The Knight's Seduction (8 page)

It took her a moment to understand what he meant, and when she did, she was sure she blushed. She pushed the washcloth a little higher up his thigh, following the contour of hard muscle.

Sir Barrett’s hand stroked up the back of her thigh.

She scooted her knees closer to the tub, as if she might escape his touch.

Of course his hand remained attached, traveling ever higher until he gripped the very top of her thigh, his fingers just brushing the outer lips of her sex.

She froze, the washcloth unmoving on his upper thigh.

Barrett’s other hand came down on top of hers in the water, guiding it toward the place she had purposely refused to look.

She resisted, but he did not allow her to withdraw her hand. “I know it must seem grotesque to you,” he said, at the same time his finger began to slide lightly over her folds.

“Yes,” she agreed. She did find a man’s anatomy offensive.

“Go ahead and take him,” he coaxed, pressing her fingers around the base of his shaft.

“Please,” she said, this time trying to back her knees away from the tub. “I don’t—” She stopped when her efforts to retreat caused Sir Barrett’s fingers to press into her sex. She bit back the little cry on her lips as he began to circle one finger on a particularly sensitive place. She tightened her fist reflexively, only to feel his cock grow in response. “Oh,” she exclaimed, trying to release his manhood, but held fast by his other hand.

“Go on, Daisy,” Barrett said, his voice sounding rough.

“I can’t,” she whispered, her thighs quivering, a mysterious moisture dripping down her leg.

“You’re doing so well, little girl.” As his fingers continued to delve in and out of her folds, he guided her fist up and down his length.

She squeezed her eyes closed. “Oh,” she moaned, her embarrassment and unease equally matched by the powerful and growing need to have his fingers push deeper or faster.

* * *

“Do you feel the moisture in your quim, Daisy?”

She made a small sound of assent.

“That is how your body readies for me. It makes sex pleasurable. Without it, you might experience pain.” The flash of knowing on her face made him sorry he mentioned it. He wanted to avenge her rape, to tear that man or men apart with his bare hands. He kept his tone easy, though, for her sake. “When I said I’d never make it difficult for you, that is what I meant. You see, right now, your little quim wants me.”

The feel of Daisy’s slick sex under his fingers felt even sweeter than her hand around his manhood. He wanted to bring her over the edge again, to show her pleasure in every way he knew how. And yet he had resolved not to allow her to climax until she asked him to take her properly.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t reach completion, though. He tightened his hand over hers, closing his eyes. His feet began to press against the wall of the tub, his legs tightening and straining. His cock had been aching for release since the moment he first saw his Daisy. He pushed her fingers right up to the sensitive rim and back down again, as he began to thrust one finger inside her tight channel.

The sound of her labored breath and little squeaks excited him further. As his seed surged down his shaft he slid a second finger inside her, pumping them rapidly.

“Oh, please,” she squealed plaintively.

“No, Daisy,” he managed to say, removing his fingers at the same moment he found his desperate release. He lifted his hips and came into the cloth, to keep the water clean.

She gasped, staring, then scrambled back and stood up. After a moment, she asked in an unsteady voice, “Why did you say no?”

He finished washing quickly and stood up. “I meant you were not allowed to finish. Your turn in the tub; it’s still warm.”

She looked at the bath dubiously, her brow furrowed. “Finish?” she asked.

He smiled at her sweet innocence. “Climax. You may not climax unless I give you permission, or until you have begged me to consummate our marriage.”

She appeared uneasy, as if just beginning to understand the implications of his plan. She hadn’t moved from her place, so he strode over and pulled her chemise over her head in one swift movement.

“In the tub,” he said, slapping her arse.

She yelped and lurched forward, climbing into the tub and drawing her knees to her chest as if to hide her body from his view.

He stood over her, peering down. “There’s no hiding yourself from me,” he said. “I will soon begin punishing any attempts to hide or keep yourself from me. I am your lord husband and your body belongs to me. You’d best get used to it.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and frightened, but her perfect pink nipples stood in stiff peaks. He knew her mind battled her body at times like this and he rather enjoyed watching the war.

“Show me,” he commanded, because she had not moved from her position.

She moved her knees an inch away from her breasts.

“Spread your feet wide,” he said. “Show me your charms.”

She looked aghast. “My lord… surely this is not… proper?”

He grinned. “It is proper for a man to have carnal knowledge of his wife, is it not? I have made a significant concession in light of your fears. But you must hold up your end of the arrangement. Now open your thighs.”

She cringed, but slowly inched her feet apart.

The water did not obscure his view of her silken curls and the treasures that lay beneath. He made a show of looking her body up and down. “Beautiful,” he remarked.

An enchanting blush colored her cheeks, her lush lips opening as she stared up at him.

“You didn’t know that, did you?” he asked, surprised at the sudden realization.

She flushed a deeper shade of rose. “I never wanted to be,” she answered.

“You’ve been hiding from men.”

The tiny pink tip of her tongue darted out and moistened her lips. “Yes. I refused to cover my hair. I learned to trap and hunt like a boy, to play harp like a minstrel, to make myself seem eccentric.”

He crouched down to her level. “If the men of Hohenzollern passed you by, they were fools.”

She nibbled her lip. “You don’t find me… odd?”

He held her gaze. “I find you fascinating, intoxicating, beyond compare. Last night when I lay down beside you, I thanked God for my good fortune.”

She dropped her eyes to her hands. “You flatter,” she mumbled.

He walked around to her side of the tub and lifted her out, handing her a dry linen. “I speak truth.”

She dried off and reached for the discarded chemise.

“Ah, ah,” he scolded. “No clothing in bed. Don’t you remember?”

She looked pained, but dropped the chemise.

He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he laid her gently down. She thrashed a little when he lowered his own body over hers, but he didn’t put any weight on her, staying on his knees and forearms as he kissed down her neck. He dragged the tip of his tongue across the slope of her collarbone, cupping one breast in each hand and kneading. He began to torture her right nipple between his fingers as he suckled the left, teasing her with nips and bites, pinches and caresses.

She made the most erotic little grunts of protest, her belly tensing and releasing.

Keeping one hand focused on her breast, he crawled lower, kissing down her fluttering abdomen until he reached her little triangle of dark curls. He planted a kiss at the apex of her folds.

“No,” she said, sounding panicked. “What are you doing?”

“I’m teaching you pleasure,” he said.

“No… please,” she said, trying to push him away with her legs.

“That’s a spanking,” he chortled, rolling her to her belly.

“Ack,” she exclaimed. “No!”

“All I hear is no, no, no,” he said, slapping her squirming bottom with each word. He didn’t hold back, hoping a little pain might help release her nerves. He pressed one hand down on her low back to pin her in place and spanked her over and over again, until her bottom took on a beautiful shade of pink.

He rolled her back over. “Naughty girl,” he scolded. “If you can’t open for me, I shall have to help you. Do not move,” he said sternly.

She delighted him by letting out a little whimper and writhing about on the bed.

His cock forgot about his earlier release, standing eagerly at attention at the sight of Daisy’s naked form. He grabbed some jute rope from his supplies and returned, picking up a new linen washcloth on the way. He tore the washcloth into strips and wound one around her ankle to protect her soft skin from the rough rope.

She watched him with wide, frightened eyes as he wrapped and knotted the rope over the swath of linen.

Tossing it underneath his wooden bedframe, he picked it up on the other side, tugging until her leg opened to the side.

For all their jesting about taming horses earlier, she did have the look of a nervous filly now, peering at him from the corners of her eyes, her chest rising and falling with quickened breath.

He caught her other ankle, pulling it wide, so she lay with her legs spread open, her sex mercilessly on display. He wrapped and tied the ankle, then gave her wrists the same treatment.

She tugged at the ropes, twisting and fretting.

“Shh,” he said, crawling over her and brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Easy, little girl. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

She said nothing, but her eyes remained fixed on his, her breasts lifting and falling open with each short breath. He kissed down her centerline again, using a little tongue, sucking in places. Settling between her splayed legs, he slid a hand underneath her bottom and squeezed the warm flesh of one cheek as he brought his mouth to her glistening sex.

* * *

She jerked at the velvety caress of his tongue, but the ropes would not allow her to get away. She strained anyway, somehow needed to resist, to prove she did not want this, not any part of it, even though it felt… so… A wanton sound escaped her lips.

“You like that, don’t you, little girl?” He nibbled at her outer lips.

“No,” she wailed, though it sounded more like another lusty moan. “Sir Barrett,” she pleaded breathlessly. “Bear? Husband?”

“My lord and master?” he suggested, grinning wickedly before diving back down and teasing her with the incredible undulations of his tongue. Flick, suck, nibble… he tortured her endlessly as she squirmed and rolled her hips to and fro.

“Please,” she panted.

“Please, what, my love?” he asked, slipping one finger inside her and curling it to hit her inner wall.

She panicked, the sensations overwhelming, an urgency—some unknown bodily need taking over. “Don’t… oh, please, oh, please.” She tugged at her bonds, fluid trickling shamefully from her sex.

“Take me, Bear,” he prompted. “Just say it, and I’ll give you sweet release.”

Sweet release sounded like what she needed. But no, she couldn’t give in. Sounds came out of her throat—strange and desperate. Keening, mewling notes like an animal in heat. “Please, Bear,” she pleaded.

“Say it,” he urged.

“I… can’t,” she said.

Abruptly, he pulled his finger from inside her and shook his head. “No?” he asked.

She stared up at him, bereft without his touch. “Please,” she pleaded once again, though she did not even know what she wanted.

He appeared disappointed as he freed her of the ropes. For a moment, she thought he would punish her by depriving her of all touch, but blew out the lamp and climbed up beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her snugly against him.

She closed her eyes, melting into his warmth, drinking in his strength. After a while, his arm grew heavy and his breath deepened. She lay in the darkness, unable to sleep. Her entire body still rioted with need—her sex pulsed, her breasts had grown heavy and her nipples tight. The feather mattress seemed too hot tonight. She kicked the covers off her legs. The cool air did nothing to soothe her fire. She rubbed her feet together to release a little pent-up energy.

She reviewed every single thing Sir Barrett had done or said to her that day, examining his actions, looking for fault. She felt irritable; she’d gladly bite his hand again if he put it in her way, even if it did mean a whipping. She slid her hand over her hip to her naked buttocks, squeezing one cheek to remember the sting of his hand, the agonizing welts of his crop. Why did that make her stomach somersault?

The pulsing between her legs had only become more insistent. What had he done to her? The memory of his tongue circling and penetrating brought a fresh wave of heat crashing over her. She slid her hand between her thighs and touched the wetness there. What had he said? Her body was readying for him? The sensation of her fingers against her sensitive pleats sent ripples of pleasure down her inner thighs. She began to stroke herself the way he had done, exploring her own anatomy with interest for the first time.

As she probed and teased, the same sort of urgency came over her. She began to pull against her mons, stretching her legs in the opposite direction, tightening her buttocks and thighs. Her bottom clenched and relaxed, undulating in rhythm with her hand, satisfying her and yet creating more need at the same time—like the scratching of an itch that only grows and grows.

Suddenly, a huge hand clamped down over hers, stilling it. “Naughty, naughty girl,” Barrett murmured in her ear. “Are you allowed to touch yourself?”

She groaned and pulled her fingers against her mons.

“Ah, ah,” he tsked, pulling her hand out from between her thighs and pushing her to her belly. “That’s a spanking, and I’m not inclined to go easy on you, either,” he said.

She hardly minded. A spanking might help scratch her itch.

He slid his fingers between her cheeks and found the shameful moisture. “Very naughty, Daisy. You’re soaking wet,” he said, taking his time to investigate, renewing her burning need with each circle of his fingertip.

“Ahh,” she moaned, pressing her hips into the bed and lifting them over and over again.

But he withdrew his fingers, bringing his hand crashing down on the middle of her buttocks, just above her sex.