Chapter Nine #4
His mouth descended on hers, abruptly, tasting a woman who was sweeter and softer than anything he had ever experienced.
Allaston shrieked, into his mouth, but Bretton didn’t release her.
In fact, he pulled her tighter, kissing her so forcefully that she was nearly bent over backwards.
As she squirmed and gasped, he forced his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, suckling her tongue as she continued to resist him.
But the more she struggled, the more excited he became.
It wasn’t so much her resistance as it was her taste.
She tasted delightful and he could feel himself growing hard.
There was only one way to ease his desire.
Grabbing hold of the front of her surcoat, he gave one powerful yank and ripped it down to her navel.
Allaston screamed as his big, warm, and dirty hand snaked between the torn pieces of fabric, grasping a warm and soft breast, fondling her.
He pinched her nipple as she struggled to get away from him, and he ended up picking her up and plopping her down on the tabletop.
As Allaston beat at him and fought to get away, he easily caught both of her flailing arms and pinned them over her head.
She bucked and wept as his hot mouth came down on a distended nipple, suckling furiously.
As she struggled, he climbed upon the table and got on top of her, wedging himself between her kicking legs.
With both arms pinned by his iron grip, he was free to do as he wished as he began to toss up her skirts.
“Nay,” Allaston wept. “Please do not do this. Please! This is not the way for a man to behave, do you hear me? You must not do this!”
He heard her. However, he was so overwhelmed with his lust and want for her at the moment that it was clouding his common sense.
All he could think of was satisfying his desire, of feeling his body in hers, of tasting her tender flesh.
There was nothing else in his world. This is how the act of sex had always been done, ever since the merchant who owned him had tied him down and raped him.
He’d been screaming and crying, subjected to unbelievable pain, but the old man had penetrated him anyway.
He hadn’t listened to the young boy’s cries.
Therefore, Allaston’s struggle was nothing out of the ordinary.
When his fingers began to probe the soft curls between her legs, she let out a scream of utter terror.
“Stop!” she howled. “Would you truly do this to me? I am meant for the cloister and if you do this, I will be stained forever! You have told me how terrible it was for someone to do this to you, yet you are doing it to me! I beg you, please stop! I swear upon all that is holy that I will hate you forever if you take what does not belong to you! I will hate you!”
He inserted a finger into her, listening to her scream with pain and terror.
She was very tight around his finger and he could feel the proof of her virginity opposing him.
He could only imagine how his manhood would feel inside of her, enveloped by the warmth and moisture of her body.
He could imagine no greater pleasure. But her words began to sink in and he paused, his mouth on her breast and his finger in her body.
He’d often wondered what it would be like to bed a woman whom he hadn’t paid, or who wasn’t screaming in terror.
To have a woman respond to him, to want him to touch her…
it was a foreign concept, but one he’d always wondered about.
Perhaps it was something to consider because he didn’t want Allaston hating him.
If he raped her, she would. Nay, he didn’t want her hatred at all.
Deep down, that part of him that understood decency was struggling to come forth.
He’d known decency, once, as a child. He well remembered his kind mother and father, and how good they had been.
If he could recollect the concept of decency, then perhaps it wasn’t dead in him after all.
So he stopped suckling her breast and removed his finger.
Pushing himself off the table, he watched Allaston leap off the other side, pulling the ends of her tattered surcoat together as she bolted from the room.
He could hear her running up the stairs to the second floor and he heard the door to her chamber slam.
He was sure she bolted it, too, but he hadn’t heard that part.
As he stood there, feeling guilty and confused, Dallan entered the keep.
He could see the man approaching from the entry.
“Bretton,” he said, extending what looked to be a rolled bit of parchment in his hand. “A missive has arrived for you.”
Bretton forced himself away from thoughts of Allaston to focus on the message Dallan was bearing.
“A missive?” he repeated, confused. “For me?”
Dallan nodded. “A rider dropped it at the gatehouse and fled,” he said. “It seems the army of the dead outside the walls frightened him sufficiently, but when the sentries collected the missive, it was addressed to Bretton de Llion.”
Bretton eyed the man with both curiosity and suspicion as he took the parchment.
He inspected it with great interest, turning it over in his hands so the seal was exposed.
He squinted as he studied the red seal, attempting to discern the details of the seal.
After a moment, shock registered across his bearded face.
It was the seal of the House of de Llion.