With Her Kiss (Swords of Passion) (6 page)

“No. You never finish,” she said with a hauteur that made her sound properly indignant. “Leave. I will pleasure myself.”

“You would prefer that?” He arched an eyebrow.

“I do.”

He crossed his arms. “Let me see.”

She glared at him.

But he sat back on his heels. “Show me what you like.”

You. I like your hands and mouth and cock on me.

Scrambling off the bed, he snatched his belt from the floor. “I said,” he boomed as he wound it around one of her ankles, then tied it to the bedpost, “do it.”

Was he capable of hurting her? Had he become a sadist? “You would dare tie me down?”

With a lopsided grin, he undid a bed hanging cord and looped it around her other foot, then secured it also to the other post. “You test me?”

She yanked at the bonds.

He sank down between her spread legs, tilted up her hips and thumbed open her labia. There he planted tiny kisses to her cunny. Lost in his spell, she let him have her. Let him suckle her and toy with her.

“You are so pretty, my darling. How succulent you are. For me, you always were.” He toyed with her flesh, alternately driving one finger inside her cunt or another inside her asshole. She wiggled, urging him onward. “I adore all you have to offer me. And as your only lover, now or in the future, you will do as I say in this bed.” He bent down to rub his lips and jaw all over her
chat
. “I wear your scent. A stag hot to rut with only you.”

“Geoffrey,” she groaned at his claim.

“You, my little bitch, will drip for me, pound for me, when I say, how I say.”

She panted in fury and desire. What man licked and ate a woman like this? Only a lover. Only this lover. She arched up, as much to have him as to protest.

He parted her tender tissues and plucked at her nub. “This pearl grows big today for me. You know it is your woman’s equal to my cock? Hmm, yes,” he said as he kissed it and played with it, circling and sucking, then beginning all again. Her body rippled with pleasure as her mind reeled with the fantasy that was his lovemaking. “I will make it bigger and bigger every day. Do you know in the East, some women put a ring through this?” He scratched her nub with the end of his nail and she arched in desire and shame. “They cultivate it, show it to their lover. Some women have such a large one, it protrudes beneath their lips. I will make yours very large, my pet. Then you can entice me with it. Would you like that?”

She mewled, trying to press her thighs together at the luscious idea of having him toy and torment her flesh every day, every night.

He tickled her pearl. “Your cunt drips to have me. Here,” he whispered and scooped some of her cream from her cunny, “taste your desire for me.”

She readily licked his finger, the sweet taste of her juices for him making her wiggle. Still, she had begged him enough and she dared not voice her invitation to him again. How much must she debase herself before he would well and truly fuck her?

“In the pasha’s harem, women amuse themselves because their master has so many wives to please. Some seek out each other with their fingers. One, two, three.” He pumped her core in imitation of his words. “Some women use instruments to aid them.”

Her eyes went round.

Chuckling, he clasped her to him and stroked her rosy hole. “In here, they tease each other with polished gems. I have two for you.”

She trembled at the very idea.

“Aye. You will like them. They will enlarge you, tantalise you deep inside where you will need me every day, every hour. You will beg for them. For me.”

A shred of indignity tore through her desire for him. “What I want, you do not give.”

“Ah, but I will. First, I ensure you come to me wholly. Without reservation.”

Scowling at him, she drew him close with hands to his shoulders. “You would have me as much a slave to you as John asks of me?”

“Never.” As if to prove it, he leveraged his massive body over hers and with a swipe of his long rigid cock along her open seam, he drove his rod to the hilt of her core. In quick strokes, he sank inside her, pulled out, sank once more, and left her. The brief rhythm of his gift and denial had her gasping with need. Until he pierced inside her and lodged there.

She cried out at the joining, caught, suspended in delight.

He drilled her then, fast and hard, pushing her across the bed, until her head banged the wooden frame. Just as she would reach the trembling precipice of her fulfilment, he tore his body from hers.

“Nooo!” she roared at him. Tears burst from her. “No.”

She clamped both hands over her cunt, her fingers taking the place of his warm and thrilling cock. They were not enough, not big enough or virile enough. Not hard enough to give her any joy, though she caught her pearl and played with it as he had, and felt but half the joy.

All the while, her eyes were on him. He watched her, moving one of his hands to his cock, caressing his rod.

Frustrated, knowing she needed only him to fuck her, she arched up and showed him her open cunny. “Please make me yours, Geoffrey. For me to pleasure myself is no good. You want me. You know how to love me. Chain me, if it pleases you. But bind me to you the way we were first bound. By passion, if not by love. I am yours. Do I not show you all my desire?” She massaged her nether lips, drew forth a liquid sound of her need for him and raised her fingers to show him her cream. She spread her knees wide and flat to the mattress so that she opened her cunny lips, felt the cool air upon them and spread her flesh wider for his perusal. “Oh, Geoffrey, come please yourself and me. Never has there been another who did. Never will there be. Never another,” she breathed to him the same last words he had once promised her.

He seized her hands, stilled them. His nostrils flared with raw need. “You must do as I command. Always.”

“In all things,” she promised, loosed his hold and opened her arms wide to him.

He crawled up over her then, caught her under her hips, cupped her ass, then yanked her thighs over his forearms. In one smooth glide, he slid his cock within her and at his possession she throbbed around him, convulsing from head to toe.

They cried out together at the joining. Quivering, she rejoiced, satisfied, replete. He emptied himself inside her, his hot seed spurting inside her with each of his shouts as he claimed her truly and finally. On a gruff sound, he curled her close as he rammed her with full might. His cock, high and hard inside her, was her prize and she used her core’s strength to hold him locked to her. This affection consoled her for his harshness.

If this was all she could gain from him, so be it. For now, she must be content. She had infrequent menses and thought herself too old to see children come of such intimacies. She thus did not worry about conceiving. She had borne one child who was a bastard of Geoffrey’s and had spent her life attempting to make that son safe and well reared, even if King John had torn the boy from her and given him to Geoffrey as a lowly servant. About her Matthew, she would ask Geoffrey. Not today. But soon. When Geoffrey trusted her more, and he enchanted her less.

Pray that happens.

She enveloped Geoff, accepting his warm weight, revelling in his claim, his dominance. He sighed, his lips to the hollow of her throat in soft blessing. She would take this benediction from him and call it enough. For now.

She desired him. She always had. She had once loved him as a headstrong virgin irrationally adored her first swain. Her naïve esteem was gone, supplanted by this sensual fire he had rekindled in her. She was bound to him by stronger ties than the two that bound her body to the bedpost. Today she was tied to Geoffrey St Claire by gratitude that he had saved her from starvation and appreciation that he awakened her senses to ripe fulfilment and to life.

Craving Geoffrey’s ardour as she surely did, she also questioned how long they had until John came to tear them apart. This time, he would come and seize her. He would employ no slow starvation. No oubliette. This time, John would kill her in one blow. Until then, she would take all Geoffrey’s love, physical though it might only be, and enjoy it.

* * * *

Geoffrey dozed, awakening to the feel of Kat’s soft steady breathing against his chest. His eyes flicked to the solar window. Hours had passed and the room had grown dim as the sun receded. Regretting his stern behaviour towards her, he inched away and dressed. Then he untied her from the posts and left her to regain her strength.

Shutting the heavy door to her chamber, he secured the latch then marched along the hallway towards the small ward he had claimed for his own the night they had arrived here at Chepstow. Inside, he sank against his own wooden door and scrubbed his face with both hands. Upon his skin, he smelt her musky desire for him. At once, he was aflame again to have her. As if he were a youth half his age, Geoff wished only to plunge inside his lover and erase the years without her. His cock twitched, lengthening and straining to be sheathed and drained by her searing cunt.

Suppressing the urge to wrap his own hand around his shaft and milk himself, he went to the wardrobe where he had hidden away his treasures. Removing a key from his pocket, he unlocked a Turkish lacquer box. He flipped open the top and held up the harem women’s gems with which he had teased Katherine. Two black opal plugs, delicately carved, carefully polished, he would use in her ass. Three balls tied with tiny ribbons, all from a caravaner who claimed they had come from the land of silk beyond the Babylonian desert, he would seat at the floor of her womb to tantalise her by the minute. The longer tool, shaped so much like himself, he would show her how to use. For he planned to encourage her to satiate herself any time she wished after he had fucked her and gone dry. She had always had a fishwife’s appetite for sex. He had reawakened it. Now, he planned to give her her fill, by his own body or any other means invented by man.

He choked on laughter. She would have anything in that pretty
chat
of hers she wanted. Mostly his cock. As often as he was capable, he would claim her with it. But when he flagged—and he would from so much fucking—he would teach her how to use this fine replica of his own manhood.

All so she would never want any other man.
Only me. Only me to encourage her and prod her. Only me to fuck her. Only me.

Not John.
That little prick. Preening and posing, getting his way with women by intimidation.

He had fought hard to take her from that tyrant and, by God, he would ensure that she remained free. Even if he turned her against himself to accomplish it. Her life was worth the effort. All his sacrifices.

No matter. He would win her back. Even from his own brutality.

He stared at his sex implements, all meant to coax a woman to give all of herself to a man or, barring that, to pleasure.

And Kat had certainly done that this morning.

He had taken much from her in that room. Her independence. Her pride. Neither had been his true goal, but needs must. And his first was to ensure that no matter what happened hereafter, she took his advice, heeded his cautions.

After all, he knew her best. Had known her since she was ten, a young laughing girl in her father’s household. Irrepressible in her mirth, Katherine had shown her nature to be kind and thoughtful of others, serf or noble. That kindness from an only child destined to be a wealthy heiress and countess in her own right had been a unique characteristic that had drawn Geoffrey to her. Whatever it had been in his own nature that had endeared her to him, the young, impoverished fostered knight among her father’s retainers, he knew that this morning he had shown her only one characteristic. His ruthlessness.

Chapter Five

At the sound of his footsteps in her chamber, Kat came awake.

Pushing shut the door, he bore a tray laden with all manner of items, plus wine and goblets, fish and bread and turnips. He paused at her perusal. His attention, alert and lurid, was on her alone.

As he put his offerings down on a nearby table, she rose upon an elbow. She let the covers drift down her naked breasts and tossed him a saucy look. No coyness, no pride remained in her. She wanted him to fuck her soon and often. She smiled at him, languid in her need. “From the glint in your eye, I would say, my lord, you have more for me than food.”

Without a word, he loosened the tie of his robe and shrugged from it. His magnificent body showed golden in the flames of one wall sconce. His skin was perfection save for the jagged scars from swords and knives of battles fought long ago. His muscles gave no evidence of his age but bulged and rippled without an ounce of fat. His cock, too, rose high, hale and hearty.

“That,” she said as she pointed to his cock dripping with his seed, “is mine. Come quickly and give it to me.”

He strode to her, her Colossus, her Adonis. Then he pushed her to her stomach, caught her around the waist, yanked her to her knees and slid his satisfying shaft along her weeping, wanton slit. She growled in approval as he rocked his swollen length between her juicy lips. Muttering in a raw frenzy, he moved backwards, settled his face between her folds and with talented tongue and sharp teeth he laved and lapped her
chat
until she begged him to fuck her. Bracing her hips, he rammed her once, then twice with lightning speed. At the same moment, they both exploded in rapture, his cum mingling with her cream and rushing down her thighs.

Rolling over, she pulled him to her so that she might kiss him in thanks.

“My lusty cat,” he crooned and played with the rim of her asshole. Her appetite for him had only surged to monstrous levels, and so she let him finger her. Circle her. Pat her. Probe her. With one finger. Two. Ever tender. Cautious. And kind. Then he rolled away and returned to climb upon the bed and show her a small black stone.

“For your ass. To tantalise you. I warm it for your pretty hole.” He rubbed it against his chest, then pushed it inside her ass.

At the intrusion, she gasped. But her cunt flowed with excitement. She told him so.

“Then have more,” he whispered, rising to pluck another from the table and thrusting it into her darkest recess. As she whimpered, he massaged her nether hole to soothe the presence of the plugs and when she writhed and mewled in appreciation, he finger-fucked her, the knave. She melted into the heaven he had made for her.

“Listen to me,” he said after she had come apart once more in his arms.

Drifting in euphoria, she opened her eyes to adore the power of this man who was her lover.

“When I return in the morning, I will bring your breakfast and something to fill your cunt.”

“I will take this,” she told him as she clutched his flaccid cock.

With a half-smile, he whispered, “What I bring you will serve as well.”

Her eyes went wide with disbelief. “How could that be?”

“You see,” he said as he encouraged her to pump his flagging member to little avail. “I am an older man.”

“Still a big man.”

He tipped his head. “Nonetheless, one who knows how to please you if I am primed or not.”

“Really?”

He rolled his eyes. “A gift should surprise as well as delight.”

Foiled and intrigued, she cuffed him and ordered him out.

He chuckled, but as he departed, he left her curious about his new gifts. But he also left her yearning to be filled and fucked while she was pleasured by the friction of his two black plugs.

* * * *

The cry of a falcon pierced her morning peace. She struggled to sit up and glanced around. Her ruby silk curtains lay wide open. Geoffrey was not here.

She inhaled, her nostrils filling with the powerful scent of her lover and their endless desire. She smiled, rejuvenated in mind and body this morning.

Does a regular diet of passion make one more healthy?

She grinned at the possibility. Perhaps, too, her loss of days and her memory of them were a good thing. Her recovery from her ordeal at the nunnery left her little sense of time. Here at Chepstow, she slept so often and so deeply, especially since her hours of intimacy, that she now knew Geoffrey was more than her solace and her entertainment. He was her addiction.

She wiggled her ass against the sheets, tenderly tormenting herself with the pressure of the two black plugs. She squeezed her thighs together, astonished at her delight in the playthings inside her. Her chat was definitely primed for his cock and needed him once more.

So where
was
the man this morning?

She was hungry and only he could supply everything she yearned for.

Has he washed my mind of all else but sex?

For a woman of thirty-eight years, she needed to be more subdued. Reserved. After all, she had been nearly dead of starvation.
But thanks to him, I am alive. More vital than I have been in years.

Alone, she felt free to grin at the rays of sunlight streaming through the solar windows. Spring and summer she had always enjoyed. Now, the chill of that dungeon still a memory in her bones, she wiggled at the pressure of the two plugs in her ass. Wanting to be fucked good and hard, she bit her lower lip. Soon. Soon she would find him, have him.

She stood, spread her naked toes and curled them into the thick Turkish carpet as she welcomed the sun’s warmth on her face and throat.

She turned, her gaze drawn to the tub where hopefully again today, Geoffrey would take her naked and mindless to soak away the cold despair that had almost killed her.

Aye, Geoffrey St Claire was a man of his word. If he declared he would conquer her with kisses and caresses, so would he devote himself. Without regard for king or morals, he had conquered her body and would try to rule her heart. She was too old, too wise to be seduced by passion. Yet she had to admit that at the moment she was too weak to escape her own desire for him. Still, sometime soon, she must elude his lure—and run. To save him, at the very least, from John’s wrath.

But where would she go? To whom? Her host here, the owner of Chepstow Castle, William Marshall and his family, would have been her first best choice. While some of their retinue remained and the castle serfs, the family were abroad in Ireland. Though they of all barons in England had the power to singlehandedly thwart the King, William Marshall was nearly as out of favour with John as she. To whom else could she appeal to escape Geoffrey?

Her cousins in Ireland? Waterford seemed a world away. But her cousins were related to the Marshalls. If the Earl declined to give her succour, would her family follow his suit?

A loud knock came at the outer door. She scrambled back to bed just in time to cover herself before one woman appeared with a pitcher, two cups, bread, apples and a bowl of oat porridge. Behind her, two male serfs carried in large buckets of steaming water to empty into the tub.

Her eyes met the woman’s. The maid nervously assessed her, then cast resentful glances over her. Kat wondered why and made a note to ask Geoffrey. Was this woman interested in Geoffrey? She would not be the first female who had had an eye for the handsome knight. A titled and rich one now, Kat noted.

The three departed as quickly as they had come, leaving Kat to scramble up and relish the aromas of food wafting towards her. She stood there, the smell of oats and apples resurrecting from her childhood an old feeling of security. And whenever it had occurred or why she remembered it now, the scene made her smile with the recollection of Geoffrey St Claire in his glorious youth.

As a foster in her father’s household, the auburn-haired youth of the poor St Claire family had been brawny and bold, even then. Burnished with his bright hair and stunning dark green eyes, he was always laughing, the knight with a good word for everyone. She had chuckled at his humour. He had laughed at her own romantic tales, pale imitations of French
chasson
she read in her mother’s solar. One May Day, he had caught her in the village dance around the pole and kissed her behind a farrier’s hut. In the next few months, she had sought him out as he had practised his swordsmanship in the castle yard. She admired his skills, so he had taught her how to wield a dagger. After practising alone for many weeks, she grew eager to show him how well she had learnt his lessons. She had led him to the stables to demonstrate her aim—and he had kissed her, his tongue diving deep and sparking her curiosity for sensual exploits.

Days later, he had found her in the kitchens, taken her to the buttery and showed her his cock, which she had petted and praised. That night, during a mummer’s entertainment in the hall, she and he had escaped to the stables where they had lain down in the hay. He had undressed her and sucked her pert nipples. Enchanted with each other’s bodies, they had met again and again. Unable to contain their excitement or their curiosity, he had settled her atop his cloak and primed her gently. Their daily caresses grew bolder, wilder. Both of them were so hot to have each other that, at first sight of each other, he would go erect and she would cream.

At the same time, her father, long interested in marrying her to a rich lord, was negotiating with one. The man was known as a brute, a libertine. Kat fretted about the nature of the union and shared her fears with Geoff. With word that soon those negotiations would end in agreement, Kat railed at her misfortune. Her agony had inspired Geoff’s affections to fever pitch. He had seized her hand and they had taken to her bedroom.

Upon her lavender-scented linens, he had taken her maiden’s shield and her desire for any other man. She had taken from him all he had to give. His cock, his cum, his words of undying devotion. Bess had intruded, intervened and changed her world. Yet the servant had never taken from Kat the mysterious beauty of that hour, those days when she had enjoyed the first blush of love and sex with Geoffrey St Claire.

Days later, her sire had told her he had concluded his contract to wed a baron chosen by John. Furious with her for lying abed with a minor knight, her father had ordered her confined to her room. Kat had gone to her solar and sobbed, pleasuring herself with her hands, stroking her nipples as Geoff had, probing her
chat
as Geoff had. Certainly, the night of her wedding, she had longed for Geoff’s agile hands, his fervent lips, his sweet, hard shaft inside her.

“Lie down,” her husband had ordered her on their wedding night after he had ripped the gown from her body and cast the delicate linen to the floor like so much rubbish. “Do not flinch! There. Hang your legs over the edge. And spread your thighs.”

He had knelt—fallen, actually, to his knees and pushed open her cunny lips. “Pretty pink cat. Been petted before, my wife?” he had asked as he had jammed his fingers inside her and made her squirm to be free.

But he had pressed her down, oaf that he was. He had leered at her private parts, then pinched and bitten her clit. “You have not lain with any other man, have you? I shall know.”

He had never taken the time to learn. He had buried his face in her woman’s flesh, slurping at her like an animal. Then he had bared his rod, stroked himself for long minutes and poked his skinny prick inside her. In a minute, he had spent. He had sat upon her thighs and played roughly inside her folds. He had taken to licking and biting her delicate flesh, demanding that she have her release and beating her ass and even her
chat
with his belt when she could not, would not.

She had bled that night. Thankful that she had, she had owed the red spots to her bridegroom’s brutality. Her maidenhead, gone in the joyful service of loving her father’s young knight, had broken weeks ago on a bed far sweeter with the kisses and the misty joust of desire.

The next morn, her husband, much as he could remember of ‘deflowering her’, was satisfied. For that night, she had had a reprieve. For the next year, when she had carried and given birth to Matthew, she had had an excuse to elude her husband’s rough fucks.

After that, her husband resumed his attentions to her. Usually emboldened by wine and a mistress or whore who had refused his brutalities, her husband would beat and rape her. His seed had brought forth her second son, that poor dead child. He had ordered her bedroom door torn down and would come to her as he pleased, when he pleased. Taking her against a stairwell or slamming her onto the solar table, he had claimed her dry and withered. If wit were her ken, she would have proclaimed the same of him.

He had cared naught for anyone.

“Not even himself,” she recalled. He had had not honour nor courage, not morals or conviction.

And what of me? How can I judge any other when I am seduced so easily? When I leave all prudence behind to take a man to me who is not my husband and who could die at the King’s hand for saving me—and fucking me?

The far door creaked open, then closed.

She tore at the sheets to cloak her body.

“Please, modesty is not as thrilling as all that loveliness.” Geoff waved a hand at her as he strode into the room and smiled at her with good cheer. “I have seen you and I wish to view you at my leisure.”