Passion Over Time

by Natasha Blackthorne

  He groaned softly in his sleep.

  She smoothed the hair off his forehead, lingering a moment over the surprisingly silky texture of the inky black strands.

  She slid her hand down the crisp linen shirt, down to the bare, hard flatness of his abdomen.

  Once again, James moaned in his sleep. Sunny lay beside him and leaned close to his face. He snored softly between slightly parted lips and the scent of whisky and musky male sweat overwhelmed her.

  She placed her mouth on his. His lips were soft yet firm. She pressed her lips to his more passionately. The lack of response sent a wave of frustration through her. She slid her hand down the cool linen of his shirt, down to where the shirt ended. The warmth of his flesh, the hardness of his muscled stomach, the line of coarse hair, it all set her pulses pounding.

  She slid her hand further down, down, down, edging beneath the waistband of his trousers, searching until her fingers met the coarser, prickling hair and then the smooth warmth of his cock.

  She caught her breath.

  His erection swelled against her hand, making things very confined beneath his fall.

  He groaned.

  She did her best to stroke him in the limited space.

  He groaned louder, harsher, rolling towards her. He grasped her hair, and the brush of his fingers sent tingling chills down the back of her neck. His hold tightened and he held her head in his grip.

  Dull pain spread over her scalp and gooseflesh erupted along her nape, down her back. The sensation made her nipples harden and ache. She arched her back, pressing against his chest. The crisp linen of his shirt abraded her tight peaks. He pressed his lips to hers more firmly, definitely changing the balance of power between them.

  She was no longer kissing him; he was kissing her.

  Intense, delicious pressure.

  He slid his hands down her back.

  His touch sent waves of shivering pleasure through her. She writhed and the crisp linen of his shirt stimulated her nipples, sending sparks of fire shooting down deep into her belly. He slid his hands down to cup her buttocks, holding her writhing body still. Pressing her to his erection.

  He was huge and so hard.

  “Wench,” he muttered.

  Did he think she was a tavern wench? Is that what pleased him?

  He thrust his hips, grinding his throbbing heat against her aching nub. She was growing wetter and wetter, dampening the skin between her thighs.

  He kissed her more intensely, the taste of whisky and carnal fire on his tongue as he stroked it against hers, sweeps of wet, sensual velvet. The stubble on his cheek scraped hers. She thrust her tongue back against his. He gripped her hair harder and deepened the kiss, in his ardor sucking away her breath.

  She put her hands to his chest and pushed.

  He lifted his mouth.

  “James…,” she said breathlessly. Inside she was tingling, her blood thrumming. She gulped for air, still tasting the exquisite, fiery elixir of his kiss and wanting more. His whole body went stiff.

  “Sunny?” His voice rang with disbelief.

  He pulled away.

  “No, no…” She grasped his shoulders and tugged with all her might to bring him back.

  He propelled her from his body and spun her to face away from him so fast that her stomach lurched and the chamber seemed to spin. She gasped, trying to catch her breath, to regain her bearings. His cock pressed against the softness of her buttocks, rock hard and pulsing heat. She arched backwards, pressing herself against that glorious erection.

  He shoved her further away from him…

  His hands were like bands of iron, holding her wrists.

  She tried to turn in his arms but he held her fast.

  “Hold…still.” His words came between heavy pants.

  She struggled all the harder but, truth told, she relished in his restraint.

  It made her feel safe.

  Odd, the restraints Dr. Meeker used when administering treatments never made her feel safe. They were a torment to her.

  Confusion made her feel dizzy once more, and dry-mouthed fear tingled to life within her. The urge to flee sent her into an erratic beat and she wrenched her arms, trying now with desperation to free herself. She kicked backwards and shrieked a curse at him.

  He seemed to freeze for a moment. Had she shocked him?

  She kicked and pulled harder. One of her wrists came free, her arm flying free. She turned, halfway, and on instinct, let her hand continue flying. It made sharp stinging contact with his chest where his shirt gaped open.

  His grip tightened on her remaining arm. Fear-fueled rage energized her. She reached for his face, clawing him.

  His curse burnt her ears.

  Something made contact with her buttock. The sound echoed sharply in the room. Shock hit her, made her freeze. In the next moment, a fiery sting spread over her bottom.

  Rage overtook her fear, so strong, she screamed with it and kicked her legs and beat at his chest with her fists.

  She cursed him roundly, demanding that he let her leave. Now.

  He laid several more spanks on her posterior. Several very sharp spanks. Stinging pain spread over her buttocks.

  She whimpered, stunned into stillness for the moment.

  Still holding one wrist, he rolled her onto her back and flung a leg over hers, locking her into place.

  She tried to resist him again but she was growing tired, her struggling becoming more like flailing.

  And the maddening thing was, he simply watched her.

  Watched her fight, watched her grow weaker.

  Eventually, she went limp in his arms. Exhausted.

  “What the devil, Sunny?”

  “Let me go!”

  “You want to go?” he asked, as though she hadn’t just spoken clear English.

  “Yes, you-you-you…coxcomb!”

  He regarded her seriously. “I don’t think I should let you go. At least not quite yet.”

  She swallowed hard, trying to think of what to do or say.

  “What are you about here, Sunny?”

  He spoke in that same calm, serious tone he always did. Yet, now there was a hard edge beneath the calm.

  Her mouth went even drier and she swallowed once more, delaying her response. Her racing heart was slowing.

  Well, what the devil had just happened? Dizziness overcame her as she frowned, confused.

  She’d come here to do what?

  Seduce him.

  Right.

  She hadn’t expected his resistance. She certainly hadn’t expected his aggressive response. She had become frightened.

  No, she had become frightened of her feelings toward him.

  Just as when she’d been a girl. She ought not to have run away from him that night in the garden, so long ago. She ought to have allowed James to seduce her. They would have had to get married then, wouldn’t they? It wouldn’t have been her fault?

  No, Freddy needed me.

  And you let him down.

  She frowned. That was the past and the past was set in stone. All her sins and failures were set in stone.

  But the lesson is don’t be a ninny! Don’t run, seduce him!

  How did women tempt gentlemen? Surely gentlemen had more refined tastes than commoners did.

  Certainly kissing him and thrusting her hand down his trews and stroking his manly parts hadn’t worked. Yes, it had given him an erection—and what an erection! But it hadn’t placed her any closer to attaining her goal, either.

  What else should she do? How did one seduce a Rock of Gibraltar?

  “You’re drunk,” he said.

  “No, no, I am not.”

  “Just how much did you have to drink?”

  Again, she heard the incredulousness in his voice.

  She reached up with her free hand, intending to stroke the side of his face. To make an appeal.

  He seized her wrist. “There’ll be no more of that.”

  Hurt blossomed in her chest
. Did he not trust her? “No, do no’ deny me. Take me. Make me yours.”

  He was giving her the oddest look. “I think you said you’d like me to take you?” His frown deepened. “Bed you?”

  She nodded avidly. “Yes, yes…oh, please, yes.”

  He stared at her. Oh, his expression! As though she’d suddenly sprouted horns. Did she repulse him that much?

  She wriggled against the coverlet, the contact making her aware of the lingering sting on her buttocks.

  He had actually spanked her!

  Why had he been so intent on detaining her if he hadn’t wanted what she had offered him?

  He laughed softly

  “You think it is amusing?” she asked. Shame burnt into her.

  He brushed the hair off the side of her neck then and traced a fingertip along the cord down to her collarbone. “I didn’t think I needed to lock my door against you, Sunny.”

  How cruel and mocking he was! She had never known this cruel side to him.

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her neck. The soft-firm touch of his mouth sent shivers through her. Making her nipples tighten.

  Making her more confused than ever.

  “You don’t really want this,” he said.

  His assured tone puzzled her. Hadn’t she come here naked to his bed? What man would ask himself aught beyond that? “I do, I do,” she said.

  “Much as I’d love to oblige you, my lady, you’re too foxed to know what you are doing.” He kissed her nape again, this time opening his mouth. Heated breath blew on her flesh, and then the slight bite of teeth.

  Wild shivers of pleasure chased down to her belly, tightening her nipples all the more and sending gooseflesh all over her body.

  Despite the kindness in his voice, he had been teasing her. Mocking her. How foolish of her to have come here.

  To have thought he might still want her.

  A Knight of Passion

  Tarah Scott

  Lady Riana Ellis will risk the fires of Hell for those she loves.

  Can she let a man do the same for her?

  As whore for the Duchess of Arundel, Lady Riana Ellis keeps her sister safe from the duke’s lascivious desires. Now the duchess demands that Riana murder the man already sent to her bed.

  Sir Bryant Cullen determines to have the duchess’ whore. Her land is a prize, but it’s her secrets he wants. Once he knows what she knows, he will control one of the most powerful houses in Scotland. And she will be his.

  ©Copyright Tarah Scott 2011

  Cover Art by Erin Dameron-Hill

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Second edition published by Broken Arm Publishing September 2013

  First Edition published by Total E-Bound Publishing August 2011

  Warning

  This book contains sexually explicit content, which is only suitable for mature readers.

  Must be 18 or older to read this book.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Erin Dameron Hill for creating a beautiful cover.

  Dedication

  This book is for those lost girls who believe they can't be rescued.

  Sometimes it's as simple as just giving in.

  Chapter One

  Scottish Highlands, 1338

  Lady Riana Ellis dribbled three drops of poison from the wooden vial into the goblet sitting on the nightstand beside the wine she would drink.

  Fill the goblet to the brim, and death would be quick.

  But the fires of Hell that followed would last forever.

  Even hellfire paled in comparison to the nightmare that was Arundel.

  If not for her younger sister living as ward of the Duke and Duchess of Arundel, Riana would have ingested poison long ago…if not for the fact the duke and duchess now had food tasters, she would have slipped poison into their food long ago. Instead, she must now feed the lethal fluid to Sir Neas Dunbar in order to save Siusan from the duke’s cock.

  Riana fitted the top back onto the vial. She shivered despite the fire that crackled in the hearth to her left and rubbed gooseflesh from her naked arms. The duchess’ order to murder the knight came with the explicit instruction, “Fuck him hard first.”

  Anger clenched Riana’s stomach. The duchess thrived on the fact this would be the man's last night amongst the living, and had issued the edict because she wanted to watch. Her morbid fascination would be Riana’s advantage—if she pulled off what was to be the performance of her life.

  The very thought of watching a man fuck the woman who was about to murder him would have the duchess panting like a bitch in heat. Already, she would be sitting behind the large painting that hung over the bed…waiting. Riana had purposely kept her naked breasts from the duchess’ view, knowing just the sight of her rounded buttocks in the soft firelight would hold the older woman spellbound in anticipation of that first glimpse of rosy areola and dark curls.

  In the hours the duchess watched Riana from behind the painting, Siusan and their surrogate father Glen would flee Arundel for a village in the south of France. By the time Sir Dunbar sucked Riana’s nipples into painful hardness, the duchess would be unable to tear herself from watching them. When he finally stuffed his fingers between her folds and rammed his cock into her arse, Siusan and Glen would be riding hard. The knight was sure to do all this and more, for the duchess would instruct him as she did every man Riana serviced: “Ride her hard. She is made for it.”

  Siusan and Glen’s final security would be if the duchess had brought one of her favorites from among the servants to suck her cunt while she watched. Once she had satiated her perverted desires, and Riana fed the knight the poisoned wine, the duchess would retire to her chambers and await news that Sir Dunbar had been found dead in his bed.

  The sheriff would be called from his chambers, where the duchess had installed him the night before, and he would conclude the knight had died of a heart attack while rutting between Riana’s legs—even if the duchess had to throw coin his way to ensure the verdict. If Riana administered the poison first, Sir Dunbar’s heart would slow while he pumped into her, until, at last, the veneer of death would be complete. That would be a sight that could keep the duchess distracted indefinitely. But Riana had been unable to overcome her revulsion at thought of the knight’s cock going limp inside her as his dead weight pinned her to the mattress.

  Sir Dunbar had left a trail of English blood across the Scottish Highlands. The duchess was a fool to think anyone would believe the heart that beat within his massive chest could give way due to even the most rigorous thrusts of his cock into a woman’s cunt. Yet, if the duchess had her way, he would fuck Riana, she would hang for his murder, and Siusan would take her place as Arundel’s whore.

  A tremor rippled through Riana. She had served as a whore too long to feel guilt over spreading her legs. But murder? And to what end? The fact she had killed a man at the duchess’ command wouldn’t obligate the older woman to safeguard Siusan from the duke.

  Siusan had grown into a young woman whose pale beauty surpassed Riana’s darker hair and complexion. The duke’s increasing demands to have Siusan’s maidenhead tightened the duchess’ stranglehold over Riana. But Riana had her own leverage. The moment the duchess could no longer protect Siusan, Riana would forego the poison and drive a dagger into her heart. Then hang for the crime without remorse. Riana suppressed a bitter laugh. Apparently murder was as easy to grow accustomed to as
was fornication.

  But until Siusan was safely away, Riana couldn’t forget that the duchess’ cruelty was matched only by the duke’s depravity. She choked back a recollection of the day he had stripped away her memory of how sweet love could be and replaced it with understanding of how a man’s cock could foul a woman’s every orifice. Riana bit back tears. Curse the war that had taken her father and husband. Even God had deserted them. But she wouldn’t wait for God or anyone else to save them. Tonight, she would end this madness. Riana closed her eyes and released a slow breath. Fail, and the duke wasn’t the only threat they faced.

  The duke and duchess secretly supported Edward Balliol, Scotland’s puppet king of Edward III, King of England and self-appointed Lord Parliament of Scotland. Most of Scotland had been retaken by Sir Andrew Murray, leader of Robert the Bruce’s faction. But King Edward III intended to wrest Scotland from him at all costs.

  Two months ago, one of the Disinherited—the Anglo Saxon Scots led by Balliol—had secretly visited Arundel, and Riana learned the duke and duchess had plotted with him to finance Balliol. She’d passed the information to Sir Fostar, who had fought alongside her father and husband.

  Sir Fostar warned Riana that Scotland would bring a sentence of forfeiture against the duke, and seize his wealth and land. If Riana and Siusan weren’t far away, they would become casualties in the political aftermath. They couldn’t return to their mother—her new husband would shun women branded as followers of the English king. Riana envisioned her and Siusan wandering the streets and, eventually, forced into a brothel.

  She glanced from the goblet laced with poison to the door. Her pulse raced. Tears rushed to the surface and burned her eyes before she could halt them. Once the knight appeared, there would be no turning back.

  Her heart twisted. She was as big a fool as the duchess. There had never been any turning back.

  Chapter Two

  Riana glanced at the low flames in the hearth. The hour had grown late. The knight should have arrived by now. Trepidation surfaced. If the duchess grew bored and went in search of him, and by some slim chance looked in on Siusan, their lives would be over. Her stomach roiled. Only one alternative remained until he arrived…if he arrived.