Medieval Master Swordsmen(65)
His weight on her was significant and she instinctively parted her thighs. His lower body slipped through, finding rest upon the mattress as his upper body smothered her torso. He was such a big man that he nearly swallowed her up with flesh and heat, though his touch and kisses were infinitely gentle and passionate. She was delectable and nubile in every way and as one hand slipped beneath her to grasp her tender buttocks, the other slipped down her flat belly as his mouth began to move along her abdomen.
Elizabeau was in a haze of delight. It was her first experience with a man at this level and she was only thinking of how deeply she loved him rather than of the consequences they had so recently discussed. She knew, beneath the haze, how horrifically dangerous this was but she was selfish in that she didn’t care. All she could feel was the love and need for him. When he moved lower, grasped her buttocks with both hands, and brought her private core to his mouth, she was propelled onto an entirely different plane of existence.
The protests of embarrassment and surprise died in her throat as his mouth began to work her virginal center. He worked her mercilessly with his tongue, ignoring the fact that she was a maiden and determined to sate his passion with her essence. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he could not, should not take her in the literal sense and he was hoping that this would satisfy him enough. He hoped it would slake his thirst for the woman enough to allow him to gain some semblance of control.
As his tongue licked her into a frenzy, his hope that this would quench him were for naught. He could feel his lust building. Even when he manipulated her taut little bud of pleasure and felt her body convulse, it did nothing to sate him. Everything was growing worse. But he still knew, through the most powerful lust he had ever experienced, that he could not take her. He could not take her!
As Elizabeau lay gasping beneath him, he suddenly lifted himself up and straddled her torso. One big leg was on either side of her body. Placing his rock-hard manhood in the valley between her full breasts, he took both of her hands and together, they pushed her breasts together and created a soft, warm passage for his great organ. It was a delightful tunnel of friction as he thrust powerfully between her breasts and he closed his eyes to the sheer bliss of it. There was such tender heat surrounding him, a totally different sensation than being buried within her body. But it was equally exciting. Through his haze, he could feel Elizabeau’s timid, curious fingers touching the ruby-red tip of his phallus and it was enough to throw him over the edge. With a groan of passion, of complete emotional release, he spent his pleasure on the creamy skin of her beautiful breasts.
He paused there for the longest time, feeling her flesh wrapped around him, feeling more fulfillment and dread than he ever imagined possible. When he finally opened his eyes, he looked down to see Elizabeau gazing up at him.
They just stared at each other. Now that they had passed through the violent wake of their storm of passion, Rhys wasn’t sure what to say to her. All he knew was that he wasn’t sorry in the least although he should have been. He should have been begging for her forgiveness. But he wasn’t.
Silently, he climbed off his straddled position over her and went to the table where a rag lay bunched up on the food tray. Picking it up, he went back over and sat beside Elizabeau on the bed, gently wiping his seed off her chest. He never said a word and he never looked her in the eye. But he wiped her as gently as a father tending a child. Elizabeau watched him as he cleaned her up, threw the rag in the corner, and finally lay back down beside her.
Without uttering a sound, he collected her warm, naked body up against him in a fiercely protective position, tucked her head beneath his chin, and closed his eyes. He was snoring softly before Elizabeau even fell asleep.
***
“Answer the question and I may spare your life,” David had the man by the throat. “Deny me my answer and your death will continue to be as painful as possible.”
Screams and moans sounded throughout the east gatehouse of Ogmore’s massive structure. The gatehouse was large enough, and populated by enough soldiers, to be used as a prison. Christopher de Lohr and his men had been at Ogmore for three days; yesterday, they had caught a known supporter of the king in the nearby town and had promptly taken him to the castle for questioning. Wherever there was one supporter, there were usually more and with the princess due to arrive at the castle any day, Christopher was understandably cautious.
While the earl stood back and watched, his younger brother had proceeded with the interrogation. It had been going on since the day before. Since David was an older knight with a good deal of experience, he also knew methods of torture that were designed to cause more pain than actual death. A dead spy was of no use to anyone. But a spy persuaded with just the right amount of encouragement could be invaluable.