Free He Calls Her Jasmine by Ann Jacobs Page B

indeed of that jewelry. I thought perhaps to give her some of her own.” The idea of putting his mark permanently on the parts of Jasmine that now belonged only to him made Rolfe’s balls tighten and his cock grow stiff. “How long will it take for Arnaud to ready my lady?” he asked.
    “I gave him the time it took me to finish a bottle of her father’s finest wine and wash away the grime of battle from my body. Your bride, however, does not require the effort it took Arnaud to rid Brianna of the tar and soot she attempted to use as a disguise—and you need not a thorough scrubbing. We’ll share another bottle of wine ere I take you to her.”
     

* * * * *
    Brianna and her ladies divested Jasmine of her bridal finery, folding it neatly and laying it atop the coffer of clothing and jewels Rolfe had brought from Hedgewick. She stood, her loose hair arranged to veil her nakedness, expecting at any moment for Rolfe to be propelled into the herb-laden bedchamber by his brother and those of the knights and men at arms who were sober enough to climb the steep, curved stairs.
    Instead, Arnaud came in. And the ladies in waiting departed. “Arnaud will ready you for your husband.” Brianna poured two goblets full of rich-smelling red wine and handed one to Jasmine. “His services this night are my gifts to you and Rolfe.”
    “Lie on the bed, my lady,” the giant ordered, his voice soft yet rumbling, as if it came from deep in his barrel chest.
    Jasmine hesitated. Though ‘twas titillating to imagine being attended by two lovers, she was loath to violate a vow made before God. The priest’s solemn words reverberated in her head.
    …keep yourself only unto him, until death do you part.
    “Go on, little sister. ‘Tis no sacrilege. Arnaud, tell Rolfe’s bride you mean him no dishonor. That your intent is to bring him greater pleasure on his wedding night. I leave you now. Rolfe will join you shortly.”
    The giant took a step toward her and clasped both of her hands. “Feel my hands, my lady. They are as soft and smooth as yours. I have no beard, no warrior’s hard body. Most important to your lord husband, I have no cock or balls. My only road to pleasure is to bring satisfaction to my mistress.” Exerting gentle pressure on her hands, he dragged them to his empty crotch. “Tonight it pleases her for me to pleasure you in the ways of the infidel. Lie down, and I will prepare you to accept Lord Rolfe’s great sword.”
    Sexual excitement warred with fear. Jasmine lay near the edge of the bed upon a linen towel that had been left there. Velvet hangings at the foot of the bed obscured her view of the door. A breeze carried the sweet, musky scent from a hundred glowing candles—and a foreign, pungent but not altogether unpleasant smell—to her nostrils, making her fight to keep from sneezing.
    That scent intensified when the giant eunuch sat beside her and began anointing her with a cool, thick substance. Her arms…calves…thighs…her cunt…
    “What do you do?” she asked, alarmed at the tingling sensation that followed his touch.
    “I make your skin smooth for your lord’s pleasure, my lady Jasmine. While the paste works, I will pleasure you with these.” He held up a stiff feather from a falcon’s wing, a pair of ben-wei balls, and a string of large round pearls like the ones Rolfe had inserted in her cunt after their first mating.
    Jasmine felt her honey begin to flow when Arnaud very gently spread her pussy lips and slipped the mercury-filled balls inside. Her arousal intensified with the motion he set off by laying his big hand on her belly and rotating it in a lazy circle. His other hand went to her anus, already sopping with her own juice, and she felt him inserting the pearls, one by one, past the tight opening and into her sensitive rear passage.
    “Oh, yesss,” she purred when he began stroking her slick, wet slit with the tip of the feather she’d seen. She lifted her hips, setting the balls