The Wagered Wench (10 page)

There was no holding back. She couldn’t stop herself from coming directly into his mouth. A thin layer of sweat broke over her skin. Head back, hair tumbled down her spine, she rode his face while the flood of orgasm drained out of her.

When the last quakes had rippled through her sex, he took her labia between his hot lips and sucked the stickiness off them.

Elsinora opened her eyes and stared at the curtain, then at her hands clasped so tightly around the edge of the headboard. There was no sense of guilt, although she knew there should be. She was not in the least sorry for tempting him, or for feeling any pleasure herself. This is just what she’d feared would happen. She enjoyed herself too much and she didn’t want it to end.

“Be steady,” he whispered, stroking his hands through her hair, kissing her neck where he felt her pulse racing madly. “I won’t hurt you.” Her wide eyes brought out a tender side in Dominic that he’d never previously known he had.

Usually he would turn a woman over and take her from behind to save her looking into his scarred face, unless he was familiar, as he was with the widow in Marazion and knew she would close her eyes anyway. With this wench he could not know what she’d do. Those bright blue eyes might well remain wide open again, staring at him, refusing to close. In which case he would either never be able to start fucking her, or never be able to stop.

But tonight she had not yet shown a flicker of repulsion, even when her gaze wandered across his cheek, following the deep slash through his skin.

Dominic finally allowed himself to feel and acknowledge the excitement beating through him from scalp to heel.

Carefully, tentatively, he kissed her lips. They were moist, soft, slightly parted. He took them once, twice and then a third time, sliding his tongue into her mouth as he did before in the yard when he trapped her by the dung heap. This time he was gentle, not demanding or angry, but cajoling, easing her into the possession. He pressed her thighs apart with his hands and kissed his way slowly down her body, lavishing her clean, fragrant skin with a variety of quick, teasing pecks and then more lingering nibbles.

He drew a deep breath of rain and sweet blossom, scents mingling with herbs she’d used in her bathwater that morning—sage and rosemary, if he was not mistaken. By the time he’d reached her navel, she was parting her legs wider without his urging, evidently wanting more of what he’d just given her.

* * * *

Beyond the tapestry curtain the villagers still danced and feasted noisily, shouting to one another above the music. And Dominic enjoyed his own wedding feast, eating contentedly at her sex again while she purred and moved her hips wantonly. This was better than the stream. It was more concentrated, of course. Dominic Coeur-du-Loup was no novice.

She arched against the bed, squealing when he made her come a second time by sucking gently on her pearl. It was too much. She closed her eyes tight, breath oozing out of her as if she’d died.

There was no further delay. As soon as he heard that sound from her, the warrior hitched up and forward, covering her body, pressing his cock head at her trembling pussy.

He kissed her mouth again, letting her taste her own juice on his tongue and lips. “Like the finest honey,” he whispered. “I could eat you all night long.”

His eyes flamed and he pushed forward with his hips. Elsinora felt the thickness of his weighty prick breaching her entrance and once again thought it would never fit where he meant to put it. But he lowered his mouth to her breast and began to suckle her as if he was her babe. It was a steadier, more confident, more determined tugging and sucking than the sensation Stryker Bloodaxe gave to her when she let him taste her breast just once. Dominic circled her nipple with his wet tongue between each goodly suck, priming it, tending it as if it was a new shoot rising out of the earth and he needed it to grow big for his sustenance.

“I like that,” she moaned, moving under him. In truth she liked all of it so far.

“Hmmm.” He swung his hips again, settling his cock further inside her. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and then higher around his back, bolder by the second, losing her inhibitions and fears.

He switched his mouth to her other breast, treating it just the same, dedicated to his cause. Elsinora felt wet all over, moistened by his mouth and her own heady desires. He too was damp, she realized, running her hands over his back, then venturing to his buttocks. She closed her palms and fingers over the hard muscle of his tight arse, felt it squeezing as he thrust his cock the final inch inside her.

She cried out, filled now by his manhood, stretched, claimed. Branded.

Later she would repent with prayers. Later.

The minstrels must have been between songs, for her cry echoed around the hall and the ruckus of the feast suddenly snapped off. They were all listening, she thought. All listening to her being broken in by her husband.

After pausing a moment inside her, he began to move in and out. Slowly at first, then faster as his cock became slick with her liquid arousal. The old bed creaked and rattled. She thought she heard one of the dowels that linked the wooden planks snapping under the pressure, but neither of them were inclined to stop or proceed more timidly. Too late for that.

Dominic grunted with every hard thrust now and she knew the people in the hall would hear that too. The friction of his wide shaft passing in and out of her sex, rubbing on her labia and her hidden nub, made her peak again, screaming out his name. Distantly she heard someone cheer on the other side of the curtain. As she came back to earth and felt her cheeks flame, she fervently hoped her father had fallen asleep.

But her husband still was not done.

His sac slapping into her with every pounding beat further increased her temperature and her desire, until she was scraping her fingers over his buttocks, digging them into his flexing muscle and working her own hips in union with his. Faster. Ever faster. The man was remarkable, showed no signs of flagging.

A sudden jolt proved that they’d definitely undone all the carpenters hard work, but still he kept the pace, driving her remorselessly over yet another peak of ecstasy. Her moans were now louder than those of the broken bed.

At last he jerked to a halt and then let out a low, fevered growl. Elsinora felt the hot rush of his seed filling her, while the wedding guests cheered frantically and whistled.

Dear God
, she thought,
let my father be passed out drunk so he does not hear this
. She’d never prayed for that before. Usually she prayed for him to remain sober.

* * * *

For the first time in his life, Dominic spilled inside pussy. He’d never wanted to risk a babe and he was skilled at taking himself to the brink without going over. Here, however, on his wedding night, there was no saving himself. No need to try. He let his seed flood into the woman who lay beneath him and at last he knew that pleasure—the permission to be careless.

He laughed; couldn’t help himself.

But no sooner had the last drop been spent, than he heard the sound of doors flung open. A draft pulled on the tapestry curtain that surrounded the bed. A shocked gasp circled the hall and permeated the fog of his pleasantly numbed brain, followed by drowsy, drunken shouts of distress and warning. His thoughts adrift, Dominic had no time to get off the bed and he was still balls deep in his new bride, when the curtain was flung open and a great, tall, sandy-haired man stood there looking in. Two of Gudderth’s men clung to his massive arms in a feeble attempt to restrain him.

Dominic knew who it must be, of course. He would have known it, even had he not heard his new wife’s astonished whimper, “Stryker! What are you doing here?”

“Get off her,” Bloodaxe roared, his face reddened, his shoulders straining against the men who held him back. “That wench is mine, you villain. Mine!”

Dominic looked up at his rival. “Too late,” he grunted, slightly breathless. “She’s mine now. Sorry.”

He couldn’t even sound apologetic about it and when he smiled it was more of a reflex action to the joy of having just spent inside a beautiful woman, than it was meant to show victory. But for Stryker Bloodaxe, that smile was apparently the final insult.

And thus all hell broke loose.

Chapter Eight

Elsinora had no time to cover her naked body. Only her husband’s body shielded her from the eyes that now peered in at the bed, and that comfort was removed when Stryker freed his arms from the men who tried to restrain him and rushed forward, swinging a punch that knocked the unprepared Dominic Coeur-du-Loup sideways, away from her. She scrambled for a fleece to hide under, but Stryker landed on her in the next instant. In all the chaos it seemed as if he thought he should simply take over where the Norman had been interrupted. His mouth was on her left nipple, his gloved hand slapped hard between her legs before she even understood his wild-eyed intent. He cursed in fury when he looked down and saw her husband’s seed soaking his glove. But this was not enough to turn the angry man away. His hips pumped at her, as if he could fuck her through his breeches. His breath was heavy with ale and she realized he must have returned to his manor, heard about the wedding and ridden directly across the moor to fight. As usual he acted on impulse. like a fool, and did not wait until his temper cooled.

She arched to buck him off, just as Dominic grabbed him around the waist. The two large men wrestled, one naked and one clothed. She was trapped under them, screaming at them both to stop acting like children, but they ignored her, naturally. Everybody always did.

Stryker tried to pin her on her back, spreading himself over her, his lips open again to find her nipple. Dominic shoved him aside, roaring at the other man to get out and leave him to enjoy his bride.

“You had your chance, Bloodaxe. From what I hear, she didn’t want you.”

“And you’ve forced yourself on her. Damn you, Coeur-du-Loup!”

Fists flew and Elsinora ducked, holding a bolster over her head. Four hands, two gloved and two bare, grappled over her body. She was tugged onto her side, a hot, sticky cock pressed against her bottom.

“Get out, Bloodaxe. I’m busy mounting my wife. Unless you want to hold her still for me and watch an expert at work.”

She’d never heard Dominic speak this way. Already she knew it was not like him to boast, but afire with passion he was a new man. And a competitive one. Tiny hairs rose on the nape of her neck.

Dear God he was going to do it to her—swive her from behind like a dog with a bitch—in front of Stryker and in full view of several of her father’s fyrdsmen, who now seemed oddly reticent to intervene, falling silent where they stood looking in through the curtain at the foot of the great bed.

They would not take orders from her. They never did. And now they were a rapt audience.

She was oddly aroused by the thought of being watched. Good thing she hid her shameless face under a bolster. How many prayers would this cost her later?

Stryker was on her other side, trying to pull her away from her husband, grinding his groin against her mound so that she felt his engorged shaft through his breeches. Wanton heat devoured her, threatened to break her body in two, like a brilliant, breath-taking streak of lightening. Her husband’s hands closed over her breasts, pulling her back again. He was trying to push his rampant cock between her legs and she knew he would feel how wet she was. Stryker’s hands in their rough leather gloves, grabbed her hips, his mouth fighting Dominic’s fingers for her taut nipple. When she peeped from under her bolster, she saw several more faces peering in through the torn curtain, shocked, horrified, drunkenly confused.

Elsinora knew a few of the onlookers were thinking this was her fault. She was about to get her comeuppance. Would no one save her from these two ravenous beasts? In all honesty, she wasn’t certain she wanted to be rescued.

Dominic’s hardened cock curved up against her labia, rubbing back and forth as he worked his lower body, ready to slip his organ into her yet again. But Stryker growled fiercely, bit her husband’s fingers to get them off her nipple and then grabbed hold of that large, thrusting cockhead to stop it from penetrating her pussy. Now her husband’s fine phallus, with the knuckle of his rival’s thumb bent tight around it, moved back and forth over her wet slit, as they played this tug of war. She was trapped between them.

In the distance she heard her father’s steward shouting angrily, coming to her rescue, demanding to know what they all thought they were doing. At least someone cared, she thought.

Behind her, his mouth pressed into her hair, the Norman grunted, breathing too hard. He must be in pain with the other man pulling on him in that rough manner. Elsinora feared for the fate of Coeur-du-Loup’s splendid tool if she did not act.

With Stryker bruising her breast, sucking it greedily, his tongue flicking madly over her swollen nipple, both men still fighting over her aching quinny, she belatedly began to scream for her father.

* * * *

“You promised your daughter to me, Gudderth.” Stryker Bloodaxe would not sit, but paced before the old man, his stride long and forceful, his mantle slung over one shoulder. “You can’t deny it now.
Go away a while
, you said to me,
she’ll come to miss you and
I’ll talk her into it.
So I go away, like a fool, and when I come back what happens? I hear you’ve wagered her off to this Norman bastard behind my back.”