“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.
“Will,” she whispered. . . . It came out like a soft moan, like a little plea. She reached out, felt for him, found the warm tension of his arm next to her. She became aware of his breathing, rough and heavy, and the absolute stillness of his body. As if he were frozen, bracing for something.
“I . . . please . . .” She didn’t know, didn’t know what to say, how to ask. . . . The unsettling, squirming feeling roiling inside her was strong, desperate.
He made a soft noise, like a sigh deep in his chest, and suddenly his hands were on her. The next thing she knew, he’d dragged her on top of him, half over his wide, solid chest, and he brought her face down for a hungry kiss.
