John laughed then, loudly and delightedly. “And so it shall be, Lady Marian, if for no other reason than your boldness.”
“And the winner?” she asked, wondering if there was enough wine in the room to send him under his cups before the game was over.
“Can you not guess?” John replied, folding short, wide hands over his lean belly. A ruby the size of a chestnut glinted on one.
“If I win,” she replied, conscious that he’d appreciated her boldness a moment ago, “I will require a boon of you.” She swallowed, because she knew what would happen if she lost. Those stubby, beringed fingers would be all over her bare flesh, touching, pinching, poking.
“A boon?”
A pardon for Robin Hood. Those words nearly passed her lips-she wanted them to do so-but she stopped them. Not now, not yet. Too soon, too great of a request. . and too close to her heart. If he knew of a desire like that, he could use it against her. Instead, she said, “Aye, a boon of my asking. Yet to be decided.”
“If your request is within my power, you shall have it. . if, of course, your king remains standing alone at the end.”
She dared not ask what would happen in the case of a draw.
John sat up in his chair. “Now, then. Shall we begin our battle with a kiss of peace?”
Before she could respond, he stood and leaned over the human chessboard, grasping the back of Marian’s head with a very strong hand. His fingers curled into her skull, sliding into her hair as he tipped her face up by the force of his kiss. His lips were as soft and full and wet as they appeared, and Marian felt the scrape of teeth at the edges of her mouth as he forced his tongue through. He thrust brutally into her mouth, crushing her lips, sucking on her tongue, sweeping so strong and hard that she nearly gagged. He tasted of wine and thick, unpleasant heat, and he took. . and took. . holding her so hard that her head began to pound.
At last he released her, pulling a long strand of hair free from her braid, and she sat back shakily. The back of her head pounded from his grip, her mouth felt raw and swollen, and her heart slammed rapidly in her chest. He must have fully loosened her braid, for a long, two-finger-thick coil of her hair fell down over her shoulder and curled in her lap.
“That was lovely,” John said, reaching for one of his pawns-black of course. “I look forward to the spoils of my win.” He moved and then lifted his goblet to drink, watching her over its rim.
Marian blinked, trying to clear her mind. She was a passable chess player, and this was the most important game she’d ever played. She’d need every bit of concentration she could muster.
They’d each made two moves when, without a word, John stood. Marian caught her breath as he unlaced his braies and began to move toward her. A wild protest caught in her throat, but before she could utter it, he stopped at the rear end of the chess table.
Grasping the woman’s hips, he knelt behind her and exposed a long, turgid cock. As she watched, he spit down onto its length and used his hand to rub the spittle over his erection. It glistened with the simple lubricant, and before Marian could look away, he slid it inside the waiting quim from behind. The woman barely moved, and made only a squeak.
John gave a quiet, satisfied groan and reached toward the woman’s neck, and at first Marian thought he was about to strangle her. But instead, he coiled a thick mass of hair around his fist, using it to raise the woman’s head as if she were a horse and he held the reins.
Marian watched as John pumped her steadily, easily, from behind, and noticed that the woman’s arms strained with the effort of keeping herself still so that the chess pieces did not fall.
What would happen to her if they did?
But they were short and wide pieces, obviously made for this purpose, and John was not rough. The pieces slipped only a bit.
The woman’s breasts swayed from side to side, and John moved one hand to close over and pinch the nipple of one while the other maintained its hold on her hair. Marian was surprised to see through the heavy hair that obscured much of her face that the woman’s eyes were closed and her mouth parted slightly, her breath rising audibly. She even gave a quiet groan of her own that almost sounded like an expression of pleasure. Was it possible she was enjoying this? How could that be?
For a moment, Marian was caught by the rhythm, the sounds, even the rising scent of woman. Her lips felt dry and she wanted to lick them, and she was aware of a quiet tingling beginning between her own legs, deep inside her.
Ashamed that a woman’s degradation should cause even the slightest excitement in her, Marian looked away and found herself captured by John’s dark gaze. It glittered with lust and depravation, and a clear message that she did not want to see. She tore her eyes away and heard his low gasp of laughter.
Where was Will?
Why wasn’t he here to protect her?
At that moment, John gave a heartfelt groan and eased inside his chess table one last time. Hilde released her own breath in a low sigh. Marian saw her lick her lips and then as John released the hank of hair, she lowered her head so that it hung down once again.
Not one chess piece had fallen.
John picked up a cloth, wiped his cock, and settled back in his seat. “Now, then,” he said, refilling his goblet and renewing Marian’s hopes he would drink himself into a stupor. “Whose move?”
Marian applied herself to the game, and only pretended to drink when John urged her. She did get her cloak back, but only for a few moments. And then she lost it, as well as her braided leather girdle and then, to her rising concern, her long overgown. This left her clothed in only the tightly laced bliaud, and while that garment covered her from neck to floor, it left her feeling quite exposed with its close sleeves and formfitting fashion. She moved a rook, trying to concentrate on the game.
John’s eyes gleamed as he moved to take her knight, and he raised his face to look at her. “This time, you must remove your braid and allow your hair to fall loosely.”
Relieved that she had a reprieve before removing her undergown, which would leave her clothed in naught but her hair, Marian took her time unbraiding the rest of her hair. John watched in fascination as she pulled it over her shoulders, partly on each side, and allowed it to fall so that it nearly brushed the floor. When she leaned forward to make her next move, some of the shorter strands in front slipped against the bare skin of the chess table’s torso and the woman shuddered.
Marian saw the little rise of bumps on Hilde’s skin, and felt her own flesh pebble beneath her clothes. There was something about seeing her hair touching another’s skin so intimately. .
She looked up and found John watching her, again that knowing look in his eyes. She swallowed and just as she reached for a piece on the chessboard-any piece, anything to break away from that look-she heard a shifting and a groan behind her.
A male groan, from the sound of it. It seemed like rustling and shifting, movement. . from the bed behind her.
John looked up over her shoulder, and she thought she caught a glimpse of annoyance flash over his face. But then the shush of movement stopped and there was silence again.
“ ’ Tis your turn, my lady,” the prince said.
Marian replaced the piece she’d lifted, realizing if she made a bad move and lost another piece, she would be as exposed as Hilde. Her hand moved above the pieces and she tried to pull her scattered thoughts together.
She hovered over her bishop and there was a low cough from behind her, drawing John’s attention once more. Marian looked again at the board and this time saw the trap she’d been led into-a trap that a movement of the bishop could foil; it would save her from not only losing her undergown but also checkmate.