He Calls Her Jasmine (2 page)

Then she glimpsed his bloody mace and sword. A foul smell of blood and offal wafted on the breeze from the corpses her paladin had dragged off her.

She owed this knight her life.

He drew off one gauntlet, then stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Would you tell me your name?” he asked again.

A simple question. Yet when she searched her mind, she found no answer. “I know it not, my lord.”

“From whence did you come?”

“I know not.” Panic rose in her like bile, threatened to rob her of consciousness again.

“Then I shall call you Jasmine, for your beauty reminds me of the sweet-smelling flowers of that name that grow in the gardens of the infidel. Fear not, sweeting, I shall treat you with the kind of care one as comely as you deserves.”

She moistened her dry lips with her tongue, fought down a wave of panic when she recognized the lust in his glittering obsidian gaze.

But then she recalled her captors and their intent to tear her asunder. Her fear allayed, she let out the breath she’d been holding. If she was to be ravaged, better the deed be done by this beautiful demon than by the foul-breathed rogues he’d sent to their just rewards.

“What do you intend, my lord?” she asked, her fear warring with a hot surge of desire that began low in her belly and sent wet, warm juices to smooth his way.

“To banish the terror from your lovely eyes. And to love you so well that memories of yon foul knaves will vanish from your mind. I will show you the boundless pleasures a man and woman may share.”

As if mesmerized, he ran his callused fingers down her neck and caressed the upper curve of one breast before turning his attention to its aching, puckered tip. His eyes darkened further. Then he bent and suckled her bare nipple as though he were a babe.

A cool wind chilled her naked skin, made her shudder against his mouth and hand even as heat built within her, turned her cunt to molten fire. He raised his head, murmured an apology against her breast, and moved far enough away to lift his surcoat over his head.

“Cover yourself, Jasmine. I would not have you catch a chill. Besides, my men approach, and I would that the pleasure of looking upon you be mine alone.”

Jasmine. The name struck no chord in her memory, yet his gentle touch as he slipped the fine silk garment over her naked skin lulled away the remnants of her fear, leaving anticipation in its wake.

Her fallen angel would protect her. She doubted not that he would take for himself that which he had prevented her attackers from seizing.

Nay, he would take more. He would steal her very soul. And she could barely wait for him to claim her. When he rose and extended his hand, she laid hers there and allowed him to lift her to her feet. His body radiated heat as he moved behind her when she began to shiver.

When he pulled her close, his hands warmed her belly. His hot breath ruffled her hair. Even the fine chain mail he wore drove the chill from her back with heat generated by his powerful body.

This was no wandering knight, she surmised from the way he ordered the other knight and the four men at arms who apparently made up his escort to scout ahead and ensure that no more brigands lurked along the track. This was a nobleman used to commanding men.

When they were alone again, he stood and helped her up. Raising the hem of his surcoat almost to her waist, he lifted her with little apparent effort and set her facing backward in the saddle astride his great black destrier. Self-conscious, she arranged the split surcoat to cover her naked legs, but her aching center lay open, vulnerable.

“Where go we, my lord?”

“To Hedgewick Keep. You will be safe there.”

Safe? She pictured soft bedding and fur covers to keep out the cold. Tapestries and fragrant rushes on the floor. From whence came the memory she could not say, but it seduced her.

He
seduced her, made her yearn to taste and touch every inch of his finely honed body. To take him inside her and fill the emptiness there.

When he swung into the saddle behind her and draped her legs over his thighs, she could think of nothing but the heat and strength of his rampant cock that pulsated against her core through the scant protection of his braies.

“Who are you, my lord?”

“Rolfe deVere. I will keep you from harm.”

As he spoke, he urged the destrier forward. Their bodies ebbed and flowed with the beast’s motion. When she glanced down, the sight of his mighty sword straining at the cloth that confined it took her breath away. She edged closer, seeking, needing, wanting—

“Nay, sweeting. I would fuck with you the first time in my bed. Later we may explore the possibilities of mating atop a warhorse. Lucifer is young and not yet fully trained. I’d not risk the possibility of him tossing us to the hard ground.” When Rolfe reached down and loosened his braies, his huge, hard cock sprang free. “Amuse yourself whilst we ride. Touch the part of me that will soon pierce your sweet, tight cunt.”

Was Lucifer the warhorse or the man? Or did the name fit them both?

Rolfe’s cock entranced her, the way it pulsed between his thick mail-clad thighs. His chain mail hauberk had a v-shaped slit that parted in the lush nest of hair that surrounded the base of his shaft and the heavy sac that held his seed.

When she noticed his cock bore armor, she suppressed the exclamation of surprise that hovered on her lips. Two pairs of bejeweled golden studs winked up at her from both sides of the scarred ridge where the bulging purplish head met a long, thick shaft. And a thick, glittering gold ring protruded from the underside of his cockhead and disappeared into a dimpled slit at the tip of his engorged flesh. Strange, yet arousing. But having the adornments implanted must have taken more fortitude than she could imagine.

When she took him in her hand and timidly handled the studs and ring, he smiled. “They’ll not hurt you, sweeting, but give you pleasure the likes of which you’ve never known. Like you what you see?”

“Yes.” He was so big. Silky smooth yet hard, he was the texture of velvet over steel. She imagined he would be like that all over, satin skin over flesh honed to muscular perfection on training field and battlefields, with a smattering of body hair the color of the dark nest from which his cock rose. “But your cock looks not like that of other men.”

“I am circumcised.”

“My lord?”

“I was captured in the East. An infidel doctor removed my foreskin.” With one hand, he took her finger and traced it around the scar tissue around the base of his bulging cockhead.

“Oh.”

Her womb wept for want of him, though fear rose in her, as he grew hotter, more formidable before her eyes. A creamy pearl of moisture glistened at the tip of his cock, translucent where it surrounded the gold ring and spilled over onto flesh the color and texture of a deep cabochon garnet.

His juice felt slick and alive when she rubbed it with her finger. She wanted to bend and taste it. Despite his words, she wanted to guide him to the spot between her legs that wept for him. She yearned to take his pulsating cock within her cunt and ride him as they rode the warhorse named Lucifer, until the ache inside her subsided.

“Cease your play, Jasmine. I will fuck you soon enough. We approach Hedgewick.” Freeing his pulsing flesh from her hand, he adjusted his garments.

As Lucifer’s massive hooves pounded against the wooden drawbridge, she stroked
Rolfe
through his
braies
. The thin fabric did little to disguise his readiness, naught to cool her lust for this mighty knight.

She knew not who she was or from whence she came, but she sensed that this man was her destiny. She would be his Jasmine, and she would capture his soul.

In the back of Rolfe’s lust-dulled mind the question lingered. Who was Jasmine and from whence had she come? Whoever she was, she’d captivated Rolfe with her beauty. And the sensual, carnal way she looked at him. He’d seek out answers as to who she was and how she’d happened to be on the road alone, unprotected by father, husband, or lover. Later.

Now all he wanted to do as he carried her up the steep stone staircase into Hedgewick’s dismal hall was ease the ache she’d stoked to a fever pitch in his cock and balls. Fuck her until they both were so satiated they could fuck no more.

The hall looked even worse than he’d imagined it would. Rolfe doubted the rushes had been changed in the great hall since he’d been gone, considering the rancid smell that greeted him when he stepped inside the keep. Dust lay thick upon the raised dais, and smoke from burning fat wafted from the great fireplace where two servants turned a brace of hares upon a spit.

Prospects for a decent meal seemed slim. No matter. He’d take refuge in his solar now and deal with his inept steward and cowering servants after taking his fill of Jasmine. Later would be soon enough to chastise the serfs for neglecting their duties in his absence.

“You there. Fill my tub,” he bellowed to a sturdy looking wench who sidled up to them when they came through the door. “And bring me wine, bread and cheese.”

Scooping his beautiful stranger into his arms, Rolfe climbed the stairs to the solar. ‘Twas fate, he decided, that he’d declined to wed with Lord Eudo’s bitter-mouthed daughter. If he had stayed and married her, he’d not have chanced upon the treasure he now held.

Like the rich tapestries, precious books, and lush furnishings, Jasmine contributed to the luxurious surroundings of this, his private space. She made him feel as though he weren’t a landless younger son and brother but rather a great lord.

He’d wrap himself in her silky raven hair, feast upon the rosy nipples that crowned full, creamy breasts. Drink of her honey and bury his cock to the hilt in her sopping cunt. Soon. ‘Twas eagerness to claim her now that made him wave away his page and squire, and send the servants on their way as soon as they’d finished filling the tub and setting out a meager offering of food and drink.

When they were alone, he set Jasmine on her feet and lifted off the sling that held his broadsword within its leather scabbard. “Help divest me of my armor, sweeting.”

She looked at him and smiled. “If you would seat yourself, my lord. You are too tall for me to lift off your hauberk while you stand.” Jasmine’s Norman French flowed naturally from her lips, and from her lack of hesitation when he asked her to relieve him of his mail, he assumed she’d performed that service for knights before.

Sitting on a stool as she’d requested, Rolfe lifted the hem of the heavy mail into her small, soft hands. Her skill at divesting him of the hauberk reinforced his belief that he’d claimed no peasant wench. Yet ‘twas confusing, for she appeared as eager to fuck as he. More so. She’d practically devoured his cock as they galloped along the road.

Rolfe beat down the voice inside him that bade him send her to Hedgewick’s other tower and find out who she was before making her his bed wench. He could not wait. From the way she caressed his balls once she’d stripped away his braies, he gathered her need was as great as his own.

The hot, eager look in her stormy eyes when she divested herself of his surcoat confirmed her lust. Sweeping her hip-length hair over her shoulder, she smiled a siren’s smile. God’s blood, but his cock was on fire.

Having her would be worth whatever consequences might result. Of that he had no doubt. Once he was naked, he settled himself in the big oak tub. “Join me. There’s room aplenty.”

She stepped daintily into the water and settled before him on her knees, a pot of soft soap in one hand. “I would bathe you, my lord.”

“And I you.”
Rolfe
dipped two fingers into the pot,
then
rubbed the soap onto his hands.

Starting at the enticing column of her throat, he scoured away grime and brigands’ blood from skin as soft as velvet. Unable to resist, he lowered his head and tasted her firm, full breasts. Her rosy nipples puckered against his tongue, became as hard as his throbbing cock.

He dipped his hands beneath the water and bathed her flat belly, slender thighs, and the sweet spot between them where he soon would find release. He found her pulsating clit and circled it with his thumb while working a finger into her incredibly tight cunt.

With eager hands, she soaped his body, circling his chest. Her fingers tangled in the hair that grew there and obscured the small rings embedded in his nipples. Then she slid her hands lower, soaped his belly and legs and feet. She was killing him! His balls drew up against his body.

His cock grew even longer and harder when she brought her hands closer and explored his seed sac with gentle curiosity. Then she closed both hands around his cock and ran a finger inside the ring that pierced its head. ‘Twas all he could do to maintain control, for his balls felt as though they’d explode.

“Cease, sweeting. I would spill my seed within your tight, hot cunt, not in our bath water.” He lapped droplets of water off her nipples, tasting the spicy, incredibly arousing warmth of her skin. Her needy whimpers drove him to increase the pressure of his fingers on her clit and in her cunt. Even in the water as they were, the flow of her hot, slick juices over his hand let him know he’d driven her to a frenzy of wanting.

Her own exploring fingers were driving him half-mad, and from the way she squirmed at his sensual onslaught, he deduced his touch inflamed her, too. “Why have you these adornments?”

“To bring you pleasure. They are common in the East.” Rolfe fought back memories of the tortures inflicted upon him by an infidel prince, the evidence of which he’d chosen to mask with the golden cock ring. It had drawn shrieks of fear and disgust from some lovers, lascivious interest from others he’d bedded since returning from the Holy Land.

Her fingers gently rotating the ring through his swollen cockhead, Jasmine looked up at him. “Do they not cause you pain?”

“Nay. The wounds are well healed.” Were they not, what she was doing would have been excruciating rather than arousing. “Come, sweeting, the water grows cold. Let us explore each other further in yonder bed.”