Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - Wyndmaster 1 (27 page)

wanting to wave it about." His eyebrows drew together. "I suppose it's a good thing she doesn't want to

wear the gods-be-damned crown jewels."

Celeste bent over and took him in her mouth, suckling strongly, running her tongue over his tip.

"There she goes again," he said, putting his hands behind his head. "Playing with my scepter."

His wife chuckled and slide her lips all the way to the base of him, her throat relaxed and her tongue

sweeping along the underside of his shaft. She moved her hand to cup and knead his balls.

Sierran closed his eyes and drew great pleasure from his lady's mouth and tongue. She had no

compunction about suckling him and not once had she ever balked at swallowing the juices she brought

forth from his rod. She was the first woman he'd ever known who would lick him dry when they were

finished. There was no hesitancy whatsoever on her part to do everything she could to give him

enjoyment. When she pulled away from him, he looked down.

"What's on your mind, sweeting?" he asked.

"I've always wondered about royal scepters," she said and moved so she could straddle his naked hips,

tugging the skirt of her gown up so her bare bottom could rest on his thighs.

As she wriggled against him, Sierran could feel the soft hairs of her nether region and he inhaled the

sweet scent of her musk wafting up to him. He took one hand from behind his head and reached out to

pull her neckline down to bare one perfect, lush globe. "What is it you've been wondering about?" he

asked in a throaty voice as he ran his thumb over her hardening nipple.

"What keeps them so shiny?" she asked.

Sierran's left brow quirked upward. "Honey, of course," he replied. He molded her breast in his hand.

"Honey from where, milord?" she asked.

"The honey pot."

"And who keeps them shiny?"

He massaged her breast firmly. "The honey pot maid."

Celeste took his cock in her hand, running her cupped fist up and down it. "In that case, I think your

scepter needs polishing, Your Grace."

"I believe it does, too, wench," he said.

Pushing up to her knees, Celeste positioned his straining rod between her legs then slid it into her, settling

down gently on that hard shaft. She tightened the muscles of her vagina around him.

"Ah, wench," he moaned at the sensation. "You are good at polishing."

She began riding him slowly, moving up and down his length by raising herself onto her knees. When his

hands clamped down on her waist to push her harder against him, driving him deeper inside her, she

increased her rhythm.

"I'm getting your scepter all nice and shiny for you, Your Grace," she said, staring down at him.

"Damned if you aren't," he said in a throaty voice. "You're putting steel into that rod, milady."

Celeste stretched out atop him, pushing up and down against him, wriggling from side to side, impaling

herself as deeply as she could. Her hands went beneath his rump and her short fingernails dug into the

taut flesh there.

"Celeste!" he warned, striving to keep at bay the release that was hovering right at the finish line.

"Come for me, my prince," she whispered in his ear, her tongue spiraling over the sensitive flesh. "Come

hard for me!"

And he did. He came with such power, he damned near unseated her, flipping her over to pump hard

into her, reveling in her thighs clamping around his hips as he spilled himself into her warm sheath.

Celeste was on the verge of coming and as he stilled inside her—deep, full, still hard—the trickles of

pleasure rippled through her and she cried out, burying her face against his shoulder, her arms crushing

his broken ribs though neither of them was aware of it.

Collapsing atop his lady as the last tremor of pleasure undulated through her, Sierran was breathing

heavy, his heart pounding, sweat glistening on his brow, and upper lip. Vaguely he felt the myriad pains

that had kept him abed for so long and gently he rolled off his wife to lay with his arm crooked over his

eyes.

"Wench, you near polished the gold right off my scepter that time," he said in a breathless voice.

"Complain, complain, complain," his lady said as she turned so she lay on her side facing him. "That's all

you royals ever do."

Sierran yawned and suspected there'd been something in that damned water she'd foisted off on him

after all. "Did you poison me again, wench?" he asked.

"Just a trace of tenerse to help you sleep," she admitted.

"Stop doing that, Celeste," he said. "That's a royal command."

"Oh, pooh on your royal commands," she said, snuggling close to him. She trailed her fingers over his

chest.

They were silent for a long time and when he spoke, his words were slurred.

"I have a family, Celeste." he said. "I really have a family."

"Aye, you do," she agreed. "You have me and your new father and your new mother, two uncles, five

aunts, and umpty-squat cousins here and there. And there's also the new one, of course."

He turned his head to look at her. "What new one?" he asked, yawning widely.

"Don't know yet," she replied. "Might be a boy. Might be a girl. Might be both."

Sierran's sleepy eyes flared. "Celeste, are you telling me….?"

"Go to sleep, Prince Sierran," she commanded, kissing his shoulder. "Tomorrow will be time enough to

discuss your future heir."

About the Author

Charlotte Boyett-Compo, known as Charlee to her many readers, is the author of over fifty books, the

first nine of which are the WindLegends Saga which began with WINDKEEPER. Married 40 years to

her high school sweetheart, Tom, she is the mother of two grown sons, Pete and Mike, and the proud

grandmother of Preston Alexander and Victoria Ashley. She is the willing houseslave to five demanding

felines who are holding her hostage in her home and only allowing her to leave in order to purchase food

for them.

A native of Sarasota, Florida, she was adopted at birth and grew up in Colquitt and Albany, Georgia

and now lives in the Midwest. She has traveled extensively with her retired military weatherman

husband?affectionately known to her fans as Buddha Belly?and has lived in South Carolina, Illinois,

Nebraska, and New York. Her hobbies include reading, collecting Anubis, gargoyle and grim reaper

figurines, and listening to rousing Celtic music. Her favorite color is green, her favorite perfume is

gardenia, and her favorite snack is hot salsa with tortilla chips and a Cherry Pepsi. She never misses the

literary works of John Sandford, Brian Lumley, Dean Koontz, and David Wiltse and is deeply,

passionately in love with the movies of Gerard Butler…for whom she’s written several novels. Her

favorite movie of all time is THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN and her favorite book is SWEET ,

SAVAGE LOVE by Rosemary Rogers. She never misses an episode of NIP/TUCK or LOST and if

there’s a Stephen King novel on TV, she’s there!

To learn more about Charlee, please visitwww.windlegends.org . Send an email to her at

[email protected]
or join her Yahoo! group:http://groups.yahoo.com/group/windlegends/join .

Look for these titles

Coming Soon:

Sometimes the best man for the job is a woman.

The Wyndmaster’s Son

© 2006 Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Prince Thiessen, the son of King Sierran and Queen Celeste, learns his hated half-brother, Morgan, has

been imprisoned by an enemy: Princess Lanelle of Solaria. Family loyalty dictates Thiessen rescue the

man.

Unfortunately for Thiessen, Morgan's reported captivity in the dungeon at Ambergast is just a ploy to get

him there. With Morgan’s blade at his throat, Thiessen is forced to marry the Princess Lanelle and while

bound and gagged, he must endure a forced consummation of the marriage.

Allowed to go free when the deed has been accomplished, Thiessen leaves Ambergast in chains only to

come back later than night during a fierce storm to kidnap the Princess Lanelle, intent on having his

revenge on her for the marriage and the rape of his royal person. What he doesn’t count on is falling

hopelessly in love with a woman who he finds is his equal in just about everything that matters to him.

The greatest Elven Wizard fights to free Anfall of an ancient evil, and fights his love for the woman

destined to marry his brother.

The Princes of Anfall

© 2006 Ciar Cullen

In the ancient, enchanted land of Anfall, wizards are dying out just when they are most needed to defend

their world.

Kasmarin is the Prince Adept, a warrior wizard who has selflessly taken on the responsibility to defend

the kingdom with his magic. He is bound by his sense of honor and by tradition, and bound by his oath to

find a gifted woman to marry the King.

Lauren Emory, a New Yorker, crosses to Anfall to search for her brother, Tim. Pegged as the perfect

match for the King, Kasmarin kidnaps her for his brother. A second brother, Sennsarin, tutors Lauren in

her magic as the band risks all to rescue Tim Emory.

Humor and danger mix in this classic romantic fantasy with a theme of star-crossed lovers.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Princes of Anfall:

Lauren darted into the woods, dropping her satchel and cursing as her long skirt tangled around her legs.

She glanced over her shoulder as her pursuer closed to within yards.
You’re brilliant. How did you

expect to outrun a warrior on a horse?
At least on the road she’d had a better chance of finding help.

Terrified, she turned to face the stranger, praying she could wield a quick trick to throw him off. Her legs

turned to jelly at the sight of the rider, who regarded her from his vantage point high atop a magnificent

white stallion.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

The man arched a dark brow and regarded her without a word.

“Well? Can’t you talk, elf?”

“Elf? Have you lost your wits?” His piercing blue eyes now flashed in anger. Lauren backed up a few

steps as he dismounted.

Now that he was only a few feet away, Lauren could make out the man’s simple clothing, his long pale

golden hair, and the peaked ears that betrayed his Northern heritage.

When he moved, a large sapphire medallion caught the moonlight as it bounced on his chest, and she

glimpsed the three barred insignia of the royals embroidered on his tunic. A quiver of arrows and a long

bow hung on his back, a jeweled scabbard on his hip. Despite his simple suede clothing, this was no

ordinary warrior.

“It seems the North has come to me.”

“Ah, well said. Pick up your bag and come here.”

He spoke quietly, but with the authority of one used to giving unquestioned orders.

Lauren laughed with false bravado as she folded her arms across her chest. “Like hell I will.” She closed

her eyes and, taking in a deep breath, gathered her energy and stretched her hand towards him.
Please,

God, let this work for a change.

“
Ai nai alanátharin
.” Light poured from her hand in a weak blue stream.

He arched a dark brow and laughed. “Very pretty.” Grabbing the light, he formed it into a glowing green

ball and tossed it from palm to palm as a child would, then threw it into the air over her head. It puffed

into a rainbow of twinkling sparks that fell to earth around her. Lauren’s heart sank, her best attempt at

magic dashed to the ground.

He held her gaze and waited for her next move, amusement softening the hard planes of his handsome

face.

“All right, you’ve made your point. Why have you been after me for days? You’re of the royal house of

Anfall, aren’t you?”

“I am indeed.”

“Have things gotten tough for the royals that they have to stalk single women? That’s a crime where I

come from. You people are barbarians.”

“I’m not sure you’re right for my brother. He likes his women a bit sweeter. But you do have gifts.” He

rubbed his chin, regarding Lauren as if she were a hunk of meat hanging in a butcher’s shop.

“You’re hunting for women for your brother? What’s wrong with him? Is he so damned ugly?”

“We’ll also have to work on that mouth of yours.”

“We won’t be working on anything. Listen, buddy, I’m trying to find my brother and go home. I’m sick

to death of this endless heat and working my hands to the bone to get a meal and a lousy cot for the

night. I can’t do anything without looking over my shoulder…how long
have
you been tracking me?”

“You felt me before tonight? That’s impossible. In any case, I know your brother well. Timothy is a

good man.”

Timothy? He can’t mean it. Perhaps he heard me asking for him in the taverns and shops.

“You know Tim? I don’t believe you. Prove it.”

“He’s a fan of the Yankees, whatever they are. He likes to swim. His hair is the color of yours.” He

reached out as if to touch a strand of her hair but pulled his hand back.

“Oh my God, do you know where he is?” Her words came out in a mixed rush of excitement and

frustration. “I’ve looked for him everywhere, back and forth across this godforsaken place… Twice, I

thought I’d caught up with him, only then… Where is he, please? I’m sorry if I offended you. Did you

come to take me to him? Is he okay?”

“Relax.” He held up his hand in command. A year of holding up, of pressing on, of biting back tears

caught up with her, and she broke into sobs.

“I’m sorry, you can’t understand how hard it’s been.”