Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set

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Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 28

by Jill Elaine Hughes


  I, Louise Jackson, overeducated, underemployed history major from New Jersey with no sex life to speak of whatsoever until just a couple days ago, am apparently a dominatrix of considerable talent. Who knew? Certainly not me. Who could have predicted that this very unique set of circumstances could have awakened a sensual side of myself I never could have possibly known to exist before now? It’s as if everything I’ve done in my life up to now—reading all those dull history texts in college, my passing interest in medieval torture, my love for knight-in-shining-armor romances, my shelf of erotic books and Sex and the City DVDs—have all been leading up to, preparing me for this exact moment in time. The time when I would cease to be mousy, undersexed, overlooked Louise Jackson from Trenton, New Jersey and become Lady Louisa of the Crossroads, the hottest whip-toting dominatrix in a thousand years.

  As I settle back into sleep myself, I wonder what adventures await me, Lady Louisa of the Crossroads, next in the Hall of Harlots.

  What a difference a few centuries makes.

  Chapter 7

  Lord Verdigris sleeps in my chambers all night and late into the morning, still strapped to the Cross of the Crossroads. When he finally awakens around noon, I untie him and send him on his way. His demeanor around me has changed greatly; where he was formerly confident, powerful, and arresting, he is now demure, deferring, and gentle. His eyes wear a veil of sheer awe in my presence. It seems I’ve managed to put him permanently under my spell.

  He finishes getting dressed and gives me a soft bow as I sit at my dressing table, sipping a cup of chamomile tea that Bridget has prepared. “Ye are truly a wonder to behold, milady Louisa,” he says, his voice soft, husky and hoarse following our wild night. “Ne’er have I encountered a woman of your considerable lust and glorious passion. Methinks I shall be a visitor to your chambers quite often. And so shall all my most trusted vassals, who do me honor by sharing the bed of the fairest members of my Hall of Harlots.Prepare yourself, milady Louisa, for soon ye shall be the greatest Harlot in all of Bellweather Castle. Methinks I shall have to have you zealously guarded, for I know that once word of your charms lets loose upon the countryside, many lustful men in the shire will try to come and take your favors for free, without paying me my rightful homage first. Until we meet again this night, Lady Louisa, I shall remain your most faithful admirer and defender of your charms.”

  With another bow and flourish, Lord Verdigris disappears.

  A split second later, Bridget bursts into the room, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. “Oh, milady, milady! Ye have done it! Ye have done it!”

  I smirk. “And what, pray tell, have I done?” Although I can well imagine.

  “Ye have become Lord Verdigris’ permanent favorite!” Bridget cries, so full of excitement she can scarcely stand still. “And in only one night! He stayed wi’ thee ‘til after noon, milady! ‘Tis nivver happened before, not in all me years here in the Hall!”

  I smirk even wider. “Is that so?”

  Bridget giggles and nods. “Oh yes, milady. Usually His Lordship visits six or seven of his Harlots in a single night! An’ ‘e never stays past sunrise!An’ yet ‘e bedded with ye the whole night, and half the day besides—and on ‘is first turn with ye! ‘Tis a bloody miracle, ‘tis! How did’ye do it, pray?”

  I take another sip of tea, and say nothing. Because I’m not entirely sure how I managed to do it myself. It all seems to have happened in a dream somehow.

  Bridget’s eyebrows raise expectantly. “Well, milady? I’m all ears.”

  I sigh, lean back in my velvet-cushioned chair, and stretch my aching neck and shoulder muscles, which have become stiff and heavy from all the wild sex positions I put myself into last evening. “Let’s just say they do things differently in the bedroom back where I’m from, and leave it at that.” Which is sort of true, actually. After all, most 21st-century single women my age have sex with vibrators while watching reruns of Sex and the City and Californication a lot more often than they have sex with actual living, breathing men. Which also gives us plenty of time to think up all kinds of new and interesting ways to fuck actual living, breathing men. How else could I have come up with the idea of fucking a man while he’s tied down to a crucifix of my own construction?

  Necessity (and boredom) are sometimes the mother of invention.

  That, and the fact I’m a history buff and a former CampFire nerd with a shelf full of books on medieval torture implements probably helps.

  Who’d have ever thought my geeky, wallflower New Jersey upbringing would come in so handy?

  Bridget sinks back onto a wooden stool and shakes her head. “Well, ye sure are a mysterious one, milady Louisa. Which reminds me. A certain mysterious gentleman that ye fancy ‘as just been assigned to guard ye round the clock, in-between ye seein’ yer customers, o’course. His Lordship himself’s own orders. His Lordship seems afeared that yer new reputation as his favorite will have many o’ rough country lad crawlin’ up the castle walls fer a chance to see ye naked.”

  I perk right up. “So Pembroke will be guarding me from now on? All the time?”

  Bridget nods. “Indeed, milady. An’ he shall be here inside of a moment.”

  As if on cue, Pembroke appears in my doorway. “I beg your pardon, madams, for appearing unannounced,” he says, giving us both his trademark deep bow. He’s changed his outfit from yesterday, and is wearing a tight soldier’s blue frock coat trimmed with gold braid, matching goldish-tan breeches, and a ruffled cravat that could have walked right off a Napoleonic battlefield.

  Bridget gets up to greet him. “Ye weren’t unannounced, milord,” she clucks. “I make it me business to know everything that happens ‘round me harlots well afore it does.”

  He gives Bridget a subtle nod, all haughty English gentleman.

  Every move the man makes—big or small—gets me hot.

  Bridget takes it as her cue to leave the two of us alone. “I’ll leave ye with yer charge then, milord. I’ll just be done the hall if ye need me.” She scuttles off, clucking like a hen and giggling.

  Pembroke lowers himself gracefully onto the empty stool, takes my hand between his long, elegant fingers, and kisses it. “Word about your considerable and exotic charms has certainly spread far and wide, madam. And ever so quickly. I daresay I am not at all surprised.”

  I giggle and blush. Suddenly all my newfound confidence melts away. In Pembroke’s presence, I’m a timid, naïve schoolgirl all over again.

  A timid, naïve schoolgirl with a red-hot, burning cunt.

  “I have been assigned by His Lordship to protect you from the rough-and-common masses,” Pembroke goes on. “Tho’ I’m afraid I cannot protect you from Lord Verdigris himself, nor from his many vassals who are all vying for a chance to spend an evening under your spell. Lord Verdigris is willing to pawn off even his most favorite—ahem—servants upon anyone who bribes him sufficiently. A most ungentlemanly activity, I must say. But I assure you, madam, that I am a gentleman, and as such, I treat all ladies with the appropriate respect. It shall be my surpreme pleasure to guard you during this assignment to the fullest extent of my abilities.”

  “I greatly appreciate your kindness, Pembroke,” I say. “But somehow I think you took this assignment with an ulterior motive in mind.”

  Pembroke smiles. “You surmise correctly, madam. I must admit, I am quite smitten with you. Quite smitten, indeed. You have a powerful effect upon the male animal. Though I’m sure you know that already.”

  I chuckle. “Frankly, I’m still a little surprised at how all of this has turned out.”

  Pembroke’s hard, haughty expression softens a bit. “An all too common occurrence here in the Hall of Harlots, madam. Nothing is ever as it seems here. And all of us imprisoned hereabouts are destined to make some new discoveries about ourselves. Out of necessity. Our very survival here depends on it.” He leans forward, takes my hand again and clasps both of his firm, warm ones around it. “Milady Louisa, somehow I have guessed
that you are not at all like the noble persona Lord Verdigris has created here for you.”

  I smile and blush. “You guess correctly. I’m actually the farthest thing from a noblewoman you can possibly imagine.”

  “May I ask, what time and place you do hail from? I’ve been terribly curious ever since you arrived.”

  I sigh, searching for the right words. I’m afraid that Pembroke will immediately lose interest in me if he knows the truth. He’s an English gentleman from the most romantic period in history, after all. And I’m lower-class trash from New Jersey. Hardly a match for him.

  Still, something deep in my belly tells me that Pembroke, of all the people shoved together in this crazy place, deserves to know the truth about me more than anyone. “I’m from a time far in the future. The twenty-first century. About two hundred years after the time you’re from, Pembroke.”

  He gives me a gentle nod, and his eyes glisten. “Fascinating. Do go on.”

  “I’m from a place called New Jersey. It’s in America. Not a very exciting or fashionable place at all.Very, very ordinary. So ordinary, that a lot of people from New Jersey get made fun of and ridiculed in my time. Some people are even embarrassed to be from New Jersey. I know I am, sometimes. But it’s where I’m from, and a big part of who I am.”

  Pembroke smiles wider, his eyes sparkling now. “If what I’ve seen and heard from you so far is any indication, madam, this New Jersey must be a very wonderful place, indeed.”

  I blush and giggle, suddenly feeling very young. “Not really. You wouldn’t say that if you actually saw it.”

  “On the contrary, Louisa. I should like nothing more than to see your homeland and time. But since we cannot cross the oceans and centuries today ourselves, why don’t you just tell me a bit about it? What is your favorite place back home in New Jersey?”

  “The boardwalk at Ocean City,” I reply without even having to think about it. “It’s been my favorite place ever since I was a little girl.”

  Pembroke’s eyebrows raise. “A. . .boardwalk? Pray, what is that?”

  “A place by the ocean where people go on vacation,” I explain. “There are shops, and video arcades, and amusement park rides. It smells good, like saltwater and peanuts.”

  “It sounds wonderful. And what are peanuts?”

  I laugh. “A salty snack that tastes good. I have another favorite place in New Jersey, too. The Cherry Hill Mall. I love shopping at the Steve Madden store there. And they have an Orange Julius store. And a Chick-Fil-A. There’s nothing better to eat and drink in the world than a Chick-Fil-A sandwich and an Orange Julius.”

  Pembroke looks puzzled. “I don’t think I understood a single word of that, milady.”

  I laugh again. “No, I don’t suppose you would. But trust me, if you ever went the Cherry Hill Mall in the twenty-first century, you’d understand.” I pause, try to relax a bit. “So, what about you, Pembroke? What’s your favorite place back in the—time and place you’re from?”

  Pembroke sighs, looks wistful. “I daresay it would be my own estate, Elysia, in the south of Cornwall. The place where I was born, the place owned by all the Earls of Pembroke dating back to the ninth century. My family has ten thousand acres of wheat and barley fields, a hunting ground with stag and fox, a running stream, and a shooting range. And stables with sixty head of horses.”

  “Wow,” I say. “All I have back in New Jersey is a studio apartment in Trenton and an old Geo Metro.”

  “And I am sure they are as beautiful as you are,” Pembroke says, holding my hand up to his lips. “Madam, I must admit that I have forgotten all my gentlemanly manners. Your very presence stirs up parts of myself that have not felt anything in years. I beg your forgiveness for being so bold, madam, but I should like it very much if you might consider bestowing your considerable favors upon me. I should love nothing more than for you to suspend me upon your Cross of Satisfaction and have your way with me, just as you did with our foul captor, Lord Verdigris. Please, don’t be offended at my sheer brashness, madam, but—”

  I throw my arms around him. “I’m not offended at all,” I say. “In fact, I’ve wanted the same thing ever since I first laid eyes on you. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” It’s true. If I died in this man’s arms right now, I’d die happy.

  Pembroke pulls me close. “We must be careful, Louisa. If Lord Verdigris were ever to find out—it would be disastrous. For both of us. I shan’t put you in any danger if you do not wish it. I would be miserable without your touch, but I shall be even more miserable if any harm were ever to come to you. Are you absolutely sure you want to take such a risk, madam?”

  “I’m sure,” I say. Then I kiss him.

  He kisses right back.

  I lead him over to my four-poster bed, where the Cross dangles overhead, suspended by its heavy chain. Without being asked, Pembroke carefully lowers it until it falls between us in a symbolic gesture, its end balanced on the floor at the foot of my bed. He unbuttons his coat, then untangles his cravat. Soon he’s standing before me bare-chested, all defined pecs and washboard abs and fine blonde chest hair. “Make me your prisoner,” he says, the haughty veneer of his English gentlemanly manners falling away.

  I go to him timidly, almost afraid to put my hands on that gleaming, perfect chest of his. I suddenly feel very inadequate. Here I am, a low-class New Jersey toll collector preparing to get it on with a gorgeous gazillionaire English nobleman who just so happens to be two hundred years older than I am. It’s enough to make a girl a little nervous.

  “Take your pants off,” I order him. I’m almost afraid to do it myself. The expensive-looking broadcloth stretched so tight across Pembroke’s swelling crotch is one of the most intimidating sights I’ve ever seen.

  Pembroke looks puzzled. “My what, milady?”

  My brow furrows; then it comes to me. They don’t call them “pants” in Pembroke’s time. In Regency England, “pants” are only for overworked horses and aroused virgins. “Your. . .breeches. Take them off. Slowly.”

  “Your wish is my command.” Pembroke delicately fingers the double row of silver buttons that form a reverse triangle at his swollen crotch. He makes the task of unbuttoning each one into a sensual display. After almost a minute of delectable finger artistry, he shoves the waistband of those ridiculously tight breeches down, and his equipment pops skyward.

  Like everything else on this man’s body, his cock is beautiful.

  They really did build them better back in the Regency era. No wonder Barbara Cartland set most of her novels back then. And now I’ve got something no Barbara Cartland novel can ever offer—a real, live Regency gentleman ready and willing to let this New Jersey girl tie him up and fuck him my way.

  Pembroke slides his silken breeches slowly down his sculpted legs, then steps out of his knee boots. A split second later, he is naked before me in all his glory.

  “Get on the cross,” I order him, feeling my lower half burst into flames.

  He obeys me without question. I tie his legs onto the cross loosely, but leave his arms and hands free to caress me. And caress me they do. As soon as he’s stable on the cross, I throw myself on top of him. All at once, Pembroke’s hands ravish me, unlacing this, loosening that, stripping off my silk and satin and velvet, until I’m as naked as he is.

  Pembroke’s soft English gentleman’s hands find my damp slit, and probe there. He has me stretched wide open almost immediately, pressing and pushing, stroking and slicking all my intimate nooks and crannies. I straddle his waist and squat a bit over the leaning cross, helping to open my labia and give him access to the parts of me that need touching the most. He finds my clit almost immediately, and begins to stroke it in a soft, steady rhythm that brings it out from under its little hood, swelling it. “Mmmmmmm,” I groan, grinding myself against his hand. “Oh, baby, that hits the spot.”

  He presses up against my cunt, pushing his fingers harder and deeper into my clit, stepping up the
ir friction and speed. I match his movements in perfect synchrony, until we become like a finely tuned sexual machine. Once the slow burn has gone inferno, Pembroke takes his other hand and begins finger-fucking me, all the while keeping the heat on my clit. I come once, twice, three times, throwing my head back and yelping with joy. Without even thinking, I move onto his shaft, riding him at a steady canter as he keeps right on working my clit. His thrusting hips meet my bucking ones, matching every motion with such perfection that we become one body. I feel the firm, hard tip of his cock up against my cervix, every impact rattling deep into the recesses of my belly. I grunt and groan and swear, loving every inch of the cock that is infecting my twat with its hardness and precision. The smell of sex is thick in the room, and the sound of slapping wet, straining bodies is the most beautiful chamber music I’ve ever heard.

  I rotate myself on Pembroke’s cock until I’m doing doggy-style reverse cowgirl on top of him. I lean forward in a sort of downward-dog position, pushing my weight against the floor with my hands. Pembroke responds in kind, helping to hold me up by my rump as he grips my backside with his hands for more leverage into my sheath. Now he’s taking me so deep and hard that I feel like his cock is going to come out my mouth. Every time he rams into me, I see stars. I come again and again, until my body becomes a live wire of unstoppable pulsing vibrations. I scream, and sigh, and weep.

  This is by far the best fuck I have ever had.

  I come one spectacular, final time—the walls of my vagina ripple up and down, sending spasms the length of my entire body. My sheath tightens and releases, tightens and releases around Pembroke’s cock, taking him over the edge with me. He groans and explodes into me, spurting seed up into my cunt so hard I can literally taste it. The scent of his essence mixing with my pussy juice is the sweetest perfume that has ever filled my nostrils.

  Pembroke collapses into me, exhausted. It’s all I can do to push myself back up to standing with the weight of his rippled, muscular body perched over mine. But somehow I find the strength to do it, even though the afterglow of a wild fuck and a half-dozen orgasms weighs down my limbs like a heavy summer storm.

 

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