Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (31 page)

Rebecca fucked me with the Rabbit, while Rodney
worked on my upper half. I never knew just how much pleasure could
be derived from places as innocuous as the belly button, the little
divot in the middle of my neck, my armpits, even my elbows until
Rodney had a chance to attack them with his expert tongue. And all
the wild plastic action down south just made my body that much more
sensitive. I had become a living, breathing orgasmic entity—every
molecule of my body intent on exploding with sensation. I soon lost
track of time and space, and just rode the wave of ecstasy that my
lover and my best friend were simultaneously evoking in my
body.

After my third orgasm in as many minutes, I finally
settled back down to earth. I held up my sweat-soaked hand. “Give
me a minute,” I said, barely able to catch my breath.

“Sure thing,” Rodney replied. He then took it as his
cue to get naked.

Rebecca immediately followed suit. Within less than
a minute, Rodney’s three-piece suit and Rebecca’s PVC nurse costume
were on the floor, and they were both tumbling in bed with me.

I soon lost track of where my body ended and their
bodies’ began. My hotel bed became a many-limbed sex monster, a
gold mine of bare skin, naked limbs, and wet, tasty, and oozing
unmentionable body parts. We all grabbed, sucked, licked, vibrated,
poked, and rubbed each other senseless, until we’d all gotten our
fill.

Well, all except Rodney, anyway.

Rebecca slipped out of bed, stood up, stretched. I
know she’d had at least one orgasm, maybe two. After the wild
frenzy of the past hour or so, it was hard to tell.

She got dressed and gathered up her things. “I’ll
leave you two alone. I’ve got plenty of things to keep me
entertained,” she said, tapping her black leather bag. “I’ll just
leave a few things here for you two to enjoy together.” She patted
the untouched Enlightened Pathway Balls where they lay on the
bedside table, and dropped a couple extra packets of lube beside
it. “Bye-bye, you two,” she cooed. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t
do. Which, by the way, doesn’t leave much.”

Rebecca turned on her heel and left.

Rodney leaned back on a pile of pillows, put his
hands behind his head, and smiled. “So now it’s just you and me,”
he said. “It’s about time.”

I raised myself up on my elbow and smiled. “What do
you mean,
it’s about time?”

“We’ve never really been alone together,” he
replied. “Not
truly
alone. Even when it was just you and me
in the room together, there was always something hanging
in-between. Your desperate need for career help. My desperate need
for information. Your desperate need for sex. Hell,
my
desperate need for sex. But things have changed, Jasmine. Neither
one of us is desperate any more. We have new horizons, new
opportunities. We don’t need to use each other or anyone else any
more. We are finally in a position to just be with each other for
the sake of it alone. Isn’t that incredible?”

I thought hard for a moment about what Rodney had
just said, and realized he was right. Rodney had a new relationship
with his father and a new era beginning for his business. I was out
of work completely and couldn’t care less. All I cared about at
that moment was sharing the most intimate act on earth with a man
that I loved.

That I
loved.
After the events of the past
few weeks, it hardly seemed possible. But there it was.

A few weeks ago, I was a celibate, hard-hitting
workaholic Washington PR staffer who hadn’t been on a date in two
years. And now I was unemployed, naked in bed with one of the most
powerful media players in Washington DC, and quite possibly looking
forward to a new career path as a professional dominatrix. To say
it was a 180-degree turn in circumstances was probably an
understatement.

The only question now was, what happened next?

That was a question I’d have to focus on another
time. Right now, I had other priorities. Like getting Rodney’s
giant throbbing cock inside me, for instance.

And in the grand scheme of things, what could
possibly be better than that?

Knight Moves

Chapter
1

I just narrowly missed being decapitated by a flying
rump roast.

Or perhaps it was a badly misshapen chicken. It’s
kind of hard to tell, since everything the corset-clad waitresses
bring out looks like reconstituted mystery meat. And no sooner does
said mystery meat land on anybody’s plate, it often ends up being
lobbed across the room—usually at whoever just lost the jousting
match going on in the center of the dining hall.

If you can even call it a dining hall, anyway. It’s
more like a livestock corral surrounded by a bunch of folding
tables. How does anyone actually
dine
here when the live
entertainment features jousting (and all that goes with it,
including flying broken lances and—I’m told—the occasional
dismembered limb)?

How I let my best friend drag me out to an evening
at restaurant-slash-bloody-swordfest
Medieval Worlds: Dinner and
Tournament
for my birthday is beyond me. In the past ten
minutes, I’ve not only had to dodge multiple attacks of flying
mystery meat, I’ve gotten a lap full of something that smells a lot
like horse manure.

Something tells me the ringside seats Nancy snagged
at a discount are cheap for a reason.

Nancy knocks back her fifth goblet of something
called “grog”—the Middle Ages’ answer to a kamikaze shot—and
punches me in the shoulder. “Isn’t thish
great,
Louise?” she
slurs, having to shout to be heard over the cheering crowd and
obnoxious medieval trumpet fanfares. “Aren’tsh you
glaaaad
I
broughtsht you
here
instead of thatsh stuffy
Frenchsh
restaurant you like? I reaaaaaally
hatesh
Frenchsh food, by
the way. It’ssh too
fattening
.”

I stare down at my wooden (yes,
wooden
) plate
and sigh.It’s not as if the deep-fried, reconstituted mystery meat
we’ve been served is diet food. I know now that Nancy brought me
here so
she
could enjoy herself, not because she wanted to
stick to her diet. And it’s pretty clear from the way Nancy is now
trying to make out with a roving jester who stopped by our table to
juggle that a good time she is having, indeed.

Unlike me. Frankly, I’d prefer having my gums
scraped than eat overpriced mystery meat and watch a bunch of bad
out-of-work stage actors get dressed up in ill-fitting polyester
knight outfits and joust each other on horseback. I’m no good
around livestock—the smell of horseshit makes me want to puke. And
I think I’m allergic to horse fur. Or maybe hay. I’m sitting on a
haybale (
Medieval Worlds’
version of chairs), and my ass is
starting to itch.

I stand up and rub at the creeping allergy rash I
can feel starting to grow on my ass cheeks. “Excuse me, Nancy,” I
say to her squirming backside while she fondles the stunned jester,
who clearly isn’t as attracted to her as she is to him. “I need to
visit the ladies’ room.”

Nancy pulls away from the jester, who takes
advantage of the opportunity to move swiftly on to the next table.
“But the Green Knight is about to joust with the Mighty
Black-and-White Champion!” she shouts, suddenly sober. “You’ll miss
the feature battle of the evening!”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure I can catch it another
time.”

Ha. Not bloody likely. I think maybe on the way back
from the ladies’ room, I’ll head out for the lobby and ask the
tunic-clad
maitre’d
to order me a taxi. I need to get the
hell out of here. I know Nancy probably brought me here because she
knows I love reading old Sir Walter Scott novels about knights and
ladies and the thrill of medieval tournaments. But I was a history
major in college, damn it. I’m a real stickler for the details. And
when it comes to getting the details of an authentic medieval
jousting tournament right,
Medieval Worlds
is pathetic. I’ve
seen better knight costumes in a
Saturday Night Live
sketch.

And I seriously doubt that Diet Coke (one of the
jousting ring’s major sponsors) was on any medieval drink menu.

Even if Nancy did bring me here for my birthday, I
won’t feel too bad about ditching her this time around. She’s
obviously having the time of her life all by herself. I’m sure I
can have a much better thirtieth birthday party at home alone in my
condo, eating Chunky Monkey and catching up on my
Sex In The
City
DVDs. And the fact my
Sex In The City
DVD
collection is the closest thing I have to a sex life right now
won’t even depress me too much—considering the alternative is
dodging mystery-meat missiles and getting doused with flying horse
manure.

I fight my way through the throngs of
polyester-costumed waitresses, roving jugglers, jesters, and
bleached-blonde fair maidens who all help add to
Medieval
Worlds’
manufactured corporate version of the Middle Ages, and
finally make it to the ladies’ room. Of course, the line is a mile
long—snaking out the ladies’ room door and down the hallway, ending
somewhere in the
Medieval Worlds
gift shop. And as per
usual, there’s no line for the men’s room at all. I’m really not in
the mood to stand around staring at racks of overpriced stuffed
knights and toy plastic jousting lances while I wait a half-hour to
pee. So I take a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure
nobody’s looking, and head straight for the men’s room.

I’ve never been in an actual men’s room before.
Sure, I’ve encountered those unisex one-toilet jobbies in dive bars
and such, but I don’t have any experience with urinals and all that
goes with them. So I’m totally unprepared for the godawful stench
of old pee, urinal cakes, and cheap disinfectant that hits me in
the face like a thrown brick the second I open the men’s room
door.

The other thing I’m totally unprepared for is the
sight of the drop-dead-gorgeous man standing at the first
urinal.

He’s tall—six-foot-five if he’s a day—wavy red hair
that falls to his shoulders, deep green eyes, chiseled features.
He’s wearing knight’s attire—but not the cheesy, ill-fitting
polyester tunics the other out-of-work stage actors posing as
knights back in the
Medieval Worlds
dining arena are. This
man’s tunic and breeches are cut of the finest silk, trimmed in
something that looks like real gold. It’s by far the most authentic
medieval costume I’ve seen outside of a history book—and it’s
decorating a physique right out of a hall of Greek gods. The sight
of him is dazzling.

And the sight of the huge cock the knight is holding
in his right hand as he shakes off the last few drops of pee is
even more dazzling.

I haven’t seen a cock that big, thick and luscious
in—well, never.

The knight turns his head to face me. My jaw must be
dragging the floor by now, because after meeting my eyes, he smiles
and says, “You might want to close those beautiful lips of yours,
milady, before something putrid flies inside. This isn’t the most
sanitary place in the realm, you see.”

The knight speaks with a foreign accent, though I
can’t quite place from where. His voice is lilting, melodious,
almost a combination of French, Scottish, and English accents. It’s
like nothing I’ve ever heard before. And it’s turning my crotch to
cream. This mystery man is like every sexy sir knight I read about
in
Ivanhoe
—and then some.

I don’t need to pee any more. Now I just need to get
laid.

The knight gives me a knowing smile, and jiggles his
giant cock in my direction. “You look like a fair maiden in need of
a good visit from the codpiece,” he says.

Whoa, Nellie.

Not only is this man the sexy sir knight of my
dreams, now he’s offering me his very substantial codpiece on a
platter. How is this even possible? Am I hallucinating? Were the
two bites of mystery meat I forced down back in the dining hall
perhaps laced with PCP? Have I died from smelling too many urinal
fumes and subsequently gone to heaven?

“Are you are right, milady?” Gorgeous Knight asks.
“You seem a trifle ensconced.”

Ensconced
? I don’t even know what that means.
Maybe he means I look horny. Because I’m sure I do.

Gorgeous Knight smiles again. “What I mean to say,
milady, is that you appear to be hiding from someone. Or
some
thing
. Is that so?”

“You could say that.” It’s the truth, if not the
whole truth. I’m not about to admit I ducked inside a stinking,
filthy men’s room to escape the corny, corporate version of the
Middle Ages that Gorgeous Mystery Knight here obviously works for.
If I’m going to get my hands around that codpiece of his, I can’t
risk offending him.

“Say no more, milady.” Gorgeous Mystery Knight tucks
his beautiful cock back inside his breeches. “I know a place where
we both can hide from the world, and have a wonderful time together
while we’re at it.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively and grabs
at his crotch, rearranging his formidable equipment. “If you get my
meaning.”

My own crotch goes volcanic. I can’t believe what is
happening. One minute, I’m sitting on a haybale in a cheesy
concrete pseudo-arena, bored out of my gourd and contemplating
going home so I can masturbate to the sight of Carrie Bradshaw and
Mr. Big doing it on TV. Now I’ve got a drop-dead-gorgeous mystery
knight propositioning me in a public restroom.

Either I’m going completely insane, or today is the
best day of my life.

But before I can give my current predicament any
more thought, Gorgeous Mystery Knight grabs my arm and whisks me to
the far end of the restroom. “Follow me, milady,” he says, opening
the stall door to the men’s room’s lone sit-down toilet. It’s
filthy, just like everything else in here. I’m not sure a filthy
men’s room stall is a very nice place to take a ride on a knight’s
codpiece. Still, beggars can’t be choosers—