Yet Marian refused to allow herself to think about where her own fingers had been placed, and instead stared unseeingly across the room at a tapestry on the wall. If she ignored the sensation at her nipple, the pressure within her quim . . . the heat and dampness of the nether lips of this woman next to her . . . she could bear it.
The thought occurred to her that she might move, might pull away, and end her part in the contest, removing the other woman’s hands from her body . . . but she feared John’s punishment even more. This . . . was awkward, but not painful nor even as humiliating as the other nights.
The men had moved from the far end of the chamber and now came into view. Marian kept her gaze focused straight ahead, fully aware of the trickle of saliva that had begun to run down her breast and torso from Glynna’s open mouth. It tickled, making her want to move and brush away the itch. She drew in a deep breath, staring into nothingness, willing the little discomfort to go away.
What were the men going to do? Try to make them move?
She was already having a hard enough time remaining still. . . . If they-
Suddenly, Glynna’s tongue flickered over her nipple. Marian snatched in her breath sharply and barely kept herself from jolting.
John turned to look closely at her, and she stared straight ahead. “Do you surrender so soon?” he asked, moving so that he came into her line of vision. “I had thought you more stubborn than that, Lady Marian.”
She didn’t move, didn’t allow her eyes to focus on him. Instead, she stared straight through him, his hair and handsome face nothing more than a dark blur.
Glynna’s tongue darted around her nipple again, secret and sure behind her open mouth. Marian caught her breath and nearly moved again as little frissons of sensation blasted through her. Nay . . . oh, this was not . . .
John moved very close, and she could barely breathe, knowing that if she moved, he would notice even the slightest twitch.
Please, not again . . .
“You may of course move your eyes, Lady Marian,” he said, adjusting her hair once more. “And look about the chamber at your competition.”
She closed them, struggling to maintain her composure, measuring her breathing.
“You may move your eyes, but you must keep them open, my dear, or the others will cry foul,” John said in a deep voice near her ear.
Marian had no choice but to raise her lids to see that he was watching her with satisfaction. Then a faint sound from behind him drew his attention, blessedly, away. Marian nearly relaxed, almost biting her lip-which would have ended the contest-when she saw that Sir Louis Krench was watching her closely.
He licked his thin lips and she recognized the glint in his eyes. “Come now, my lady. Would you not rather a randy cock betwixt your legs than a whore’s fingers?” He would have moved up into her face, she believed, had a large dark figure not edged between them.
“I rather doubt she would find your cock all that randy,” Will said in an obvious jest. His voice held a tone of good humor that Marian had never heard before. “ ’ Tis more than a bit overused.”
“Step back, sirrah,” Louis replied in the same bantering tone. “For I doubt you can even find your cock, considering the amount of times you’ve used it.”
Will laughed, a short hard bark, as if he had to force it. “ ’ Tis not the measure of frequency but the manner in which it is wielded that concerns me. And the ladies.”
Glynna’s tongue flickered out again and Marian could barely contain a surprised gasp, and when the finger that had settled over her swollen labia began to move gently, yet purposely . . . she went rigid. Her mouth dried and she struggled to maintain control.
Breathe. Concentrate.
And then she could ignore it no longer. . . . The wave of sensation swarmed over her . . . heat, pleasure, the tightening of her nipple, suddenly jewel hard beneath the rhythmic tongue . . . the insistent, teasing pressure of a light finger over her hard little pearl. Oh, nay . . . she couldn’t breathe, could barely keep herself from twitching, from spinning away from the silent torture.
And then she felt Glynna move . . . beneath her own fingers. She felt a little pulse against her, and noticed the slickness of the hot folds of flesh as if they burned down into her hand.
Marian closed her eyes, breathing deeply, holding herself stiff and unfeeling, even as the secret little tongue moved wickedly over her tight, sensitive skin. Trails of sensation coiled down, deep into her belly, and her breathing rose, became harsher, as she fought to keep from giving in to it.
A soft cry drew her attention and her eyes flew open in time to see Pauletta and her female partner separating, being pulled apart by John and Lord Ralf.
Marian could not recall exactly the position in which they’d been arranged, but she knew it had been just as provocative as her own. The maidservant was sent to the corner, where she crouched with a complacent look on her face and fondled her winnings: the silver chain.
