At Her Service (Swords of Passion) Read Free Page A

and led Simon’s gaze to her navel and her blonde bush. Raising high one thigh, she let Simon have a glimpse of her pounding lips that she knew were now coated with her cream.
    “Come,” she encouraged him, her body throbbing to be filled by his. “Hurry.”
    His gaze lost in hers, he untied the belt atop his outer tunic. In deliberate jerks, he stepped out of his slippers and removed his black velvet tunic. In a sweep over his head, he stripped away hislinen under-tunic and dropped it to the floor. His braies hung about his prominent hip bones, and she noted that his penis grew inside them into a huge erection she hoped she could fit deep inside her.
    Impatient, she wagged two fingers at him to remove the rest of his clothes.
    Instead, he licked his lower lip and narrowed his gaze at her. At her pouting mouth. Her pebbling nipples. Her pale hair on her mound where he would soon claim her and mount her.
    Wild to have him, still enraged that she was, she sought to tantalise him more and spread her thighs out, allowing him a fuller view of her aching labia. She raised her hands, so soft and white, the envy of so many of her women, and beseeched him with a sweet, beguiling motion. In a flick of his hands, he brushed his braies to the floor.
    She caught the gasp in her throat. His size was twice her husband’s. She swallowed audibly, unable to take her gaze from Simon’s thick, red length and two huge balls. Her eyes met his.
    And in answer, he took his impressive rod in one large hand as if offering it up to her.
    Aye. She’d take it. Make it her own. She yearned to reach out her hand. But for her husband to see that she appeared too eager to absorb this impressive shaft, albeit with his permission granted, was not a good idea. Alphonse was a proud man, even if his manly treasures were small ones.
    Watching her, Simon continued to roll his thumb steadily over the bright tip of his head. There, drops of his desire glistened and his breath quickened. She bit her lower lip, thirsting to be so bold as to taste his seed and measure his girth with her mouth. But he leisurely rolled his member as if he had time for the entire world to view him.
    Mad to feel that long brute caress her cunt, she groaned and darted her hand out towards him.
    He grabbed her wrist, his eyes warning her against hasty actions. Then he drove one knee to the bed, and under his weight, the straps groaned as the mattress dipped and jounced. She rolled towards him, but he stopped her momentum by laying down beside her. And with his free hand, he reached out to cup her head and hold her in his iron grip as his lips descended and devoured hers.
    This kiss, this claim was like no other she had ever known. His lips were wet, rough and insistent. He pushed his mouth to hers in a fierce claim such as she had never known. Not from him as a boy. Not from her husband as a man. This kiss, this demand that she open herself and give over, was the plunder of a knight. The prize of a mercenary who had fought for goods not his own. This kiss, this ravaging of breath and flesh, was a conquest won by surprise and strength. But then as his demand met surrender, as his force met her moaning joy, as her hands embraced his face and her lips opened and returned an ardour she had but glimpsed as a fifteen-year-old, she felt his lips leave hers. She saw his eyes question her own. And she knew that as his mouth once more met hers, he came this time in tenderness and apology for what now they both would do here together on this bed.
    His hand took hers and led it to his penis. She jumped at the heat and the size of him. But he held her to him, leading her to run her palm over the length of him and to curl her fingers around him. She sobbed deep in her throat, and their kiss broke as he nipped her to leave her staring up into his eyes. Encouraging her to pump him harder, he lifted his hand and trailed it over one breast and brushed her areola with rough fingertips. She shot up in his