She was still quite naked when she got into bed, leaving him to bathe in the remaining water. He kept his eyes on her as he stripped off his clothing. Though she pretended to be immune to his charms, Madeline nevertheless bunched the sheets up in such a manner as to allow her to look upon his naked form.
He was magnificent. He removed his leggings first and she saw that his legs were muscled and hard all the way to his rounded posterior shaped like that of some pagan god. When he removed his doublet and shirt her quim began to pulse of its own accord. His manhood hung thick and long between his thighs, but it was his torso that truly took her breath away. His hips were slim and his abdomen was furred and toned, but his shoulders were broad and his chest was spectacularly formed with slabs of muscle bigger than her head. Sir Gregory was far more imposing without his clothes than with them. Madeline could not stop herself from staring, her roaming eye taking him in over and over again until he sat in the bath and just his knees and shoulders were exposed.
“You know I can see you, princess,” he drawled as he began to wash himself. “You may look upon me without shame. We are betrothed.”
Madeline made no reply, for she was not going to admit her carnal curiosity. She was so deeply affected by her reaction to his body that it scared her. He had filled her head with wanton thoughts so torrid she could barely have stood to look herself in the eye. She chose to cover her face and listen as he washed. She could imagine the water beading on his skin, trailing down over the planes of his muscles in a slow trickling torrent.
“It’s not like you to hide, princess,” he drawled, clearly amused by her modesty. “What is the matter? Have you not seen a man in a state of undress before?”
“Of course I haven’t,” Madeline snapped. “I have seen your manhood before though. I have touched it if you recall. I have tasted it.”
“My manhood yes, but not my body. It is one thing to see a part of a man, something else to see what he is like in the flesh.”
She heard the rushing water as he stood up, then the soft sounds of his body being toweled dry.
“Last chance to see, princess,” he said in teasing tones. “I am about to don my nightshirt.”
“I don’t care,” Madeline lied, shutting her eyes tightly. She was battling with herself, against the instinct that made her want to throw back the sheets, spread her thighs and welcome him deep inside her body.
“I know you are not truly shy, princess,” Sir Gregory drawled. “So I can only imagine this temper of yours is related to the stripes on your bottom. If you plan to sulk every time you are chastised, you will be sulking a great deal.”
“I’m not sulking,” Madeline said, sitting upright. She gathered the sheets about her and pushed pillow after pillow around her so that she would not be touched when Gregory came to bed. Laying on her side, she manned her soft fortifications with all due fierceness.
“What is this?” Sir Gregory chuckled as he strode toward the bed in the incongruous nightshirt which did little to hide his charms.
“This is my protection,” she said, her chin jutting high.
His blue eyes sparkled with humor. “You think a pillow will protect you from the ardor of a knight?”
“No,” she said. “It is symbolic. Like that griffon you wear on your tabard. My father is not literally a griffon is he?”
“No, but his daughter’s claws are as dangerous, her rump as beautiful, and her beak as sharp and deadly.”
Madeline tried not to look too pleased at Gregory’s assessment. “I am a princess, you know. Even if we are pretending that I am your squire.”
“I have not forgotten,” he said, standing before her. “Have you forgotten that I am your betrothed?”
“Betrothed, but not married. No priest has stamped his seal on our union yet.” She wrapped her arms around a pillow and stared daggers at the handsome knight.
“Soon enough, sweet princess, soon enough.” He stripped off his light undershirt, baring his body to her gaze. Madeline felt her loins tingle at the sight of him, muscled and scarred, shaped and formed by the forces of bloody battle. There was not a part of his body which did not tell the story of war, of valor and of strength. She found herself reacting viscerally to the sight of the contours and planes of his body, the hardness of his frame and the broadness of his person. Somehow he managed to look larger without a shirt on than with it.
“Remember your place,” she jabbed verbally, causing him to raise a brow in her direction.
“I know my place,” he drawled. “I know both our places. Yours is with your bare hide bared beneath my lash.”
“You have beaten me enough today,” Madeline replied. “I cannot bear to lay on my back because of you.”
“I warned you that you would be treated as a squire,” Sir Gregory replied, his blue eyes flashing with a hint of amusement. “And at your first convenience you set out to test me.”
“I was set upon by a brute, forced to fight with my fists,” she sniffed in response. “You left me to fend for myself. Little help you were when I needed you.”
“You were in no danger, Madeline. All you needed do was tend to the horses, make nice with the other squires and not go out of your way to antagonize the knights. Do not speak so rashly next time you are in the presence of a knight. Sir August was remarkably patient with you. Other men will not be so kind. You will find yourself knocked down before your tongue is done wagging.”
“That is what you say,” she replied. “But you are not the one who was set upon, nor the one who was punished for defending yourself. You were most unfair.”
“Poor princess,” he said, moving to sit on his side of the bed. His presence was all the more imposing for its proximity. Madeline was glad for the shield of her pillow, ineffective as it might be it at least gave her a little in the way of bulk. He reached out and brushed the hair that was not remotely close to being in her eyes, thanks to the haircut she had endured at his hands. “A squire’s life is not an easy one, is it?”
“I have not known a day of peace since I met you,” Madeline said. “So I would say that it is my life that is not easy when you are near.”
“You will know peace soon enough,” Sir Gregory replied. “Once you arrive at your new home and take your place as my bride.”
“The bride of a brute,” Madeline sneered. “Destined to endure all sorts of carnal indignities, no doubt.”
“You protest too much, sweet princess,” Gregory said, casting her pillow aside. “I saw the smile on your face when I entered the stables, and I see how your eyes shine now. You’re sore and you’re tired and you’re far from home, but you’re happy.”
“Am I?” Madeline tried for a scowl.
“You are,” he said, letting his hand drift across her cheek in a fond caress. “You seek trouble wherever you go, princess. And I begin to think that you seek punishment equally as eagerly.”
She proved him wrong by turning her head and biting his palm.
“You see? You have not had enough. You will not go quietly to sleep, will you, you need my hand on your hide yet again.”
“I do not,” Madeline said, her teeth still fastened on his hand. Her words were muffled, but her teeth were sharp. Gregory did not seem concerned by her toothy grip, clearly she was not inflicting much discomfort on him. He did throw back the covers though, loop his arm about her waist and haul her naked body across his thighs. She kept her grip on his good hand, but that made no difference, his left hand clapped against her bottom hard enough to make her yowl and release his right hand. The next slap landed between her spread thighs, nearly catching her mound.
“I have punished your bottom about as much as can be done in one day,” he said, pausing to inspect the bright red lines which crossed her tender flesh at regular intervals. “But there are more places to teach you.”
Madeline let out a shocked yelp as his hand cupped her bare mound and a little shiver passed through her loins as he tenderly played with her lips, stroking back and forth along the length in a caress which made her quiver.
“A priest will join us in spirit, but we will join ourselves in flesh,” he said, his voice gruff against her ear as his fingers claimed her. “And this part of you is no different from any other.” His fingers lifted and returned in a slap which landed across her lower lips, striking the softness around the entrance of her body.
Madeline moaned in response, the sting mingling with the pleasure to create a sensation which was not entirely unpleasant. He repeated the treatment several more times, slapping her quim until she yelped softly and squirmed her rod reddened bottom.
“Does your precious puss hurt?” His fingers returned to their softer strokes, soothing her pain. “You seem very stimulated, princess. This sweet flower is spreading its nectar all over.”
She was shamefully wet, a response she could not control. A well behaved princess did not allow her thighs to become drenched with lust for a knight, but Madeline was not well behaved and she did not try to hide her desire. Instead she spread her legs, letting her petals flower into full bloom.
Sir Gregory’s growl of need was her reward. He had quite forgotten about her behavior. He was focused on the conquest of her body.
“You are a shameless little wench,” he said, slapping her bottom with the flat of his hand. “Look at you, spread out for me like a wanton maid.”
She was no match for Sir Gregory, but her nudity was a weapon more powerful than any he wielded. The thick length of his manhood strained as his blue eyes devoured her pert breasts, tipped with pink nipples erect with excitement.
“Wanton?” She raised a brow. “I am chaste, Sir Gregory. As chaste as the moon.”
“And displaying yourself just as boldly.”
“You have seen me many times before,” Madeline said. “Bared me on our first meeting, no less. What shame should I feel around a man who is my betrothed?”
“The lord will forgive me for succumbing to this temptation,” Sir Gregory said, his large palm reaching to cup her breast. “You are ripe, princess. I will drink your nectar.”
She did not know what he meant until he released her, allowed her to squirm away then caught her almost immediately, flipping her over onto her back so her sore bottom met the sheets as her hauled her close, hands on her thighs, spreading them so he could feast on the juices of her quim. His tongue lapped none too gently against the entrance of her body and Madeline squealed with delight. The flesh he had spanked was eager for his touch, the heat of his mouth wet and ravenous against her nether lips.
Pleasure unlike any Madeline had ever known consumed her body. Each lash of his tongue unleashed waves of heat which did not contain themselves to her mound, but went rushing through her blood, sending her senses spinning. She reached down, her fingers curling in the dark length of his hair as his nose brushed against the tight nub of her clitoris and made her thighs quake in response.
Her bottom was pressed against the bed most firmly, aching in a way that would have caused her distress but for the fact there was no room for such a sensation. The ache was folded into the rushing ecstasy flowing from her loins to her limbs, taking her body in its sway. Madeline was quite lost, no longer in control of her actions or faculties as Gregory played her like a fiddle, taking the bud of her clitoris between his lips and strumming it with the tip of his tongue until she clasped at the sheets and wailed to high heaven, every muscle in her body tense as a tidal wave of pleasure beyond pleasure caught her and carried her to peaks beyond her wildest imaginations.
Not content to let her settle, Gregory drew away whilst she was still quivering and began to slap her mound once again. “This is what you get for being a teasing minx,” he said, swatting over the top of her mound.
“Enough!” Madeline covered her quim with both hands and bore the slaps on the back of her knuckles instead. “I yield!”
“Do you?” A wolfish grin spread over Gregory’s face. “I never thought I would see the day.”