Timely Defense

by Nathalie Gray

  “Again, again, again.”

  Growling and panting, A.J. pushed out, back in, worked his back and butt and legs to keep her moaning and lolling her head side to side. There had never been any other woman who had triggered such a massive case of the “must fuck, must fuck, must fucks”. He knew he was sweating like a pig and snarling incoherent words in English, but he didn’t give a shit. She wanted him to fuck her against a wall, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going give her the pounding she wanted.

  Up higher, harder, A.J. took her then he took her again. He felt drunk. With lust, love, ecstasy. Hot damn! But as much as he was putting all his years of swimming into this workout, he was tiring fast. Yet she didn’t seem to be.

  “Harder, take me harder,” came the growled command.

  Who knew!

  Oh he had just the thing for her, wicked little tigress.

  When he deposited her to the floor again, she punched him in the chest. She actually punched him!

  His hand around her shoulder, he drove her to the bed, spun her around with an abrupt twist then bent her over with a palm pressed between the shoulder blades. Marion didn’t need telling and spread her legs nice and wide for him. Good woman!

  “Climb up on your knees.”

  She did, literally jumped up on the bed and knelt. With the height of the thing, her glistening pussy was almost right in his face.

  A.J. crouched and spread her cheeks with his thumbs so he could have a last sip before he rammed himself into her. And truth be told, he needed the short break!

  Her cries rising, he ate her, fingered her and even ventured near her tight little anus, which glistened like a dewy rose bud. She didn’t seem to mind. So he pressed the pad of a finger in. She froze for a second before arching her spine in a tight C that all but made him lose it.

  After he hooked his hands behind her knees and yanked hard, which made Marion collapse onto her belly, with her ass sticking out over the edge, A.J. fisted his cock and rubbed her with it, in tightening circles that made her pant his name, before he drove in. His initial thrust produced a burning ring at the base of his cock when she gripped him. He knew he was a big guy but she seemed more than ready for him so he gladly obliged Marion. Inside, deeper, A.J. pushed. After he sank all the way to his balls—and hoping to hell he hadn’t hurt her—he pulled back, waited for the effect and grinned when Marion twisted up to receive more of him.

  A.J. had never, ever, let himself go so completely, ever fearing he would hurt his women. Experience didn’t change the size of a woman’s channel and despite some of his girlfriends being extremely skilled—professionally skilled—A.J. had always been careful. Not her. Damn, he felt as though she could take him all and then some. Her slick entry began to fist him and he knew she was coming and was doing so violently.

  “That’s it, Marion, let it out,” he urged between thrusts.

  When he himself experienced the first signs of climax—hadn’t he just come not even an hour ago—A.J. pulled all the stops. “I’m going to come too, Marion.”

  “Come,” she snarled with a quick peek behind her. “I want you in me.”

  As hard as he could, he stabbed his hips forward, snapped them back, pushed right back in, always harder, always deeper. Fire licked at his lower back, his legs shook violently, so did his arms and hands, which he kept clutched around her generous hips. With a violence that shocked him, he fucked Marion as he’d never fucked a woman before. And as cum blasted out of him in sharp little bursts, A.J. growled her name like a male roaring to the world his triumph, his primal male dominion over this sweet, sweet female but more importantly, he climaxed with the ardor and passion of a man in love.

  Which he was, dammit.

  Speaking of which, he was getting married soon. He didn’t know when but it was soon. And a single thought blazed a path in his feverish mind. Well, two thoughts actually. One, he had nothing to wear. And two, he had nothing to give to his future bride.

  Shit and double shit.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Ouch, shit, it burns,” Sir Ayjay snarled as Marion gently pulled the fine thread of sheep gut from his eyebrow.

  The skin had closed nicely, though he still didn’t believe her without a long look in the mirror, which he termed “a caveman cee-dee”. Another word of his she didn’t understand. One of many.

  “You look fine,” Thomas remarked with a particularly pronounced smirk.

  She threw him a warning look.

  The three sat in the day room where light was best for delicate matters such as removing Sir Ayjay’s sutures. He had complained the entire time.

  “Do you mean I ‘look fine’ or I ‘look fiiiine’?”

  Sir Ayjay seemed to be the only one to understand his own jest and chuckled as he put careful fingers to his eyebrow and wiggled it.

  “You do look fine, Sir Ayjay,” Marion put in as she dumped the dried thread of sheep gut into the dish along with the small razor. The man had nearly jumped out of his chair and run away when she had approached with the tool in hand. “As fine as any Norman I know.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Ah, yes, I’m a Norman lord. I keep forgetting.”

  Marion shared a quick glance with Thomas, who looked as troubled as she was.

  Sir Ayjay threw his hands up. “Would you two stop that? I’m here and I can see you.”

  “My apologies,” she said right away, genuinely sorry she’d shown such bad manners. But every time the subject was broached, she couldn’t help her disbelief. And the poor man still couldn’t remember his attack nor had he accepted her many offers to revisit the place where it’d happened.

  “Your claim is rather…difficult to believe, Sir Ayjay,” Thomas said with a shrug. “Would you believe me if I claimed to be from a time yet to come?”

  Her future husband crossed his arms. “Of course I would.”

  Thomas laughed before Marion could stop him.

  “I would too!”

  “This has to be the first lie you have said that one can easily spot,” Thomas replied, still grinning. “Please say you are not losing your edge.”

  “Har har. Ohhh he’s a funny man, isn’t he?” Sir Ayjay uncrossed his arms, seemed as though he wanted to add something but shook his head.

  Desperate to change the subject, Marion rearranged her sleeve with great flourish. “Dear Thomas, I think you would do well to watch yourself during the next few days. I shall not answer for anything that should happen to your charming person.”

  Brightening, Sir Ayjay turned to Thomas and winked, which made her friend blush. “Damn right. Speaking of which, are you still up to it?”

  The blond man nodded, suddenly looking extremely pleased with something. “I sure am, Sir Ayjay. I shall prove an eager pupil.”

  “Not too eager, right? We went over this.”

  “Not too eager.”

  “And would you stop calling me that? Drop the ‘sir’, makes me feel old.”

  The pair grinned in a sort of conspiratorial way that made her smile as well. “I feel left out. What shall you teach Thomas?”

  Sir Ayjay’s smile turned meaner, as did the sparkle in his eyes. The mountain lion was making an appearance again. “The Law, my dear, The Law.” He lowered his already deep voice and stretched the last word for emphasis.

  “I’m going to teach our sarcastic friend the finer points of The Law, in exchange for the infinite honor of pummeling me into a whining heap on the ground…he’s teaching me swordfighting. Thorins and Hugo gave up yesterday. Lost my instructors, just like that.”

  Marion couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Certain things he could do very well with his hands—she blushed just thinking about some of them—but for others, he sadly lacked any talent at all. Swordfight among those. And riding. Only Thomas was left, still willing to teach their “Norman lord” as her people had come to call Sir Ayjay the rudiments of the sword in exchange for lessons on the “Fine Art of Arguing” as Sir Ayjay had once put his former occupati
on.

  He pushed Thomas on the shoulder. “And if you let me nick you once in a while, I might even throw in a golf lesson or two. Free.”

  “How generous of you, Ayjay. I am quite speechless.”

  “If you want to learn The Law,” he posed theatrically, his fist on his chest, “you’re going to have to never, ever be speechless again. But that was good sarcasm. Full points.”

  She looked at both men and couldn’t help the smile creeping up her face. Their Norman lord had been at Sargans for three weeks now, three weeks of pure carnality as he’d made love to her almost every night. She knew people whispered behind her back but did not really care as they would get married later the same day, to her utmost pleasure and that of her people. Only Thomas seemed bittersweet at the event, and she was starting to guess the reason.

  “You have the look again,” Sir Ayjay said, his eyes narrowing at her. “The look that makes me want to run and hide. You’re not going to make me try dresses are you? Because I won’t. I’m wearing my good suit today. It’s my wedding too, I’ll have you know and it’s all about one-hundred-percent wool, zipper and plastic buttons. I want to feel plastic on my chest, dammit. And real socks too. No dresses.”

  “They are called gowns.”

  “Yeah, it’s what the judges say too. Are judges sexy and manly? Do women look at a judge and say, ‘hot damn, I gotta get me some of that’? No, they don’t, that’s because dresses aren’t for guys. Unless they’re kilts, in which case, apparently those make us men plenty sexy, but otherwise, no. Dresses are for ladies.” He rearranged his tunic and stood.

  “I shall never get bored hearing your peculiar way of speech,” Thomas said as he stood as well and bowed to her. “I look forward to the ceremony tonight.”

  “So do I,” remarked Sir Ayjay with a curl to his lips.

  Poor Thomas wasn’t even out the door before her husband-to-be was wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling her neck. A long frisson coursed through her. Lust flared like a fever.

  “I say we try the nuptial suite to see if it’s up to par.” He sniggered. “Oops, a pun.”

  She shook her head. “Not before we get married, we should not even have…known each other at all.”

  He looked past her shoulder and exclaimed in his other language. “Hey, what’s that over there? The red and white one? Checkers?”

  Marion looked at the games table in a corner. “Dames, you mean?”

  She felt him nodding. “Yeah. Ohhh, Marion, do you know how fun checkers—dames—can be?”

  She had no doubt even dames would be exhilarating when played against a man such as him. “Are you adept at this game?”

  “Adept? You’re looking at a champion. Strip checkers is my favorite game. We’ll have to play sometime.”

  Marion shook her head. “Strip?”

  “As in ‘remove your clothes’ checkers.”

  “Oh. Remove your clothes…”

  “Whoever loses a piece on the board, they take a piece of clothing off. It’s a lot of fun. Let’s play now!”

  “Sir Ayjay! We have much work to do.”

  “You don’t want to? No? The woman who was all—”

  “Sir Ayjay!”

  “Mmm? No?” He lipped her lobe. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  She had no doubt he would, but there was still so much to prepare she didn’t want to start something she knew she wouldn’t want to stop. So it was with a heavy heart she pulled away and kissed the back of his hand.

  While she spent the rest of the day running back and forth between the great hall and the kitchen where Cook was loudly abusing the lads and intimidating the maids, Marion realized she had to actually go change before she presented herself to her own wedding dressed with the day’s soiled and sweaty clothes. Right before she left, she caught Cook looking at her with a cloaked grin on her wrinkled face. When she meant to ask the old woman what was the matter, she whirled around and began to complain someone had put too much garlic in her quails and how she was going to do the same to the culprit.

  On a whim, Marion rushed back to the day room and retrieved the dames game. She knew her face must have looked flushed beet red and had someone stopped to ask her what was the matter, she would’ve been pressed to find something intelligent to reply.

  As she made her way to her chambers, fruity smells from Cook’s desserts followed her, reminded her of the last time she’d tasted honey. Her cheeks burned. Sir Ayjay’s imaginative games—especially the one involving honey—was still making her blush, even days after. Such decadent bliss! She couldn’t stop the giddying event from taking flight and allowed herself the utmost luxury of indulging in daydreaming. Or more precisely, reminiscing. She’d had so little reason to do so before he arrived.

  * * * * *

  “And you can’t use your hands either,” Sir Ayjay said, grinning from ear to ear as he lay on his bed, quite naked and fully aroused. He crossed his hands behind his head, adopted an expression she could only call exultant. The candle on the dresser graced his sculpted form so nicely.

  If her people knew what nighttime tasks occupied their châtelaine, they’d be shocked indeed!

  Marion put her fists on her hips. Oh the arrogant man. “How am I supposed to…to lick all that honey?”

  “Very slowly.” He looked pleased with himself.

  Half of her wanted to berate the man for wasting so much of it while the other half, that wanton woman who gained more territory each passing day with the decadent Norman, couldn’t wait to lick him all clean. “You’re practically covered in the stuff.”

  “I know.”

  They’d just had a bath but judging by the amount of honey glistening over his body—some spots he’d kept “secret” and even had her turn her back—she knew they’d need another afterward.

  Because she still wore her wet chemise, something Sir Ayjay had insisted on, Marion gathered the hem in one hand while she knelt by his side. “Where shall I start?” He was so long.

  Baring his perfect teeth, he shrugged. “Anywhere is good, as long as you find the three bonus spots.”

  Heat burned her cheeks. This was all so…

  Oh come off your high horse. It was thrilling, truth be told! “And what shall I win should I find these special spots?”

  “One hell of a good lay!”

  “Sir Ayjay!”

  Eyebrows wiggling, he looked down at himself, indicating she could “start” anytime she wished.

  Lips pursed with trepidation, Marion flicked her braid to her other shoulder and leaned over his muscular thigh. As good a place as any.

  His skin proved fever-hot when she first touched it. Tentatively at first, she brushed the tip of her tongue along a patch of skin obviously smeared with honey. His dark hair was plastered in a perfect circle.

  “I think I shall find these three spots easily,” she remarked, fighting against a nervous giggle that would make her a silly girl.

  “If you think so.”

  She noted the absolute confidence carved in his features and decided she’d rise to that challenge, never mind what it made of her! He was to be her husband in a matter of days. It wasn’t a complete crime to enjoy his touch before the formal ceremony. And she had her pride!

  His right leg proved delicious. So did his left. After the first lick over his hipbone, Sir Ayjay’s eyes flared wide as he looked down at her, the expression of triumph gone, replaced with intense eagerness. His breathing was quick and shallow. Marion wanted to grin in satisfaction. So the Norman lord wasn’t as nonchalant as he looked.

  “What, Sir Ayjay? Am I getting close?”

  He shrugged, muttered something before pretending to arrange a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyebrow. His hand shook.

  Bolstered, Marion used her tongue as a brush and covered the area above his groin, right at the dawn of his belly, over the glorious network of muscles. His salty taste abruptly sweetened when she reached a spot right under his navel. Ah-ha!

/>   She couldn’t help herself. “I found one!”

  “Yeah, well…” he began, ground his teeth audibly when she gave him an enthusiastic lick on the belly. “Beginner’s luck.”

  “It certainly was not luck,” she countered.

  “Pfft.”

  Oh I shall show you!

  Marion straddled his thighs and proceeded to lick his fine belly all over, looking for those sweet little honey spots. She realized what she’d done after his shaft brushed against her cleft, which suddenly ached with need. Her gaze met his.

  “What are you doing, exactly?” he asked, his mouth a thin, tight line. Raw energy exuded from his every pore.

  Marion wanted to move away but he wrapped her waist in both hands and kept her put. “You’re supposed to lick the honey off, not torture me with yours.”

  “Sir Ayjay, I…” Marion cleared her throat. “You are just annoyed because I found one.”

  “I’m many things, but not annoyed.”

  Before she could counter, he’d slipped a hand under her chemise and readily found her sex. She’d trapped herself astride this gorgeous man, her fists on either side of his flanks, her thighs wide while he had both hands with which to work. Panting, she bit the inside of her cheek when he teased her pearl then slipped a finger inside, left her waist so he could seize a breast. Her nipple burned when he pinched it.

  “You think you can start something like that and expect me to just lie down?”

  Marion gasped when he thrust his finger deeper. The urge to grind herself against his hand proved too strong to resist and she did just that, rolled her pelvis so she could crush her flesh to his finger, spear herself and take it as deep as she could. Sir Ayjay nearly ripped her chemise in his hurry to yank it up to her waist. The sound of stitches tearing the most exciting prospect.

  Incredibly hot, his shaft pressed against her nether lips, parted her then sank in.