Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (38 page)

“May I ask, what time and place you do hail from?
I’ve been terribly curious ever since you arrived.”

I sigh, searching for the right words. I’m afraid
that Pembroke will immediately lose interest in me if he knows the
truth. He’s an English gentleman from the most romantic period in
history, after all. And I’m lower-class trash from New Jersey.
Hardly a match for him.

Still, something deep in my belly tells me that
Pembroke, of all the people shoved together in this crazy place,
deserves to know the truth about me more than anyone. “I’m from a
time far in the future. The twenty-first century. About two hundred
years after the time you’re from, Pembroke.”

He gives me a gentle nod, and his eyes glisten.
“Fascinating. Do go on.”

“I’m from a place called New Jersey. It’s in
America. Not a very exciting or fashionable place at all.Very, very
ordinary. So ordinary, that a lot of people from New Jersey get
made fun of and ridiculed in my time. Some people are even
embarrassed to be from New Jersey. I know I am, sometimes. But it’s
where I’m from, and a big part of who I am.”

Pembroke smiles wider, his eyes sparkling now. “If
what I’ve seen and heard from you so far is any indication, madam,
this New Jersey must be a very wonderful place, indeed.”

I blush and giggle, suddenly feeling very young.
“Not really. You wouldn’t say that if you actually
saw
it.”

“On the contrary, Louisa. I should like nothing more
than to see your homeland and time. But since we cannot cross the
oceans and centuries today ourselves, why don’t you just tell me a
bit about it? What is your favorite place back home in New
Jersey?”

“The boardwalk at Ocean City,” I reply without even
having to think about it. “It’s been my favorite place ever since I
was a little girl.”

Pembroke’s eyebrows raise. “A. . .boardwalk? Pray,
what is that?”

“A place by the ocean where people go on vacation,”
I explain. “There are shops, and video arcades, and amusement park
rides. It smells good, like saltwater and peanuts.”

“It sounds wonderful. And what are peanuts?”

I laugh. “A salty snack that tastes good. I have
another favorite place in New Jersey, too. The Cherry Hill Mall. I
love shopping at the Steve Madden store there. And they have an
Orange Julius store. And a Chick-Fil-A. There’s nothing better to
eat and drink in the world than a Chick-Fil-A sandwich and an
Orange Julius.”

Pembroke looks puzzled. “I don’t think I understood
a single word of that, milady.”

I laugh again. “No, I don’t suppose you would. But
trust me, if you ever went the Cherry Hill Mall in the twenty-first
century, you’d understand.” I pause, try to relax a bit. “So, what
about you, Pembroke? What’s your favorite place back in the—time
and place you’re from?”

Pembroke sighs, looks wistful. “I daresay it would
be my own estate, Elysia, in the south of Cornwall. The place where
I was born, the place owned by all the Earls of Pembroke dating
back to the ninth century. My family has ten thousand acres of
wheat and barley fields, a hunting ground with stag and fox, a
running stream, and a shooting range. And stables with sixty head
of horses.”

“Wow,” I say. “All I have back in New Jersey is a
studio apartment in Trenton and an old Geo Metro.”

“And I am sure they are as beautiful as you are,”
Pembroke says, holding my hand up to his lips. “Madam, I must admit
that I have forgotten all my gentlemanly manners. Your very
presence stirs up parts of myself that have not felt anything in
years. I beg your forgiveness for being so bold, madam, but I
should like it very much if you might consider bestowing your
considerable favors upon me. I should love nothing more than for
you to suspend me upon your Cross of Satisfaction and have your way
with me, just as you did with our foul captor, Lord Verdigris.
Please, don’t be offended at my sheer brashness, madam, but—”

I throw my arms around him. “I’m not offended at
all,” I say. “In fact, I’ve wanted the same thing ever since I
first laid eyes on you. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever
seen in my entire life.” It’s true. If I died in this man’s arms
right now, I’d die happy.

Pembroke pulls me close. “We must be careful,
Louisa. If Lord Verdigris were ever to find out—it would be
disastrous. For both of us. I shan’t put you in any danger if you
do not wish it. I would be miserable without your touch, but I
shall be even more miserable if any harm were ever to come to you.
Are you absolutely sure you want to take such a risk, madam?”

“I’m sure,” I say. Then I kiss him.

He kisses right back.

I lead him over to my four-poster bed, where the
Cross dangles overhead, suspended by its heavy chain. Without being
asked, Pembroke carefully lowers it until it falls between us in a
symbolic gesture, its end balanced on the floor at the foot of my
bed. He unbuttons his coat, then untangles his cravat. Soon he’s
standing before me bare-chested, all defined pecs and washboard abs
and fine blonde chest hair. “Make me your prisoner,” he says, the
haughty veneer of his English gentlemanly manners falling away.

I go to him timidly, almost afraid to put my hands
on that gleaming, perfect chest of his. I suddenly feel very
inadequate. Here I am, a low-class New Jersey toll collector
preparing to get it on with a gorgeous gazillionaire English
nobleman who just so happens to be two hundred years older than I
am. It’s enough to make a girl a little nervous.

“Take your pants off,” I order him. I’m almost
afraid to do it myself. The expensive-looking broadcloth stretched
so tight across Pembroke’s swelling crotch is one of the most
intimidating sights I’ve ever seen.

Pembroke looks puzzled. “My
what
,
milady?”

My brow furrows; then it comes to me. They don’t
call them “pants” in Pembroke’s time. In Regency England, “pants”
are only for overworked horses and aroused virgins. “Your. .
.
breeches.
Take them off. Slowly.”

“Your wish is my command.” Pembroke delicately
fingers the double row of silver buttons that form a reverse
triangle at his swollen crotch. He makes the task of unbuttoning
each one into a sensual display. After almost a minute of
delectable finger artistry, he shoves the waistband of those
ridiculously tight breeches down, and his equipment pops
skyward.

Like everything else on this man’s body, his cock is
beautiful.

They really did build them better back in the
Regency era. No wonder Barbara Cartland set most of her novels back
then. And now I’ve got something no Barbara Cartland novel can ever
offer—a real, live Regency gentleman ready and willing to let this
New Jersey girl tie him up and fuck him
my
way.

Pembroke slides his silken breeches slowly down his
sculpted legs, then steps out of his knee boots. A split second
later, he is naked before me in all his glory.

“Get on the cross,” I order him, feeling my lower
half burst into flames.

He obeys me without question. I tie his legs onto
the cross loosely, but leave his arms and hands free to caress me.
And caress me they do. As soon as he’s stable on the cross, I throw
myself on top of him. All at once, Pembroke’s hands ravish me,
unlacing this, loosening that, stripping off my silk and satin and
velvet, until I’m as naked as he is.

Pembroke’s soft English gentleman’s hands find my
damp slit, and probe there. He has me stretched wide open almost
immediately, pressing and pushing, stroking and slicking all my
intimate nooks and crannies. I straddle his waist and squat a bit
over the leaning cross, helping to open my labia and give him
access to the parts of me that need touching the most. He finds my
clit almost immediately, and begins to stroke it in a soft, steady
rhythm that brings it out from under its little hood, swelling it.
“Mmmmmmm,” I groan, grinding myself against his hand. “Oh, baby,
that hits the spot.”

He presses up against my cunt, pushing his fingers
harder and deeper into my clit, stepping up their friction and
speed. I match his movements in perfect synchrony, until we become
like a finely tuned sexual machine. Once the slow burn has gone
inferno, Pembroke takes his other hand and begins finger-fucking
me, all the while keeping the heat on my clit. I come once, twice,
three times, throwing my head back and yelping with joy. Without
even thinking, I move onto his shaft, riding him at a steady canter
as he keeps right on working my clit. His thrusting hips meet my
bucking ones, matching every motion with such perfection that we
become one body. I feel the firm, hard tip of his cock up against
my cervix, every impact rattling deep into the recesses of my
belly. I grunt and groan and swear, loving every inch of the cock
that is infecting my twat with its hardness and precision. The
smell of sex is thick in the room, and the sound of slapping wet,
straining bodies is the most beautiful chamber music I’ve ever
heard.

I rotate myself on Pembroke’s cock until I’m doing
doggy-style reverse cowgirl on top of him. I lean forward in a sort
of downward-dog position, pushing my weight against the floor with
my hands. Pembroke responds in kind, helping to hold me up by my
rump as he grips my backside with his hands for more leverage into
my sheath. Now he’s taking me so deep and hard that I feel like his
cock is going to come out my mouth. Every time he rams into me, I
see stars. I come again and again, until my body becomes a live
wire of unstoppable pulsing vibrations. I scream, and sigh, and
weep.

This is by far the best fuck I have ever had.

I come one spectacular, final time—the walls of my
vagina ripple up and down, sending spasms the length of my entire
body. My sheath tightens and releases, tightens and releases around
Pembroke’s cock, taking him over the edge with me. He groans and
explodes into me, spurting seed up into my cunt so hard I can
literally taste it. The scent of his essence mixing with my pussy
juice is the sweetest perfume that has ever filled my nostrils.

Pembroke collapses into me, exhausted. It’s all I
can do to push myself back up to standing with the weight of his
rippled, muscular body perched over mine. But somehow I find the
strength to do it, even though the afterglow of a wild fuck and a
half-dozen orgasms weighs down my limbs like a heavy summer
storm.

I lean into him, and he leans into the Cross, which
has gone slick with our sweat and sex juices. I turn my body to
face his, keeping his slowly wilting cock inside me for as long as
I can. The connection between the two of us is so strong, though,
that even when he must be gone from me, we shall never be
severed.

“Madam, that was by far the most colossal experience
of my life,” Pembroke whispers into my ear. “I thank you sincerely
for the privilege of sharing myself with you this day.”

Good God, even this man’s pillow talk is
high-class.

“You’re welcome,” I whisper back. “Though from now
on, can you just call me Louise? All this ‘madam’ and ‘milady’
stuff just makes me feel weird.”

He squeezes me tight and kisses me playfully on the
cheek. “As you wish, Louise. And if I may be so bold, perhaps the
next time you and I share ourselves with one another, could you
please tie me up entirely? I should like nothing more than to
submit entirely to your will.”

I play with the soft, fine hair dappling Pembroke’s
chest. “I think that can be arranged. How about I untie your legs
for now, though, so we can spend a little time cozied up in
bed?”

He nods, and a moment later we’re free and loose
together among my satin sheets. Pembroke’s cock is already stirring
again, and to help him along, I go down on him, taking the tip of
his sweaty, salty glans into my mouth, running my tongue up and
down along the little ridge leading to the small divot that is
already dripping happy juice. He groans and grinds into me in
reply. “Ohhhh, Louise—you are incorrigible.”

“I’m just getting started,” I say between sucks. I
send my tongue up and down the back of his shaft, following the
pulsing, throbbing veins on his now fully erect cock into the place
where they meet behind his balls. He writhes and moans underneath
me, grabbing and pulling at my hair. I suck him hard now, squeezing
his balls with one hand until he’s almost on the verge of coming
again. Then I pull away, push him back against the headboard with
my hands. “Stay here,” I say. “Don’t move.”

I reach over onto my dressing table and pick up a
long satin sash that came off one of my underdresses when Pembroke
ravished my clothes off my body. I stretch it out to check its
length, find it suitable, then rummage around the scattered piles
of discarded clothing for something similar. I settle on Pembroke’s
cravat, which is almost as long as my sash. Perfect.

Pembroke waits obediently in the bed, motionless up
against my heavy teak headboard. I take his right arm, use one end
of the cravat to tie it to a bedpost, then use the other end to tie
up his left. Then I move on to his legs. I spreadeagle him,
stretching him as far as his body will allow. He lets out a
delighted whimper as his muscles stretch and strain under my hands.
Once he’s spread wide open into a massive “X”, I use my long satin
sash to tie each ankle to a bedpost.

Now Pembroke is spread-eagled, prostate,
motionless—and incredibly aroused—before me.

He is mine, all mine.

I step between Pembroke’s spread legs, enjoying the
view I have of the backside of his erect cock and balls. His balls
are already drawn far back, close to his groin, mere seconds from
blowing their load. But if I have my way, they’ll be holding on to
that salty-sweet essence for a good while.

I take up my smooth wooden paddle again, intent on
using it on Pembroke.

I work my way up each of Pembroke’s spread-eagled
legs with the paddle, giving him light, smacking taps, relishing
the reddening trail the paddle leaves behind.Pembroke lets out a
cry of pleasure with each delectable blow, and drops of happy juice
build up one by one on his glans as his ecstasy builds.