"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 visit www.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.”
He moved in to within inches, the warmth and aroma of magic radiating from him as he lifted her chin with one finger to lock eyes with hers.
“Relax, breathe.” His whisper caressed her skin like a light warm breeze. “Relax,” he repeated. She drifted, his deep blue eyes pulling her in. He wrapped her in his warmth, and she floated across a calm sea, held in his strong arms.
“Tim’s all I have.”
“All right, Lauren. Perhaps we’ll find your brother.”
“You know my name.”
“Lauren Emory of New York City in the Old Lands. Tim spoke often of you. I am Kasmárin. You may call me Kas.”
Lauren forced her eyes open for a moment. The Prince Adept of Anfall—the great wizard, the king’s brother? As she struggled to take it in, he passed his hand across her eyes, and she fell into a warm, comforting sleep.
When she bargained with the devil of her dreams, they both found their heart’s delight.
Lord Demon’s Delight
© 2007 Gia Dawn
Lady Jessaline Nolan is as stubborn as her fiery red hair implies; thwarting her father’s wishes every chance she gets. The day of her impending forced marriage proves no exception. She swears she would rather marry a Demon of Dunmore than the man her father has chosen.
Lord Llewellyn Dunmore is happily unwed, as the men in his lineage have remained for generations. It’s become a family tradition. But he is drawn to the beautiful damsel in distress and agrees to save her on one condition—that she willingly succumb to his every sensual demand. To his utter surprise, she agrees.
While Jessaline’s father schemes to bring her back by any means necessary, Jessaline and Llewellyn spend their nights in decadent delight and three rather cranky fairy-godmothers lend their magical help to the lovers.
Darker secrets lurk, however, as well as a shadowy past that Jessaline is unaware of. Can the new love between Jessaline and Llewellyn survive when confronted with hidden truths?
First book in the Demons of Dunmore Series
Enjoy the following excerpt for Lord Demon’s Delight:
Jessaline hesitated just outside the door. Her fingers shook and she was more nervous than she cared to admit. She had no doubt he would claim his portion of the bargain—no doubt he was more than capable of demanding his husbandly rights. She had seen and felt the proof of that more than once this day.
But he was huge, so long and broad she did not know how she would manage to fit him all inside her. Despite his words to the contrary, she was afraid he would hurt her. The goblets on the tray tinkled as her hands trembled again, and the newly familiar ache shuddered up from between her thighs.
Anticipation. Desire.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open—and almost dropped the tray in shock when she saw him sitting naked by the fire.
His hair was wet from where he had washed it, rivulets of water dripped down his neck. His chest was broad, smooth, a few faint scars from battle traced across the skin. She let her gaze roam lower, past the tensed muscles of his stomach, along the line of chestnut hair, to stare again at his heavy cock, watching in wonder as it moved beneath her gaze.
He shifted in his chair, stroked a hand across his balls, and adjusted the now rigid length of flesh so it rose up to lie across his stomach.
The glass chimed again as Jess’s hands began to shake in earnest.
“Are you afraid?” His question surprised her. She dragged her gaze back to his face. He studied her from beneath his lashes. “I have promised not to hurt you.” So soft, his voice, soft and beguiling. “Put down the wine and come to me.”
It was a command Jessaline could not refuse. Her heart pounded too fast as she placed the tray on the floor. She longed for a glass of wine to calm the sudden rush of her breath and steady the shaking of her fingers so he would not see her discomfort.
He held out his hand and motioned her forward. Jess stepped closer, wishing she had some easy words to lessen her growing nervousness. She swallowed, her throat gone suddenly dry as she moved to stand before him.
“Take off your gown, lady.” His voice was still soft, but Jess heard how it had deepened and grown thick with his own dark emotion.
She lifted the hem and began to pull the heavy garment up her legs, knowing he watched her every move. She slid it across her breasts, feeling her nipples tighten as the rough wool scraped over them. She let the gown drop to the floor and stood draped in only her linen
kirtle.
“That, too.”
Jess jutted out her chin and gave him her best glare. “Are you just going to watch me all night?” She needed him to touch her, to know whether his hands would prove as soft as his voice.
He chuckled, a purr that sent ripples of anticipation across her skin. “Oh, no. I intend to touch, stroke, explore and plunder every inch of your perfect flesh.” He straightened in his chair and leaned toward her, his smile one that would make the devil proud. “But first I want to look at you. All of you.”
Again that shock of fire quivered between her thighs. Jess tried to press her legs together, hoping to ease the throb radiating from their depths. He saw her squirm and his smile grew broader.
“The kirtle,” he said.
In a last spark of bravado, Jess tore the laces apart at the neck and shrugged the garment to the floor. Her skin tingled in the sudden chill, the goose bumps puckering her nipples even more. She felt wanton standing naked in the night, her husband’s hungry gaze traveling the length of her.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered. Jess was pleased to hear a tremor in his voice. For the first time she thought of herself as wanted, desirable, someone more than just her father’s pawn.
“Come.” He held out his hand and sat back in the chair.
Jess placed her fingers in his, feeling the faint tremor that shook them. He drew her down onto his lap, her back turned toward him and pressed against his chest. She felt her body shiver as he tucked her into his warmth, and sucked in her breath as the mass of him settled between the cheeks of her bottom.
He wrapped one strong arm around her, gathered her close, and let his other hand tangle in her hair. Jess could not stop her trembling as he nuzzled his face into her neck and let his lips trail across the sensitive skin to nibble at her earlobe.
Jess sucked in her breath as the delicious feelings washed over her. Now his hand swept through her hair to brush the outside of her breast. He hesitated, teasing her skin before closing his palm over its weight.
Wyndmaster 1 - The Wyndmaster's Lady Page 20