Lord Grim's Witch (a medieval romance novelette) (5 page)

“Of course, it is. I’m saving you the strain of supporting me when I fuck you hard.”

“I don’t like it this way,” she said, her voice muffled against the bedding. “I’m not a dog.”

“Yes, you do. Your lovely cunt already weeps with pleasure,” he said, tracing her quivering nether lips and drawing moisture on his fingertip.

“You shouldn’t say things like that. It’s crude,” she said, her tone tart. But her knees widened on the mattress.

Glad he’d lit fresh candles, he watched her sex gleam with fresh excitement and her thighs tremble. “But it’s to the point, is it not? I thought you preferred plain speaking.”

“I prefer seeing what’s coming my way,” she said, her voice softer, more tentative this time.

“Don’t you like surprises?” he drawled and caressed her buttocks, kneading them deeply, parting them for an even better view of her sweet openings.

“Are you going to keep teasing me?”

“Such impatience.” He tsked. “Were you so demanding with Tibor, I wonder?”

“Tibor?”

“The sheriff. My friend.”

She jerked away from his hands, trying to close her legs, but his knees kept her open. “He told you? Leave it to a man to brag of his conquests.”

Geoffrey came over her back, trapping her beneath him. “He didn’t have to say anything,” he whispered into the wildly curling hair beside her ear. “With the scathing looks you gave him, I knew he’d given you pleasure.”

She turned her face away, her breaths becoming choppy. “I gave you the same look, but I hadn’t intimate knowledge of you yet. You’re squeezing the breath from me!”

“Liar!” But he eased a bit of his weight from her and glided his cock between her thighs, rubbing her wet sex. “When you looked at me, you trembled. When you looked at him, your gaze held no fear, only the look of a woman who knows him well.”

Her breath caught, and she gave a tiny moan that she no doubt tried to hold back. “I’m not surprised he elicits scorn from all women.”

“You know he does not. Many find his brash manner attractive. But from you, there could only be scorn because he did not fully claim you.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her shoulder then opened his jaws to clasp her with his teeth.

A shudder racked her body. “I…don’t understand.”

He released her and nuzzled her shoulder and neck. “Your prickly mien protects a wild heart. You need taming, a bit of breaking to the harness.”

Her hands fisted in the bedding, and she reared up against him. “I’m not a horse! And I assure you the last thing I want is ‘breaking’—to a harness or to any man’s will!”

“But you do, my dear,” he said, easily restraining her. “The thought of my mastery is enough to make your sex swell and your juices flow like nectar. Shall I prove it to you?”

Her lack of reply only hardened his resolve. He’d make her admit she wanted a master. He rose behind her, going to his knees, prepared when she lunged forward to attempt an escape. He grabbed her bottom, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise and keep her in place.

“That hurts! Let me go!”

“You wished to be taken.”

“Last night, when I thought I still might like you. I know now that I do not!”

“Then I’ll have to strive harder.” Holding her firm, he bent over her sex and lapped her from the bottom to the top of her quivering cunt.

“Sweet Jesus!” she moaned, but bucked once more—likely to remind him to continue the “taking”.

He firmed his jaw and leaned closer, sucking hard on her swollen lips, causing her to wriggle and squirm. Fresh cream seeped from inside her, and he licked that up too.

She reached behind her, pushing at the top of his head, but when he pointed his tongue and sank into her cunt, her fingers twisted in his hair to hold him closer.

“Does that please you, sweetheart? Now, if you’ll promise not to bolt, I’ll give you more.”

“What choice have I?” she said, her voice small.

He grinned and let go of her arse, not the least surprised when she lay acquiescent, even widening her knees and raising her round bottom higher.

With his hands free to ravage, he traced her slit then rimmed her opening before thrusting two fingers inside her. Her inner muscles clamped hard around him, and her hips undulated. He wanted to explore her—fully—but knew she’d bolt if he didn’t arouse her beyond embarrassment first. So he played inside her cunt, thrusting, swirling, adding another finger and fucking her slowly, so that her hips dipped and rose at his command, faster and faster. When he judged her ready, he bent close and bit her bottom, causing her to jerk and her channel to flood again.

With his fingers swimming in cream, he licked between her buttocks, finding the small exquisitely sensitive opening and licked her with the tip of his tongue.

She mewled like a kitten then gasped when he lingered. “What are you doing to me?”

“Whatever I please,” he murmured and pressed fingers on either side of the opening to spread it wider.

“That pleases you?” she asked, her voice strained and high pitched her only resistance—her hips reared back, begging for more.

One day, he’d take this tiny hole. Drill deep and feel the pinch of the strong muscles that guarded her entrance. For now, he’d tease her with a hint of what he would do. He’d
unsettle
her so deeply she’d be ashamed for days of her own body’s response, but grow wet at just a knowing glance from him.

Quickly, his own body grew so inflamed he couldn’t wait any longer to feel her heat around his cock. Looking down at her, her back jerking with her jagged breaths, her hair a wild tangle from her thrashing head, he felt a deep satisfaction—a dark, primitive thrill at having “taken” her so thoroughly. He grasped his cock and stroked it hard within his palm, then placed it against her plump, dripping cunt and squeezed her bottom hard as he plunged forward.

His cock raked her channel, rammed tight into clenching, tender tissues. Wet heat surrounded him as he tunneled deep, slamming his hips so hard her slender bottom jiggled with each thrust.

“Please, please, oh please!” she begged sweetly, pushing back to take him deeper. Her body shuddered, her cunt clenched, and she cried out, flinging back her head.

Geoffrey needed wait no longer; he stroked deep, hard, slamming against her again and again, until his own release swept over him. When his balls had emptied, he took them both to the mattress, clutching her close to keep the connection.

With his chest heaving, he held her tightly—too tightly because she wheezed a bit and pushed at his hands.

“You’ve already taken away my breath,” she muttered.

Geoffrey found himself smiling as he drifted back to sleep.

‡

G
eoffrey awoke to
pounding on his door.

Beneath him, Gisele stirred and murmured a protest. She’d slept as soundly as he had despite the fact his weight pressed her deep into the mattress.

Groaning for the loss of the sweet warmth gloving his sex, he withdrew slowly, lowering her legs to the bed. He wondered how many times he might have taken her this night if they hadn’t been interrupted. Even after the third time, he’d thought perhaps he’d had his fill, but his cock rose again.

She roused, sleepily blinking her remarkable green eyes. “Someone’s at the door? Can you not send them away?”

A smile curved his lips. She didn’t want to leave his bed any more than he did. “I must see what is the matter.”

He rose from the bed, tossed the coverlet over her nude body, and stomped toward the door, flinging it open.

The steward stood outside, his expression far from apologetic for his interruption. He looked frightened.

Instantly alert, Geoffrey straightened. “What is it? What has happened?”

“Come to courtyard, milord,” his steward said, wringing his hands. “The sheriff needs you.”

Geoffrey nodded and turned to quickly gather his clothing from the floor.

“Lord Grim, what is it?” Gisele asked, sitting up while she held the coverlet securely over her breasts.

“Stay abed. I’ll be back.”

Once the straps of his boots were secure, he hurried from the room, following closely on the heels of the steward. A crowd of people hovered in the hall, their hushed whispers filling him with dread. On the steps of the keep, his gaze swept over the men standing beside their horses and a cart draped with a blanket.

Tibor straightened as he drew near. “Milord, send the rest of them inside.”

Geoffrey didn’t question the quietly issued command. His friend’s granite expression warned him whatever was in the cart needed the utmost discretion. Glancing over his shoulder, he pinned the steward with a hard glare. “Get everyone inside. Now.”

Within moments, only the men who’d accompanied Tibor on his patrol remained. A cloud passed before the full moon that had illuminated the courtyard, darkening Tibor’s expression and casting shadows over the cart. Tibor stood so still, cold dread began to settle in his bones. “So tell me. How did your hunting go?”

“It was as we suspected, Geoff,” Tibor said, his voice even, He flipped back the blanket to reveal the nude body of a man, an arrow piercing his side.

Geoffrey drew a deep breath. “The wolf?”

Tibor nodded. “We set the trap using a few of the witch’s sheep. We kept watch from her hut. When they began to bleat, we crept outside and lay in wait for him to appear. He was a fearsome creature, walking on two legs, but his head was that of a wolf and his body was covered in fur.

“I crept closer with my bow and a quiver full of silver-tipped arrows, just as you recommended. When he drew close to the pen, he scented the air. He spotted me and charged. I let loose an arrow just as he leapt for my throat.” Tibor’s gaze dropped to the body of the young man. “He didn’t die quickly; he thrashed about and transformed into the man you see here.”

Geoffrey felt a tremor shudder through his body. “Did he bite you, Tibor?”

Tibor stood still for a long moment, still staring at the man in the cart. When his friend’s gaze slowly lifted, Geoffrey’s heart sank to his toes.

“I wasn’t bitten,” Tibor said, his voice tightening, “but his claws scratched me on my shoulder.”

A blanket of cold, numbing dread settled over Geoffrey. “We must see to your wounds,” he said, unwilling to admit to himself the possibility his friend might already be doomed.

“Let me help, milord,” a soft feminine voice whispered beside him.

Geoffrey startled and swung his gaze to Gisele. Dressed only in her white shift, she stood like a pale ghost beside him.

“I told you to wait in my chamber,” he said in harsh whisper.

“Let me treat him, milord. I may be able to help.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled, hoping she hadn’t overhead the whole conversation.

“I know that you fear he will become a werewolf like this poor creature. I have some knowledge. I might be able to stop the poison from entering his blood.”

Impatient, and quickly growing distraught, he lashed out. “Woman, what can you do? He is already condemned.”

Her small hand lifted to press against his arm. “We must go to my hut,” she implored. “Let me care for him there. My herbs—”

“If the wolf’s contagion has already taken root, he will transform within a day. We should lock him in the dungeon and await the change.”

Tibor’s expression was grim, but resolute. He nodded his head, indicating he understood what must be done.

Gisele’s eyes filled with tears. “But if I can save him, why would you not be willing to try?”

Clenching his jaw against the urge to howl his pain, he gritted out, “This is a demon’s magic—not something your remedies can cure.”

“But I’m not just a healer, milord,” she said softly. “Herbs aren’t the only skill I own.”

“What are you saying?”

“I must lay hands on him as well. I possess a…gift.”

Her resoluteness in the face of his anger finally broke through the numbing horror. “You think your gift can save him?” he asked, afraid to believe.

“I would like to try. If I have the rest of tonight and tomorrow, we will have time to get him back to the dungeon to await the full moon.”

Geoffrey’s throat tightened. “Aren’t you afraid to touch him—in case he might spread the poison to you?”

“He can’t infect us until he transforms.”

“You sound as though you’ve seen this before.”

Her eyes glittered in the moonlight, her smile was serene. “My mother was a healer. She passed her gift and knowledge to me. She had some experience with werecreatures.”

“You say this so as though it was a daily occurrence.”

“Well, I know it’s not. But let’s not consign your friend to death just yet. We have a day.”

Geoffrey looked to Tibor whose expression was closed, as though he too was afraid to hope. “We will go to your hut. You will have a day to work your magic.”

“You must keep everyone away.”

“I don’t want either of you to risk yourselves,” Tibor bit out.

“We risk nothing,” she said, at last giving voice to her impatience. “Listen to what I say. You cannot infect us until after you transform into the creature. Please, let me help you.”