At Her Service (Swords of Passion)

by DeLand, Cerise

  So assured, Elise circled Simon and strode to the other side of the bed. She climbed in, arranging herself as stiff as a dead woman next to her husband and wondering what next he might do to excite her.

  With a sigh, he rolled to his side, cupped her head, turned her face and kissed the tip of her nose. Then with a licentious look no dying man should muster, he ran his hand from her earlobe to her throat, one breast, her waist and down to her hairy little bush. “Let me feel your juices flow, my pet.”

  She relaxed her thighs and allowed his fingers to move in and out of her slit. And she could not resist rocking her hips to his rhythm as she detected Simon moved towards her side of the bed.

  “Inside her here,” he said to Simon as he thrust two fingers far up into her wet core and made her arch, “is a fiery furnace Elise made most nights I came to her. I was always grateful, even if I had to pump her and myself to get inside her. But I was still thankful to be so complimented by a lovely woman half my age.” He removed his fingers, inserted one in his mouth, licked it delicately and turned his face up to Simon. “She is a succulent beauty.” He smacked his lips. “She always did taste like sugar, de la Poer. I want to see you eat her. She always loved my mouth on her though I must admit that way, I could never make her pulse. I want to see you kiss her cunt until she quakes.”

  Elise swallowed at a wave of excitement that Simon might lick her cunny, suck her pulsing nether lips and let her taste herself on his mouth.

  “Do you hear me, de la Poer?” her husband insisted.

  “Aye, Atherton,” Simon ground out.

  “I want her to be so well bedded she never craves another.”

  Oh, Christ. Elise’s eyes closed. Another reason to recall Simon until I die. “Alphonse…” She did not know what she would beseech him for, save respite from this anticipation of Simon’s possession.

  “Come hither, de la Poer.”

  She heard Simon breathing in hard, rampant soughs, and she pressed her thighs together, wanting his hands there between her legs and shoved up high and hard inside her hungry channel. She licked her lower lip, undulated her hips and committed to the inevitable wonder of mating with Simon de la Poer.

  “Hear her. She moans in need, Simon. Come,” Alphonse whispered and turned away to cough once. “Climb into bed with us.”

  She heard no sound, no movement and after checking her husband’s gaze for his permission to assume control, she turned on her side, away from him and towards the man who would now join them. Simon stood, his nostrils flared, his mouth set, his gaze on her bush. Alphonse curled an arm around her waist and threaded his fingers into her cunny hair in a lazy sign of possession. She shifted and bucked, allowing him greater access for the ministrations she needed and wanted to lure Simon to them.

  “Listen to this, Simon,” Alphonse crooned. The sound of lush liquid flowed into the silence as her husband’s fingers swirled inside her and drove her up to a spiralling need. “She is ready for you. Come join us. The night is long, and she is most eager to spend it with you, aren’t you, my pet?”

  For answer, she looked into Simon’s eyes and there she found an answering need that had her whispering to him, “Remove your clothes.”

  Bold and brazen now with her husband nestled at her back, she let one hand stray from her throat to one breast where she circled a nipple with one finger and led Simon’s gaze to her navel and her blonde bush. Raising high one thigh, she let Simon have a glimpse of her pounding lips that she knew were now coated with her cream.

  “Come,” she encouraged him, her body throbbing to be filled by his. “Hurry.”

  His gaze lost in hers, he untied the belt atop his outer tunic. In deliberate jerks, he stepped out of his slippers and removed his black velvet tunic. In a sweep over his head, he stripped away his linen under-tunic and dropped it to the floor. His braies hung about his prominent hip bones, and she noted that his penis grew inside them into a huge erection she hoped she could fit deep inside her.

  Impatient, she wagged two fingers at him to remove the rest of his clothes.

  Instead, he licked his lower lip and narrowed his gaze at her. At her pouting mouth. Her pebbling nipples. Her pale hair on her mound where he would soon claim her and mount her.

  Wild to have him, still enraged that she was, she sought to tantalise him more and spread her thighs out, allowing him a fuller view of her aching labia. She raised her hands, so soft and white, the envy of so many of her women, and beseeched him with a sweet, beguiling motion. In a flick of his hands, he brushed his braies to the floor.

  She caught the gasp in her throat. His size was twice her husband’s. She swallowed audibly, unable to take her gaze from Simon’s thick, red length and two huge balls. Her eyes met his.

  And in answer, he took his impressive rod in one large hand as if offering it up to her.

  Aye. She’d take it. Make it her own. She yearned to reach out her hand. But for her husband to see that she appeared too eager to absorb this impressive shaft, albeit with his permission granted, was not a good idea. Alphonse was a proud man, even if his manly treasures were small ones.

  Watching her, Simon continued to roll his thumb steadily over the bright tip of his head. There, drops of his desire glistened and his breath quickened. She bit her lower lip, thirsting to be so bold as to taste his seed and measure his girth with her mouth. But he leisurely rolled his member as if he had time for the entire world to view him.

  Mad to feel that long brute caress her cunt, she groaned and darted her hand out towards him.

  He grabbed her wrist, his eyes warning her against hasty actions. Then he drove one knee to the bed, and under his weight, the straps groaned as the mattress dipped and jounced. She rolled towards him, but he stopped her momentum by laying down beside her. And with his free hand, he reached out to cup her head and hold her in his iron grip as his lips descended and devoured hers.

  This kiss, this claim was like no other she had ever known. His lips were wet, rough and insistent. He pushed his mouth to hers in a fierce claim such as she had never known. Not from him as a boy. Not from her husband as a man. This kiss, this demand that she open herself and give over, was the plunder of a knight. The prize of a mercenary who had fought for goods not his own. This kiss, this ravaging of breath and flesh, was a conquest won by surprise and strength. But then as his demand met surrender, as his force met her moaning joy, as her hands embraced his face and her lips opened and returned an ardour she had but glimpsed as a fifteen-year-old, she felt his lips leave hers. She saw his eyes question her own. And she knew that as his mouth once more met hers, he came this time in tenderness and apology for what now they both would do here together on this bed.

  His hand took hers and led it to his penis. She jumped at the heat and the size of him. But he held her to him, leading her to run her palm over the length of him and to curl her fingers around him. She sobbed deep in her throat, and their kiss broke as he nipped her to leave her staring up into his eyes. Encouraging her to pump him harder, he lifted his hand and trailed it over one breast and brushed her areola with rough fingertips. She shot up in his arms at his stroke. But he gentled her and, with a splayed hand, pressed her body once more to the mattress. His fingers spread into her cunny hair, combed it and tangled it, tugging it and leaving her panting for more.

  He did not disappoint her but sent one blunt finger down along the seam of her labia. In one swift move, he pierced her with two fingers high up into her wet and wilful channel. She arched. Her hands clutched for him, and with a wordless muttering, he shifted his body, grabbed her hips, tilted her body up and rammed himself inside her.

  A mute O of pleasure formed on her lips as she stilled and felt Simon de la Poer possess every iota of her being. She paused there on the edge of her ageless dream and knew that no night-time fantasy had ever compared to the reality of Simon in the flesh. He filled her totally, his thick rod stretching her to generous proportions, pressing his long, hot member deep into her womb wher
e the pleasure of his presence made her whimper. And gasp. And clasp him closer until the pounding of his manhood inside her and the friction of his length against her brought her to a good, hot place that made her groan and throb in completion. But in one glide he slid out of her, his eyes averted. He had left her, and once more, she questioned if the mindless passion her mother had told her might occur with a lover was a tale of her mother’s experience, a morsel of that lady’s imagination or a troubadour’s fiction.

  Bereft that she’d experienced little more than the same completion she’d known with Alphonse, Elise felt cheated of what she might have had with Simon. Bewildered at the lack of some expected glory, she lay, panting, watching Simon rise to walk to the sideboard, bend and splash water to his face.

  She knew he had not given her his seed, and she yearned to see if he was still up and full. She had learned from Alphonse how to pull a man’s rod and give him relief. God help her, she wished to handle Simon, wanted to feel his giant member fill her palm again. Her own hands lay atop her wanton bush, and she fought the wicked urge to let them do something she had never done and wander to her juicy lips and bring herself a small, quick delight. Aye, she wanted more of him. What folly had it been for her husband to believe that Simon would do as he commanded and give her one lay and his seed? What folly to ever assume one claiming could make a child? What folly had it ever been for her to think that after once abed with Simon she could ever let him go?

  Her husband struggled up on one elbow. “I did not see you taste her, de la Poer!” he sputtered as if he were a child denied a treat. “You were too fast. I tell you, I need to hear her scream.”

  Wanting that, too, Elise covered her face with two hands. “Alphonse, stop this.”

  “Nay!” her husband croaked and fought a spasm. “Nay! You want my wife, de la Poer, you do as I tell you!”

  She heard Simon curse as he whirled from his task and strode towards them and bent over her. With two hands that felt like iron grips on her waist, Simon hauled her up and flung her over his shoulder, her bare ass in the air. Her breath fled as her heart pounded in anticipation of new delights with him. He strode towards her alcove, one hot hand around a thigh then whirled to growl at her husband, “You’ve had what I promised you, old man. One time with her in your bed—and now it’s done. She did what she did, scream or no. Now in her own bed, without command from you, she will do as she wishes.”

  Simon turned and strode towards her alcove, secluded from Alphonse’s sight and nearly private, save for the lack of a door. Once at the edge of her own mattress, Simon paused. Despair loomed as she feared he would put her to her bed and leave her there alone. She groaned, wild that she had to endure such a huge loss now after her conflicted emotions about their reunion.

  Then in one swirling motion, he laid her gently to the softness of her bed. Arms braced to each side of her head, he peered down at her, his eyes hot and ravenous as they trailed over her tender mouth to her peaking areolas and down to her swollen cunny lips. “What will you, Elise? Is once enough for you?”

  Words jammed in her throat. She wanted him completely, as men and women were designed by God to join. Had not Alphonse sanctioned this union with Simon, demanding a child of the bargain? Had not Alphonse known that once tempted with Simon, she would lose the war with herself for taking him inside her? Her husband had given her to Simon for his own purposes. Now primed to mate with Simon fully, she would accept the gift and welcome him to her for a few more moments of hot bliss.

  She lifted her arms to him and let her body receive him as now her mind fully did. Her fingers danced from his shoulders to his massive throat, his commanding jaw, his cheeks, his eyes. She sank her fingers into the wealth of black silk that dipped over his brow. Needing to burrow into him, she reached around to his nape and loosened his leather tie. His long hair fell around their faces like a dark curtain. With it came the aromas of strong soap, sandalwood and anise. She stroked his cheekbones as she combed his hair back from his face. His beauty, now fierce as some dark angel’s, stunned her and stoked her fire to mate with him—aye, to consume him. On a small cry, she curled up off the bed and enfolded him totally, her arms capturing him for one more time. One more bout. One lusty romp.

  To lure him, she put her lips to his throat. His musk filled her nostrils, and his essence scalded her mind with need. All fear, all manners burnt in the fire of her desire, she brushed her mouth over the tip of his straight nose, his straight brows and his long full lashes. “Simon,” she crooned, “Simon.” How long have I been without you. Yearned for you. “Simon.”

  “My dear one,” he whispered, rose up and caught both her wrists. “Look at me. Tell me. Tell me truly now, here, whilst we are away from him. Will you let me have you without care and sorrow for your soul? Because if you will eat your heart out for this act then nothing I do here will make your life easier. And I—”

  “Simon.” She cupped his nape to lead him down to the bed with her and trailed her hand along his torso to his fully standing manhood. “Do be silent and give me this. All of it.”

  “And what of your soul?”

  “I will worry about that on the day I die. But tonight,” she rolled her thumb over his pulsing rod and spread the thick dew of his seed, “I want this. You. Now. And not just once.”

  “Once?” he scoffed. “Hear my vow, my lady. I have waited twelve bitter years to have you. And what you’ll get before I leave this castle is once each way I know.”

  Chapter Two

  Thrilled to the quick, Elise fell back into her sumptuous bed and spread herself out as if she were a pagan prize. For the first time in her guarded and demure life, she undulated in the ivory linens from Egypt and the ruby silk coverlet from Venice. These priceless payments for her decade of service to her wealthy, decrepit lord, the earl of Atherton, she now used as her backdrop to show her bare body for her lover’s pleasure. Such decadence she had never contemplated, but oh, did she rejoice at the discovery that she possessed a wild and ribald nature.

  “Teach me,” she ordered on a thread of sound. “Teach me all the ways to delight us both. Life is long and memories are such cold companions.”

  “Not these delights,” he objected and pressed his body over her, crushing her in his passion. “These burn you up and melt you down.” He seized her mouth in a fury that drove her into the shallows of her bed. His tongue invaded her lips, traced the lining of her gums and the edges of her teeth. One hand crept beneath her back and brought her up. He cupped one breast and, on a growl, sucked her into his warm wet mouth.

  She bolted up into his arms as his tongue swirled her areola, his teeth nipping at her, her channel pulsing as he licked her pointed little nipple.

  “I will have the other, too,” he grunted as he turned his head and captured her other breast. “Say you want me to have all of you, Elise,” he ordered her as he tongued her nipple and pressed kisses round the globe of her breast.

  “Aye, my lord!” She sank her fingers in his hair and arched up. “Every bit.”

  He laughed triumphantly. “I take the challenge, my lady.” He caught her thighs in two strong hands and pressed her knees out beneath him. Then settling back on his legs, he spread her wide for him to view. “A lovely sight,” he crooned and blew gently at her wealth of cunny hair.

  She wiggled, proud of her pale bush.

  “I claim this as mine tonight.” He thrust his fingers into it and tugged, his expression falling to sensuous darkness. “I am jealous of he who has had you.”

  She sent one hand to his penis and wrapped herself around his girth. “No need to feel anything now but my desire that you fill me. Here.” She cupped one hand over her swollen mons.

  “Ah, but such pretty pink lips deserve a grateful homage, don’t you think?” His silken tone made her cunt gush with welcome.

  “I do, and I give you leave to pay it with full ardour.”

  “Full ardour like mine you have never seen.” He ran both hands through he
r nether hair, covering both labia with hot palms. “I want you on my mouth, Elise. On my tongue. In my body.” He fingered her heavy folds wide. “All my life, I have hungered for you—and this.” He bent to lick her with long swathes of his tongue.

  Her mind left her. Her thighs quivered. Her hollow channel pulsed. Her fingers dug into his shoulder muscles. “Simon!”

  “Aye, my lady.” He placed his mouth to her tender flesh and sucked her with a loud lascivious sound that made her let down more cream. “Like you this?”

  “Aye!” she cried and fought to keep from keening lest her husband hear their fervour.

  Simon sent two blunt fingers inside her throbbing core and swirled them inside with cunning skill. “And this?”

  “Oh,” she ground out, “aye, my lord.”

  “And this?” He sat back on his haunches and rubbed his thumbs round her swollen nub in torturous circles.

  She moaned and thrashed her head upon the bed.

  “How like you this, my lovely?” He spread himself out to lay between her legs and hold open her cunt so that he feasted on her with maddening nibbles.

  She whimpered in praise.

  “This pearl is mine to polish,” he growled and plumped her lips together in such a way that her little nub was exposed fully to the cool night air—and the moist ministrations of his talented tongue.

  “No,” she pleaded as she felt some mad demand building inside her loins. “No more, no more.” She reached to cover his mouth with her fingers.

  He nudged them aside. “Aye, my lady, much more.” And he proved it with quick hot kisses to her nub that had her beating the mattress. Yet he held her down and tasted her, drank from her and nibbled at her with ceaseless skill until she demanded more.

  She arched up into him, her head flung back, her body pounding in such sweet convulsions that she gasped and clung to him. That was what she yearned for. That was what she deserved. That was what she needed—and wanted more. Yet as the pulsing passed, she rejoiced to feel his fingers dip deeply inside her again, stroking her, loving her, twisting and turning her to his desire.