The Knight's Prisoner (Medieval Discipline 1)

He was confused at first, but she moved toward him and he realized what she meant. He grunted an assent, hardly able to breathe as she stepped in close to him and began to work on his tangled mop. Her bodice had come untied during the spanking, and it flapped open now so he was able to see the outline of her pert little breasts through her linen shift. The desire to lean forward and nibble at one of them right through the linen was so strong he had to close his eyes until it passed.

She smelled sweet, like honeysuckle. Her throat was long and slender, adding to her overall delicate appearance. Like a little flower. She finished the side she was combing and moved in front of him, standing between his legs. He almost groaned aloud, directly faced with the open bodice. His hands itched to reach for her waist, to stroke her side, cup her little bottom.

She spent a long time combing out his tangles, standing so close it pained him. When she finished, she circled back around to the front of him to survey her work, and this time he couldn't resist—his hands reached for her of their own accord. He took her by the waist, molding his big hands to the shape of her slim figure and then pulling her gently closer. She did not resist him.

Though he knew he should not, he kept pulling her into him until she perched on his knee. She looked at him with her big blue eyes. He leaned his mouth toward hers slowly, realizing as he did, she was not looking at his scars—she was looking directly into his eyes. It made him pause, hovering over her tantalizing mouth, wondering how this was possible.

“What?” she asked.

He shrugged and gently brushed his lips across hers, feeling electricity pass between them like a bolt of lightning. She sat up taller, lifting her lips to his, and he lost all restraint. He cupped the back of her head, attacking her mouth with his, forcing his tongue between her lips and groaning at the sweetness of her. Her arms twined around his neck, and her tongue thrust back at him, answering his onslaught with her own. She was so small and so soft, yet he felt her resilient strength matching his own brutish force. Her hand wandered to his cheek and he realized suddenly she was tracing his scars. With a sick feeling, he pulled away abruptly, breaking the kiss and shoving her off his knee to stand.

He couldn't look at her. For some reason, he felt as ugly and shameful as he had the first time he'd ever kissed a girl, back when he and Phillip were still boys, and Phillip had arranged it for him. He stood up quickly, rubbing his face as if he might rub the disfigurement away. “I'm sorry,” he grunted, still not looking at her. “That won't happen again.”

Though he didn't look, he felt her staring at him.

“Come. I must bind your wrists so we can sleep.”

Chapter 3

He woke in the morning with the memory of their kiss, his erection pressing into Danewyn's lovely soft bottom. He was just about to pull his hips back away from her when she pushed firmly back at him. His sluggish pulses began to quicken even as his mind struggled to rein in the desire. She was an excellent actress who'd spent years tricking men into believing she wanted them. He was not going to fall for it, no matter how much he may want her. Because, as Phillip had pointed out, this woman already meant something to him, in which case, he would not be satisfied with a simple roll in the hay. He would want to keep her as his own. And no woman would accept a man like him—certainly not one as special as the beautiful Prince's Seer.

“Nay, little flower. I'm not going to—” Ah, God. His entire body shuddered as she took his thumb into her mouth and sucked hard on it. He groaned and shoved his cock against her again. His mind was telling him to stop—that she couldn't possibly really want him—that this was a ploy of hers to win favor. But his body didn't care. He reached down with his free hand and pulled her skirts up, finding her silky curls. She shivered when he touched her warm sex, and he was surprised to find it was slick with her nectar, ready to be taken. “You do want it,” he murmured in surprise.

She frowned over her shoulder at him.

He shook his head and shut his mouth before he ruined the moment. He pulled her skirt up to her waist and grasped her hip, positioning himself at her entryway. She pushed back at him again. The encouragement was too much—he thrust into her without any further foreplay and plowed her slick warm channel. He groaned—she felt so good.