Colette Gale - Bound by Honor

And then the pressure eased . . . ceased. The tongue stopped, leaving her nipple hard and hot and wet beneath the open mouth . . . her little pearl pounding uselessly next to a finger that had frozen and merely teased itself between her thick, swollen lips.

Marian gasped, realized she was breathing as if she’d been running, and . . . she moved.

She moved; she couldn’t resist any longer. Her hips thrashed, her body shuddered, and she heard the cry of victory from somewhere in the room.

Dimly, she was aware that Glynna moved away. . . . The pressure between her legs receded, leaving her quim throbbing and slick, needy . . . and her breast cold and wet, dripping with saliva, hard and painfully pointed at the nipple. The necklet still heavy over her shoulders, no longer cold, shifted, clunking against her, as she moved.

Hands were on her . . . pulling her arm down from the post.

Marian stumbled. She was next. . . . She knew it. . . . She felt strong hands, warm ones, moving her, sliding over her skin . . . the sharp deep voices . . . then the smooth wood of the barrel behind her, beneath her.

Her arms drawn long and tall, her back stretched so that her breasts shifted toward her shoulders. Her legs . . . opened, revealing the need throbbing there for all to see. She didn’t care. . . . She wanted it, needed it there, touching her, filling her . . . please. . . .

She breathed, gave a little sob, thrashed her head against the cool wood, heard the delicate clank of the chains that bound her. Felt the ungainly slide of the necklet to one side.

Shadows filtered about, harsh voices, and then strong hands at her hips. The brush of warmth against her, rough cloth. She opened her eyes. Aye . . . Will loomed over her, just as she’d imagined . . . just as he’d done before. Please . . .

He blocked the light, his face turned away. She had the impression of closed eyes, cheeks sharp and hollow, jaw dark and scruffy. . . . He settled there, and she tried to lift her hips, tried to rise onto her toes and meet him. . . . She needed this . . . needed him . . . needed . . . please . . . Will. . . .

She felt him, hot and smooth against her, then the sudden filling of her center . . . the sweet relief of joining . . . and she cried out and her body surged around his hard cock, tightening as he moved in and out, fast and urgent and desperate . . . over and over . . . yes, aye, yes . . . and her body coiled, readied. . . .

She needed to move, to rock and thrust and touch. . . . Her fingers curled helplessly against wood instead of flesh. She cried out in frustration, in rising desire . . . needing. . . . Then she felt it . . . closer . . . the promise, the fulfillment … coming, coming . . . and then the sensation of shattering, of breaking apart, as she slipped over into rolls of pleasure, waves of relief, shuddering violently against her chains, against him as she cried out.

A short, sharp moan, low, followed, and he arched into her one last time. She felt him tense, then sag, his own pulsing filling her core as his fingers tightened painfully into her sides, dark hair falling to obscure his averted face.

Her breathing settled into long, low gasps, and the warmth of satiation settled over her. And then she realized where she was: her position, her vulnerability. . . . Her eyes flew open as Will pulled away, leaving her cold and empty and suddenly frightened.

Nay. She could not. . . . He’d turned so that his back was to her; she could not see his face . . . but beyond him she saw John’s glittering dark eyes and his full red lips. . . . He’d be at her in a moment. Looming over her, shoving himself inside her.

Nay, Will. Please.

Marian tried to move, to pull free. . . . She may have cried out . . . but she was well and truly caught, and the remnants of her pleasure disappeared. Vulnerable, open, helpless . . . she closed her eyes, holding back a sob.

Nay.

And then her arms were loosened, her ankles freed. . . . Someone dragged her off the barrel and she stumbled away, collapsing to her knees. . . . Then Will was gone. . . . He stood across the chamber, still fully clothed, with John and Ralf. . . .

Marian could not stand, and she crawled across the floor, over the rug, moving as quickly as she could, away.

She trembled with relief and chill and shock. Hearing the sounds behind her, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Catherine taking her place over the barrel, John and Ralf standing over her. Louis and Will and others . . .

Marian scuttled out of sight, beyond the large bed, toward the other side of the chamber, searching for something to cover herself with. The necklet had fallen off or been taken, and she wore naught but her long hair, catching under her palms and knees.

Dare she leave? She was near the chamber door now, and they seemed not to notice her absence, for Catherine was providing much distraction as she cried and pleaded in a high-pitched voice that could reach the hall below.

Marian curled into a shadowy corner for a moment to catch her breath and survey the chamber. Louis wielded the whip and was slicing it over Catherine’s buttocks, which rose, white and plump, from over the half barrel, writhing and twisting and bucking. John stood watching, his own hand curled about his cock for once, and Will . . . leaned against the wall, watching. And Pauletta . . . she had her long, white body pressed up against his darkly clothed one. One strong arm wrapped around her waist, and her white hand lay flat against his tunic.

Turning away, Marian tasted something foul deep in the back of her throat. Her fingers still trembled, and she could not forget the feel of him moving against her, inside her . . . nor his flat, expressionless eyes. As if he despised what he was doing.

Yet, he took pleasure from it. She knew it. She’d felt it. . . . She’d matched his rising lust with her own.

She pushed the memories, the uneasiness, from her mind. She did not want John’s hands on her again tonight . . . nor anyone else’s. She must get away before they realized she’d not received her full punishment.

There were bound to be guards outside the door. Dare she try to slip out? Would they allow it? Would an aborted attempt to escape only draw their attention back to Marian?

The fog of lust and need had filtered away, leaving her mind clearer than it had been for some time, and she cast a quick glance around this end of the chamber. This was her opportunity to see if she could find any evidence of John’s perfidy.

Keeping her attention half on the activities behind her, morbidly glad that Catherine made no attempt to keep her voice low, Marian crawled past the table of food and wine, toward the far end of the chamber. It was the only place that might hold messages or documents.

If she was caught, she could claim she was looking for the chamber pot.

Quickly, quickly, she hurried over, found a low table with a quill on it. Foolscap curled atop it, but Marian ignored those parchments. John wouldn’t leave important messages lying out in his chamber, even if he didn’t think his visitors could read.

Glancing behind her, noting that the others were still busy, she slipped beyond the table, staying low to the ground, and found a small chest. Mayhap . . . she tried to open it, but the chest was locked. And then she saw a packet of oiled leather behind it . . . one that might be used to protect important documents. Quickly, with trembling fingers, she untied it and began to unroll the packet.

She scanned the documents, quickly-difficult in the flickering candlelight-keeping one ear and eye trained on the activity at the other end of the chamber . . . and was rewarded by the sight of a royal seal. Not of England, but of France. Of Philip Augustus.

Drawing in a deep breath, she knew she’d found something . . . for John would have no reason to be in contact with Philip unless it was for some treacherous reason. But all she saw in the letter was the odd words, “The wild dog shall be contained. An emperor shall cage him.”

Hearing a change in the mood behind her, Marian quickly stuffed the parchments back into their leather wrap, rolling and tying it back into place. She’d barely shoved it behind the chest, back into its hiding place, when a pair of boots came into her view.

She looked up to find Will staring down at her, an inscrutable expression on his face. Dimly noting that he hadn’t even removed his footwear during the entire evening, Marian pulled to her feet-helped by his imperious hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a low, deathly voice. “Are you a fool?”

“I was searching for a chamber pot,” she replied breathlessly, no longer even bothering to attempt to cover herself.

“Liar,” he said, and thrust her away more sharply than necessary. “Do not let John find you sneaking about, or you’ll discover that tonight was a delight compared to what he can do.”

“Please,” she said, glancing past him, “may I leave? Will?” She cared not that she begged. She needed to escape from this place.

His mouth settled into a hard line, he gave a sharp nod. “Aye, ’tis safe enough now, for the others are beyond caring. But let us be quick.”

Once again, she bundled herself simply in a cloak, her clothing scrabbled up into her arms, and Will drew her firmly out the door. The guards did not try to stop them, but from the way they looked at them, Marian knew it would have been a mistake to try to leave on her own.

Will’s heavy footsteps rang dully on the stone floor, down the stairs, and over to the other side of the keep as she trotted along beside him. Back up to the chambers on the second floor, and to her door. This route too had become horribly familiar.

And, once more, he spoke not at all, gave nothing away with his expression. If possible, she found his face even more implacable, more unreadable.

When they reached her chamber, he opened the door and preceded her inside. Feeling awkward yet expectant, Marian followed, closing the door.

Ethelberga snored on her pallet, and Will made no move to send her away or awaken her.

He stalked into the rear chamber, and Marian followed, as if drawn by a string. When he turned to leave, he fairly walked into her, standing there in the entrance between the two rooms.

He froze as if afraid to move closer, and she saw his hand curl into a fist at his side.

She was fully aware of her nakedness beneath the cloak, and how tight the chamber felt. Warm and dark and close . . . and how easily he’d slid inside her, how glorious it had felt.

Marian licked her lips, not certain why she stood there, why she’d moved thus . . . what she wanted. Her heart pounded and she looked up into his face, saw the glitter in his eyes and the tight press of his lips. Tension filled the space, pounding in her ears along with her heartbeat, and she swallowed hard.

“You are not hurt,” he said suddenly, his voice low. The words came out like short little bites, as if dragged from deep within. He would not meet her eyes, but instead she felt his gaze score over her.

“Nay, Will. You . . .” Her voice gave way, her mouth dried, as the awareness became too much to bear. How could she want him to touch her with those hands . . . hands that had set fire to those houses, hands that would have gestured for the hanging… ? Yet she did.

“I warned you,” he said in a harsh voice. “That you must submit. You made your choice.”

“Aye,” she breathed, surprised at the anger. Did he truly think she would have preferred John? She opened her mouth to tell him she’d wanted him-reached, even, to touch him-but he pulled her aside and brushed past, into the antechamber.