The Knight's Prisoner (Medieval Discipline 1)

He wanted to grab her and yank her down on top of him, but he controlled himself. She was in charge now. She was his master. And the idea of that was just as arousing to him as the idea of dominating her. She reached her fingers down and stroked her sex, and his breath escaped him in a soft moan. With two fingers she spread the lips of her sex wide for his view. “Is this what you want?” she asked, her voice low and throaty.

“Aye,” he gasped.

The wicked smile curved on her lips again.

“Beg for it.”

He licked his dry lips. “Please, Dani. Please, let me lick it.”

Her own face lost composure for a moment, then she grinned like a satisfied cat and slowly lowered herself over his face.

“Aye, Slave Ferrum, you may,” she purred.

He cupped her round bottom in his two hands and set to work eagerly—applying his tongue from her pleasure pearl to her arsehole and back again—sucking, licking, and penetrating. He watched her face, noting with satisfaction when pleasure started to overtake her and she closed her eyes, letting her head fall back, her bottom starting to tighten in his hands.

“May I use my fingers, Dani?”

“Aye,” she gasped.

He slipped two fingers inside her, moving them in and out, noting a place inside where the flesh hardened under his fingers, and she started to moan. He worked that place rapidly until she gripped his head between her thighs and roared through her clenched teeth, her inner muscles spasming with the release.

She looked dazed as she dismounted him. “Go and get us some wine, slave,” she said breathlessly.

He got up, debating whether it was safe to leave her alone for the few moments it would take to get the wine. Aye. He started to pull on his leggings, but she stopped him.

“Did I say get dressed?” she demanded. “Go and get the wine as you are.” The look of challenge showed she clearly did not believe he would. She folded her arms across her chest again. He lifted his eyebrows but just shrugged, stepping out from the tent and stalking toward the fire.

“Oh, God's balls, Sir Ferrum, that's disgusting!” one of the men cried.

“What are you doing, man?”

He heard sniggers and laughter from the younger boys and some grouchier rumblings that were probably about the way he treated Danewyn. He picked up the wine and walked back without a word.

* * *

Yesterday she'd been spanked over his knee three times, and today he was walking about naked upon her command. She simply couldn't believe it. Not that it looked like it bothered him in the least. He walked with his head held high, his cock swinging proudly and freely in front of him. It was breathtaking to see him this way—his enormous body was all hard, sculpted flesh. He was barrel-chested with broad square shoulders and massively muscled arms. His legs were equally strong in appearance, set off by the tapered waist and lean, hard belly. He moved past her into the tent, and her breath hitched in her throat.

She wanted to make him suffer by denying his sexual release, but she also wanted him again—the real way. His cock inside her. “Get on your hands and knees,” she ordered. His cock stiffened again, which made her even hungrier for him. “Spread your knees,” she said, nudging his knees apart.

She slapped his ball sac, between his legs, spanking him there. He grew even stiffer, and she heard his breathing turn ragged. She kept at it for a while until, she hoped, he felt as chastised as she did when he finished with her.

“On your back.”

He rolled over, and she mounted him, gripping his cock and rubbing the head of it over her sex. Sir Ferrum was panting, his eyes glassy with desire. She slid his eager cock into her and then sighed with satisfaction. Grinding her hips, she set a rhythm to please herself. After a while, she wanted more. She dismounted, and Sir Ferrum shuddered beneath her. She elbowed him. “Get up, slave,” she ordered. “You should be doing the work here.”

“With pleasure,” he said hoarsely and climbed over her. She guided him in and closed her eyes as he slammed into her with an intensity bordering on violence. But that was nothing new with Ferrum. And as usual, she loved it. She climaxed right after he did, and she wrapped her legs around his waist to hold him tightly against her.

“Mmm. Very good, slave,” she murmured.

Sir Ferrum was resting on his forearms, looking at her intently. “Permission to kiss you?”

There was a sense of wrongness to the question. Her game of playing master was over, and really, she didn't want her permission asked. She wanted him to do with her what he wanted to do. That was more desirable than him following some command she gave. The question made him sound weak, somehow, and she found she didn't like it at all. She released the lock hold her legs had around him and turned her face away in rejection.