by Ann Jacobs
Was Lucifer the warhorse or the man? Or did the name fit them both?
Rolfe’s cock entranced her, the way it pulsed between his thick mail-clad thighs. His chain mail hauberk had a v-shaped slit that parted in the lush nest of hair that surrounded the base of his shaft and the heavy sac that held his seed.
When she noticed his cock bore armor, she suppressed the exclamation of surprise that hovered on her lips. Two pairs of bejeweled golden studs winked up at her from both sides of the scarred ridge where the bulging purplish head met a long, thick shaft. And a thick, glittering gold ring protruded from the underside of his cockhead and disappeared into a dimpled slit at the tip of his engorged flesh. Strange, yet arousing. But having the adornments implanted must have taken more fortitude than she could imagine.
When she took him in her hand and timidly handled the studs and ring, he smiled. “They’ll not hurt you, sweeting, but give you pleasure the likes of which you’ve never known. Like you what you see?”
“Yes.” He was so big. Silky smooth yet hard, he was the texture of velvet over steel. She imagined he would be like that all over, satin skin over flesh honed to muscular perfection on training field and battlefields, with a smattering of body hair the color of the dark nest from which his cock rose. “But your cock looks not like that of other men.”
“I am circumcised.”
“My lord?”
“I was captured in the East. An infidel doctor removed my foreskin.” With one hand, he took her finger and traced it around the scar tissue around the base of his bulging cockhead.
“Oh.”
Her womb wept for want of him, though fear rose in her, as he grew hotter, more formidable before her eyes. A creamy pearl of moisture glistened at the tip of his cock, translucent where it surrounded the gold ring and spilled over onto flesh the color and texture of a deep cabochon garnet.
His juice felt slick and alive when she rubbed it with her finger. She wanted to bend and taste it. Despite his words, she wanted to guide him to the spot between her legs that wept for him. She yearned to take his pulsating cock within her cunt and ride him as they rode the warhorse named Lucifer, until the ache inside her subsided.
“Cease your play, Jasmine. I will fuck you soon enough. We approach Hedgewick.” Freeing his pulsing flesh from her hand, he adjusted his garments.
As Lucifer’s massive hooves pounded against the wooden drawbridge, she stroked Rolfe through his braies. The thin fabric did little to disguise his readiness, naught to cool her lust for this mighty knight.
She knew not who she was or from whence she came, but she sensed that this man was her destiny. She would be his Jasmine, and she would capture his soul.
Chapter Two
In the back of Rolfe’s lust-dulled mind the question lingered. Who was Jasmine and from whence had she come? Whoever she was, she’d captivated Rolfe with her beauty. And the sensual, carnal way she looked at him. He’d seek out answers as to who she was and how she’d happened to be on the road alone, unprotected by father, husband, or lover. Later.
Now all he wanted to do as he carried her up the steep stone staircase into Hedgewick’s dismal hall was ease the ache she’d stoked to a fever pitch in his cock and balls. Fuck her until they both were so satiated they could fuck no more.
The hall looked even worse than he’d imagined it would. Rolfe doubted the rushes had been changed in the great hall since he’d been gone, considering the rancid smell that greeted him when he stepped inside the keep. Dust lay thick upon the raised dais, and smoke from burning fat wafted from the great fireplace where two servants turned a brace of hares upon a spit.
Prospects for a decent meal seemed slim. No matter. He’d take refuge in his solar now and deal with his inept steward and cowering servants after taking his fill of Jasmine. Later would be soon enough to chastise the serfs for neglecting their duties in his absence.
“You there. Fill my tub,” he bellowed to a sturdy looking wench who sidled up to them when they came through the door. “And bring me wine, bread and cheese.”
Scooping his beautiful stranger into his arms, Rolfe climbed the stairs to the solar. ‘Twas fate, he decided, that he’d declined to wed with Lord Eudo’s bitter-mouthed daughter. If he had stayed and married her, he’d not have chanced upon the treasure he now held.
Like the rich tapestries, precious books, and lush furnishings, Jasmine contributed to the luxurious surroundings of this, his private space. She made him feel as though he weren’t a landless younger son and brother but rather a great lord.
He’d wrap himself in her silky raven hair, feast upon the rosy nipples that crowned full, creamy breasts. Drink of her honey and bury his cock to the hilt in her sopping cunt. Soon. ‘Twas eagerness to claim her now that made him wave away his page and squire, and send the servants on their way as soon as they’d finished filling the tub and setting out a meager offering of food and drink.
When they were alone, he set Jasmine on her feet and lifted off the sling that held his broadsword within its leather scabbard. “Help divest me of my armor, sweeting.”
She looked at him and smiled. “If you would seat yourself, my lord. You are too tall for me to lift off your hauberk while you stand.” Jasmine’s Norman French flowed naturally from her lips, and from her lack of hesitation when he asked her to relieve him of his mail, he assumed she’d performed that service for knights before.
Sitting on a stool as she’d requested, Rolfe lifted the hem of the heavy mail into her small, soft hands. Her skill at divesting him of the hauberk reinforced his belief that he’d claimed no peasant wench. Yet ‘twas confusing, for she appeared as eager to fuck as he. More so. She’d practically devoured his cock as they galloped along the road.
Rolfe beat down the voice inside him that bade him send her to Hedgewick’s other tower and find out who she was before making her his bed wench. He could not wait. From the way she caressed his balls once she’d stripped away his braies, he gathered her need was as great as his own.
The hot, eager look in her stormy eyes when she divested herself of his surcoat confirmed her lust. Sweeping her hip-length hair over her shoulder, she smiled a siren’s smile. God’s blood, but his cock was on fire.
Having her would be worth whatever consequences might result. Of that he had no doubt. Once he was naked, he settled himself in the big oak tub. “Join me. There’s room aplenty.”
She stepped daintily into the water and settled before him on her knees, a pot of soft soap in one hand. “I would bathe you, my lord.”
“And I you.” Rolfe dipped two fingers into the pot, then rubbed the soap onto his hands.
Starting at the enticing column of her throat, he scoured away grime and brigands’ blood from skin as soft as velvet. Unable to resist, he lowered his head and tasted her firm, full breasts. Her rosy nipples puckered against his tongue, became as hard as his throbbing cock.
He dipped his hands beneath the water and bathed her flat belly, slender thighs, and the sweet spot between them where he soon would find release. He found her pulsating clit and circled it with his thumb while working a finger into her incredibly tight cunt.
With eager hands, she soaped his body, circling his chest. Her fingers tangled in the hair that grew there and obscured the small rings embedded in his nipples. Then she slid her hands lower, soaped his belly and legs and feet. She was killing him! His balls drew up against his body.
His cock grew even longer and harder when she brought her hands closer and explored his seed sac with gentle curiosity. Then she closed both hands around his cock and ran a finger inside the ring that pierced its head. ‘Twas all he could do to maintain control, for his balls felt as though they’d explode.
“Cease, sweeting. I would spill my seed within your tight, hot cunt, not in our bath water.” He lapped droplets of water off her nipples, tasting the spicy, incredibly arousing warmth of her skin. Her needy whimpers drove him to increase the pressure of his fingers on her clit and in her cun
t. Even in the water as they were, the flow of her hot, slick juices over his hand let him know he’d driven her to a frenzy of wanting.
Her own exploring fingers were driving him half-mad, and from the way she squirmed at his sensual onslaught, he deduced his touch inflamed her, too. “Why have you these adornments?”
“To bring you pleasure. They are common in the East.” Rolfe fought back memories of the tortures inflicted upon him by an infidel prince, the evidence of which he’d chosen to mask with the golden cock ring. It had drawn shrieks of fear and disgust from some lovers, lascivious interest from others he’d bedded since returning from the Holy Land.
Her fingers gently rotating the ring through his swollen cockhead, Jasmine looked up at him. “Do they not cause you pain?”
“Nay. The wounds are well healed.” Were they not, what she was doing would have been excruciating rather than arousing. “Come, sweeting, the water grows cold. Let us explore each other further in yonder bed.”
Dry and naked, he lay back in the massive bed and watched her dry her hair. The thought of tangling it about his body, binding her to him with those silken ebony strands made his mouth go dry.
Jasmine looked her fill at the dark knight.
Her savior. Her fallen angel. The knight she’d dreamed of yet never imagined she’d e’er possess.
The bed linens, bleached white with age and many washings, contrasted with a coverlet of marten furs and his sun-kissed, lightly furred body.
His rampant cock stood erect, blue-veined and throbbing. The ring through its ruby tip reflected the flickering light from beeswax candles burning in silver sconces about the room. It held her gaze as though it had cast a warlock’s spell upon her. Looking at him that way and imagining taking his huge sword deep inside her cunt made her love juices flow, wetting her with slick, hot liquid.
A sweet smell of incense permeated the air, and a breeze from the arrow slits took the edge off the white-hot heat of her desire.
“Come to me, Jasmine.”
The deep sound of Rolfe’s voice poured over her like honey and mead, sweet yet seductive, at once gentle and fierce. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked her fill at his handsome face…his massive, powerfully muscled body. A huge man, he bore few battle scars, but she recalled the apparent ease with which he’d dispatched her attackers and imagined he had left his mark on many an unfortunate knight. The pelt of dark hair on his broad chest narrowed to a thin line at his waist, then fanned out again to surround his huge, rigid cock.
She shuddered. That jeweled sword would soon pierce her, and though she wanted to take it deep within her cunt and feel its strength, she felt a frisson of unease.
“What if I am yet a virgin, my lord?” she whispered as she lay her head on his chest.
“I will take care, my sweet. If I must deflower you, ‘twill hurt but for a moment, ere joy washes the pain away.”
She shifted her head, and her lips came in contact with a pebbled nub. When she took his nipple in her mouth the way he had suckled her in the bath, she caught the small ring with her tongue. With one hand, she searched out and found his other flat male nipple, similarly raised at its tip by a thin gold ring that passed through his flesh.
“More gold, my lord?”
“‘Tis usually a woman’s adornment, but the rings can bring pleasure to a man, as well. Come, my Jasmine. Ride me as you would a mighty stallion.” He lifted her at the waist, settled her astride him, and drew her down until their lips met.
‘Twas carnal, all sensation and little else, the way he thrust his tongue into her mouth and sucked hers deep into his throat while he used his fingers to coax more of the slick juices from her throbbing cunt.
Rolfe inserted one finger inside her, his touch gentle as he probed her depths. “Sweeting, you will be mine alone,” he murmured against her lips before sealing them to hers once more.
So no man’s sword had yet pierced her. He would be the first. She clutched his shoulders, urging him ever closer. Hurry, my dark angel. Impatient, she wanted to beg him to rid her of her innocence. Show her carnal joys she had so far only glimpsed.
When he broke the kiss, she felt bereft. But then he shifted and positioned himself to enter her, and she rose on her knees to give him room. The feel of his hard, hot cock pulsing against her sopping inner lips, throbbing wildly and tipped with rigid gold, made her squirm. Made her yearn for more.
“Take my hands, sweeting.” Arms extended at his sides, he entwined their fingers when she did his bidding.
She lay sprawled atop him, the hard, aching tips of her breasts stabbing his chest. The soft hair on his legs tickled her inner thighs, and the blunt, thick tip of his rigid cock pulsated as though knocking at the door to her soul. She needed all of him, wanted to take his hot flesh and fill the aching void inside her.
“‘Tis the coitus of the gods.” He shifted his hips and slid a fraction of an inch farther inside her.
She gasped. Stretching. Hot. Wet. Like a water lily in a pond, her body opened slowly yet distinctly enough that every contact, each nuance of sensation shimmered, spreading through her body and ohhh…
Beeswax and musky incense filled her nostrils and mingled with the heady scent of clean male flesh. His muscular neck tasted salty as fresh sea air when she sampled it with her tongue. The ring in one of his nipples gently abraded her shoulder. When a rumble of pleasure erupted from deep in his throat at the contact, she experienced a heady feeling of sensual power.
Power and surrender. Her surrender to his greater strength as he grasped her hands harder, his big callused fingers entwining with hers. Anchoring her in a compelling yet strange new world where all that mattered was satisfying the white-hot desire for him to quench the fire he’d ignited inside her.
He arched his hips and thrust upward. He tore through her maiden’s barrier and buried his jeweled sword to the hilt. With his lips he captured her mouth and muffled her cries.
“The pain is done with, sweeting. You are mine. ‘Twill be naught but pleasure now,” he murmured as he kissed away her tears.
His obsidian eyes reflected the candles’ glow and seduced her soul, as surely as his body possessed hers.
His hot gaze penetrated her, the passion there tempered with apparent concern. His big body shook, as though it took great effort for him to hold back. She sensed what his restraint cost in the tight line of his sensual mouth, the bulging muscles in his neck and outstretched arms. But the searing, stretching sensation where he filled her was almost too much to bear.
Then the pain gave way to wonder. A sensation of fullness, of heated male flesh throbbing within her body, taunted her with the unspoken promise that there was more to come. More than the delicious sensation of having his huge, hard cock buried within her, its strange adornments heightening her awareness and sending shards of pleasure deep into her core.
She strained to take more of him, but he shook his head. “Later we will explore passion’s many pathways, my Jasmine. For now, let me lead the way.”
With her thighs caressing his and their hands clasped and arms stretched outward, she lay still above him and savored each gentle thrust, striving for the ecstasy she sensed lay just outside her reach, until he stiffened beneath her and flooded her with his seed. She flexed her hips, wanting to take all of his massive length, but he rolled her over and disengaged their bodies, then spread her legs and rested his head between her thighs.
Alarmed, she tried to sit up, but he stilled her with a gentling touch. “Be not afraid, sweeting. I would drink at your fountain of love, that you may find the heights of joy you have just given me.”
His hot breath tickled her thighs, ruffling the short soft hair that hid her secrets. She held her breath as he took her outer lips between his fingertips and pinched them together slowly, deliberately. With lips as soft as velvet he kissed the captured flesh, forcing his tongue through the opening to probe her trembling cunt.
Need bubbled within her. She rose against him seeki
ng more. He drove his tongue in, then withdrew it, going deeper with each plunge. Slick, soft, sensual, his tongue soothed her while he ground his face against her slit, lightly abrading her sensitized flesh with his shadow of a beard. Embarrassed when she felt more juices gush from her cunt, she tried to slide away, but he held her fast.
What he was doing must surely be forbidden, but he seemed not to care.
He feasted on her. With every swipe of his tongue, each erotic scrape of his teeth against her cunt, he drove her higher. The pressure began where he suckled her around the swollen bud where her woman’s pleasure centered. It spread, curling like an insistent flame low in her belly until it encompassed her. She gained temporary respite only when he paused now and then to sample the nectar that flowed from her womb.
When he took her nipples between his fingers and tugged them lightly, she burst amongst searing waves of pure pleasure.
He brought her down slowly, so slowly she thought she would die. Then, as though he were servant instead of master, he took a warm wet cloth and cleansed away her virgin’s blood and his seed first from her tender flesh, then from his own still rigid cock.
* * * * *
She was more than he had dreamed of, all he had ever sought. Rolfe knelt between Jasmine’s widespread thighs and cupped her firm, satiny buttocks.
Aroused again already at the sight of her spread warm and willing in his bed, he bent and probed her navel with his tongue. She tasted of sweet soap and salt. That taste fed his appetite. God’s blood but he’d never get enough of her.
Her soft belly cradled his cheek. No peasant wench could be so creamy smooth, so exquisite. And no serf as beautiful as she would have been untouched. Guilt nagged at Rolfe. He should have withstood temptation, however eager she’d been to relinquish her virginity in his bed.
Then she ran her fingers through his hair and sighed. As though asking for something more, she rolled her hips upward toward his seeking mouth and, guilt or no, he was powerless to resist her invitation. He slid down her luscious body, tasting as he went, rotating his tongue in the archway to where the love-god dwelled.