Sarina's Servant: Chapter 1
Continue to Chapter 2 of Sarina's Servant here
Erotic fiction by Michele London
Sarina’s calfskin slippers made not a sound as she crept across the cold stones of the dungeon floor. Despite the torches that flickered and flared from sconces in every corner, and the walls of solid granite that admitted not a single breeze from the night outside, the places was cold, always cold, as if it knew its purpose and was only keeping to form.
She had donned her velvet cloak before setting out, and its heavy hood hung in folds around her face, muffling the noises around her so that she must constantly stop and turn her head to listen, to be sure she was not followed.
The torches played games with the light, giving shadows to foes who were not there and keeping Sarina’s heart planted firmly in her throat. She was nearly there, the cell at the farthest corner of the gaol which was reserved for prisoners of state. She knew it was there, and knew he would be within it, though how she knew these things, as a woman and a princess, her father would never have guessed. Which was why he had not thought it necessary to plant a guard outside her own door that night; for where, indeed, could she possibly have gone?
Another step closer and she stopped short, the long shadow of a guard stretching out from around the last bend in the corridor. She steeled herself, collecting a courage she had never had much reason to use, and walked forward. The guard, who had been slumping at his post, straightened his shoulders and righted his stance at her approach. But his expression faltered to see her there, so out of place in her fine clothes and delicate shoes.
“My lady,” he said, a question in his voice he dared not ask.
“I wish to see the prisoner.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Highness. This is no place for –“
“Good sir,” she said, stepping closer to him. She pushed the hood back from her face and let her long red hair flow free. Its tips brushed the swelling softness of her bosom, and the guard’s eyes flickered there for a moment. “The man in that cell has come very close to destroying any chance I might have at happiness. I would see him. Do you deny me that right?”
She could see the guard flounder, casting about for some solid footing. It was not in him to disobey a command from one of the royal family; but she knew he would have orders from her father that should, in theory, outweigh her own. And though orders from the king carried far more importance than those from a princess, her words had the benefit of her presence behind them, and the appetites of a royal soldier that she knew would have gone long unsatisfied.
“The King would not like it,” he said at last.
“There are a great many things the King does not like. Chief among them reports that his daughter has been harassed by a prison guard.”
She took his hand from off of his spear and laid it atop the curve of her breast. His fingers twitched at the opportunity, but did nothing.
“Tell me: can you look the King in the face, and tell him you did not touch me? Can you swear that you did not feel my skin grow warm beneath your hand, and my breast ache to feel your caress? Mm? They say it is very difficult to lie to a King.”
He swallowed, his eyes flicking back and forth, and finally let out a sigh. He dropped his hand to his belt and produced a long, silver key. With it, he unlocked the gate that enclosed the final corridor, and opened it to let her pass.
“I shall call you if I have need of you. Until then, leave us in peace.”
He nodded and mumbled a "yesmylady", but Sarina was already moving down the hallway. The gate clanged shut behind her.
There were fewer torches here. One, at the gate, was intended to be enough to light the way to the cell at the far end; another was posted beside the cell itself. They were the only two. Sarina stared hard into the shifting shadows for some sign of him. Was he sitting, or laying down? Was he even awake? She couldn’t imagine that he would be asleep, not now; he must be awake, waiting for her, knowing she would come.
“You would have me, still?” came his voice out of the dark. “Thrown in a cell and relieved of my title, and yet still you come?”
“Your title is nothing to me.”
“It is more than that to your father.”
She saw him now, his back leaned up against the cell wall. They had taken his robes and fine garments, and left him with the tunic and trousers of a prisoner. His dark hair was loose and tangled, and the firelight cut the lines of his face into hard, tired angles.
The bars were just as cold as the stones under her feet, but she wrapped her hands around them and peered in at him. He submitted himself to her scrutiny for long moments, before he broke her gaze and looked away.
“Why?” she said. She could hear him smile.
“Why what, Lady? What would you have me say? That it was nothing more than a moment of madness? You know me too well for that. I meant the words I said to your father, every one of them, and if he chooses not to listen then he is a fool.”
He stood, and came to place his hands over hers on the bars.
“And yet, perhaps it was madness. What future can I offer you now? You’ll be wed to some foreign lord, after this. Someone with a great, draughty castle across the sea, somewhere far enough away to forget all about me.”
Sarina lifted up on her toes and pressed her lips against his, the cell bars freezing her cheeks. He tried to wrap his hands around her waist, but they were held back so that he could only hold her hips and pull her close.
“Forget this?” she asked. “I never could.” She lifted a hand to the laces of her dress, loosening the knot and freeing the fabric. Her breasts pushed out of the linen, soft mounds revealing taut pink nipples.
“You are cruel to me, Sarina,” he said with a sad smile, grazing his palms over her warm skin.
Then he stopped, his hand having touched on something he didn’t expect, and pulled the long, iron key out of Sarina’s bodice.
“Cruel and clever,” he said. The cell door swung open on noisy hinges, and Lucas cringed, his head snapping towards the corridor for sign of the guard.
“Never mind him,” Sarina said. “He’s been taken care of.”
He grinned, took her hand, and made for the hallway, but she pulled him back.
“No. We can’t.”
“What? But what is the point of all this then?”
“My father’s good humor extends only so far. I cannot free you, you know I wish I could. He will know it was me, and that will do neither of us any good. We must convince him to change his mind.”
He came back into the cell, holding both her hands.
“But then, why have you come?”
Sarina looked down, still reduced to blushing at the nearness of him. “Can you think of no reason?”
The heat of his body drew closer, and now his hands did slip all the way around her waist. His palms flattened on her back and forced her to take a step into him. His hair tickled her cheeks as he bent down to kiss her again, drawing her up on her toes and stealing her breath away. She pressed her body into him, reveling in the feeling of his rough tunic against the sensitive skin of her breasts.
He pulled back, and undid the clasp that held her cloak together at her throat. He laid the soft velvet down over the pallet of straw that was his bed, and guided her to lay down upon it. Sarina moved to help him with his clothes, but he caught her hands and set them aside.
“No,” he said. “You’ve done enough for me for one night. And I am a Prince no longer, remember? Allow me to serve you, my lady.”
With the sure, certain movements of a man born to privilege, Lucas wound his hands up the inside of her skirts, finding the ties of her undergarments without looking and making short work of them. He eased the delicate fabric down her legs and tucked it away in the shadows of the cell. Sarina shifted her legs, the silken rub of her own naked thighs against one another sending a sudden flame of desire into her belly.
He pushed her skirts up her legs, farther, until her knees and then her thighs were exposed to the cold air of the chamber. A rush a cold air breezed across the moisture between her legs, and Sarina shivered. Lucas smiled.
“Don’t worry, my love. You won’t be cold for long.”
She held his gaze for as long as she could, until his head dipped below her line of sight and there was a moment – a long, terrible moment – in which she could neither see him nor feel him. Then, his fingers pressed into her legs and his breath tickled her skin, and Sarina sucked in a breath and waited, tense, for the shock she knew was coming.
When his warm tongue touched her skin, she jumped and grabbed at the bedding. He smiled, and made himself more comfortable.
Before now, their couplings had been rushed, stolen, brief moments snatched away from the duties of a princess and a royal ambassador. But this was no hurried affair.
Lucas ran his tongue up and down the length of her folds, stopping each time to lap at the little mound that was already full and aching with the need of him. He circled it in measures fast and slow, and took it between his lips for breathless moments, only to let it fall back down again unfulfilled.
Sarina quickly lost control of her breathing. She turned her face into her shoulder to muffle the moans of anguished pleasure that she could not keep from escaping her lips. His fingers were inching up the inside of her thigh, digging into her flesh to match the rhythm of his tongue. When her legs twitched, his grip turned to iron and kept them apart as he redoubled his efforts.
Her muscles began to shake. Heat pooled in her belly and began to spread, and Sarina tipped her head back and forgot to worry about the guard listening in, or the indignity of laying on a prison bed. His fingers reached her sex, and he filled her with them even as his tongue was moving back and forth across her throbbing mound.
When she cried out, he covered her with his mouth and lavished long, full strokes of his tongue on her heaving sex, holding her with his fingers still and letting her buck and writhe against them.
Sarina lay back, limp, as pulses of pleasure still coursed through her body. She reached a weak hand down to caress the dark hair on his head, her eyes fluttering closed.
“You,” she said. “I want you.”
She pulled on his tunic until he came up to face her, and fumbled with the drawstring on his trousers.
He kissed her lips and gently nudged her hand away to take care of the stubborn ties himself. He pushed her skirts up higher and brought her knees up around his waist. When he sank into her, Sarina sighed and pulled him closer, wrapping her ankles around his back and arching up to meet his thrusts.
“Sarina, my darling,” he said, showering kisses on her throat and breasts.
But then he said no more, as the pent up need of a week or more overtook him and he groaned out his own release.
For some time he still moved, slowly, inside her, and she brushed the hair from his forehead and kissed his chin, and let her legs relax against his back.
“You would make a fine servant,” she said, and giggled. “Perhaps you do not need your title.”
He moved to lay beside her, and covered them both in her warm cloak. “You think so? And what a scandal we should cause, the Queen and her fallen Prince, now just a bed servant.”
“Never mind about those things. We’ll sort it out, you’ll see. Father will see reason; he must. But I can’t think about it now.”
“No,” he said, “nor me. Not with you laying beside me.”
“The guard will soon wonder.”
“Does he concern you?”
She fit her head into the angle of his arm and twined her leg around his own.
“No,” she said. “Not in the slightest.”
Continue to Chapter 2 of Sarina's Servant here
Michele London is an author, editor, and romance consultant with Scarlet Girl. She is a regular contributor to Scarlet’s Letter and the archive of articles at ScarletGirl.com. She writes dark fiction and erotic fantasy, and dips into real-life tales of sexy for the lovely ladies as a Scarlet Girl pleasure party consultant in the San Francisco Bay Area.
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