The Wagered Wench (13 page)

Both men stalked her through the cave shadows like a pair of hunters. Excitement lifted her out of that lazy mood she’d been in earlier and her blood began to pump faster. The sun’s heat still clung to her skin, despite the cold, moist air inside that cliff. She heard both men stumble and one hissed out a low curse, probably stubbing his toe. She slowed her pace, pausing to inspect the treasures of another rock pool.

The thought of them both watching her, both wanting her, made her breath quicken. She tried to hum her favorite song, but the tune came out in a reckless, haphazard rhythm. Trailing her hand through the shallow water in the rock pool, she let shells drift away through her fingers, forgetting why she was there. She could not concentrate. Not today with her two eager hunters closing in.

As she bent over, her breasts swayed forward and her erect nipples chafed on her gown. Stryker’s touch had started that a few moments earlier and now a slow, sensual pulse worked between her thighs. She heard Stryker’s footsteps trip again, hastening to catch up with her. Dominic was close enough now for the gruff tremors of his breath to drift through the air toward her. She was attuned to it, of course, or else she might not have heard his presence above the damp trickling down the walls of the cave and the echo of waves pitching against the base of the cliffs on the other side of the rock, where it was deep water instead of sandy bay.

“You seek to tease me, eh?” She felt his palm slide over her arse cheek and she closed her eyes, the pleasure of his touch already something her sinner’s body craved.

And then he pushed her forward until she was bent over the slippery rock. The sudden powerful thrust of a hard prick was startling. Like her, he must have been aroused the entire time he followed her. That thick cock head pushed into her sex, followed by the long rod, bulging and heated. He spread his legs, keeping hers trapped together as she swayed against the rock. His laughter was gruff, smothered in her hair.

After the initial brusque taking, he waited a moment, his sheath fully buried in her, his groin flush to her buttocks. His heartbeat thumped steadily against her back.

His hands moved to her breasts, fondling and cupping them through her gown—which was wet now from the rock over which he’d forced her to bend. She groaned when he caught her nipples between his fingers, pinching them into spikes that pricked through the material. Then he began a quick, hard rutting, his body flexing over her like a whip.

Jolting pleasure slammed through her with every forceful, sweaty thrust. Sweet Saint Geraint he would leave her bruised. But she could not deny her body’s wicked response, as always when he took her. Soft and gentle, or savage like this, he was a masterful lover.

“Your friend watches us,” he hissed, straining over her. “It seems he needs a lesson.”

She’d almost forgotten Stryker until then. Her eyes flew open and she looked, turning her head.

There was the other man, her husband’s rival, standing just a short distance away, watching boldly. He had his rod out and was moving his hand rapidly up and down the length. Dominic, meanwhile, continued fucking her at the same pace. Now he lifted his leg, his booted foot pressed to the rock beside her, gaining even greater penetration of her pulsing valley. Her gown, rubbed up against the rock, was soaking wet and slippery. Slyly she pulled her skirt a little higher, until she felt the damp surface on her pubic hair. As Dominic ground his cock deep into her quinny from behind, the cave rock pressed on her mound. Elsinora imagined it was another man’s cold hand there—Stryker’s—touching her, stroking her while her husband fucked her. Only seconds after sinking into this vision, she began to climax. Dominic held still until she swallowed her last quake, then he pulled out of her. But he was not done. She knew he hadn’t yet spilled. What now?

His hands left her breasts, slid down her sides and then quickly bunched up her gown until she was exposed all the way to her waist. She gasped, her breath warming the air around her face. Carefully he repositioned her feet, spreading them wide in the rock pool, the water tickling around her ankles. His fingers parted her buttocks and she clenched her muscles instinctively.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

Again he laughed, a deep gravelly sound in the echoing recesses of the cave. He gave no answer, but made her wait for what felt like a year and a day, the cool, damp air kissing her anus.

Suddenly she felt his manhood between her cheeks, moving up and down the crack, sliding through it, sticky with her essence. At the top of every sway, his softly furred balls rubbed over her throbbing labia, the hanging weight pressing on her. His fingers released her buttocks and they closed over his shaft. He moved his hands lower to open her pussy lips as if she was ripe fruit to be peeled. With the next forward surge, his sac kissed the swollen, sensitive inner flesh. His pubic hair tickled her labia and she knew his balls were wet with her flooding arousal. Her buttocks squeezed tight held his fine phallus, nursing it until he moaned loudly, the sound echoing around the cave.

Stryker moved nearer, holding his prick. His eyes were intense, fixed on her husband, a snarl twisting his lips as he breathed harshly.

Alarm finally broke through her wanton delirium. “No,” she gasped, not wanting the two men to fight, not wanting either man hurt. It had gone too far and they were not the only ones at fault. Her wicked lust was just as much to blame for getting them all to this point. She’d known they both followed her and she’d allowed it, like a stupid little fool.

* * * *

The rock pool water leaked into his boots and should have been uncomfortable, but Dominic was far from caring. With his prick and balls tended by her warm, tight, ravenous body he had nothing in the world to complain about. His seed thrummed, his blood sang. She had the most perfect, most eagerly responsive pussy he’d ever seen or had. It was a jewel—treasure men would surely die for. He ground his full, hairy sac into her soaking wet cunt, his fingers holding her little nether mouth wide open, while his shaft worked in and out, up and down the crease of her buttocks. He stared, unblinking, watching his purple cock head sliding through the valley he’d made slick with her dew and the first drips of his own spunk. Between every pass, that dark, puckered hole of her anus tempted like the apple offered by Eve. He’d wanted to fuck her there since the first night, but women always needed talking into such as that and he should take his time with it, make sure she was well prepared. A wicked voice in his head assured him he’d given her time enough—three months—but he calmed his fever, regaining control with a firmer hand. For now he would let himself spill on her sweet, round bottom.

He was only distantly aware of the other man wading into the rock pool to watch more closely, but when Elsinora shouted, he was forced to acknowledge the other male presence in the cave.

Turning his head, he glowered hard at Stryker. “I heard you out there. Think you can do better, eh?”

“Oh, I know I can.” The other man was visibly sweating, beads gleaming on his broad forehead. “Let me in and we’ll see which the lady prefers.”

“As soon as I’m done spilling my seed, I’ll spill your blood, man.” Dominic spread his feet wider, blocking Stryker’s path and in the next moment it was too late to fight over her pussy again in any case, for both men were coming, jolting and shuddering, both staring at her cheeks. With a cry Dominic released his hot burden, aiming into her crack. Stryker released his load simultaneously, growling as he aimed his cock with one hand in the same direction. Two thick streams of spunk spattered Elsinora’s anus and crisscrossed her arse cheeks in a lavish pattern.

Both men panted heavily, watching their handiwork drip down between her spread legs, and Dominic knew she’d feel it sticking the tiny spirals of her soft, downy hair together.

Oddly enough his jealous anger had faded when he spent. Now he was more bemused than anything and that peaceful state settled over him again, the content he always felt after fucking his wife

* * * *

She stood upright, their seed wet between her cheeks, and dropped her skirt to cover her lower half. The men were still trying to catch their breath. Apparently no one had anything to say to her now.

Not a solitary apology, of course.

Hands on her waist, she looked at their cocks as they both slowly deflated. “‘Tis lucky for you that Count Robert is the one to make all the decisions in this matter,” she exclaimed angrily. “Because if it was up to me I’d cut both of those off. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about which of you gets to fuck me, would we?”

She wanted to laugh, but she had no idea why. Her situation was hardly humorous. It shouldn’t be pleasant to be fought over like a bone between two hungry curs. She shouldn’t be wondering what they might do to her next. And shivering with anticipation.

Their warm seed slowly crept down her thighs and as they both caressed her buttocks, some of that creamy deposit made her gown damp, sticking the material to her skin. They knew what she was feeling. She caught the flare of two wicked grins before they both quenched it and became solemn again. In the shadows of the cave, Dominic’s scar had almost disappeared. She saw, in that moment, how handsome he must once have been. Stryker was equally well made, his features carved by a mischief-making devil who wanted to confuse women, lure them into forgetting their prayers.

Her husband leaned forward, his eyes half-closed. She realized he meant to kiss her, as if Stryker was not there to see.

Or perhaps
because
Stryker was there to see.

These men, she remembered, fought over her father’s land, not over her heart. They fought to outdo one another. They fought over her because of pride. Not love.

The Norman would fight over anything—even a pair of boots!

Spinning away from her husband’s lips, Elsinora leapt out of the rock pool. She headed deeper into the cave, where the darkness gathered and the clammy air seethed, taking on a life’s breath of its own.

* * * *

Where the devil was she going? Instead of running for the entrance of the cave, she flew in the other direction, into the black.

Stryker gave up, walking back out into the sun, insisting she only had one way out. But Dominic sensed his wife knew otherwise. He tracked the sound of her feet splashing through shallow pools, scrambling over loose pebbles. He could hear her quick gasps, her gown flapping against her calves, that braid of hair thudding against her spine as she ran.

What goes in, he reminded himself, must go out the same way. She had no chance of escape. But when he reached out for her with both hands, he contacted the cave wall, rough and slimy. The wench had disappeared into thin air.

Confused, he felt up and down the rock, feet sinking in a mound of small stones. Quite suddenly his fingertips found an opening in the wall at waist height. The gap was just big enough to squeeze inside. He shouted her name and heard a hollow echo deep inside the cliff. There was no other place she could have gone, so he hitched himself up and into the hole. A moment of panic squeezed his chest as he felt a blast of heat and felt the air grow thinner still. He stopped, slowed his breathing, calmed his heartbeat. Not far ahead he could hear her shuffling along the narrow passage. He carefully followed through the tunnel and before too long there was a bright pinprick of light. He focused on that—forgot about the tight, grave-sized hole through which he moved, ignored the rock scraping his knees and shoulders. Moments later he emerged from the tunnel and found himself on the grassy cliff edge. Sun beat down on his face and he inhaled a gusty, grateful breath of fresh air.

His escaped prey ran away down the hill toward the village, soft laughter jolted out of her with every footfall. Apparently she liked being chased. Mischievous wench.

* * * *

At supper, as she poured his ale, he asked her if she’d forgotten his orders already. Elsinora looked at him steadily and set down the jug.

“Your orders? Which ones would they be? You have so many it is hard for me to remember them all.”

“I told you not to go wandering about alone as you did today. ‘Tis not safe. It would be too easy for a man to find you, follow you, tear off that bit of flimsy cloth you call a gown and have his way with you just as he pleases.”

She gave a little snort of amusement. “Really? How dreadful. Like you did to me today?”

“Some man other than me,” he clarified, carefully leaving out the name of anyone in particular, although she knew who he meant.