The Modest and the Bold (2 page)

This moment of veracity
and acceptance, this moment of unusual bravery, was soon supplanted
by apprehension.
You cannot do it,
Constance! It would be sinful to do so! H
e
would only scorn such a ridiculous
notion.

With her mind set against
Adele’s wicked suggestion, Constance readied herself for bed.
However, once her old nurse, Judith, who acted as her personal
serving woman now, had gone, the bed curtains drawn tight, her mind
and body were bombarded by the provocative memory of Sir Fulke and
Adele’s coupling. She visualized
herself
bent over that trestle
table, not Adele.

Raising her chemise,
Constance spread her thighs and slipped a finger down to the mouth
of her sex. That digit now wet, she slid it up, flicking it over
the nub that was swelling. Her heart beat sped up.

She envisioned Sir Fulke
fondling her as he had Adele.

Her finger flicked
wilder.

Her cries echoed through
the old hall. She reveled in Sir Fulke’s sharp intakes of breath as
he pummeled her faster. With each plunge, the legs of the trestles
shifted, scrapping across the stone floor.

Moaning, Constance sank
two fingers of her other hand inside herself.

She groaned at the
magnificent strength of the knight’s hands as he gripped her hips,
at the erotic sweep of her nipples across the table’s surface with
each merciless stab.

Her fingers striking and
probing, she cried out wantonly as her orgasm rushed up and
exploded in her bosom. Digging her heels into the feather mattress,
toes curling, she pressed her thrusting hand into her rocking
pelvis, her warm cum drenching her ensconced fingers.

With a gratified shudder,
Constance slipped her fingers from her quivering body, throwing
them out to her sides. As sleep claimed her her mind
breathed,
Yes, I will go. I need to go. I
must.

A
ball of nervous, enthusiastic insecurity, Constance paced an
uncluttered space of the old Norman manor house. One minute she was
giddy at the prospect of what she was about to do, and the next,
sure that Sir Fulke would only sneer at Adele’s invitation. When
the latter took firm hold, Constance shook her head in self-disgust
and opted to leave before the pair could arrive. As she took the
first step towards the secret passage she’d utilized, the door
opened. Spinning round her eyes widened as Sir Fulke walked
in.

The surprise upon the
man’s visage melted into scarlet awkwardness when Adele followed
him in. Now it was Constance’s turn to suffer the flush of
embarrassment. To her credit she held the younger woman’s merry
gaze as she glided over.

“
Well, look see who’s come
to play, Sir Fulke.”

At Adele’s remark
Constance noted how Sir Fulke’s brows twitched. He said nothing,
only let the cherry-eyed Adele pull him over to Constance. She
trembled with renewed excitement. It was not until Adele was
standing directly in front of her that the knight said anything at
last, his tone flat, dark eyes unfathomable.

“
Is that so?”

Adele whirled round,
catching at the hem of Sir Fulke’s surcote. He stayed her hands
from raising the garment any further, his eyes darting uncertainly
in Constance’s direction.

“
Come, now, sir.” purred
the maid. “What’s this modesty? There’s not amiss with our lady
joinin’ us.”

Even as the knight
relented, Constance yet discerned a measure of indecision in his
bearing as Adele divested him of his tunics.

All concern over his
uneasiness fled the second his upper flesh was revealed.

Gilbert had been as wide
and brawny as he’d been tall, his skin and eyes and hair pale. Sir
Fulke, on the other hand, was tall, too, but his lean, swarthy
frame bulged in all the right places, rippling with every move he
made.

Shivering as hunger fired
her insides at the hard beauty of the man, Constance could only
watch as he raised Adele’s simple blue sleeveless surcote up and
off. Next he helped her out of her equally plain long-sleeved cote.
As he’d done this, the serving maid had heeled off her shoes,
kicking them off to the side.

Now, standing in nothing
except her smock and stockings, Adele grinned mischievously. “Now
you, milady.”

Nervous eagerness joined
with Constance’s desire at the prospect of Sir Fulke undressing
her. However, it was the serving maid who stepped to lift her
wine-hued surcote and the tighter fitting dove-gray cote
underneath, not Sir Fulke. Her disappointment was eliminated when
she noted how his eyes fell upon her large bosom, lingering,
smoldering, before sliding away. Unlike Adele’s loose, linen smock,
Constance’s costly, sleeveless chemise, with its low neckline and
thin shoulder straps, was of batiste. In response to his
appreciation, her large nipples hardened and strained against the
fine material.

“
Eh, how becoming her
ladyship is in such a fine smock,” claimed Adele. “Do you not think
so, Sir Fulke?” She sashayed around their lady and pressed herself
into the silent knight, dragging his head down for a
kiss.

Constance’s breathing
quickened as she surveyed every glide of the man’s lips over
Adele’s, envisioning they were hers. Adele broke away and flashed
her a shrewd smile. Constance’s cheeks prickled. It only worsened
when Adele followed Sir Fulke over to a nearby trunk, peeling off
her smock as she did so. He sat down and she knelt between his
legs, her back to him, to help him with his boots. When she
requested Constance’s help, she bounded forward.

Uncaring of her fine
chemise Constance knelt and proceeded to take off Sir Fulke’s other
boot. As soon as she got it off Adele cried out, startling
Constance. Snapping her gaze up she found Sir Fulke grasping Adele
firmly by her hips as he took her from behind. His stockings and
braise were still in place, but he’d extracted his manhood from the
concealment of those short undergarments.

Lust surging, Constance
studied the current heaviness of the knight’s eyes, the part in his
lips, the quick rise and fall of his chiseled chest, the harshness
of his fingers about Adele’s pale flesh as he brought her back onto
his hard length repeatedly.

Playing fingers about her
breasts snatched Constance out of her gratifying observance. She
glanced down just as the neckline of her chemise was tugged down,
her left breast popping out, and Adele’s gaping mouth latched onto
her nipple.

Shocked, Constance yelped
and tried to pull away. The serving maid held fast to her, shushing
her between groans.

“
Come, milady. Let me
taste you.”

The young woman drew
strongly upon her sensitive tip, sending a bolt of fire straight
down to her nether region. Forgetting her distress Constance
moaned, leaned back on her hands, closed her eyes, and let the maid
have her way.

When next she opened her
eyes it was to Sir Fulke’s burning gaze. He was not staring
at
her
, but
rather her
bare
breasts
(Adele had extracted her
other breast). Or perhaps it was Adele’s lustful performance he
minded, it was hard to tell. She didn’t care. Whatever it was that
had him so transfixed she was a part of, and that was
enough.

“
Take
off—
uuhhh
—your
boots, milady.
Swiftly!
”

With her breasts yet
uncovered, Constance shifted her feet out from under her bottom and
did as the panting serving maid ordered. As she did so, Adele
lifted her bottom high in the air as Sir Fulke got to his feet, his
member lodged deep inside her. He bent his knees, the muscles of
his thighs bulging, and took Adele with ferocity. Her urgent cries
were like licks of fire in Constance’s belly. The wildness of Sir
Fulke’s lovemaking, the tormented mask his mien adopted, caused her
drenched sex to pulsate terribly. She hankered for him to take her
like that, thrusts and fingers merciless, visage sweaty and
scrunched up as if in agony.
Yes! Oh,
yes!

Just as Adele screamed in
her ultimate ecstasy, Sir Fulke groaned out his. Constance
shuddered, her own climax sliding out of her, down her inner
thighs.

Adele gave a contented
sigh when Sir Fulke slipped out of her. Snatching up her smock, she
tossed it upon the floor in front of the trunk and plopped down.
“Come, milady,” she ordered breathlessly, waving her over. “Sit
with me here.”

The effects of her orgasm
receding, Constance glanced up and caught Sir Fulke staring at her
exposed breasts. Face aflame, she drew her chemise back up over the
heavy globes and rose on quaking legs. Adele laughed when she
approached.

“
This is no occasion for
modesty, milady.”

Constance stared at the
thatch of curls between the maid’s stocking encased
legs.

“
Go on. Take off your
chemise.”

Wrenching her eyes from
Adele’s nakedness, Constance bent to grasp the hem of her garment.
Sir Fulke grasped her hand, halting her.

“
My lady…it is no
necessary—” he attempted.

“
But she craves to,
Fulke!” appealed Adele. Her eyes shifted to their lady’s. “Do you
not, milady?”

As much as Constance
appreciated Sir Fulke’s compassion and commended his scruples, she
coveted his passion too much to deny herself this chance she had
been accorded.

Drawing her hand from his,
Constance took off her chemise, letting the fine garment float to
the ground. When Adele unfurled her legs wider, gesturing for her
to sit between them, Constance padded over to her in nothing save
her red stockings. Pressing back into the young woman’s naked form,
Constance lifted her eyes to look upon Sir Fulke’s mien and halted
at the long, hard appendage jutting up and out (he’d at last
stripped off his stockings and braise) from the dark patch of coils
at the junction of his muscular thighs. Her eyes rounded a little.
Gilbert’s manhood had only been half the size of Sir Fulke’s and
its head not nearly as huge. She imagined that enormous knob
burrowing into her flesh, deliciously stretching,
filling.

She shivered and mewled.
At her back, Adele chuckled.

“
You see? She yearns for
this—
badly
.”

Although the knight was
clearly battling his lust and what he reckoned wrong, Constance was
thankful when he sighed in acquiesce and knelt between her legs.
She quaked with anticipation, panting as Adele reached around to
knead her breasts, the maid’s tone mesmeric.

“
And you cannot tell me,
sir, that you do not covet a feel—
a
taste—
of these tits.”

The hunger in Sir Fulke’s
eyes as he observed Adele’s sinful behavior was unmistakable. Her
simmering desire bubbled hotter. The serving maid abandoned her
breasts and cupped her hands underneath Constance’s bent knees,
just below her garters. She hauled them back to her chest, exposing
her sex to Sir Fulke’s eyes. Adele released one of her knees and
snaked a hand down Constance’s body, exploring her thrumming folds.
Constance threw back her head to Adele’s shoulder,
groaning.

“
Ah, yes. You see, Sir
Fulke? She wants to be filled—she
needs
to be.”

The knight filled his
hands with Constance’s breasts at last, pushing them up and
together for his pleasure before bowing his head to draw one of
their hardened tips into his mouth. Her groan mingled with his. Her
juices started flowing again, soaking her from the inside
out.

Unable to help herself,
Constance sifted her fingers through Sir Fulke’s dark,
shoulder-length hair and draped her legs about his sinewy thighs.
After he paid like attention to her other nipple he inched down her
body, his lips molten fire upon her flesh, his breath shallow as he
inhaled her fragrance, his large, rough hands kneading, seeking
with delicious intent. He sank lower to the floor and pressed her
thighs open with deliberation. She shivered as he lowered his head
to set his face into her dark curls, sniffing. He muttered
something as his descended lower, sliding the tip of his tongue
along the unfurled verges of the slick petals of her
sex.

Constance quivered and
mewled. Adele chuckled and fingered her nipples.

Sir Fulke whirled his
tongue about the throbbing nub at the apex of Constance’s sex. She
juddered violently and sucked in a sharp breath. In shameless
fashion she opened her legs wider, urging him to take his fill, to
furnish what her body screamed for.

And he did.

His tongue at last sunk
inside. Tears gathered at the corner of Constance’s eyes at the
tantalizing thoroughness in which he loved that part of her body.
“Uh! Uhhh!”

The glorious combination
of Sir Fulke’s mouth and Adele’s fingers exhorted euphoria to blaze
within Constance, propelling her to release sooner than she had
anticipated. Sir Fulke’s pants and groans, vibrating into her sex,
was all that was required to push her to her limits. With a final
cry she dug her nails into his shoulders. The building pressure
broke, sending her sex into horrible contractions about the
enticing tongue buried inside. Stars bust behind lids she squeezed
shut against the heat that surged through her.