by Sahara Kelly
Immediately, it swung open and for a second the glow from a roaring fire dazzled Constance into blindness. Then a figure moved to her and drew her into the room, closing the door tight and sliding the bolt home with a loud clack.
Blinking, she stared at him. He’d shed his jerkin and fine regalia, and was now clad only in his unlaced shirt and breeches. His feet were bare.
By Saint Beatrice, he had nice feet.
Constance’s mind tried very hard to take a tally of his assets, and remain alert to his every breath.
But her body was calling to his, quite loudly in fact, and her thoughts were confused and needy.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he breathed, coming to her and running his hands down her braid. “There’s something I must do first.”
He moved behind her and pulled the tie from the end of her braid, slipping his fingers through the tresses as they unraveled and combing them over her shoulders and down her back.
They fell in a cloud down over her soft night robe.
“Better, much better,” he said on a sigh.
She stirred, uncertain what to do next, and unusually self-conscious at the thought of him seeing her hair unbound.
“Wait, my sweet. Wait…” He circled her once again, tugging at the laces on his shirt and opening it all the way. With a swift shrug his chest was bare.
He was behind her, in front of her, around her, moving silently on naked feet, and surrounding her with his presence. He stopped at her back and slid his arms around her, pulling her backwards against his body.
The heat of his chest burned through to her flesh, igniting it into a soaring blaze.
She sighed with pleasure as he bent and snuffled her neck and shoulders.
“So good, so sweet. Your scent…apple blossoms and you…” He nipped at her neck at the same time as his hands found her breasts.
She moaned at the touch of his fingers, pulling, rubbing, and teasing her nipples through the thin cloth.
“Are you cold, Constance?” His whisper penetrated her tumbling thoughts.
“No, oh no,” she sighed, leaning against him and letting him take her weight.
“Then you’ll not be needing this, will you?”
He grasped handfuls of fabric and with one swift tug pulled her night robe from her body and tossed it into the shadows.
“Even better, my Lady.” He pulled her back again, with a sigh of pleasure, letting their nakedness mingle.
Constance was astounded at the feel of him behind her. His hands caressed and smoothed her body, and found places to touch that sent exquisite tremors shivering down her muscles.
He pushed her hair forward and rubbed against her spine, while teasing her nipples through their silken shield.
She felt him pause and release the ties on his breeches, and then he was back, with something hard and long and hot pressing firmly against her buttocks.
She sighed with pleasure and let her hips move against him, telling him without words how much she was pleasured by his actions.
“Magnus,” she groaned.
“I know, love, I know.” He moved and quickly seized her, sweeping his arm beneath her knees and sliding her onto his bed, clambering in after her. The hangings were still tied back, and she could now see the firm lines of his face in the firelight.
His face was so beautiful, she thought dreamily. He was tugging at her hair, making sure she was comfortable, and teasing her with its prickly tips as he did so.
She smiled at him, loving the attention and the wonderful sense of joy and play that his actions were invoking.
This was no quick coupling done out of necessity.
This was making love.
She lay quietly, watching him, hazel eyes shadowed, but lips parted and shining.
Magnus had never seen anything as beautiful as Constance at this moment. Her body was a work of art, all soft curves and womanly angles, with breasts that cried out for a hard suckle from his mouth.
Suiting thoughts to action, he leaned over and began brushing kisses all around the ripe mounds, licking and nipping the soft undersides of her breasts, and leaving trails of cooling moisture in his wake.
He worked slowly, nearing the nipples each time he moved, until she was thrusting her breasts at him in mute invitation. No, more than that, in a serious demand for him to satisfy her desires.
With a slight smile, he did so.
She cried out in pleasure as his mouth fastened over one hard point, and he suckled hard, trapping the nipple against the roof of his palate and widening his lips to take as much of her breast as he could.
Her hips thumped up against him as the shocks of pleasure he was giving her seemed to quicken her entire body into shudders of desire.
He transferred his attention to the other breast, loving the little moans that she now made as he continued his seductive touches.
Her legs were thrashing, opening on the bed, and he took advantage, settling his body between them.
Immediately, as if in response to some primeval drive, she thrust up against him, finding the hardness of his chest against her, and sobbing with pleasure as she moved, rubbing, needing, and clasping him so tight with her thighs.
By the Saints, he was in for a wild ride with Lady Constance.
He eased down from her breasts and nibbled his way further, finding her navel and paying his respects to it with some energetic tongue maneuvers.
Her hands were alternately gripping his head and then flying off to wrestle against his bedding, and her whole body was arching into his touch.
He slid down even more and paused, pushing her thighs wider apart and letting his breath touch her swollen lips.
She stilled, trembling a little. “What are you doing?” The voice was hoarse and hesitant.
“Looking at beauty. Getting ready to worship at a shrine,” he answered reverently.
She squirmed.
She was truly beautiful. He had not lied. A thatch of dark hair curled over the roof of her womanhood, framing the loveliness beneath. Swollen now, her flesh was a dark and vivid pink, shining with drops of her juices that flowed hotly from within. Ruffles of flesh begged him to plunge past their guardianship and seek the secrets of her darkness.
His fingers touched her gently, spreading the lips and exposing the little hardening button of flesh.
She cried out as he leaned forward and flicked it so softly with his tongue.
She was very sensitive, he found, responding best when he kept his licks light and away from the head of the little pearl.
Within moments he’d learned her, and was playing her, running his fingers and his tongue along her slit, and thrusting into her only to withdraw immediately and leave her aching for more.
She was panting, and the thrusting of her hips had resumed once she’d become accustomed to the touch of his mouth.
Her scent was strong now, and mixed with the apple blossoms, it was making him dizzy. Or perhaps it was just the wonderful sensation of being between her legs with his tongue thrust deep into Constance’s sweet darkness that was sending his mind into some kind of lustful haze.
Her body was tensing beneath his touch, and her legs were clamping him tight, her heels pressing hard into his back.
He guessed she wouldn’t last much longer, and decided it was time for the first peak of the night.
He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and grasped a cheek in each, moving slightly and parting them enough to put a little tension on the flesh between. His shoulders held her thighs wide, and he bent his head, intent now, tonguing the most sensitive place he had found.
Her sobs became pants, and her panting breaths became little cries. Her hips jerked, but he held her tight, wondering if his fingers were bruising her buttocks, but at this moment not really caring.
He wanted her to come for him, around him, to feel her spasm against his tongue and watch her flesh as her swollen folds contracted into her own explosion.
He got his wish.
> Constance cried out, and her body convulsed beneath him. Her nether lips clenched and released in a visible sign that her body was coming, and her thighs spasmed against him, muscles iron hard and holding on to him for all they were worth.
He watched as the honey drenched her thighs, and when he pressed a light kiss against her flesh, she started all over again.
It was enough. He could wait no more.
He rose on his hands and slipped up over her, positioning the head of his cock next to the liquid heat that was pouring from her.
With one thrust he was inside, and his entrance brought on another round of ecstasy. He gasped as her inner muscles grabbed him and held on tightly.
Truly this woman was incredible.
*~~*~~*
By Saint Beatrice, this man was incredible.
Constance felt her heartbeat pounding as he thrust his cock into her body. She’d known she was coming, and welcomed the peaks as he brought one after another with his tongue. But there was something missing.
And this was what it was.
That ridged length of hardened flesh that was scorching her inner flesh with bold and demanding strokes.
She had stopped coming, yet still felt taut, as if trembling on the edge of something.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. His hair was tousled, his eyes wide but unfocused now, as his concentration centered on where their bodies were joined.
His thrusts were deep and slow, and seemed to find every single nerve ending she possessed.
The strength she sensed in him was tempered. He could easily have pounded her into the headboard had he chosen to do so, and she would have welcomed it.
But this stroking of his was even better, a gentle maintenance of her arousal and a lifting onto another plane of sensation.
Her flesh was tender and her little bud extra sensitive, but the brush of his body’s hair against it or the slap of his balls on her buttocks caused no pain, just an increasing need for something…
His tempo increased, the muscles in his shoulders straining as they took his weight.
He was holding himself above her, watching her body, her face, eyes roving all over her, stripping her pretenses away and demanding she respond to him as a woman to a man. No more, no less.
And she was responding. Wildly.
“Put your legs around me,” he urged.
She complied, and found that she could now hold him tightly, restricting his movements and keeping his thrusts inside her where she so desperately wanted them.
He was pounding her now, and the sounds of their bodies colliding acted as an enhancement to the feeling it engendered.
She felt her breath shortening, and her pulses galloping, and drops of sweat sizzled onto her breasts as Magnus worked above her.
So sensitive was she that she could feel his balls tightening and slamming into her with a new hardness. She could feel the muscles in his cock begin to twitch, and when he thrust deeper than ever and held there with an agonized cry of release she could feel his cock pulse and spill his hot seed inside her.
It was enough.
She tumbled into her own eruption, but this time she was filled. Filled with Magnus, his cock, his touches, his gaze.
Her body forced a scream from her lungs and then went completely berserk.
She convulsed, tremors of pleasure shuddering through her womb and down onto his cock. She knew she was grasping him with her thighs but was powerless to stop—her body was out of her control as she came in a mighty eruption of joy.
Her breath stopped, her vision swam, and she saw stars exploding behind her eyelids.
Her brain clogged up for long moments as she rode out the most exquisite sensations she’d ever experienced.
Slowly, very slowly, her senses returned. Limp and sated, she lay beneath Magnus, who was every bit as exhausted as she was.
He shifted, taking his weight off her chest, and letting her drag a breath into her starved lungs.
Then he withdrew, the simple feel of his cock sliding from her enough to send little shivers racing over her cooling skin.
He eased himself up the bed until he lay beside her, and he tugged her into his arms, fitting her against his body and drawing a light coverlet over them.
The air was redolent with the scent of sex and Magnus, mixed in with her own light touch of apple blossom and she breathed in contentedly.
“That was…oh Magnus,” she breathed.
A little chuckle rumbled beneath her ear. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” He stroked her long hair away from her cheek, gently spreading it on the pillows behind her head.
“Not bad for our first session.”
Constance froze. “By Saint Beatrice, there’s more?”
Chapter Nine
Magnus suppressed a grin of amusement and slid from the bed, going to a chest along the wall where a bowl and cloths had been stacked.
He rinsed a cloth, wrung it out and returned to stand next to Constance. “More? Oh, sweet Lady, we have only scratched the surface.”
He noticed her self-consciously tugging at the linens to cover herself, and teasingly held tight, refusing to allow her to pull the sheet over her nakedness.
“Don’t even try, Constance. Our bodies are to be enjoyed, touched, stroked and admired.” He ran a hand down her soft thigh and watched her respond with a little sigh of pleasure.
Taking his cloth he pushed her legs apart and began to cleanse her swollen flesh, noticing her flinch a little from his touch. “Sore, sweet?”
“N…no…not really—that cloth is cold.” She stuttered and blushed, eyes wide as she watched him tend to her.
“I rode you hard, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I forgot that it’s been a long time for you.”
Constance’s breath caught in a chuckle, which blended with a little moan as he delicately wiped around her most sensitive spots. “It’s not so much that it has been a long time.” She raised her eyes to his, a smile lurking in their depths. “At the risk of adding to your already overblown ego, Magnus, it’s more a case of ‘never’ being ridden like that.”
Magnus laughed back at her. “I’m glad. Glad to be the first to break you to my riding habits. Although I have a feeling that our ride for tonight may be done. I’ll not hurt you, Constance, ever.”
“I know that.” Her answer came quickly and confidently, and Magnus’ heart swelled. She trusted him. It was a heady feeling and went straight to his cock, which was amazingly showing signs of life as he transferred his cleaning cloth to his own body.
“Magnus?” The word crept out shyly.
“Mmm?”
“You know what you did to me—with your mouth?” He swore he could feel her coloring up as he resumed his place beside her, snuggling her against his body.
“I do indeed. ‘Tis fun to taste a woman and make her shudder and scream and come like that. Nothing else like it in the world.”
Her fingers trailed over his chest, tracing the ripples of his muscles and circling his flat nipples until he had to bite back a small groan of pleasure.
“Is it possible for a woman to do that to a man?”
Well, by the Saints. Now his cock was hardening and growing, readying itself for another adventure. Damnation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d recovered so quickly.
“Yes, love. It is certainly possible.”
“And do men enjoy it too?”
Magnus choked slightly. “Yes, indeed.”
“Then—may I try it with you?”
Magnus wondered if his guardian angel was working extra hours this night. How to respond to a question like that? Grabbing her head and sinking his cock into her hot wet mouth probably wouldn’t be the gentlemanly response, although his hands twitched as he restrained them from doing just that.
“Would you like to? I would certainly get much pleasure from it, Constance. But only if you are of a mind to try. I would not force you into anything you might deem unpleasant…” Hah! If she decided against it, he
’d bawl like a baby.
“I would very much like to.”
She pulled herself on her knees next to him, and carefully and intently studied his body.
Her hands drifted from his chest down around his navel, the lightest of butterfly touches stimulating him more than anything she could have devised. She explored the texture of his skin, paying particular attention to the flickers she aroused as her hands brushed the sensitive spots low on his belly.
She laughed as he squirmed slightly. “My, my. One never thinks of brave knights as being so ticklish.”
“Hmm. I’m not so sure it’s ticklish. More a case of being aware.” His cock was hard now, standing proud from his thatch of curly hair.
“Yes, I noticed your—awareness…”
Magnus pulled a pillow roughly behind his head, desperate not to miss a second of Constance’s exploration. Her hair was tossed carelessly behind her, and her face intent as she studied, touched, caressed, and generally drove him completely and totally berserk.
Finally, she reached his manhood, which was now trembling in its need to receive an equal share of all this attention.
“So amazing, Magnus. How different you are. Is it not incredible that humans have such different body parts?”
Seeing as she was gently stroking his cock from base to tip as she spoke, Magnus was rather hard-pressed to find any coherent words in answer. He compromised with a sound that he hoped would indicate agreement, approval, and God-please-let-her-put-her-mouth-on-me.
A small drop of fluid was seeping from the slit in the head of his cock, which aroused endless fascination in Constance. Surely his enemies could never have devised such an effective torture. He would have confessed to anything and everything at this point if she would only—if she would—aaaaahhhh.
She did.
Magnus held himself together by sheer force of will. Her hot tongue was touching him, tasting his juice, smoothing over the head of his cock.
He allowed a moan to escape, distracting her. She lifted her head.
No, no, go back, go baaaack…
“Do I hurt you, Magnus?” The question was asked in a part playful, part serious fashion.
He didn’t care how she’d asked it. “No, Lady. Far from it. ‘Tis wonderful. Do it again, please…” He prayed the last word hadn’t come out as a whimper, but part of his mind noticed a speculative gleam in her eyes. He’d probably be whining and begging before too long.