Bound by Honor

Wanting, needing, to get a rise out of her in order to support his excuses to John, Will moved roughly, sliding his fingers up into her hair and tipping her head to the side. He buried his face in the side of her warm neck, giving her a little bite just below the ear. It was a bite that turned into more of a nuzzling kiss. Her skin tasted like warm salt, smelled like violets, and was smooth. Unbelievably soft. Closing his eyes, he lifted his lips, keeping his hands strong and tight at her waist. When he opened them, he was relieved to see that John had found another distraction.

The prince had settled himself in the chair closest to the bed. One of the women-the sniffling one-knelt at his feet. She had removed one of his boots, and was unrolling the hose from that leg.

On the bed, the other two women had commenced with one version of the entertainment John enjoyed. Will couldn’t stop himself from watching as the two kissed full on the mouth, naked bodies aligned, breast to breast. They rolled to the side, hands shifting and legs sliding with soft scrapes. One bent to the other, her mouth wide, mauling an offered breast as her fingers slid down to cover the slick pink quim revealed by her splayed legs.

Marian was hardly breathing, and Will could tell that her shocked attention was fixed on the tableau in front of them. The soft whimpers and gasps from the two naked women filtered through the air, bringing their pleasure-real or feigned, Will was never quite certain-to surround their audience.

It was impossible not to watch-and even more impossible to close one’s ears to the sounds: the soft, wet suction of mouth to mouth and mouth to nipple, of fingers slipping in and around slick red nether lips, making their own wet, erotic sounds. The movement of flesh against flesh and fabric, the moans and gasps, and even the scrape of nail over the bed beneath . . . pleasure and sensuality permeated the room through sight, sound, and scent.

Will glanced over to see that the prince no longer seemed to care that he and Marian were present, and instead had focused his attention wholly on the large bed. His attendant had removed the other boot and hose, and had lifted his tunic to expose a purple-headed erection. Her activity produced more sounds: wet lips and tongue laced with the grunts of her own exertion as she knelt between John’s legs. The prince’s face was a mask of dark pleasure, his eyes fixed on the bed while his hand clamped over the top of the woman’s head, holding her there. Even from the distance, Will saw the whites of his knuckles as he pressed his fingers into the sides of her skull as if wordlessly directing her, driving her . . . as one signaled a bridled horse.

Closing his eyes, Will drew in a long, slow, silent breath, keeping his own fingers rigid and still at Marian’s waist. Impossible to look away, to ignore the sounds . . . and to keep one’s own body from responding.

The scent of violets, the silk of skin and lush red lips were his for the taking. She’d made her choice, chosen him. Her breathing had changed, become quick and shallow, and she moved slightly against him in short little jerks that matched its rhythm.

When he changed the angle of his head and watched Marian from the side and behind, he saw that her lips had parted and her eyes were still fastened on the women in front of them. He couldn’t read the expression on her face-was it horror or fascination?-but he no longer cared.

His hands moved of their own accord, no longer able to remain still at her hips. They slid up the sides of her torso, filled their palms with the weight of her breasts through the tunic and undertunic, and felt the hard points of nipples through the thin fabric. She made a soft noise, an erotic little gasp, and he rubbed his thumbs hard over the fabric, teasing over her jutting nipples, and felt her breath turn to little shudders as she squirmed.

Suddenly, her skin was beneath his mouth again, there at the side of her neck, where her pulse raced and jumped, and he tasted and nibbled. She moved on his lap, brushing against the raging swell of his cock, and he had to stop for a moment and close his eyes. Breathing in that violet scent helped not at all, nor did holding her breasts in his hands, though they were protected by layers of cloth. He could feel the soft little pants of her breath and the roundness of her bottom against him. . . .

The two women on the bed continued their play, and the sounds became more urgent. One lay back on the cushions, her knees bent upright and her feet planted on the bed. Her companion bent between her legs, and Will could see the strong swipe of tongue over the glistening folds of her quim.

Marian breathed harder, fairly in tandem with the girl on the bed, leaning back against him as if he wasn’t forcing her to watch. His fingers slipped through the sides of the sleeveless overtunic, finding her nipples and the weight of her breasts through the thin layer of silk.