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

their bodies mangled, torn apart by scimitars of the Heathens. I felt for certain my day to die must be close. To buy these for you made me feel somehow eternal.” Simon glanced away, and she knew he did so to hide his sadness.
    She put a hand to his arm. “My darling, you bought these as a talisman to tell yourself you would one day come back to me.”
    He faced her, his mouth lifting from a tight line of despair to dawning joy. “How could you know?” he whispered.
    She gripped his hand. “I know you.”
    Delight erased his melancholy. He bent to kiss her lips. “Shall I show you these?”
    “Oh, please.”
    “Hmm. Very well, be still now.”
    “Like this?” She squirmed against the bedding and let her breasts sway a bit before him.
    “Temptress,” he scolded.
    “Sorcerer,” she countered and lifted her chin at him. “Show me, damn you.”
    He took from his pouch two silver pincers, encrusted with tiny stones of aqua and pink, purple and topaz.
    “They are lovely. But what are they?” She touched one with a fingertip.
    “They are for your breasts. Your nipples.”
    “But…how?” Her excitement made her breathless.
    He cupped one of her breasts and bent to suck her nipple to a hard round point. She arched up into his hand and his mouth, speechless with his ardour. He drew away, took her areola between his fingertips and clamped her nipple between the clamp of the jewelled silver.
    “Ah!” she shot upward into his arms. “Simon!” One hand went to her breast, where darts of raging need pierced her to her oh so ready womb.
    He examined her closely. “You like this?”
    “Aye, aye !” She grabbed his hand. “I like the way it looks, too.”
    “Greedy witch.”
    She cuffed him. “Give me the other.”
    He hauled her up into his embrace and kissed her as if he would die now and be complete. Then he pushed her to the bed, stroked her other breast, laved her nipple with a sweet swirling tongue and clamped the other jewel on.
    A shout sprang from her lips. Her hands plunged into her bush. He tore them away and dipped to put his mouth to her swollen flesh. “Quake for me, Elise.” He nibbled at her tiny nub then kissed her and parted her and finally possessed her with his huge rod.
    He sat back, pulled her ass cheeks up onto his thighs and rode her as if he were a man on a wild mare.
    She reached for him, tweaked his brown, hard nipples and cried in wanton need. “Simon, Simon, be quick, quick because I—”
    She had no more words for the fury that overtook her, pulsed through her from her tight little nipples, pressed into a raging delight by the clamps of the bejewelled silver. She could only quake and milk the glorious staff that Simon gave her with sure hard pounds of his hips into hers. Once more, she felt his eruption bathe her womb, and she rejoiced that she had come to accept him, his seed and his service.
    For long minutes, he remained upright, eyes closed, fingernails digging into her hips, his body buried deep inside her. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “You learn quickly.”
    “I have an excellent teacher.” She asked nothing of how he had learnt. It was best she never ask. For these minutes that must last her all her life, she would keep them free of the bitterness about the past and trepidations of the future. Ponderings would do them no good. “May we do this again?” she asked with bright invitation, squirming against his hips.
    He chuckled. “Unsatisfied, are you?”
    “If I say aye, then…”
    He grinned and gave her a thrust from his still-engorged rod. “Then, I must give you new adventures, eh?”
    She had barely uttered, “Aye,” when he lifted her with a hand beneath her neck and sent his tongue stabbing inside her mouth.
    “You are such a sweet meat, my lovely.” He took her lower lip between his teeth and tugged at her while one hand covered her breast and twisted her nipple between two strong fingers. “I could eat all of you—and think I will.”
    She