by Bonnie Dee
Sweeping her hair aside—for it had long since tumbled down from its fancy arrangement—he bent to kiss her shoulder. Gwyneth held completely still, eyes closed even though she wore the blindfold, and felt his lips softly nuzzling the junction of her neck and shoulder. Another wave of absolute lust trembled through her. Her body burned.
“Do you want more?” he whispered.
She nodded mutely, not knowing exactly what she was agreeing to and not caring.
Once more the unseen presence moved to face her, and suddenly his mouth was at her breast, nuzzling the underside before sucking on the nipple. The sweet, aching tug made her moan. A fine silken thread like a strand of gold tightened between her breast and her sex. Another gush of buttery warmth swelled between her legs.
His mouth released her nipple, and Gwyneth pushed her chest forward, demanding equal treatment to its mate. Obligingly, he drew the other pebbled point between his lips and rolled his tongue around it.
She would have been happy to have him treat her breasts this way for many long minutes, but once more he pulled away. Then he tormented her with another period of silence and inactivity, making her wonder where he would touch her next…and with what part of his body.
He moved away from her. She could tell by the sound of his footsteps on the flagstone floor. What was he doing? Merely gazing at her pale, vulnerable body, or was he planning something else? Her imagination went down dark paths, considered possibilities of which her virginal mind should not be aware. A slap, a pinch, a spank, the sharp cut of a whip across her breasts or buttocks—all of these images sprang from vague, murky thoughts into sharp, bright pictures. Her desire raged like a bonfire. What was wrong with her?
But her nighttime visitor did none of these. Instead, he suddenly dropped down on his knees in front of her. She felt him doing so. He framed her pussy in his hands, pulled apart the swollen folds with his thumbs—she assumed—and abruptly pressed his mouth to the erect bud at the top of her slit.
Gwyneth cried out and jerked at the intense sensation. She unconsciously reached for the head at her crotch and grasped soft hair and a hard skull beneath. His cowl was off, possibly his robe as well. But she had no time for more thought than that before the tension inside her suddenly shimmered and exploded. Her hips arched forward and her head fell back. Her legs threatened to give way, but hard hands grabbed her waist and held her upright.
One kiss on her clitoris, that’s all he’d given her, and it had pushed her sensitized body right over the edge.
He helped her to sink to the ground where Gwyneth sprawled on the cool stone floor, heedless of the chaff getting in her hair or sticking to her moist skin. She groaned and arched her body once more as a last wave of pleasure throbbed through her.
As she came back to herself, her joy was replaced by anxiety again as she realized it was time for her to fulfill the other part of their bargain. He’d touched her. Now she must touch him.
She pushed herself up to a sitting position, reached up to the blindfold covering her eyes.
“No.” His command halted her hand. “You will not look at me. Follow my voice.”
She crawled across the floor toward him, stopped when her hand bumped against some part of his body—naked. Sitting back on her heels, she waited for him to give her further instruction.
He took her hand and held it, just held it for what seemed a very long time, rubbing his thumb lightly over the back. She wondered where he would place her hand, guessed it would be his cock. But when he finally brought it to his body, he set it against a firm, hard plane that could only be his chest. She felt his heart pumping madly beneath her palm. Was he merely aroused, or was he perhaps anxious, too? Impossible. A dark and dangerous devil like him could not be nervous.
But the thought that he might be gave her more courage. Gwyenth dared to begin to explore with her hands. She pressed them both to his chest then glided them up the hard plane to the curves of his shoulders and biceps—such bulging muscles! She stroked her hands up his neck, feeling the tendons and the pulse throbbing there. She encountered the sharp blade of his jaw and the light stubble on his cheeks. He breathed rapidly as her blind hands roamed over his face, exploring his features. His nose and the ridge of his brow, his cheekbones and jaw all felt very angular, but his lips were soft and warm. They parted as she touched them. She wondered if he was what one would consider handsome. His features seemed even and normal—no unexpected bumps or festering pustules. No horns on his head, either, she noted as she brushed her fingertips over his forehead and slipped them through the hair at his temples. What color was his hair? His eyes? Black as coal, she had no doubt.
Suddenly, he seized her wrists and pulled her hands away. “Enough. Touch me somewhere else.”
“Your arms or legs? Do you mean your hands?” She smiled as she teased, amazed at herself for having the temerity to joke. She could guess exactly what part of him craved her touch, but wanted to hear him ask for it.
“Here,” he said gruffly, sliding her hand down his belly—soft hair, warm flesh—to the mysterious area below a man’s waist, behind the buckle on his belt. He was naked there, too.
Gwyneth caught her breath as he wrapped her hand around something thick and rigid. His penis pulsed in her hand like a living entity, and the man attached to it groaned softly. A memory rose in her mind and her lips curved.
“Why do you smile?” His voice was harsh. Perhaps he was suspicious that she laughed at his expense.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous, and this reminded me of something.”
“What?” he demanded still sounding distrustful.
“When I was a child, I used to love cats, but feared their tails. The way they’d twitch and lash like snakes, I was convinced they were a separate being from the cute, cuddly cats. This reminded me of that.”
“A cat tail,” he said flatly.
“Yes.” A fit of giggles nearly overtook her as she sat there naked and blindfolded with his hard shaft in the circle of her fist. It all suddenly seemed quite ludicrous. She bit down on her lower lip as she struggled not to laugh and felt the cock in her hand diminish slightly.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Why was she apologizing to the creature who’d forced her into a sexual situation in exchange for saving her? She should despise him for it, yet the sign of his insecurity touched her, and for the first time she felt a shift in the balance of power. He may have the ability to make magic and the authority to order her to strip nude, but she also had some control. She could make him feel small—quite literally.
The knowledge of her strength made her relax, and Gwyneth found she wanted to please him as he had so unexpectedly pleased her. She stroked the silky length of the shaft, slid her thumb over the moist head. She explored his member from tip to base, noting the pattern of ridged veins beneath the pads of her fingers.
There was a soft intake of breath, and his cock grew harder again. She continued to investigate below the shaft, finding the soft sac within which solid balls nestled like eggs in a velvet pouch. She forgot to be nervous at all, she was so fascinated at discovering the vast difference in anatomy between a man and a woman.
She wished she could see his cock, his entire body, for that matter, and most especially his face. Why had he insisted on a blindfold? Was he scarred and ugly, demonic in appearance, unbearably shy, or did he simply want to create mystique by not letting her see how average he was? Who or what was this man?
Her hand had stopped moving, and suddenly his hand surrounded hers, guiding her to grasp his cock more firmly. His smooth skin glided beneath her palm as her hand moved up and down.
Gwyneth’s experience of sex included only witnessing the brief and fervent copulation of farm animals. She didn’t know much about what happened between humans and was intrigued to find the pumping of her fist seemed to bring the dark man great pleasure. He moaned quietly and pushed into the circle of her hand.
He continu
ed to guide her actions, showing her what he needed. Faster and faster he pumped and his low groans increased. The sound of his desire, the urgent need in it, excited Gwyneth. A new wave of arousal swept through her. Her pussy felt open and aching, yearning for something more than the pleasure she’d already received. She needed to be filled, wanted him inside her. But that wasn’t part of their agreement, and she shouldn’t desire such things anyway. It was wrong. Her virginity should be saved for her husband.
Heat grew between her hand and his cock as she rubbed him very quickly now. The man made a strangled sound in his throat, and suddenly, warm wetness spattered the back of her hand and wrist. He had come. She had made him come with only her touch, which seemed somehow as magical as spinning straw into gold. Although her sex still yawned and begged for fulfillment, Gwyneth was pleased.
He removed her hand from his cock, wiped it clean with a cloth, and set it back on her lap. Immediately, she missed the connection between their bodies. She was alone in the dark and felt dismissed. Soft, rustling sounds followed. She imagined him dressing and wanted to reach for her gown and cover her naked body.
“Are you still here?” She was ready to tear the blindfold from her eyes and find out.
“Yes. Keep the blindfold on.” More sounds came from her left as he, perhaps, put on his boots and cloak.
“Thank you for helping me tonight,” she said, shielding her breasts with one arm and her crotch with the other. “You’ve saved my life twice now.”
“Will the king demand more from you?”
“My father told him this magic ability would only occur during the full moon of the fifth month every eighteen years. What possessed him to say it, I have no idea.”
“The moon has not yet waned,” he remarked.
“So I may be here again tomorrow night.” Will you be?
“Perhaps I shall see you again.”
“Perhaps you’ll allow me to see you next time we meet.” Gwyneth waited for a reply, but her comment was greeted with silence followed by a crack of thunder and the now familiar odor of sulphurous smoke. She pulled the scarf from her eyes to find herself alone in the room except for the rows of gold-filled spindles and the silent spinning wheel.
It took a huge effort to drag herself back to reality, to the possibility of the steward’s, or even the king’s, arrival at any moment. She dressed with clumsy haste, extremely difficult with the buttons up her back, then gazed at the alien cloth in her hand. The black silk scarf flowed between her fingers like water as she folded and tucked it down the neckline of her dress, deep into her bodice. She fancied the dark man himself—foreign, strange and unknowable—was pressed there against her heart.
Chapter Five
“I’m stunned,” the king said, yet again. The first three times, he’d said it as he gazed in wonder around the room filled with gold thread. Now he repeated it in his ornate dining room, where Gwyneth was again eating with him—alone save for the many carefully blank-faced servants who passed in and out. Gwyneth could feel their curious stares on her face, on the back of her neck, but whenever she glanced at them, their faces were expressionless, or even averted. God knew what they thought of her, what rumors had reached them.
But there could be no doubt that the king was delighted with her.
“I’m stunned,” he repeated, setting down his silver goblet. “In two nights, you’ve more than doubled my fortune. A third, and I doubt even the largest kingdom in the world could rival my wealth. And the beauty of it is, you’ll be able to renew it in another eighteen years. Just in time for my middle age.”
Gwyneth found it hard to swallow the delicacies she forced into her mouth. They seemed to taste of ashes and deceit. And the sour tang of her host’s obsession with money. She began to see many similarities between the wealthy king and her poor father and realized for the first time that no amount of gold, or favor, would ever be enough for either of them.
Finally able to speak, she said vaguely, “Who knows what another eighteen years will bring?”
“Very true. But tonight the moon is still full, and so you’ll spin me another room full of gold.”
She’d known it was coming. If it wasn’t, she’d have been at home, telling off her foolish parent. And yet her heart lurched at his words. Because she’d see her dark stranger again.
She knew she should feel ashamed of what she’d let him do to her, what she’d done to him. But the truth was, her skin burned with renewed pleasure whenever she thought of his eyes on her naked body, his lips on her “pearl”, drawing such sudden, devastating pleasure from it that her pussy wept at the memory. She hadn’t known such intensity was possible, and in the long, mostly sleepless hours of her day in bed, she’d acknowledged a desire to know more, much more.
It was impossible, of course. Her demon, like her desires, was wicked fantasy. Reality lay, almost as fantastically, in the king smiling across the table at her.
“I’ll tell you what, fair Gwyneth,” he said softly. “If you do this thing for me, if you give me this one more room full of gold from straw, I’ll marry you.”
Something surged from her stomach. It felt like bile.
“I’ll make you queen,” the king went on, as if her lack of reaction meant a lack of understanding. “The mother of my heir.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered desperately. “I’m not suited to such a life…”
“You will be trained,” the king said, waving one dismissive if amused hand. He sat back on his seat, regarding her with smug satisfaction. “You have enough beauty and wit to carry it off. And let’s face it, I’ll enjoy flaunting you before the noblewomen who’ve been competing for my favors for years.”
Gwyneth’s heart sank even farther. “Is that a good enough reason to marry me?” It came out more sharply than it should, but she no longer cared, and in fact the king didn’t appear to mind.
“Annoying your rivals? No. Your beauty helps. And you have a certain—freshness that appeals to me. I’m told I have a jaded palate, but I shall enjoy tasting you. And then there is your great gift, which is, of course, the deciding factor.”
“Of course,” she repeated bitterly. She laid down her knife and gazed at him directly. “Sire, the gold is yours. You do not need to marry me to own it.”
Her father would kill her for saying such a thing. Even as she said it, she acknowledged the lunacy in trying to avoid the impossibly good match being offered to her. She wasn’t even sure why she did so. Some sneaking feeling that it was all dishonest, distasteful and just plain wrong.
The king laughed. “Of course I don’t. But I need to marry you to have some more in another eighteen years.”
“I could come to you again then…” she began desperately.
“Don’t be foolish. I can’t let you go, let some other man, whether commoner or king, have control of your talent.”
Blood drained to her feet so quickly that she felt dizzy. She realized at last that she had no freedom. She’d been bound by her father’s preposterous claims and her cheating fulfillment of them. Even if the king had released her, she’d have been sought for her supposed wealth-making talents instead of her beauty. No one would have loved her for herself. No one ever would. Unless the king came to.
She glanced at him uncertainly. His eyes gleamed within his handsome face. It might have been lust, but she rather thought it was the lust of acquisition. Could she change that?
The king said, “I’m of a mind to watch you.”
Memories of the dark man watching her naked flooded her mind and moistened her drawers. She shifted in her padded chair. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’d like to see you work. I want to see how you do it.”
“Oh, no,” she blurted. If he did, her demon wouldn’t come, and there would be no gold. More than that, if her demon didn’t come, she’d have no more opportunity to taste the delicious thrills of his caresses. Stupidly, it was the latter fear that drove the words into her mouth. “It is du
ll work, and in any case, I have this feeling in my bones that it wouldn’t happen if anyone else were to see. More than that, Your Majesty must not be contaminated by such magic. I don’t know where it comes from…”
For the first time, a flash of fear crossed the king’s smug face. Was that her escape? His fear of her magic contaminating him?
He stood abruptly, and Gwyneth, too, stumbled to her feet. “You are right,” he said grandly. “It is not fitting that I attend you at such work. You shall come to me in the morning with your task complete.”
He held out one commanding hand, and there was nothing for Gwyneth to do but cross the floor and take it, sinking into a deep curtsy.
He smiled. “Don’t be afraid, little Buttercup,” he said softly. “I’ll treat you well, and you shall have wealth such as you never dreamed of.”
“And my father?” she managed in a strangled voice.
“Will be taken care of, naturally. Perhaps he can run the royal mills. While you run the royal nursery.”
He laughed at his own joke as he raised her to her full height once more. Putting one finger under her chin, he bent his head toward her and pressed a wet kiss on her lips.
It seemed she didn’t like kissing anymore. Her hand itched to slap the king’s face. Fortunately, before she could lose control, His Majesty drew back.
“Well,” he said softly. “I think it will be a good deal. You have sweet lips, and I can tell you exactly what to do with them…when we’re married. Now go and make me some gold.”
As if he’d been lurking at the door for his cue, Wallace materialized, bowing for her to precede him.