She’d not been one of Eleanor’s favorite ladies because of her dull wits and spinelessness, despite the fact that she wasn’t the most accomplished chess player.
“Good,” John said. “But you must understand . . . the rules are a bit different for this game.” He smiled again, and this time the stretch of his red lips carried a hint of slyness. “If you lose a piece to me, you must remove an article of clothing. And of course, I will do the same.”
Marian had expected naught less and was prepared. “But you have so few items to remove, my lord. I should hate for you to be sitting in the chill whilst I am still fully clothed.” She offered a small smile that she hoped appeared confident, and not tense. “I propose a slight alteration in your rules: if you lose a piece to me, I replace an article of my clothing. I shall begin with my cloak when I take the first piece.”
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.
