Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (40 page)

“I think I could give it a try,” I say. “Though I
think I’m going to need a little more practice on that whole
cosmic vibrations
thing.”

Pembroke guides my hand down to his cock, which is
ready for action once more. “And I know just the way for you to get
some.”

This is going to be a lot of fun.

Chapter
8

I’m just about to take Pembroke’s beautiful cock
back into my mouth when Bridget bursts into the room.

“Milady! Milady! Beware, milady! For the Rose Knight
approaches! He wishes to bed with ye!” Bridget notices Pembroke and
me in our very nude and uncompromising position, and blushes.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, milady.
And
milord. But I’m afeared yer
little party is over now.”

Pembroke stands and sweeps his clothing up into his
arms. “I shall make a swift departure at once,” he says, getting
dressed. “Be well, Louisa. Until we meet again.”

With that, he’s gone. My eyes sting with tears as I
watch him disappear out the door and down the hall.

Bridget places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Don’t
cry, milady.Ye cannot get too attached to one whose love is
forbidden ye. Yer body, it don’t belong to ye no more. After all,
this
is
the Hall of Harlots.” She hands me a fresh silk
nightgown from my wardrobe, which I slip on with a heavy sigh.
“Buck up, lass. ‘Tis almost time fer ye to service the Rose Knight.
He’ll be here inside of a minute.”

My head is spinning. I don’t want to “service” the
Rose Knight. I don’t want to “service” anyone but Pembroke. But
Bridget is right—as long as I’m a kidnapped sex slave in the Hall
of Harlots, my life is no longer my own. Whatever stolen moments I
share with Pembroke are fleeting bliss that I may never have the
chance to enjoy again. And as such, I have to learn to make the
best of a bad situation. I’ve done all right at that so far—I
suppose I can keep right on doing it. There are plenty of worse
things besides getting laid at the drop of a hat, I suppose.

“So what’s the Rose Knight like?” I ask. “Is he one
of Lord Verdigris’ vassals?”

Bridget nods. “Yes, lass. And one of the most
important, too. The Rose Knight oversees all of His Lordship’s
lands to the north. An’ he commands six sailing ships besides.”

“Why do they call him the Rose Knight?” I ask.
“Doesn’t he have a regular name?”

Bridget purses her lips. “No, lass. ‘Tis a mystery
who and what the Rose Knight really and truly is. They call ‘im the
Rose Knight because ‘e has a rose in ‘is coat-o-arms. I don’t know
fer sure the rose’s meaning, but I ‘ave heard a rumor or two ‘bout
it.”

“Oh yeah? Such as?”

Bridget glances over both shoulders and lowers her
voice. “They say that the rose on ‘is shield is a symbol for a
great lady, whom the Rose Knight loved with all ‘is heart, and who
is now dead. They say that all ‘is glory in battle is to avenge the
death o’ his love.”

“How romantic! Like William Wallace in the movie
Braveheart
,” I say.

Bridget looks puzzled. “What’s a movie, lass?”
I laugh. “Never mind. Do you know anything about this mystery woman
of his?”

“Only a little, and all o’ that’s rumor,” she says.
“But I’ve heard from more than one person that the Rose Knight’s
one true love was a powerful sorceress who’uz burned at the stake
by Lord Verdigris ‘imself.”

Now
I’m
puzzled. “But that doesn’t make any
sense! If that were true, then why would the Rose Knight serve Lord
Verdigris as a loyal vassal? I’d think he’d want to kill him
instead!”

Bridget shrugs. “Sometimes the world works in
mysterious ways, lass. And as I said, ‘tis only rumors. The truth
may be somethin’ diff’rent, far an’ away.” She peeks her head out
my door into the hallway, then jerks it back. “Look sharp, milady!
The Rose Knight’s a-comin’!” Bridget leaves the room.

The Rose Knight strides in, and I am immediately in
awe.

The Rose Knight stands six-foot-five, with
impossibly broad shoulders and a physique that would have aroused
Michelangelo. His hair is long, shaggy, and red, his eyes a deep
green, his cheeks and forehead freckled. His chin is strong and
angular, his lips full and soft. Dressed from head to toe in
shining chainmail and metal plate armor, and carrying a huge
polished wooden lance—it’s taller than he is—the Rose Knight is a
force to be reckoned with.

He looks me up and down, obviously undressing me
with his eyes. “You are the Lady Louisa of the Crossroads?”

I stand up to face him, feeling my stomach do a
flip-flop when those penetrating green eyes pierce right through
me. “I am. And you are the Rose Knight, I take it?”

“Yes.” He says nothing more, just keeps those deep
green eyes focused on me like lasers.

An awkward silence. “Do you—um, like to be called
something other than the Rose Knight? What should I, um, call
you?”

“
I have no name,
” he booms. “My identity died
the same day as my beloved lady. But you may bestow a bedchamber
name upon me of your choosing, if you so desire.”

“I do so desire,” I chirp, never once breaking his
gaze and trying to assume my powerful Lady Louisa of the Crossroads
persona as quickly as possible—not easy, as intimidating as the man
appears. “I do not feel comfortable calling you the Rose Knight
when we are—ahem—being intimate. I shall call you Trenton instead,
after my hometown.”

It’s a good thing he doesn’t know how much of a
dumpy hellhole Trenton, New Jersey really is—if he did, he’d
probably be offended to be its namesake. And somehow I’m guessing
the Rose Knight isn’t a person you should offend.

He gives me a gruff nod. “Trenton it is. Now, Lady
Louisa of the Crossroads, I hear from my lord and master Lord
Verdigris that you know how to pleasure a man. Is that so?”

I grin. “Yes, it is. Provided that man obeys my
rules of the bedchamber.”

Trenton clears his throat brusquely. “Whatever rules
you set, milady, I shall obey. I desire nothing better than a woman
with power. My dearly departed beloved was a woman with power. So
much power, in fact, that certain lords of the manor saw her as a
threat, and had her eliminated.”

My heart goes out to him. “I’m so sorry,” I say. Now
my curiosity is piqued. Was what Bridget said about Lord Verdigris
killing his lady true? And if so, why was the Rose Knight still his
loyal vassal? What exactly did he have to gain from that
loyalty?

But that was another matter for another time. Right
now, I had a big, powerful knight to fuck.

I pull my head up as high as I can, trying to seem
bigger than I am. “First, Trenton, you must remove all your armor.
One piece at a time, please. And make a show of it. I want to enjoy
every minute of watching the metal part ways with your flesh.”

Trenton gives me a single nod, and obeys. He starts
with his chainmail coif, which he pulls slowly over his head. Some
of the chainmail links catch in his deep red locks, pulling a few
stray strands away from his head. I reach out and take one, and run
it between my lips, as if wetting a thread for a needle, being sure
to run the tip of my tongue along the edge of my mouth as I do so.
The Rose Knight’s eyes glisten at the sheer sensuality of my
gesture. “You are indeed a powerful one, milady,” he says.

“Trenton, you will not speak unless spoken to,” I
bark. “Understand?”

“Yes, milady,” he whispers, meek as a mouse. All at
once, the Rose Knight’s intimidating façade falls away, revealing a
timid and sad little boy beneath.

“Continue to disrobe,” I order him. “And if your
disrobing fails to satisfy me, Trenton, there will be punishment.
Understand?”

“Yes, milady,” he squeaks, then begins to unlace the
neckline of his tunic. Slowly, slowly, the neckline loosens, until
Trenton can pull it up and over his head, revealing a chainmail
shirt and shiny breastplate beneath. He unlaces the worn leather
thongs that hold the breastplate onto his rippled body, takes it
off, sets it against the wall. The chainmail shirt is next. He
shimmies and shakes it off his body, the chainmail links ringing
out like tiny bells with every movement of his torso. Then all at
once, his glorious chest is bare. The light of my candle shines on
his sweaty pecs, dappled as they are with a light coating of
red-blonde hair that glistens like gold in the low afternoon
sunlight and flickering candlelight.

Trenton looks at me expectantly, as if seeking my
approval. So I give it. “That’s very good, Trenton. The sight of
your bare chest pleases me greatly.”

“Thank you, milady,” he says, his voice soft as
brushed cotton. His deep green eyes, which are made even deeper by
the pain and loss etched into the lines on his rugged face,
penetrate my heart. An obedient slave, he waits in silence for my
next order.

“You may continue to disrobe, Trenton,” I say.
“Quickly, now. We still have much to do together.”

His hand strays to the knotted cords holding up his
loose linen breeches. Dexterously, he unties and unknots the cords
with two fingers of one hand. My spine tingles as I imagine what
else those adept two fingers are capable of.

Then, for a split second, my thoughts turn back to
Pembroke. He must have known what would transpire between the Rose
Knight and me once he left. What does he think about it? Moreover,
what does he think about
me?
Is he jealous? Does he
understand that I have no choice—and even if I did, I wouldn’t
exactly turn down sex with a gorgeous man like the Rose Knight,
especially considering this intimidating, powerful warrior
obviously has no problem turning tables in the bedchamber and
becoming my sex slave?

But then I realize that Pembroke is no fool. Of
course he knows and understands I will fuck other men besides him.
I’m a Harlot in the Hall of Harlots, after all. Fucking men is what
we
do
here. It’s what Lord Verdigris traveled across the
centuries to bring me here for. It’s my job—my very means of
survival
, in fact—to turn anything with a penis that walks
through my bedchamber door into a quivering mass of exploded,
dominated desire. For I am Lady Louisa of the Crossroads, medieval
dominatrix extraordinaire. And my heart melts at the knowledge that
Pembroke adores me no matter how many other men I tie up to my
suspended Cross and then subsequently fuck their brains out.

Pembroke—an old-school, Regency English gentleman
who makes Colin Firth look like trailer trash—loves me, a low-class
Jersey toll collector, for
me,
sex or no sex.

Carrie Bradshaw eat your heart out.

When I finally stop daydreaming about Pembroke and
look up, I see Trenton standing naked before me. And what a sight
it is to see.

I’ve never seen such a beautiful naked man in my
life. Well, maybe except for Pembroke. But even he doesn’t look
like
this.
The Rose Knight belongs to another category of
gorgeous nude man entirely.

For one thing, his pubic hair is red.
Carrot
red. And he has little freckles on his cock.
Cute
freckles.

Freckles on
both
sides of his cock, in fact.
I know because it’s pointing straight up, and I’m staring at the
underside. And the tip of Trenton’s uncircumcised cock is bursting
forth through its foreskin like a dewy wet rose.

Looks like the Rose Knight has a rose of his
own.

My eyes scan every inch of Trenton’s heaving,
sweat-soaked body. He’s already turned on to the point of
exhaustion, and I haven’t even touched him.

This will be my greatest work yet.

“Your nudity pleases me, Trenton,” I hear myself
say. “Now if you will be so kind as to assume the position on the
Cross, we’ll be in business.”

Trenton looks up at me, petulant but obviously
afraid to speak aloud. So I prompt him. “What is it, Trenton? Do
you wish to say something?” He nods. “Go on, then.”

“What position shall I assume, milady? Kindly
forgive my ignorance, but I have not enjoyed the pleasures of a
powerful woman such as yourself since my beloved died, and I seem
to have lost my way. You have a powerful effect on me, milady.”

A smile tugs at my lips. Oh, how vulnerable and
small the Rose Knight has become in my presence! Mere moments ago I
quaked in
his
presence, intimidated by his sheer
masculinity. Now, the tables are turned. “Prostrate yourself
face-up on the Cross of Satisfaction, Trenton. Just as Our Lord and
Savior did, many centuries ago. I will tie you down, and then I
shall give you satisfaction.”

Without another word, the Rose Knight obeys my
command. I tie him down tightly with leather straps, leaving him no
room for movement whatsoever. Then I take up my
cat-o-nine-tails—he’s far too big and masculine for my wimpy little
paddle—and begin to use it on him. And no light, flirty blows here,
either—the Rose Knight clearly is looking for a little more
oomph
in his bondage-and-submission preferences. I wield the
cat-o-nine tails with the ferocity of a Roman centurion. Before I
know it, little red welts the same color as Trenton’s freckles are
standing out on his chest.

I feel my stomach do a little flip-flop, partially
from fear, but partially from arousal. I’ve never actually
injured
anyone before. I can’t help but feel a little
worried about it. To be on the safe side, I decide to ask Trenton
how he’s doing, since I’ve forbidden him to speak unless spoken
to.

“Are you all right, Trenton? If ever you feel I’ve
gone too far, your safe word is ‘
broadsword
.’”

Trenton takes a deep sigh of pleasure, followed by a
delightful little moan. “I am very well, milady. I feel better now
than I have in years. Do hit me some more, please, milady. I love
the blissful stinging you inflict upon me so.”