The Ever Knight Read online

  He swung fully around, drawing up, inhaling his already flat stomach, forgetting he still held his prick in one hand. “’Tis but a scratch.”

  “It causes you pain. I am here to relieve you of it. No need for false pride.”

  In the next breath she parted her cloak. Remy stared, transfixed. Cool moonlight caressed a plump pair of bubbies, a softly rounded belly, long curvaceous legs and a mound of downy curls at the juncture of her smooth thighs. He hiccupped.

  A naked nun? He shook his head to clear his vision. She was still naked. Stunning. He breathed as if there were bubbles in his lungs.

  The breeze ruffled her cloak, pushing it against her bare calves. She wore only a pair of boots that came up to her ankles. If not for that practical item, he would have thought her a pixie or a ghost come to haunt him for his lusty sinful thoughts.

  His balls ached just at the sight of all that beauty offered to him without preamble, and his cock twitched in his hand.

  “I can bring you ease,” she cooed, standing before him with her cloak still open. “If you’ll let me.” She rolled her tongue on her letter ls and it felt as if she licked him from sac to root to tip with the same motion. “But you must promise to take me away from here when you leave tomorrow.”

  He made a low sound, deep in his throat, barely aware of it himself. She must be freezing cold like that, he thought, fumbling for sense through the fog of ale and sheer, red-hot desire. Even as he stared at them, her nipples peaked enticingly, teased by the icy fingers of this frigid October night. A shimmer of torchlight revealed goose-bumps on her belly, poor thing. But the little pelt of fur between her thighs promised all the warmth a man could hope for. He quickly raised a hand to his mouth, hoping his tongue wasn’t hanging out and drooling. It had been so long for him. So damn long.

  She closed her cloak again. “May we find somewhere to lie down?”

  Belatedly he remembered to fasten his leather chausses, his fingers fumbling with the laces.

  “Leave that be,” she said with a warm smile. “You’ll need it out again very soon.”

  His heart stopped beating and relied solely on his cock’s pulse. Oh yes, he thought with a happy grunt. His groin tightened. His sperm readied. It was months since he’d enjoyed anything beyond his own hand. He was not in the mood to ask questions. Why should he? They were the conquering heroes. She wouldn’t be the first wench to wonder what it was like to have the might of the Norman army inside her and she wouldn’t be the last.

  * * * *

  No sooner were they in the hayloft, than he was over her, spreading her thighs with his roughened hands while his lips closed over one nipple and tugged upon it like a half-starved babe. She felt the quickening in her core, even at the first suck. No man had ever touched her there, or even seen her breasts before. In the convent, when they bathed, they wore shifts, as the nuns did. No eyes, other than those of their husbands, were ever supposed to see their naked bodies. She and Deorwynn had examined one another out of curiosity, but even that, interesting and informative as it was, could not compare with what she would learn tonight.

  She was glad the Norman liked the look and taste of her.

  And then, in their eagerness, his teeth clamped down a little too hard.

  “Ouch.”

  He licked the swollen nipple, chuckling softly in apology. In French. “It is for me without too long,” he admitted, charmingly sheepish in his broken English. She wriggled in the straw, discarding her robe. Suddenly he knelt up and wiped his cock on the tunic he’d already pulled off over his head. “Will you take me in your mouth?” he asked, offering it to her, the full head bobbing eagerly at her lips. She was nervous suddenly, the idea of taking that all in, fitting it within her…

  He straddled her waist, one hand stroking his cock, the other holding the saddle packs that hung beneath it.

  Jisella licked her tense lips. He groaned, directing the tip at her mouth.

  She would do it, she decided. She wanted to explore him fully, her Knight. Later she would have a tale for Deorwynn and the others—and this time the experience to back it up.

  He shuddered when she opened her mouth and let his crest slide between her lips, onto her tongue. Slowly she accepted more, her tongue running over the ridges of his engorged veins, exploring. He filled her mouth and her throat, salty and yet sweet, a combination she’d never expected and quickly found she liked. When she began to suck hungrily he growled, grabbing her shoulders to steady himself, then wrapping his knuckles through her long loose hair. She grew bolder, her sucking harder, rhythmic. It was mesmerizing, the taste of him rich and luxurious. She stroked his firm buttocks, tracing the hard, tense muscles with her fingertips. Whenever her touch ventured closer to the valley between his cheeks, she heard him draw a harsh breath, steeling himself. His prick swelled in her mouth. Interesting. Out of curiosity she let one finger venture between his cheeks.

  Abruptly he tried to pull away. Groaning in her throat, bossy and defiant, she sucked again, her finger prying. He panted, his back arched, his hips thrusting. Only when he tugged her hair hard and swore did she finally release his cock. As it pulled out over her tongue she tasted a bead of liquid and knew he had almost spilled.

  Hands to her shoulders, he shoved her down on her back in the hay. His eyes were long lashed and, despite their darkness, full of heat. The intensity scorched her skin as she lay before him and spread her legs. He lowered over her, licking her stomach, his tongue delving into her navel, making her squirm, ticklish. He worked his way down to her vulva, licking and nibbling. His breath was hot, ale-soaked, coming in short hard bursts. He hadn’t asked her name or anything about her, she thought dimly. This is probably how it always was with him and women.

  A few moments later, his close shaven head was between her open thighs. Jisella felt his breath on her sex, wild and unsteady. He whispered something in his own tongue, and when she lifted up to look down at him, he was studying her labia, hungry as a wolf cub. His gaze met hers over the softly furred mound and she knew his hard Norman lips were an inch or less from claiming her tender womanhood. She swallowed, still tasting him in her throat.

  “Remy,” she groaned. “Make haste.”

  “You know my name?”

  “Yes. I heard the other men…just hurry. Fuck me.”

  He scowled at her above the small thatch of downy hair, his shoulders holding her knees apart. Evidently he took issue with her making commands. “Who are you?” he demanded. “You are no nun.”

  Cursing under her breath, she hitched further up on her elbows. “Of course I’m no nun. Are all Normans this stupid? I’m a prisoner here.”

  The ridges across his brow deepened.

  “You’re a knight are you not?” she exclaimed. “Aren’t you supposed to save maidens in distress?”

  “I am?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of this I was not informed.”

  “Continue!” She waved him on, laying back.

  To her relief she heard a husky laugh before he dipped his head again. She lifted her hips to meet his mouth, exhaling in a blistering rush as his tongue lapped at her firmly, three masterful strokes. The Norman’s fingers parted her folds to let his tongue slip inside. She writhed, the straw pricking at her back. His tongue stiffened, pressing up into her, reaching for buried treasure. Afraid of crying out, she quickly stuffed the hood of her cloak in her mouth. Having found something in her, he fondled it with that same questing tongue, tugging and playful. Her heart beat was beyond her now, recklessly racing, taking her at speed across new, unfamiliar terrain. She feared not.

  She had found him, her Ever Knight.

  Chapter Three

  He must be dreaming. Perhaps, he mused, the infection in his leg had spread to his mind and now he saw visions of angels. A wicked angel with her legs spread before him, her sweet cunny gleaming wet from his tongue’s homage.

  He plowed forward, his rigid prick unable to wait. Now it was his turn. He grunted, pressin
g into her slick heat. She was tight. Tighter than expected. Valiantly she struggled under him, eager to take all he had.

  But a barrier stood in their way.

  His wicked angel was a virgin.

  Startled, he withdrew.

  “No,” she cried. “Don’t stop. I want this. I want you.”

  As a general rule he avoided virgins. He preferred a simple, easy swiving without pain for the woman, but a voice in his head told him to take her anyway, fuck her until she screamed his name and it was burned in her. Laying there in the straw she was too beautiful. Like looking too long at the sun she made his eyes sore. He took a breath and then another, trying to calm that rapacious instinct to claim her and be damned.

  The fact that she was a virgin reminded him suddenly of his brother’s innocent, sheltered betrothed, hidden away somewhere inside these walls. He wouldn’t want his brother’s intended to be had like this in a hayloft by some soldier who could not control his lusts. If anyone got there before he came to collect her, he wouldn’t rest until he had the other man’s head on a plate. Neither would his brother, who entrusted Remy with the duty of fetching and delivering his bride in one piece.

  But his brother’s bride was not at issue here. His brother’s precious virgin prize was safely tucked up asleep under the hawk-eye of those nuns, her little head full of innocent thoughts, as it should be. What he had before him was all woman, ready and willing. Commanding him to take her maidenhead.

  And he was just a bastard with an iron-hard cock in his hand. Remy soothed his momentary twinge of conscience by remembering he was baseborn, a man of action who lived for the moment and took as he pleased. No one expected acts of great nobility and sacrifice from Remy, the clumsy, blood-thirsty, hot-head. Such things were left in the hands of his fine, faultless half-brother who lived a life of duty and honor.

  That settled it. All his principles about virgins, such as they were, could be discarded. She chose him to deflower her; he would gladly oblige.

  Eventually.

  Remy decided to keep her virgin a while longer. Savoring his moment.

  He hitched back, kneeling in the straw, his cock still rampant in the bright moonlight that filled the loft through an opened hatch.

  “Why do you delay?” she exclaimed, spitting out hay dust. “Put it in me. Fuck me.”

  She made him hot with her wanton demands. Her lips were full and pouty at both ends, begging for him. He could see the honey gleaming on the pink flesh of her beautiful pussy, as she spread it with her own fingers, wanting him inside urgently. With his tongue he’d brought her to climax, but she wanted more. She was a treasure chest eager for plunder, offering up all her delights.

  “There are other roads to pleasure.” He placed a fingertip to her areola and drew a circle. “I must explore. You will lay still.”

  After a slight hesitation she agreed, silver eyes gleaming with naughty curiosity. He stroked his erection, leading her gaze to it. The tiny hole seeped another long-withheld bead of liquid. No time to delay further.

  “I must ‘ave you,” he muttered stiffly, apologetically, tuning her over in the straw, hands staking her hips, giving her no time to question. He used his premature semen and her own sticky sweetness to ready her opening, gathering the beads on his finger and then easing it inside her anus with caution. He felt her muscles contract and his own body responded in kind, tightening, hardening. His jaw hurt from grinding. If only he had something more to smooth his path, but she was impatient and so was he.

  Lost in need, he spoke to her passionately in his own language, hoping the tone of voice would be enough to steady her as he pried open her sweet ass.

  * * * *

  She lay with her head in her arms, her heart beat racing like a coney from a fox. He used his tongue to moisten and gently widen the small hole. Then came his swollen crest, gentle but insistent, pushing at her, mounting her slowly. His hands trembled around her hips. She groaned, her muscles allowing the invasion only very gradually. He sighed deeply, whispering soothing encouragement to her in his native tongue.

  Eventually the burning eased, replaced by a new sensation for which she had no name yet. He curved his strong chest and shoulders around her. One hand between her legs, he stroked and caressed her sex, a callused fingertip finding her core again, working it until she bucked madly, insatiable and wanton. He brought her closer and closer to another climax, but never let her over the precipice. Each time she came close, at the mercy of his probing fingers, her walls softened and she was able to take a little more of him inside her. Her body consumed him, bite by bite. Like a prowling, purring, captive leopard being fed tidbits through the bars of its cage, she took what he gave her, but all the time she yearned to be set free at last, to feast on the entire meal. She closed her eyes and let her other senses play over the scene, drinking it in. The rustle of hay, the smack of his groin against her bottom. With every forward push he gave a feral grunt, his heavy balls swinging, slapping her nether lips. His other hand cupped her breast, fingers teasing the nipple, pulling on it while his teeth bit her shoulder and her neck. She cried out, thrashing at the straw as he rode her with his hips, slow and sensual, moaning in her ear, using words she did not know but understood. Every inflection was clear and true, planted between each press of his lips to her skin, each thrust of his lower body. This was more than she thought she could take, yet her body now accommodated his incredible size like a conjuring trick. Finally he let her fall over the edge into the hot abyss. His entire hand cupped her sex and pressed down. She shook, gasping for breath, shuddering uncontrollably.

  He growled into her hair, “Mon Dieu!”

  A rush of wet heat filled her and she sank to the straw. He followed, collapsing abruptly, smothering her under his weight.

  It seemed he was done. Was this what men did to one another when they were away for months at a time with no woman at hand? She’d always found it hard to believe. Now she knew it did fit there. Incredible, the resourcefulness of man. She could hardly wait to share this knowledge with Deorwynn, who would probably not believe her in any case.

  He lay there, still filling her with his remarkably proportioned cock, making her his captive.

  “You will take me with you?” she murmured, dazed. Oh, he must take her now. He couldn’t let her down after showing her this much pleasure. Only her true love, her Ever Knight, could have done this.

  His laughter shook her body. “With gladness.” Then he added with a sigh, “If I could.”

  He pulled out of her, dripping semen onto the hay. After being so tightly filled she felt wretchedly bereft.

  “You lied?” she demanded, rolling over to confront him. The rotten bastard Norman had tricked her—promised to rescue her and reneged the moment he’d shot his arrow in her.

  He protested that he never agreed to take her anywhere. “You wanted a Norman stallion to ride, eh? I gave you this. Do not pout, ma belle.” While she lay there in silent mortification and then fury, he examined his cock as if amazed it was still intact. A new aura of relaxed contentment shone in his face. He looked younger, boyish. Carefree. “I come to fetch my brother’s bride. That is my purpose ‘ere and I ‘ave room for only one female on my journey.”

  She stared. “Your brother’s bride?”

  “A sheltered Saxon princess. Kept ‘ere safe for ‘im, out of the ‘ands of other men.”

  The nuns had told the girls very little about the soldiers when they arrived. Jisella thought it was simply because they were men and out of bounds. Now she realized it was because the nuns didn’t want her getting wind of their purpose there. Knowing her well, they fully expected a fight on their hands.

  As she lay on her side in the hay, glaring at this infuriating man, completely confused by her feelings, he slapped her gently on the backside and drowsily chuckled to himself, exclaiming that she was a tremendous fuck and he felt better already.

  Jisella glared at him, speechless for a few seconds. Then she found her voice again
. “My ass hurts, you rotten Norman…beast!” She sorely regretted giving him anything.

  “You are upset,” he said, as if he couldn’t think why she would be.

  “Am I? How perceptive!”

  He laughed quizzically. “You are even more beautiful when you are angry.” Then with a jaunty whistle he resumed cleaning off his cock, as if it was his sword or some other weapon he carried into battle.

  She was horrified. This could not be. She was so certain he was her Ever Knight—the one she’d waited for all this time, her soul mate. One look at him had sent her nerves into a lusty scramble. His arms had held her as she’d never been held, with warmth and care and strength.

  Now he talked calmly of leaving her behind tomorrow and going about his business, having enjoyed her favors as if she was a mere strumpet camp follower.

  “What is her name,” she managed tightly, “this bride of your brother’s?”

  He told her, swiftly confirming this tremendous error.

  She grabbed her cloak, desperate to get out of that hayloft. He was no Ever Knight. He was a lecherous soldier who’d lied and cheated to get what he wanted. He was also the brother of the man to which she’d been sold—or rather her hymen had been sold.

  When he realized she planned to leave, he wrestled the cloak from her fingers, holding her down in the hay. “You don’t want this? It is not to your taste now? I am too much perhaps.”

  She tried kicking free, but he straddled her legs and laughed so loudly she worried someone would hear them. “Stop it, you shit!” she hissed. “Norman swine!”

  His damp, softened manhood pressed against her belly and, to her chagrin, she was quickly aroused again, recalling the power and slickness of his strength driving into her body while his fingers skillfully played over and inside her sex. He was a master at the craft. As usual, her appetite was not easily satisfied and she’d just found a new dish she liked. Damn him, but she wanted more, she wanted another taste.