Witch Hunt. #3
I patted Bash on the leg, ensuring he heard that I was right. “You brought down many wyverns,” I added.
Jane slowly tilted her head. “I’m willing to help.”
“So am I,” Emma announced eagerly.
Margaret remained skeptical, but I could sense she possessed the greatest magical knowledge of the trio—a wisdom I was determined not to leave without.
“You promised to repay us for our chivalry,” I said, extending my hand. “Then we’re even.”
For a moment, Margaret hesitated, then deeply sighed. “Fine,” she said, clasping my hand in a firm shake.
“Do you know any charms that could help strengthen an army?” I asked.
Margaret nodded. “I’ve a grimoire—an heirloom filled with spells my ancestors recorded over many generations.”
“Good,” I said, excitement kindling at the thought of sharing my discovery with Fitzroy. “After our disastrous last battle, we need every bit of protection you can muster.”
“Sebastian told me about the invasion,” Jane said, her lashes fluttering as she held Bash’s gaze longer than I liked. “He said it was bloody.”
I froze. No one—not even Fletcher—had ever called Bash, Sebastian.
“Who’s Sebastian?” I asked with a teasing smile, though jealousy coursed through me.
Why had he introduced himself to her by his full name?
“Jane?” Mr. Bednot bellowed from beyond the door.
I held my breath—fearing he was seconds away from bursting in.
An assertive knock rattled the wood. “Jane,” he repeated, his tone sterner this time.
Both Jane and Emma looked to Margaret—who was clearly the top of their pecking order.
With a flick of her head, Margaret told Jane—without words—to answer the call.
Tentatively, Jane edged toward the door. “Yes?” she called through the keyhole.
“Are you alone?” Mr. Bednot barked back.
Incapable of making her own choices, Jane turned to her puppeteer.
The silence felt long and uncomfortable, and I feared what would play out if Mr. Bednot got tired of waiting and came in.
“If he finds us all in here, won’t he accuse us of using the bedchamber as a convenstead for witchery?” Bash whispered.
I looked to Margaret for the answer—because that’s what the other women did.
“Uh—” Jane groaned, buying us all time.
Finally, Margaret gave her a nod.
“Yes… Yes, I’m all alone,” she said in a theatrical tone that sounded unconvincing.
“I have someone here who wants to see you,” Mr. Bednot replied.
The door handle rattled as Jane threw her whole body into the frame—her auburn hair shrouding her panicked face as she acted as a barricade.
“You cannot come in—I—I… Give me one moment,” she said.
Emma didn’t wait for Margaret’s guidance this time, claiming the narrow space beneath the bedstead as her hideout.
With a frantic glance around the room, I spotted a rickety closet leaning against the crumbling plaster. Without a thought, I took Bash by the arm, dragging him with me.
Hastily, I opened the wooden doors—the hinges creaked loudly, as if they were screaming that we were in here. We both clambered into the tight space, nestling ourselves between the musty cloaks and mothballs.
Though I was lucky to be able to stand straight, Bash had no choice but to duck, looking down at me as the back of his head grazed the rail above. All askew, the closet doors didn’t align, and a sliver of light seeped inside. Through the slight crack, I peered into the candlelit chamber.
My entire body was pressed into Bash’s, and that made me nervous for two reasons.
First, that he’d notice my thudding heart and instantly know I was infatuated with him.
And second, that he’d feel my breasts and realize I was a woman.
I wove my arms upward, slipped them between us, and rested my palms against his chest—creating a barrier to keep him from feeling mine.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, trying to find space that wasn’t there.
Bash chuckled lightly—his hands hovered beside my hips. “When I came to this brothel, I thought if I was going to get this close to anyone, it would be one of the working women,” he joked in a hushed tone.
I let out a breathy laugh, thankful that he was the kind of person who could make even the most awkward situations comfortable—I always felt at ease around him.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I said, teasingly.
But in truth, the idea of anyone else being this close to him sent my stomach churning, like I’d drunk spoiled milk.
His strong chest warmed my fingertips, tempting me to squeeze his muscles, but with divine strength I resisted.
Though I couldn’t stop myself from stealing a glance, enjoying how my hands looked placed upon him—holding him as if he were mine—pretending that he was standing beneath my palms for any other reason than the fact that he had no choice.
The creak of the chamber door snatched my attention, and I peered out the crack to watch the scene unfold.
“Good eve,” Jane said.
From this angle, I could only see the back of her head—the amber strands glowing as if they were on fire in the candlelight.
The ting of metal pricked my ears. It was a familiar noise from the smithy, then the battlefield—but I was surprised to hear what sounded like clinking armor in the backrooms of the brothel.
“Usually when a knight requests my favor, he doesn’t come wearing chain mail,” Jane remarked—something flirtatious in her tone.
He moved farther into the chamber, now visible to my prying eye. The man was tall with a dark, long beard to match his mane of black hair.
Without a word, he heaved his heavy hauberk overhead, and Jane took that as a cue to undo the lace securing her kirtle.
I pulled away from the crack, glancing up at Bash, my mouth parted in shock, worried what we were about to witness. He met my eye with a coy smile already tugging at his lips.
“I’m not part of the war effort,” the man said, his voice muffled. “I work for a lord.”
Jane let out a deep, sensual sigh. “That must be hard work,” she cooed.
Bash didn’t hesitate to gaze out the crack, his brow lifting at the sights on the other side.
My ears picked out the sound of clinking metal and shifting fabric, and I could only assume whatever had Bash completely spellbound was deeply provocative.
His eyes flitted to me—a cheeky glint in them.
“Unlike us, that man’s certainly getting his money’s worth,” he whispered, moving his head so I could take a turn snooping.
The knight’s armor was completely shed. He stood before a kneeling Jane—nude—with his cock at half-mast. Jane wore only her sheer stockings; her body looked softer than freshly baked bread, and I was sure she was just as warm.
Tenderly, she took his manhood in her dainty hand, gently stroking his length as he peered down at her—thick brows slightly pinched, his fingers woven into her red hair.
The glowing candlelight highlighted the defined muscles on his body, likely carved from a life spent in heavy armor.
Slowly, Jane edged her mouth closer till his tip met her rosy lips. As she let his full length slip along her tongue and down her throat, he groaned, and that aching noise made me tingle.
I looked to Bash—he was already watching me intently, a mischievous glint in his eyes. My stomach fluttered. I liked that look on him.
“What’s happening?” he asked beneath his breath.
I tilted my head back as far as I could, letting him take his turn to watch.
His gaze flickered back and forth, following the exchange unfolding in the chamber. It was hard to tell in the low light, but I was almost certain his cheeks were glowing faintly pink.
The bedstead creaked loudly—as if the lovers had moved from the floor to the discolored sheets—and I was tempted to take another peek.
I edged my eye toward the slit, Bash shifting to peer over my head so the two of us could watch together.
Jane was now on all fours, peeking over her shoulder with an alluring look on her pretty face.
The knight traced his finger down the seductive groove running along the center of her arched back.
Then his thick fingers clenched the meat on Jane’s womanly hips.
With a firm grip, he pounded into her—hard and fast—her auburn hair bouncing as wildly as her breasts.
She moaned loudly—freely—though she knew of the audience secretly in attendance. Possibly, she was enjoying herself, or maybe she knew he would finish quicker if she feigned enthusiasm.
“Don’t stop,” she groaned. “Yes—hm—just like that.”
The muscles on his arms bulged as he tightened his grip, desperate to maintain a steady rhythm.
The scene stirred something primal within me—a longing to be in their place. My breath quickened, imagining Bash kneeling on that bedstead, with me bent over before him. Just the thought had me pulsing between my thighs.
“Uh—hm,” the knight moaned.
Jane sighed, glancing back and locking eyes with the dazed man.
“Does this please you?” she asked between ragged breaths—her hips rolling against his in a hypnotic rhythm.
The knight didn’t answer with words, just a feral grunt of approval.
I would’ve done anything—touching, kissing, stroking—to draw the same skin-tingling sound from Bash.
The idea of him moaning lit something within me. Consumed me until he was all I could think about.
So enthralled in my lustful fantasy, I didn’t notice my fingers had slipped from resting on Bash’s chest to gripping his tunic—tugging on the fabric. It wasn’t until his hands grazed my hips that I realized I was clutching the linen in mine.
I tore myself away from the crack, peering upward. I wondered if he could feel the heat radiating from me—how my body betrayed every simmering desire I tried to suppress.
“Sorry,” I murmured, letting go of him, flushed with embarrassment at my lack of self-control.
“Don’t be,” he breathed, with a look in his eye I’d never seen before—something so intense, yet utterly unreadable.