Free At Her Service (Swords of Passion) by Cerise Deland

he led her to place her swollen lips above his mouth, “and let me pleasure you as you do me.”
    The feel of his possession of her core, the strong pull of his fingers to spread her as he nibbled and licked and sucked at her was rapture as she endeavoured to lick him and lave his hard rod. But her thighs trembled in the effort, her knees on the bed wobbled and she cried out, angry at herself that this delight was one she could not finish.
    He rolled her over, reversed himself and dropped a quick kiss to one pointed nipple and the other. “Do not despair, my sweet. We will perfect this art.”
    “Have me now, Simon.” She wrapped her arms and legs around him. “I am going to pound with joy soon and I do not wish it without you in my cunt.”
    “Nay, beauty,” he vowed and kissed her hard and fast. “Loving you is what I was made me for.” He reached down between their love-soaked bodies, took himself in hand and rubbed his blunt head over her wet and tender lips. He took her with one swift stroke. “You are mine, only mine.”
    Then he proved to her that no man could ever possess her heart as this one had her body.
    She did not know how long she slept, but when she awakened, she saw Simon walking to his door. She heard him exchange a few words with his Oriental in a strange language and afterward, he softly closed the door.
    “What does your man say? Is aught amiss?” she asked Simon as he came back to her, a golden pagan god in naked splendour.
    “Nay, my sweet. I told Omar to knock several times a day to ensure we are well. I will have no one intruding on our pleasure, least of all Cleve or any of the servants. My Omar is a devoted man, and you should feel safe with him near.” Simon bent to cup a breast. “I want to love you without regard to others’ intrusions.” He laved his velvet rough tongue around her budding nipple. “Hard diamonds, aren’t they?”
    “For you,” she told him, as happy for his care of their safety as she was for his devotion to their mating.
    He bit her nipple lightly and her cunny vibrated with glee. “Shall I make these pretty points beg for me?” he asked.
    “Oh, do, please.” She squirmed on the linens in her joy. “Come lick me and suck me. I cannot have enough of your mouth.”
    “Only my mouth?” He pulled at her areola with his lips.
    She gasped. “All of you.”
    “Wonderful.” He smiled. His gaze caressed her while his fingers stroked her creamy depths. “I have a prize to display for your two pink tips.” His brows arched high in a teasing arc. “Shall I show you?”
    She clapped her hands, eager as a child about to receive a toy. “Do, please.”
    He strode to the cupboard on the far wall and opened the door. Reaching in to take his leather saddle pouch, he grasped crimson silk that billowed through his fingers.
    She grinned at him as he approached. “What have you brought, my lord?”
    His face grew sombre. “This I have carried with me for more than eight years.” He sat upon the bed, his gaze upon his closed fist. “I bought them for you when I had no hope I would ever see you again. When I thought I would die soon and in a heinous land.”
    “My dearest,” she whispered and reached up to kiss him on the cheek. “You are here with me now.” She did not say , all your fears are for naught . For that was useless talk. “Show me, Simon, what you have.”
    He smiled again as he opened his fist to reveal a red silk bag with two draw strings. “I bought them from a caravan drover recently arrived in Jaffa from the Silk Road . The merchant was a leather-faced ancient, sans teeth and hair.”
    As Simon spoke, she began to grin—and so did he.
    “He sat upon the buttery walls of Jaffa , crying at the top of his lungs for all men to come and view his wares. He declared he had the means to make a woman want a man and never leave him.” Simon’s silver eyes met hers, and his voice fell to a rasp. “I had seen my two friends die not days before,