Authors: Em Petrova
Tags: #Steampunk/Medieval Fantasy
He brought her back into place. “Don’t be. But I don’t want ye sitting there.”
A smile played about her full lips. The waves of her hair shivered over her bare shoulders and skimmed her breasts.
“I want ye here.” He drew her up his body, her wet pussy gliding up his chest. Her scents made his mouth water, and by the time he positioned her so she straddled his face, he was salivating for her.
The pink folds dangled over his face, glistening wet. He caressed the round globes of her ass cheeks before he brought her blonde curly mound to his lips. He kissed it first, a slow taste of pleasure to come, and when he dipped his tongue into the honeyed juices, he moaned, and she released a gasp.
Her hot, silky thighs pillowed his jaw as he sucked and stroked her heated flesh. He inched one finger down the seam of her ass to tickle the forbidden entrance. She spread her thighs wider to allow him access, and when he gathered some moisture from her soaking pussy and spread it over her nether hole, she pressed down hard against the tip of his finger, sending it gliding to the web of his hand.
She went wild, hair flipping with her thrusts. Sadler’s mouth clung to her cunt, tongue working her clit as he fingered her tight hole. She fucked his face until he thought he would blow without a hint of stimulation, when suddenly, she reached back and grasped his hard cock in one fist.
He knew he could endure little of that sweet torment. First he wanted to bring her to release with his mouth. He wanted to lap up the love fluids, feel them roll down his chin.
He drove his finger higher, reaching inside her hot cavity, pressing, holding still until she writhed, and then pounding her hard.
She started to pulsate with release. Her body stiffened. He pulled her delicious nub into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue, sending her over the edge. His cock still throbbing, he flipped her into the grasses, stripped off his pants, and poised at the quick of her.
Their gazes collided in a tangle of love and need. Sadler suddenly realized what he was about to do. A war ensued between harsh need and good sense. To take the princess was certain death. To walk away without her heart was worse.
In a hasty thrust, he joined them, sinking through her maidenhead into bliss. She made no noise, and he paused for a long moment, cock quivering, about to spill his seed. When he’d mastered himself, he opened his eyes into her wondrous gaze. Her eyes, resembling the fairy fire he’d thought of so often, burned along the string of emotion connecting his heart, and rather than sear it away, it thickened into a knot so strong and deep, he knew they could never be parted.
Her smile was a brilliant ray in Sadler’s dark world, guiding him home at last, as slowly he began to move.
Isolde’s thighs clamped about her kidnapper’s hips, drawing him deeper, wanting to let him swallow her whole. Knowing his identity set her heart free to express herself, but his guise afforded her the ability to break the chains of her status.
Emotion beat her breast like the wings of a fairy dragon. With him she was safe, perfect, complete. How had she managed to survive twenty-three years without this man? Without the tender expression in his eyes? Without his searing touch?
Her sex was still throbbing from her release. The intimate stroke of Sadler’s cock on the walls of her sheath sent tendrils of new heat through her body, overriding the insignificant pain the loss of her virginity had caused.
She cradled his face in her hands and drew his mouth to hers, trying to pour all the things she didn’t know how to say into the caress of her lips. He seemed to understand, deepening the kiss, their tongues slow and gritty against each other. He slipped his hands beneath her spine and lifted her to meet his thrusts. Her head fell back, and he spattered her throat with kisses.
“Beautiful woman.” He breathed against her pulse point. The soft sigh of her response mingled with the night breeze. The moon cast its pale light upon Sadler’s face and revealed it twisted in ecstasy. She wished for his blond hair and golden beard rather than the black-haired disguise.
Sadler’s cock pushed to the tip of her womb. He held himself there, driving her mad with want. He watched her face closely, as if he derived much enjoyment from her pleasure. The idea doubled her passion. She tilted her hips into his, crying out at the mounting need. A burn had begun low in her belly, deeper and stronger than she’d experienced before.
Heat broke over her skin, and a rivulet of sweat trickled between her breasts. Sadler dipped his head and licked it. She clutched his head and kissed him hard, sharing the salt flavor. And then without warning, her muscles clamped down, and she began to throb around him. His stiff cock shivered within her, shooting her higher. She rocked against him, seeking more, even as he convulsed. He moaned and kissed her deep as his hot seed bathed her insides. She clung to him, trusting him to be her anchor in the tempest of her ardor.
He collapsed atop her but bore his weight so he didn’t crush her. She turned her mouth into his neck and kissed the place where his pulse leaped.
“Mine,” he whispered, sending a shiver through her. “Mine for always, Isolde.”
“And ye are mine, Sadler, son of Corbet. We tread in the footsteps of our parents.” She listened to the night creatures and the wind and the sough of Sadler’s breath in her ear. She felt heavy and boneless as the sea of satisfaction pulled her under. Her eyes slipped shut. She sighed.
Sadler shifted so she was cradled against him. He tucked her into his side to keep her warm and kissed the spot between her brows. She put her arms about him and breathed his musky, outdoor scent as she drifted to sleep, her body satiated. Her heart full.
* * *
The wind whipped Isolde’s hair into her face when they exited the trees. She gathered it into a bundle and held it from her eyes as she followed Sadler to the place where the android horse was tethered. It stood with head down, metal eyelids shut. She touched the twitchy horseflesh, running her fingers over its hide to the soft mane.
As the first rays of dawn lit the sky, Sadler had slowly and tenderly made love to her again. Thinking of his thorough attentions brought a flush of desire to her skin, though her body still purred from her release. From beneath lowered lashes, she watched Sadler gently stroke the horse’s ears. His profile was rugged and beautiful and obliterated the world.
He dropped his forehead to the side of the horse and heaved a sigh. Isolde’s heart fluttered. She moved to touch him, but he lifted his head and scalded her with the look in his eyes. She stepped backward.
“Isolde, my love. Things need to be spoken.”
Stomach knotting, she waited. She twisted her fingers together, and the wind attacked her hair, lashing it into her eyes.
Sadler reached for her hands, but the grim expression he wore caused her to take another step away. “Isolde.”
“Nay. Ye’re going to tell me ye’re taking me back.”
The knot of fear threatened to choke her. Sadler wrapped his fingers around her wrist.
“Dear Isolde, please hear me.” He pulled her against his chest and tucked her head beneath his chin. She was quivering like a leaf in a gale, and she hated it. “I’ve got to protect yer virtue. Eventually the king will send out his guard, if he hasn’t already. Sir Lionel will lead the troops. Millvale—”
She made a sharp slashing motion. “Millvale can rot.” She gripped Sadler’s face and stared into his eyes. “Please, Sadler, don’t return me to them. I’m a good rider. If we can get a second horse—”
He quieted her with an index finger to her lips. “I can’t buy ye a horse. I can’t buy the horses’ hay-fuel. I can’t buy ye jewels for every finger, Isolde. I am an outlaw, with a fleet of airships scouring the skies, hoping to spot me and collect the bounty. Millvale’s zeppelgonger army walks the countryside, searching beneath every stone for me.” His voice grew fierce and his eyes bright as jewels. “I am wanted. Not fit to be with ye, Isolde.”
She struck at his chest. “Damn ye. Why did ye lay claim to my body?”
“I’m a selfish man.”
She didn’t believe that for a moment. When she tossed her hair, the wind caught it and threw it into her mouth. She spat around it, “I won’t go back. Ye won’t send me away from ye.”
He turned his face into the horse’s hide. “I’ve gotten what I wanted.”
Her fingers cramped from holding them prisoner inside her fist. The need to strike him welled inside her, but she fought it down.
He was lying. She knew him. She knew the many faces of Sadler, from tense to tender. She knew what he was doing and wasn’t about to let him have his way. She knew how he looked when he was about to spill his seed inside her.
“Fine,” she said, squaring her shoulders. The wind stole her voice, but she tried once more. “I’ll go, Sadler, but I will not return to the castle.”
He looked sidelong at her, his pale lashes lowered over his smoldering gaze. “Where will ye have me take ye?”
Her mouth was desiccated. “I wish for ye to take me to the Earl of Millvale.”
As she spoke the words, she watched his face. She watched the corners of his mouth tremble, his jaw lock, his eyelids crumple. The wind’s howl silenced. The thrash of tall grasses and the clatter of tree branches fled. The entire world beyond Sadler, love of her life, disappeared.
* * *
The android hooves clanked against the wooden drawbridge as Sadler and Isolde flew through the entrance of Millvale’s holding. Isolde clung to Sadler’s waist, drawing every ounce of his warmth into her icy fingers. He hadn’t spoken a word to her in over an hour, which did nothing to thaw the ice encrusting her heart.
They skidded to a halt in the inner bailey and were immediately surrounded by men-at-arms. The noise of sixty swords being drawn caused Isolde to clap her hands to her ears.
Millvale’s deep voice rang through the din. “Withdraw, men, and let her dismount.” He stalked to Isolde’s side and pulled her into his arms. Sadler twisted his face away, but not before she noticed the jealous gleam in his eye. She slipped down the front of Millvale’s tough body, fighting to repress her repugnance. Her boots hit the immaculate stone floors.
Millvale gestured for a cluster of women to come forward. They did so at once, swallowing her within their ranks. From a long distance away, she and Sadler had been spotted by the earl’s lookouts. They’d been allowed to ride straight into the fortress without determent, and apparently Millvale had gathered a welcome party of sorts—both hostile and helpful.
Before Sadler could protest, Millvale’s soldiers ripped him from the saddle. They hurled him to the floor, where they kicked him several times.
“Stop,” Isolde cried, lunging forward, but she was caught by the female attendants and restrained.
Millvale approached her on soft leather soles. The hands gripping her relaxed, and she faced him with her heart in her throat.
“He stole ye away, Princess. Compromised yer safety and reputation.”
“He brought me here. He does not deserve ill treatment.”
“Fine.” He gestured to the men hovering over Sadler’s hunched form. “No harm comes to the outlaw.” He said “outlaw” with such relish, Isolde’s stomach clenched. She gulped around the bile rushing up her throat.
The horse was led away, and Sadler was allowed to gain his feet. He kept his gaze averted from Isolde’s, but she saw the muscle in his jaw flitter. An ache blossomed in her chest, and she struggled to keep from throwing herself into his arms. But she had a plan. If she was to deceive the earl, her father, and the kingdom, she had to remain coolheaded. And cool blooded.
“I beg yer conference, my lord.” Sadler bowed his head.
Millvale paused, looking between them as if it was a trick. Sadler looked at her from the corner of his eye, and Millvale snapped his fingers inches from Sadler’s nose. “Ye will show proper respect for Her Highness.”
Sadler dropped his chin to his chest. He held his hands aloft as he was divested of his sword. Isolde cringed. That sword meant so much to Sadler. On the ride into the hills, he had told her the story of giving the peasant Marian the coin he’d won in the gauntlet in exchange for that sword. She imagined it was the first hard-won money that had graced his hand since he became a fugitive.
“Ladies, please make Princess Isolde comfortable,” Millvale ordered.
Soft hands clamped upon her waist and upper arms, and she was dragged off. Through a film of tears she stared at the gray stone walls flashing past her. The first time she had visited this keep was in childhood, in a time when her mother still lived. It had been Yuletide. The corridors, chambers, and great hall decorated with balsam fir and berry wreathes. She’d been caught eating the berries from one such wreath by the Earl of Millvale and her mother. Her mother’s face had flamed with disappointment at her young daughter’s foolishness. Isolde would never forget the feeling inside her when her mother’s jaw had dropped. The berries sat heavily in her belly, and later, in her guest bedchamber with her maid, Isolde had vomited them.
“My name is Bevan, and I’ll be personally assisting ye,” the oldest of the ladies said as they walked three abreast through the wide corridor. “The finest chamber has been prepared for ye according to the earl’s specifications. A fire is roaring on the hearth, and a pot of tea waits. Later we shall fill the hipbath with rose-scented water and let ye have a good, long soak. Yer muscles must be sore from sleeping rough.”
Sleeping rough. If only Bevan and the others knew she’d slept nude beneath the canopy of trees in Sadler’s embrace—the softest, most favored bed she’d ever lain upon. Her muscles did not ache from this bed, nor did they ache from the long hours in the saddle. However, the intimate spot between her legs was tender.
Once they reached the chamber, only Bevan remained. She crossed to the hearth at once and lifted the kettle from the hook above the flames using a bit of rag so as not to sear her hand. “Will ye take tea now, my lady?”
“Aye,” she said shortly and began to pace. She circled the room twice. Door, impenetrable if bolted. Window, too tiny. Bed, dressed in luscious garnet-colored silks with a heavy tester and velvet draperies to match. Two high-backed chairs were drawn before the fire, and a fur rug graced the floor between them. If she was not mistaken, this was a room of seduction. But whose? Not hers.