A Knight of Passion (3 page)

The breast slipped from her mouth and he jarred from the trance. She cupped the back of his neck and brought his mouth down to the stiff, rosy peak. He greedily sucked it into his mouth, hungry for the taste of her,
all of her
. He was a fool to have thought he could walk away from this woman. She grasped his rod and rubbed the mushroom tip against her nub. Blood pounded in his ears. How long could he take this sweet torture before he gave in and possessed her?

He let the nipple slip from his mouth and blazed a trail along the flat surface of her stomach to the dark curls below. Her scent filled his nostrils. He shifted between her legs and breathed deep of her juices. Slowly, he dipped his tongue into her heat. The tang of her cream burst across his tongue. Bryant pulled her legs over his shoulders and lapped at her sex. She pulsed against his tongue.
Yes.
He would make her come so hard, she wouldn’t soon forget this night. He thrust his tongue inside her channel, tasting deep of her.

She moaned. When he sucked her into his mouth, she writhed. He sucked harder, flicking his tongue against the sensitive nub, then sucked again, until she bowed off the bed with pleasure. He kept his mouth locked against her cunt as juices gushed from her channel and pleasure shook her legs. He sucked harder still through a second, more powerful spasm that locked her legs around his head until her thighs trembled and finally went limp.
 

Bryant straightened, heart racing, and stared down at her. She stared back, eyes glazed with pleasure. Had other men made her come as hard as he had? Had she responded to them as she had to him? Anger flared. She was a skilled lover. Had she played him for a fool? No. No woman could feign that sort of satisfaction. Bryant lowered himself onto her. His rod nestled against her warm belly He had to have her. He lifted up and braced himself on his hands as he fitted the tip of his cock into her opening.

Riana splayed her hands on his chest, fingers digging into his flesh. Satisfaction shot though him. Touching him pleased her. He eased inside. Her tight walls closed around him, until he was sheathed to the hilt. Bryant lowered himself onto her. The feel of her soft breasts flattened beneath him was an aphrodisiac far beyond any he’d ever experienced.

He pulled out, the tip of his rod playing at her entrance before finally easing back inside in a slow, agonising thrust that nearly drove him out of his mind. He pulled out again and she arched into the thrust this time, forcing him deeper. Bryant groaned. He would spend himself in moments. In, then out again, pressure built. Her hands slid around his back and down to his arse. She squeezed his cheeks as he entered her again. She groaned and pleasure ricocheted through him.

“By God,” he rasped. “You are a witch.”

She abruptly shoved him back. He rolled off her, dazed. His heart pounded. She slid from the bed. Surely she wasn’t leaving. No yet, not before he’d fully possessed her.

She dropped to her knees and levelled her dark eyes on him. “A witch must have her talisman.”

His heart galloped. Her head bobbed out of sight for an instant before she stood, a small wooden box in hand. His cock throbbed, the need to feel her walls around it nearly driving him mad. But his curiosity was piqued and he forced patience as she set the box on the foot of the bed, opened the lid, and produced a life-sized, lacquered wood version of a man’s cock.

Sir Bryant stared. He’d heard of such instruments, but had scarcely believed in their existence. What in God’s name did the wench intend to do with the thing?

She set the box on the floor then, the phallus in hand, crawled onto the bed beside him. She bent her head and kissed him, soft and slow as if she knew full well she was driving him out of his mind. Bryant grasped her shoulders and yanked her to him, deepening the kiss. She sighed against his lips, then allowed his tongue inside again, sparring, but holding back just enough to drive him closer to the edge.

Riana pulled away. His head swam and, when she tugged him into a sitting position at the foot of the bed, then sidled up to him arse first, he flinched. She reached back and spread her arse cheeks, then positioned herself so that his cock fitted into the crack as she carefully released her cheeks around him. The pressure closed in around the sensitive underside of his shaft and Bryant grasped her hips, thrusting upwards into the crack. He slid downwards and, when the crown reached the lower edge, she shifted. The tip of his cock entered the tiny rosette.

Bryant froze. By God, she didn’t mean to—Riana reached back and grasped his shaft at the root. Slowly, she eased back onto him, stretching the opening against the intrusion of his engorged cock. She gasped, and all thought was shoved aside by the lust that flooded him. He couldn’t move as she inched him inside, numbing his senses to all but the exquisite feel of her tight arse around him. At last, she settled hilt-deep onto him and took a deep breath he felt clear to his balls.

She didn’t move, and he started to ask what was wrong then realised her attention was on the painting hanging over the bed. He started to look up, but his gaze snagged on her fingers as they closed around the phallus on the bed beside them. His heart raced. Sweet Mary, she didn’t intend… The phallus disappeared in front of her and he leaned his chest against her slim back to look over her shoulder. A jolt went through him at sight of her rubbing the wooden tip against her sex. She shifted and he grasped her waist as she pulsed in several quick bursts that rocked her against his root in agonising pleasure. A growl rumbled from his chest.

He watched the phallus slide through the slick folds, then disappear inside her channel. She gasped and he pictured the thick wood buried hilt-deep inside her cream-filled sheath. His cock hardened to near pain. Bryant gritted his teeth when she shifted, and he realised she was easing the wooden rod out. She lifted and fell. Her speed increased as she jammed the device in and out.

Desire streaked through him. By God, the wench was fucking her cunt—while he fucked her arse. His balls tightened. With skilled precision, she rocked forward, easing away from his shaft. Bryant’s squeezed her hips convulsively as she stopped just short of his cock slipping out. When she rocked back onto him, he drove deep.

“My lord,” she breathed, and his belly tightened with the knowledge that his thrust had driven the phallus deeper.

Forward, then back, he started a rhythm. Lust shot through him at the mental picture of the thick rod reappearing then disappearing within her sheath each time he rammed his cock into her. Her head fell back and gooseflesh tightened his chest muscles where her hair tickled his taut skin. She undulated against his thrusts, allowing him deeper, longer access and, with her forward motion, he knew the wooden cock was being stuffed ever deeper. She cupped a breast, and he could stand it no longer. He quickened his thrusts, unable to halt the need that built like a raging storm.

Bryant wrapped one arm around her waist, grasped the phallus, and knelt up. He forced her forward onto all fours and thrust, keeping the wicked toy steady as he drove it deeper. She cried out. He quickened his thrusts. His gaze caught on the picture hanging over the bed. There was something strange about the eyes. Pleasure burst across his senses. He held the slick length of lacquered wood rigid as Riana’s cunt lips slammed against the edge of his palm.

Overwhelming need throbbed through his cock and tightened his balls. His cum spurted into her arse as she spasmed around the phallic device. Her cry of pleasure sent a message straight to his shaft, and the convulsion shook his body. She rocked against the false cock, milking the last vestiges of satisfaction as he groaned through a final, long thrust and they collapsed onto the bed.

His gaze caught on the painting, and understanding of the oddity he’d noticed earlier penetrated his desire-clouded brain. Someone watched from behind the picture. But who—? Then he remembered the rumours, and knew. The duchess had been watching him fuck Riana.

Chapter Four

At last, Riana satisfied herself that the rise and fall of the knight’s chest meant he was in a deep sleep, and she slipped from beneath his arm and off the bed. In two steps she reached the table with the two goblets. She dumped the poison-laced wine into the chamber pot tucked away in the corner, took a long gulp of the other wine, then released a slow breath.

The thought of Sir Bryant drinking the wine, then the duchess’ hasty order to bury his
body
when the paralysis set in, churned her stomach. Riana envisioned Sir Bryant awakening, the smell of damp earth filling his senses in the last minutes of life as he tried to claw his way through six feet of packed soil. A shiver skittered down her spine. Even his powerful arms wouldn’t be enough to dig him to freedom.

She crossed to the chair sitting in the corner left of the door and grabbed the linen nightshift thrown over the cushion alongside the dress she’d readied. She slid the shift over her head, then the dress. Her gaze caught on the knight’s face, visible through the open curtain. Red hot embers cast soft light across his chiselled features. In the great hall, dressed in chain mail and surrounded by his comrades, he radiated danger. In sleep, the full mouth that had caressed her body had softened. The slight rise and fall of his massive chest belied the strength she’d felt when he’d lowered himself onto her. She’d sensed the tight rein he kept on his desire, his determination to make sure she’d taken her pleasure first.

Riana had ridden him hard. She’d seen the duchess’ eyes behind the painting when he’d spread her legs a second time and pumped into her while sucking her breasts. A tremor rippled through her. She hadn’t forgotten that her objective was to keep the duchess busy long enough to give Glen and Siusan a head start. Yet while Sir Bryant fucked her, she had forgotten the duke and all other the men who had lain between her legs. She had even forgotten Stuart. Her core clenched with memory of the pleasure he had given her, pleasure beyond that she had shared with her husband.

Guilt stabbed. How was it possible she could want another man as she had her husband? Stuart had been gentle, where Sir Bryant was demanding. Yet there was something more… Her stomach did a flip. She had felt helpless in his hands, small compared to his strength, yet safe. Her throat tightened. He had made her performance for the duchess easy. For that she would always be grateful—that and the reminder that not all men were cruel.

* * * *

Once the door had clicked shut behind Lady Ellis, Bryant rose and quickly donned his undergarments and tunic, then crossed to the bed. The duchess’ sexual tastes were no secret. It had to have been her watching them.

By now, Riana would already be in her chambers. Her Grace’s room was to the right in the hallway that turned off from this, which meant a direct line between the two rooms. Bryant crawled onto the mattress, lifted the large picture from the wall, and leaned it against the wall beside the bed. Two circles were easily visible where the eyes of the picture fitted. The Peeping Tom could slide aside the strip that covered the small section, then peer directly down on the lovers. The duchess had been watching the entire time—and Riana had been aware of her.

His jaw tensed. Lady Ellis was clearly accustomed to the duchess watching. How many times had the bitch forced Riana to perform like a trained hound while she spied from behind the picture? And the duchess’ appetite wouldn’t be quenched by merely watching. She had touched herself, probably even had companionship when the whim moved her. Had she ever forced Riana to submit to her vile hand?

Had the fact her mistress was watching influenced Riana’s reactions to him? His cock jerked at recollection of how she had eased the phallus inside her channel while his rod was buried deep inside her arse. He’d never experienced such intense pleasure…or desire. Her moans had made him believe she wanted him to fuck her as hard as he could. Could a woman feign pleasure like that? She had seemed so eager to please. Too eager? Perhaps, but he would teach her that he could bring her just as much pleasure, and she would welcome him of her own accord.
 

Bryant ran his fingers along the wall until he discerned an almost imperceptible crack in the stone. Carefully, he pressed in on the section of the wall and it clicked open a hair's breadth in his direction. He opened the door and peered inside the passageway. Dark as night.

A moment later, lit candle in hand, he stepped over the wall and into the tunnel.

* * * *

Riana stood motionless in front the duchess as she turned from the hearth in her bedchambers and faced Riana.

“What sort of fool do you take me for?” the duchess demanded.

Riana didn’t flinch from her gaze. Glen and Siusan had been caught. How? Her insides quaked, but she forced a level voice. “It was sheer luck that you discovered their escape.”

The duchess gave a spiteful laugh. “Your lack of gratitude is appalling. My husband and I saved you from the whore house.”

Riana snorted. “This
is
a whore house.”

“Your good fortune—”

“Do not lecture me on my
good fortune.
Everyone knows that your husband forced my mother to marry Sir Harris so that he could gain control of Fyvie Castle and the land that butts up against Arundel. Just as everyone knows your husband feels it is his right to bed his wards.”

“I promised your sister would marry well.”

“You lied.”

“Your pathetic attempt to distract me with Sir Bryant will not redeem you.”