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"My, but aren't we a pair."
Damita stopped so fast she teetered on her heels. A scream bubbled in her throat as she whirled around and spotted the silhouette that leaned against a tree just behind her. How had she not seen such an imposing figure when she passed?
"There is no need to scream. I will not harm you."
"Who--who are you?" Her voice trembled and even as she asked the question she knew the answer. The man from the pub who hid in the darkness. She had flirted with him, blew him a kiss as he stood to leave but even so had been unable to make out his features.
He shifted his weight on his left leg, his right knee bent at a somewhat odd angle as though he favored it, but he didn't move from the tree. "Let's just say that I'm an admirer."
"You're the man from the pub. I don't sleep with men who come to see me dance."
"Who said anything about sleeping?"
Damita's lips twitched and she relaxed a little. A wise ass, this man was. She did love a man with attitude. She bit the inside of her lip to hold back the smile but couldn't completely hide amusement in her tone. "Got me there, soldier." He stiffened at that and her eyes narrowed. "I don't have sex with men from the pub. Is that precise enough for you?"
"Yes, it will do I suppose." He pushed himself away from the tree and walked toward her with only the slightest limp in his step. Yet, in the darkness of the night, she still couldn't make out more than an outline of his body. He didn't stop until he stood beside her, his chest nearly brushing her arm.
"W--what are you doing?"
"Relax." He spoke that single word in such a way, in such a voice, that made her want to obey, to give himanything.
"You're too close." She could feel the heat radiating from his body and, when he leaned in, his warm breath against the sensitized flesh of her neck gave her goose pimples all over her body.
"I told you I would not hurt you."
"And I told you--"
"That you don't have sex with men from the pub," he finished for her and his tone wasn't mocking but understanding, soothing. "I won't do anything you don't want me to."
And that could present a problem, Damita thought, because she could think of all sorts of things she wanted this man to do to her. If she let him touch her, gave in to her own desires to be touched, she would break a personal rule she set the first night she danced at the pub. She would dance for men, allow them to look but never touch. She felt his palm glide down her spine, settle at the small of her back and could almost hear her rule shatter like glass.
"Your dancing," he whispered. His lips brushed the skin just below her ear. "It turns you on as much as the men who watch you, doesn't it?"
Breathless, she nodded. "Yes."
"And do you touch yourself when you get back to your cabin through these trees?"
Cabin? Yes, she would let him continue to believe she lived in a cabin in the next village. Forget that one could probably fit a dozen or more of those tiny cabins in one wing of the castle.
She didn't answer, couldn't. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest as he moved behind her. His arms encircled her waist. She should run, she thought. She should kick, scream, do something, anything rather than simply stand here and wait for what he would do next. Yet, she stood still, her knees trembling, fireworks exploding in her belly and waited.
"Do you lie in your bed alone in the hour just before dawn and cup your breasts?" His hands pushed the lapels of her cloak aside, moved the slide under her breasts, hold them. "Do you rub your thumbs over your sweet nipples until they harden for you?" Again, his actions mirrored his words. The callused pads of his thumbs grazed back and forth over her nipples until they became so erect they hurt. Then his forefingers joined his thumbs and he rolled her nipples as though they were marbles between his fingers.
Damita let out a strangled cry as her head fell back to rest on his chest. "Oh God!"
He folded himself around her, leaned in to lick and nip her ear as he continued to fondle her breasts. He applied just enough pressure to her nipples, squeezed just hard enough to pull a sound from her that was half scream of pain and half moan of pleasure. "Do you caress your body?" He whispered it in her ear as his right hand abandoned her breast to graze down the flat plane of her abs, her stomach. "Pull up your skirt for me the way you did on stage tonight."
"I--" She didn't know what she meant to say. Had she gone crazy? She let this man, this complete stranger, put his hands on her. She snuck out of the castle and went to the pub nearly on a nightly basis for some time now. Yet, she didn't lie when she said she never had sex with the men, never let them touch her. Until tonight. Until this man. With hands that shook, she lifted her skirt.
"You were wet on stage. So wet your panties were soaked with it. I wonder, are you wet now?"
She was. More wet now than she ever got on stage ... because of him. Her panties felt as though she put them on straight from the wash bin without giving them a moment to dry, and when he palmed her mound through those panties, she felt still more juices seep out of her.
"Ah yes. Is that for me?"
Since she couldn't seem to find her voice, she simply nodded. She knew he would feel the movement of her head on his chest.
"Pull your panties down for me."
This request ... No, not a request but more of an order, made an excitement more visceral than any she ever felt rush through her. Even as nervousness and indecision mixed with that excitement, she did as ordered. Would she really let this stranger have his way with her? she wondered even as she tugged at her panties and let them fall to the ground around her heels. Hadn't she gone too far to turn back now? When his finger slipped into her pubic hair, wiggled between her pussy lips, she knew she wouldn't stop him.
"By the Gods, you are wet," he whispered and she heard the evidence of his own arousal in the huskiness of his voice, felt it in the rigidity of his cock against her back. "And so hot. I bet you taste sweet too. Shall we find out?"
Posted December 20, 2010
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