing yet so erotic, it set his blood ablaze.

  She leaned back and cradling his head hard, her fingers fisted around a handful of hair, she

  dragged him to her for a violent kiss. After a brief, but intense duel of tongues struggling for dominance, Stephen surrendered. She had after all said she wanted to ‘do him.’

  The kiss shocked and intoxicated. None he’d experienced compared. The widows at court

  who seduced him as often as he did them, kissed well but never with such pure lust, such

  abandon. The bawds he’d engaged for an evening’s pleasure also kissed well, but never fully,

  never with true passion.

  Esme angled her head this way and that, searching the deepest recesses of his mouth, her

  tongue gamboling over teeth and gums, sucking, taking his air and giving hers in return. Hot. Wet.

  Just like in another place to taste, to lick, to make weep for him.

  She lifted a leg high, encircled his thigh and rode his erection, rubbing the sweet spot

  between her legs along the length of him.

  He moaned at the explosion of raw need powering through him. Breaking the kiss, he

  pulled her hands from his face and pushed them down to his hips. “Free me.”

  She lowered her leg and tugged his unzipped jods down to the top of his thighs. His

  erection jutted out into the softness of her belly eliciting another moan from him and her.

  Esme touched her forehead to the top of his shoulder, her breathing heavy and ragged.

  She licked then kissed his collarbone before moving down to suckle one of his nipples. She teased the hair of his belly with the back of her fingers while bending to the other nipple. Her fingertips cinders on his skin skimming a path from his chest to his ribs. Then, she dropped to her knees. She tongued his belly button and licked the distance to his cock.

  “Esme...”

  She rimmed the tip of him with her tongue, closed her lips over him. With all the will power

  he had, he fought the desire to tunnel his fingers into her hair and draw her even closer, for her to take all of him into that sultry mouth. He laid his hands lightly on her bobbing head as she went down and up and down again. The lustiest of widows had but given baby kisses to the swollen tip.

  When she cupped his balls in her hand, rolling them gently as she licked and sucked, the

  last of his will power gave out. His breath came ragged and harsh with the pounding of his heart.

  In quick succession, Stephen pushed her away, took her hands and pulled her up, backing her

  against the tree. There she wrapped her legs around his waist, palmed the cheeks of her bum,

  raised her high and buried himself deep within her.

  “Stephen...” She gave a tiny cry when he withdrew to where just the tip of him remained

  at her
entry only to drive into her again. Her breath was heavy and moist in his ear as she held hard onto his back. “Don’t stop. Don’t. Stop.”

  Slower then faster, he stroked her, leading her in the world’s oldest dance. Her release

  came in waves. Her fingers clamped tighter to the tops of his shoulders. His lips on a vein in her throat, her rapid heartbeat pulsed like a small bird’s as she milked him. He waited for the last shudder to stop before finding his own release. They remained glued together for several precious seconds their chests rising and falling in rhythm with each other.

  “I’m afraid I’ve torn the tender flesh of your back. Does it hurt?” he asked and eased her

  down.

  “Scratched a bit, mildly sore.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s a good hurt.”

  “You’re wrong. No hurt is good, no matter the source.”

  He straightened his clothing and zipped up. “Please hand me my shirt.” When she did, he

  put it on, buttoned and tucked it into his jods. She put his iPod and headset in his hands without him asking. He sensed her moving around, gathering her clothes and dressing also he assumed.

  “Stephen—about us.”

  “Us? Really Esme, did you think spreading your legs is all that is needed to mend a broken

  trust?” he asked in an almost cheery way, knowing it was more painful and one of the least

  chivalrous things he’d done to a lady. Such a petty, shameful thing to do and it gave him no

  satisfaction.

  How he wished he hadn’t heard what she said, hadn’t forced her away. Loneliness like he

  never known before pressed down on him after she left. But, he had heard...still felt the sting of her words. A great part of him was tempted to draw her to him, forgive her and start anew. A

  greater part of him wasn’t ready to do that yet.

  Stephen untied Vidar, put the headset on, and returned to the playlist. He had one foot in

  the stirrup when she pulled one of the buds from his ear. “This isn’t over.”

  “But it is,” he said and mounted, hoping it wasn’t.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “I saw Esme today,” Stephen said. “She seeks forgiveness.”

  “That was to be expected,” Alex said.

  “I regret I was deliberately cruel to her.”

  “It happens. There was a time I treated Shakira cruelly.”

  No surprise. Alex’s pain and disappointment when she disappeared was palpable. It filled

  the air around him. There was nothing Stephen and Simon could do to ease the ache.

  “Even as I spoke harshly to her, I felt bad. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to do anything else.

  ‘Tis a quandary for me.” Stephen sighed, then asked, “Do you know what happened?”

  “Shakira told me.”

  “What’s your opinion?”

  “I don’t know Esme well. I can’t tell you the correct response. I can tell you a year ago

  Shakira and I both needed forgiveness for the hurt we caused each other,” Alex said. “I regret the time I lost with her while I hung onto my anger.”

  Stephen witnessed the love between Alex and Shakira. Did he love Esme that much? No,

  but he thought it possible. Like the words of the Chris Isaak song, he wanted to fall in love. There was no point to loving a woman when he was a landless knight. Opportunity he never had before

  might present itself in this time. He secretly prayed it would. If he used the money from the sale of his sword to learn a skill a blind man capable of, then he could provide for a wife and family.

  He hadn’t figured what skill to learn yet, but he would.

  “I’ve missed her presence.”

  “Are you going to forgive her?” Alex asked.

  “I don’t know. Like you said, it’s hard to let go. I wonder if I forgive the hurt will the

  anger still fester within me. Or, if I let go of the anger, will the hurt be like a never healed bruise?”

  “Let me add one thing and then I’ll leave off the subject. Does she make you happy?

  Don’t answer me. Answer the question for yourself.”

  The answer was an easy yes but that didn’t mean he was ready to tell her. He pushed

  thoughts of Esme from his mind and enjoyed the evening air as they drove to the dojo. He liked judo class, liked the physicality involved and looked forward to it. Tonight’s lesson included a one-on-one session with Sensei Ota and more complicated moves.

  “I’m sure the issue with Esme was a distraction but did you manage to memorize any of

  the songs on the CD?” Alex asked.

  “I did.”

  “Good. Tomorrow, the three of us will head into London. For the next four days we’ll

  work out of my music studio there. You’re going to record the same tracks from the CD you have

  but the new CD will be a professional copy for release purposes.”

  “Release?”

  “You’re going to be a star, my friend. I’ve produced many successful bands and solo

  artists. I’m a good judge of potential You’ve the gift of a great voice. It’s my job to get it heard.”

  Alex slowed and came to a stop. “We’re here.”

  Alex wanted to make a performer out of him. Intriguing idea. One he never considered. “I

  have two questions before we go inside. First, are you saying people will come to listen to a blind man? Second, by ‘star’ do you mean there’s a living wage as a result?”

  “Yes to both. Several blind men have enjoyed immense popularity, Andrea Bocelli, Stevie

  Wonder, and Ray Charles to name a few. And if you take off the way I think you will, the money

  is excellent.”

  “Enough for me alone or enough to provide for a wife and children?”

  “There’s more than you need for a family, if you’re sensible, which you are. You thinking

  of Esme by any chance?”

  Stephen grinned. “Perhaps.”

  “We should go. Your lesson starts in a few minutes.”

  “Stephen is that you?” John asked as Stephen and Alex entered the studio part of the

  school.

  “Yes.”

  “I put a folded gi with an obi for you on the bench in front of the first row of lockers,”

  John said.

  “Thank you.” Stephen didn’t want to keep Ota waiting. He hurried to undress and put on

  the loose-fitting practice uniform and belt.

  “Ready,” he said, returning to the studio to stand next to John on the padded mats.

  The sound of soft footfalls on the stairs alerted him to Ota’s arrival.

  “Kyu Palmer.” Stephen sensed the teacher stop in front of him. “We’ve practiced ways

  to fall without hurting yourself, how to pin a fallen opponent, and hip throws. Tonight, you’ll learn randori. It is where you attempt to throw your partner, me, to the mat, while I am attempting to do the same to you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sensei,” Stephen said.

  “After, you will learn the one-armed shoulder throw, or ippon seoi nage, in Japanese.

  Stephen repeated randori fine. The normally stern-voiced Ota giggled like a girl when he tried pronouncing ippon seoi nage. Had he attempted it with a mouth full of pebbles, he couldn’t do worse. Alex, John, and Stephen laughed along with Ota.

  “It’s like my tongue was out of control, too big for the words.”

  “Japanese is not an easy language,” Ota said. “Now, it is time for your lesson.”

  In the beginning, Ota won every randori challenge. Stephen’s shoulder took a pounding.

  The move didn’t hurt in a painful way but he’d be stiff and sore in the morning from the repeated dull strikes. After a while Stephen figured out where he made tactical mistakes. Balance and

  coordination were key for him. He managed to throw Ota to the mat twi
ce. Small wins, but

  exhilarating ones.

  Stephen stepped off the mats to catch his breath. Minutes later Ota said, “Time for ippon

  seoi nage.”

  Stephen moved back onto the tatami. “Stand here,” Ota told him and guided him with his

  hands where he wanted. “Pay attention.”

  Ota seized a handful of Stephen’s sleeve and yanked him forward. Before Stephen could

  react, Ota twisted him around, shoved the top of his right arm into Stephen’s right armpit,

  straightened, thrust with his hips, and sent Stephen flying over his head.

  “Whoa,” popped out of Stephen and then he landed on the mat with a thud.

  “You think me a horse?” Humor tinged Ota’s tone.

  “Sensei, I’ve known the experience of traveling through the air a number of times, all

  initiated by a mount I was riding. The feeling hasn’t changed much,” Stephen explained and

  scrambled to his feet.

  “I see. Let’s go again.”

  Ota sent him airborne once more, and then Stephen bested him in the next challenge.

  “Excellent, Kyu Palmer. You and Mudansha Swallow engage.”

  Stephen won three times and lost five to the more experienced Swallow. They finished the

  hour practicing falls and pins he learned during the first lesson. When they were done, he told John he preferred to shower at home, changed, and left with Alex.

  “I’m impressed with how fast you’re catching onto the moves,” Alex said and started the

  car. “You look like you’re enjoying it too.”

  “I am.” The lessons gave him a fighting chance if someone ever challenged him. Judo may

  not put him on equal footing with an opponent. But if the fight was hand to hand, no weapon

  involved, the art brought them close to equal. In the past, once challenged, he never backed down from a fight. He wasn’t about to start now, sight or no sight.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Hi, we haven’t done lunch, just the two of us in ages,” Esme said as Electra sat and put

  her purse and a brown shopping bag on the extra chair.

  “I know and I’ve been dying to hear how your plan to seduce Stephen worked.” Electra

  pinned her with a steady gaze. “So...how’d it turn out? Did you the two of you bump uglies or

  not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very, very important...was he a good kisser? If they can’t get the kiss right, then deal me