She didn’t realize she’d given a soft gasp until she felt John’s mouth near her ear.
“Ahh, so you do like that,” he said. “Drink, my lady.” He lifted a cup to her mouth.
Drink if he offers, Will had said. She opened her mouth and gulped the heavy, sweet wine and felt it flush warmly through her.
She drank more, and John’s tongue thrust through the curtain of her hair, into the depth of her ear in a parody of the activity before them. She shuddered at the invasion, even as her body began to warm, loosen. He leaned closer, and his hand slid up over her belly, her skin trembling and lurching from his touch as she tried to pull her eyes away from the scene ahead, knowing vaguely that she wanted to get away from him.
But he was the prince. . and even though her mind was dull and murky, she knew she could not offend him.
Will, protect me.
“Nay, don’t close your eyes,” he said. “Watch as they come, watch them spew their seed and see how she takes it. . how. . oh.” He stopped with his own sudden low groan as the pale man whipped his cock from the woman’s mouth, and gave it two hard jerks, spurting his seed over the woman’s head.
The man behind lunged forward hard, and the woman bent her arms, resting her head on the floor as he pummeled her from behind. Her bottom rose higher now than her shoulders, her sighs and grunts filling the air with erotic sounds. Marian saw the glistening red of her quim as the cock slid in and out. . and knew that her own was as swollen and wet, that her breathing was caught up in the same rising rhythm.
John had turned, straddling the edge of the chair, pressing against her. His fingers filtered through her hair, his breath rasping hard, low, and harsh in her ear. She could not mistake the bulge of his cock against her hip.
“More,” he ordered, lifting the goblet to her mouth again. . and she gulped down more, the sweet wine sinking more easily into her this time.
After she swallowed half the libation, he found her hand, drawing it from where she’d clasped it against her belly, and forced it down over him. . into the depth of his braies, where it was hot and damp and a pulsing erection raged like a smithy’s iron.
“There,” he sighed, a half command, half groan. He forced her fingers around its width, closing his hand tightly over hers, pushing his body up closer. “Now. . mmph. .” His command lurched to a halt as the weasel-faced man arched his back with a last violent thrust, calling out the pleasure of his orgasm with a loud moan.
Marian could not look away. The man appeared to be in agony, his face stretched and dark and pained. . but something primal gouged her; watching him find his pleasure made something tug deep inside, leaving her skittish and out of breath. . her heart slamming as if it had been she on the floor. . she accepting the slick length of a cock.
John’s fingers closed tighter, and he showed her the stroke, the rhythm, and then he murmured, “And what of her?” He directed her attention to another side of the room. Though his breathing was heavy and raspy, the cadence of his voice remained smooth. “Should I bind you like so?” He lifted the wine to her lips again.
She turned to see what John was looking at and then didn’t know which was worse. . the feel of his hot, hard erection, its skin sliding beneath her fingers. . or the sight of the dark-haired woman splayed against the wall. Head tipped back, nude, her hands held high so that they raised her breasts, and her feet spread wide and bound in place. Another woman with short dark hair stood nearby with a whip that had clearly already left marks on her companion’s belly.
Marian swallowed, tried to catch her breath. . She felt the chamber walls pushing closer, warmer, redder on her until there was naught to see but the woman against the wall.
The pale man moved to take the whip, pausing to fondle the breast of the woman he’d taken it from.
“Mavis, go to her,” he ordered, and the short-haired woman moved to the wall.
“Ahh,” John sighed in Marian’s ear, forcing her hand to move faster. “Glynna is delicious, is she not? The one on the wall?”
Even if she’d had an opinion, Marian couldn’t have voiced it. She concentrated on breathing, on moving her arm in a non-stop rhythm. . her body taut and quivering, pounding, swollen, wet. . tight.
Her arm moved faster and faster, and she could not ignore the scene in front of her. . Mavis knelt in front of the bound woman, spreading wide her bare knees so that the deep red of Glynna’s quim was exposed to the room.
Marian’s breath caught as that dark head bent to the woman in front of her, and the sounds of lapping, of sloppy damp laving, filled the air over the rising harsh breaths of the prince, and the roaring in her own ears.
Almost. . she almost felt the strokes on her, over her, her quim full and ready. . Her mouth was dry as she watched Glynna, bound and helpless, writhing against the wall as the kneeling woman bent to her. . and then pulled away, running her fingers all along the insides of her thighs as the bound woman struggled and arched. . and then the tormentor bent again as Glynna begged Please, please. . Marian felt the teasing, the stop-starting, the pounding and wet of her own little pearl. . the damp growing between her legs.
“Faster,” John ordered, releasing her hand to grope for her breast, his breathing heavy and hot in her ear. Her arm ached from the motion, and yet she dared not stop. . She could do naught but focus on the women in front of her, and watched as the pale man pulled Mavis away, sending her tumbling across the room.
The man shoved himself inside Glynna, and Marian saw her eyes fly wide, watched as he pumped inside her, his hands clawing at her breasts. . Marian’s arm screamed with pain, and yet she continued on, faster, matching the rhythm of the man fucking the woman against the wall. . her breath, her heartbeat, her eyes, all focused, centered, there. .
John cried out, and she felt the surge from his cock, the wet over her hand, the shuddering in his body. She pulled her hand away, turning from him, wiping his seed on the first cloth she groped, the woman’s pleading cries still filling her ears, the sounds of body slamming into body, the gasps and groans.
She couldn’t catch her breath, and the room felt close and small around her. The cries and the heavy sweet wine made her soft and loose. . yet tight and desperate. . She couldn’t get away, couldn’t look anywhere but at the woman’s mouth, open in pleasure or pain, her head rolling against the stones behind her, the taut, spare muscle of the man slamming into her, his buttocks moving, his slender, ropy arms tense as they groped at her.
Suddenly, Marian felt strong hands on her. . strong, solid hands, warm. . and she was pulled away, turned from the sight of them fucking, her hair catching painfully. . Dizzy, light-headed, she stumbled and fell. . Those strong hands caught her and she tumbled against him, his solid, bare skin. . an exchange of deep rumbling voices, a sharp response, and aye. . Will.
Will.
Her dull mind recognized him, his touch, the way he moved, the rumble in his chest as he spoke something she couldn’t understand. He was around her, holding her, his hands smoothing over her body, up along her back, through the masses of hair, pulling her close to his chest with a powerful arm, and then shifting her away.
She rolled free in a swirl of hair, falling onto something soft. . the bed. . It dipped when he joined her, the yellow light from the chamber about them disappearing as he yanked the bed-curtains around closed, leaving only a narrow strip of light on either side.
And then. . nothing.
She lay there, heart still pounding, breathing heavily, unsettled, irritated. . The images still haunted her, teased her. Beyond their curtained space, Marian heard the unmistakable sounds of coupling, of wet, slick strokes, the slap of skin against skin. . the pleasured moans, the pained cries. . She needed something. . to move, to be touched. . She needed relief, to be rid of this tightness, this incessant throbbing and pounding that made her feel like crawling out of her skin.