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.
She made the placement and looked up to find John once again watching her. Yet he said naught of her spoiling his plan and, after a brief consultation of the pieces, moved again.
Marian stared at the game, realizing her breathing had become rushed again and knowing that she had no way to win this battle. He was obviously a much better player than she was on a good day, but with all the other distractions she had to contend with, Marian knew she was playing miserably.
She looked desperately at the board, curling her hands in her lap and around and through the hair that amassed there. It took a moment before she realized that John was not watching the game, but was eyeing the way her fingers slid in and around, playing with her hair as she tried to keep her desperation at bay. His breathing had changed, and when she closed her fingers around a piece of end curl and began to idly stroke it, the prince appeared fixated.
