A Tavern Wench to Bed

by Brenda Williamson

  She stung the flesh on his torso with her teeth nibbling a path down to his navel.

  He’d always suspected she wanted him whether he won the battle or not, but he hadn’t guessed she’d be as aggressive as a wild animal.

  She moved down his stomach. Her fingers raked into the hair at the base of his cock. He jerked at the tug she gave. Soon her grip curled around his shaft. She held his erection tight. Then he felt her teeth on the soft tip of his cock.

  “Not there,” he shrieked in alarm.

  “Why not, Sir Henry?” She lifted her head.

  He looked down the length of his body where she hovered over his groin. Her devilish grin showed him just how pleased she was with his less than manly squeal.

  “Are you not a brave knight—a daring and courageous dragon fighter that faces any challenge? She grasped his cock by her teeth again.

  “Sorcha, I’m warning you!”

  Her teeth slid down, raking his aroused length. When she moved back up toward his throbbing cockhead and pressed her teeth into the tender flesh, he fought the urge to scream like a frightened girl.

  Her soft lips took over, gliding downward, taking him deep into her throat.

  He dropped his head back. “Oh, God,” he moaned, feeling the clench of her throat swallowing his cock even farther. The ripple of muscles kneaded his shaft.

  She withdrew just as slowly.

  He forced himself to look at her again, sucking and licking on him with vigilance. A turmoil of sensations knotted in the pit of his stomach. The heated pressure in his swelling scrotum added to his sudden discomfort. She then ringed the root end of his shaft with her forefinger and thumb, squeezing the base so hard nothing except a few drops of semen leaked out.

  “Sorcha,” he growled, yanking one hand free from the binds.

  His body felt hotter than a dragon’s breath. Perspiration beaded his face. If he could ejaculate the fiery liquid, he’d know relief.

  She lowered to where the heat of her breath grazed his scrotum. Her nibbling lips stirred the juices filling his sac. She pressed his cock against his abdomen and nipped the taut skin with her teeth. It sent a sting zinging through him. He reached to stop her from doing it again and ended up resting his hand on the back of her head as she sucked fervently on his testicles. His stiff erection pulsed as if the violent thunder of a summer storm hammered within.

  She sucked on him again. Her zealous twisting on his shaft made the skin burn. The squeezes on his scrotum, rolling and pumping his testicles drove him crazy. He wanted the release of his semen, yet found himself trying to hold back.

  Unfortunately, his quivering pouch had been stimulated to the point of explosion. The fluids rushed through his loins and erupted.

  “By all that’s holy,” he roared, thrusting into Sorcha’s moist mouth.

  But she pulled free. At the crucial point of pleasure, she lifted up and asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

  “By the demons of Hell, no!” he yelled, enraged by her teasing play.

  He unleashed his other wrist from the rope and grabbed her just as she bowed her head and ran her tongue over the head of his cock. Frozen by the touch of her tongue, and with no ambition to stop the devoted suckling of his body, he lay helpless, letting her finish.

  He had little control over his limbs and jerked in rapture. His jolts loosened the cords around his ankles and his feet kicked free of the bindings as his semen burst from him in a wild gush, spewing into her mouth.

  She hummed with approval as the flow continued to surge. He heard her gulp while she sucked until she drained him. Then, as if it were the best meal she had ever devoured, she looked up, licked her lips and smacked them.

  But her smugness turned into a surprised sound as he grabbed her other arm and flipped her to her back. He nudged her legs apart and crawled on top her. Her face glowed and her eyes smoldered with lust. She didn’t have to say anything for him to know she wanted him inside her.

  He rocked back and lunged. His still hard cock slipped through the moist folds of her pussy and penetrated her vagina. Her hands slid up his spine, one burrowed into his hair, grasping the back of his head. She lifted to him, kissing him hard on the mouth. He humped against her, using the last bit of hardest in his erection to bring her pleasure. Faster and faster, he plowed into her wet opening.

  “Yes, Henry, don’t stop,” she cried. “Make me feel you.”

  Her cries grew louder, her limbs becoming a flurry of energy. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms clutched his back. Each time he reared, he brought her off the mattress, only to slam her back down. Too soon, he softened instead of reaching a climax for himself. But he knew that hadn’t been likely. He needed time to recover after the onslaught of her sweet mouth.

  He kissed her with gentleness and eased off her. Since she clung to him, he pulled her to her side and they lay facing each other. He cupped her face and rubbed his thumb over her lips. With her mouth she had given him an orgasm like no other. Amorous was too mild a word for her passionate performance. She had a primal hunger he wanted to explore again. When her fingernails raked down and dug into his buttocks, he knew she wanted the same.

  “How long?” she asked.

  “For what?” He kissed her, moving from cheek to jaw to neck.

  “Before you’re hard again.” She slapped his ass.

  The vibration unfurled like a tremor right into his cock. “Not long,” he murmured against the delicate skin of her neck.

  “Perhaps by my assistance?” She pushed him to his back.

  Then turning away, she swung her leg over him and sat on his abdomen with her back to him. She leaned toward his legs and her ivory smooth bottom rose. He put his hands on the velvet-textured cheeks of her ass and rubbed. She stretched forward, her breasts brushed his groin. Her bottom lowered.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Arousing you,” she said, kissing his shin and then knee and then thigh.

  Her progression raised her bottom. He watched her body humping up and down and he imagined his cock following. It wasn’t long before he felt his cock erect and bumping her breasts. He pulled her back by the hips and kissed her ass. She kissed his cock. For several minutes, they tongued each other’s sexual areas as if they were animals cleaning their mate.

  “Come here.” He coaxed, tugging her arm.

  She climbed off, and crawled around.

  He cradled her face in the palms of his hands. From there, he lowered her to the mattress, entered her and made love to her. They filled the hours of the night ensconced in each other’s arms. Sometimes they were wildly passionate, other times quietly affectionate. By the time they lay still, and submerged in their own silent thoughts, he knew no other woman would ever come into his life like Sorcha.

  “The night is almost over,” he commented, catching sight through the wall embrasure of the low hanging moon.

  “I know,” she replied, sadness in her voice.

  He looked at her nestled in his arms and spotted tears in her eyes. Questioning them would mean asking why he too had uncontrolled emotions.

  “You haven’t changed your mind about accepting my challenge have you?” she asked.

  “No.” A disturbing heaviness in his heart kept him from saying more.

  His feelings were no longer casual, but what if Sorcha only considered him a means to an end?

  She moved her head, settling it on his shoulder, her face close to his. Gradually, her eyes closed, her breathing slowed and her hand went limp where he held it on his chest, all the signs of falling asleep. He had trouble doing the same. When his mind wore out how to broach the topic of love with her, it was daybreak. And he was alone in his bed. His heart sank to the pit of his churning stomach. He knew it had been too good between them. She’d tried to work her wiles on him, and when she didn’t get what she wanted, she went her way.

  He sat up and raked his hands over his head. He felt a fool and counted himself lucky for not blurting
out his romantic notions to Sorcha last night.

  Chapter Five

  The tavern door opened and Sorcha tensed. While Sir Henry peacefully slept, she had quietly left Pembroke Castle at dawn. The new day put her in her home village, back at her employment as a tavern wench. It was the day of the Tregarth Tournament. There was no way Henry wouldn’t show up to compete in the games. His grandfather was sponsoring the event.

  The man that entered the tavern was a local, no one of importance, so she went back to washing the bar. She paused to yawn, her thoughts going back to the long night she had spent with Sir Henry. The amazing passion and incredible tenderness he showed was unlike anything she’d expected from him.

  So often, he acted like a court jester, a joker who preferred fun to anything else, but she had been wrong to think she could use sex to gain a challenge in the tournament. It had gotten her nowhere. Today, she would try a straightforward approach. Surely, she could find one reasonable man who’d accept her as an equal. Then the door opened again, and she saw her opportunity. The white dragon with crossed swords on the blue were the Pembroke arms. The handsome knight who entered had a magnetic presence much like Henry’s. Everyone looked his way. But which Pembroke was this one? Then someone men called out his name. Sir Ware Pembroke.

  Sashaying across the room with two tankards of ale, Sorcha set one on the table in front of one of the best dragon fighters in the country.

  He glanced up at her and she saw the deeper resemblance to Henry in his beautiful green eyes.

  “I want to compete against you in the tournament tomorrow.” She hoisted her skirt and swung a leg over the bench, taking a seat opposite him.

  “I heard there was a woman dragon rider about,” he commented. “Sorry, milady, I no longer compete. I only raise dragons now.”

  “Sir Henry showed me your herd. They are magnificent.”

  “You’ve met Henry, have you, now?” He stared over his tankard at her. “Of course, you asked him to compete against you as well, but he turned you down.”

  “He did. He thinks I’ll get hurt.” She did like that he cared.

  “That’s my little brother. He’s a scrapper with men, but a lover of women. He’ll protect them with his life if he has to.”

  She thought of the story about Henry almost dying to help to protect Sir Ware’s wife. How many other women had he risked his life for?

  “About your dragons, to have such knowledge of quality, you have to have a love for the breed. It’s a shame you don’t use that same passion in the tournaments,” she said, hoping to encourage him to compete one more time.

  “Not that I should have to explain myself to you, but I have something better to do with my time.”

  “Yes, I heard you married and you have a little girl. Sir Henry said she was as beautiful as your wife is and as stubborn as you.”

  Sir Ware smiled as if he knew a secret he wasn’t going to share, and then he said, “Elise doesn’t get her stubbornness from me. She’s her mother from head to toe.”

  “Is it because of them you no longer fight dragons? Has your wife forbidden you to have fun?”

  “It’s none of your business, but Irisa was not in my life when I quit dragon fighting. I was tired of the political games men play. But whatever the reasons, the decision is not my wife’s.” He lifted the tankard and eyed her over the rim. “If I was competing, I’d not accept your challenge. It’s a precarious sport, too dangerous for a woman.”

  He was like all the rest. Men never saw past her feminine attributes. “I can handle a dragon better than any man in the Dragon Fighter Society. My father was a master of dragons, and my brother a champion.”

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Sorcha Bronson.”

  “Your father was Kell?”

  “Yes.”

  “It does not speak well for you then, to mention him in your bid to become a competitor. Your father died in an exhibition fight.”

  “Against Elan Tulane.” She shot back. “I don’t think you need reminding how evil that man was.”

  “And Tulane is dead, so you need not prove anything.” Sir Ware got up from the table. “Dragon fighting is a risky sport for anyone, milady. I suggest you look to something more suitable to your nature.”

  Sorcha jumped from her seat, letting the growl of frustration seethe through her clenched teeth. She watched Sir Ware stroll away and join other dragon riders there for the tournament.

  “He didn’t accept your challenge, did he?” Henry whispered over her shoulder.

  Sorcha started, then furiously turned on him. “He didn’t take me seriously at all. Babies!”

  “What?”

  “He talked about ‘my nature.’ I can only assume he means I should settle down and produce babies.”

  Henry laughed, provoking her to an even angrier glare.

  “I apologize. I know how seriously you want to compete, Sorcha.”

  “If you did, you’d help me.”

  “You know my reason, Sorcha.” He slid his hand across her back and let it rest on her hip. “You left Pembroke without saying goodbye. Was there a rush?”

  “I needed to get back to work. John can’t handle the tavern alone during the tournament.”

  “I thought you were a dragon trainer?”

  “I am, but I have debts to pay. Since my father’s death, his customers have gone elsewhere, and I have his dragons to keep fed. Don’t you have another brother?”

  “Kilburn,” he answered. “But I haven’t seen him since his wedding. And from the way he hovered around his wife Juliette, I can assure you he’ll have the same answer as Ware and I. We believe in protecting women, even if it’s from themselves.”

  “I think you’re all afraid to be bested by a woman.”

  “That’ll be the day, when any woman can outdo a dragon rider.” Henry’s laughter made her temper flare yet hotter.

  She wanted to punch him in the nose and show him how tough she was, but damaging her knuckles—which she’d need intact to compete—was not in her best interest.

  “They’ll never let you into the society. Even if you did battle with a hundred of them, you are a woman. Dragon riders have always been men, and that’s never going to change.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.

  That fact made her fuming mad. Though becoming a member of the society was not on her list of desires, she hated the way men treated women as inferior.

  “Wench!” A surly patron yelled at her. “Bring me some ale.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at one of her regular customers. “I have to go.”

  Henry grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Then I’ll see you later?”

  She considered saying no. “That’s up to you,” she said, trying to feel indifferent.

  He put a finger under her chin. “Then I’m telling you, I will see you later.”

  Henry rejoined the other dragon riders. A loud round of laughter suggested he might have made fun of her, but when none of them turned in her direction, she dismissed the idea.

  “Wench!” She heard the shout again.

  She saw Robert, the blacksmith, waving her over. She marched up to the bar and fetched his drink. Her blood pulsed through her veins as she stormed her way toward him.

  “You should take a deep breath before serving him.” A man she’d never seen before grabbed her arm. “That is, if you value your life.”

  “Unhand me.” She jerked from his grip. “I deal with the likes of him everyday.”

  “Then you are a brave lady.”

  She looked over his attire, particularly the tunic bearing the Dragon Rider Society’s insignia along the collar. “You’re a knight?”

  “Sir Duncan Stanwyck at your service, my lady.” He bowed.

  “I met a very disagreeable woman yesterday, Lady Kathryn…”

  “My sister. If you can avoid her, t’would be to your benefit.”

  “I heard she had your cousin, Lady Rachel Stanwyck, kidnapp
ed. Was it true?”

  “Yes, and she tried to blame the horrendous deed on me. If there were more proof of my sister’s involvement, she’d be in prison. As it is, she’s not touchable, not as long as she has a dragon rider knight and a lord as her champions.”

  “Sir Reven Tulane and his brother, Lord Uther.”

  “They are not men to go up against unless you have a death wish. However, there are advantages to the situation. The Tulanes won’t play her little games. Now, enough about the black sheep of my family.” Sir Duncan’s brown eyes twinkled, not so unlike Henry’s, with that male pride she’d seen in every dragon rider.

  “Are you competing in the tournament?” She wanted to ride against the best. However, since the best, namely the Pembroke brothers, wouldn’t agree, she’d take any who would.”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “Would it be you are interested in throwing your scarf around my lance to give me good luck?”

  “I’d be happy to tie the knot myself if you would do me but one small favor.”

  “Name it.”

  The hope he’d accept was almost too great. “Face me in a challenge.”

  His face wrinkled with puzzlement. “In what game?”

  “The joust, of course. I should like the chance to win back my scarf.”

  Throwing back his head and pounding his hand against his chest, he laughed with a great roar. “Your jest is good,” he commented.

  She wanted to throw the tankard of ale she held in his face. “I’m serious. I want to enter the tournament. According to the rules, since I’m not a member of the Dragon Rider Society, I need a Dragon rider to accept my challenge.”

  His expression went somber. “No,” he said as bluntly as all the others.

  “No—No—No—No. I’m damn tied of hearing that word.”

  “Wench, where is my ale?” Robert, the blacksmith yelled at her again.

  “Here, give me that.” Sir Duncan took the tankard from her.

  He walked to the table and set it down.

  “I want the wench to bring it. She’s been keeping me waiting too long.”

  “The lady is busy. You’ve got your ale, so drink it.” Sir Duncan told him.