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Sarina's Servant: Chapter 2

Sarina's Servant: Chapter 2

Revisit Chapter 1 of Sarina's Servant here

Erotic fiction by Michele London

There were no windows in the prison cell, nor even any chinks in the stone to permit light to shine through. And so when dawn came, as she knew it must at last, Sarina knew it only by the sudden fear of discovery that seized her eyelids and flung them open. She lay still for a time, listening for sounds of movement, of impending capture. But it seemed the guards still dozed at their posts, and there was time enough still to be away.

Beside her, Lucas slept. She laid her hand on his chest, watching it rise and fall with his breath, and smiled. What in all hells was she going to do about him?

His cock was already half hard beneath the thin blanket that prisoners were allowed, and stirring with morning’s first need. With some effort Sarina resisted the urge to take him in her hand and bring him to his full size before plunging him into her mouth. Much as she would have liked to wake him thus, she knew there wasn’t time for it now. She had gained an indulgence for herself with last night’s guards; she would be foolish to press her advantage with the morning watch.

Rising from the blanket one limb at a time, so as not to disturb the sleeping prisoner, she made quick work of her laces, tying herself up just enough to be clothed for the trip back to her own chambers, and wrapping her cloak around herself to conceal any other signs of a night spent in the gaol.

    “Going so soon?” He peered up at her with one eye open, long fingers wrapped around her ankle.
    “I must,” she said, “if you do not intend to die here.”
    “And if I do, it would be as a happy man.”

She crouched down and smoothed back the unruly curl his hair had become.
    “You stubborn idiot. I do love you. But there isn’t time. The guards will wake soon.”
His hand crept up her leg, pushing past the heavy fabric of her skirts.
    “We could ask them to join us.” She pretended to be shocked.
    “With a prison guard? Lucas Maximus de Vralian. Give me some credit, please. It would have to be a knight at least.”
    “Oh?” he said, tugging on her leg to bring her toppling down on his chest. “There is one in my entourage I’ve caught looking most unchivalrous towards me. Perhaps I’ll ask the man.”
    “And how do you propose to do that,” she said, letting him plant kisses along her throat and chest, “when you’re locked up down here and left to rot?”

He pulled down the poor knots of her corset and sucked at the soft flesh at the top of her decolletage.
    “You’ll manage something, won’t you?”
With not an inconsiderable force of her own will, Sarina pushed herself off him and got to her feet.
    “Yes, I will. Which is why I must go.”
    “But, darling...”
    “It wasn’t I who got you worked into so fine a frenzy,” she said, lacing herself again. “You’ve done that to yourself. And now you must see to the consequences yourself.”
    “More cruelty.”

She smiled, and bent to place a last long, lingering kiss on his lips. As if on command she felt the wet heat gathering between her legs, and the need curling in her belly tight enough to break her resolve.
    “Yes,” she murmured into his mouth. “Just enough to leave you wanting.”

He groaned when she pulled away, but there really was nothing for it now; she must go. Though it wrenched her to shut the iron gate in front of him, Sarina wouldn’t let herself linger. With a kiss blown through the bars she picked up her skirts and hurried back down the dim corridors. Around each bend, she braced herself to encounter a guard, but for a mercy they seemed to be between watches; there was no one about.

Finally, the staircase came into view, the night’s torches still guttering in the walls that led up to the castle grounds. She stopped, holding in her breath, and listened. A few rats scurried somewhere nearby, and sewage dripped behind the wall. But of the noise of men, there was nothing. So it was with some shock that she rounded the archway to the stair and came crashing into the chest of Sir Rhys Allard, Captain of the castle guard.

He stood like a column in the middle of the hallway, arms folded over his sizeable chest, staring down at her with an expression that suggested lying would be futile. Still, she tried.

    “Ah, Sir Allard, well met. You’re just the knight I’d hoped to find.”
    “Yes, that is, I hoped you would be down here. I wish to lodge a complaint against one of your guardsmen. He attacked me, just there.”

Sir Allard looked in the direction she indicated.
    “That’s as may be, highness. But may I ask what brought you to be in the path of a prison guard in the first place?”
Sarina stammered, looking for a way out of the tangle her own logic had woven.
    “Your father asked me to tell him when you made your way down here.”
    “When?” she asked, momentarily too affronted by her father’s assumptions about her character to continue with her charade.
    “Yes, highness. He is no fool, the king.”
    “So it would seem. But you won’t tell him, will you? It’s, it’s nothing, really, just girlish curiosity.”
    “And treason.”
    “Treason? Now, look here...”
    “I’d not like to see you irons, highness. It would be much better if you were to walk to the throne room without a fuss.”

Sarina’s pulse pounded in her ears, the consequences of what Sir Allard proposed drawing a flush of panic into her cheeks. It would be over before she’d even had a chance to start, her father would dismiss her pleas out of hand if she were brought before him like a common criminal. No, no, this could not happen.

The idea came to her so suddenly and with such perfect clarity that she marvelled it had taken her so long to conceive of it.
    “Are you sure, Sir Allard? So sure you would not like to see me in irons?”
He took a step back, disoriented for an instant by the unexpected gleam in her eye.
    “I have very little to offer, Sir, in the way of a bargain. Save what I carry beneath this cloak.”

Sir Allard was backing away, confused and flustered. But the hall was only so wide, and soon he could do nothing but watch her advance on him. She saw how his hands twitched at his sides, and the hunger that battled with duty and honor on his face.
    “I would not tell my father, Rhys,” she whispered. “If you would not.”

The muscles in his neck worked as he fought to maintain control over his baser urges. She could almost hear the thoughts that swirled in his brain. The king's daughter, you fool. Aye, but beautiful, so beautiful. And if its her idea, perhaps I might, but I can't, that's suicide...

Sarina held her arms out in front of her, wrists presse together in the position of the prisoner.
    "My treason for yours, hm? I'm sure you won't hurt me. And even if you do, I'm sure I'll like it a little."

Sir Allard's hands closed around her hips, the big man nearly shaking, as if he could barely believe he was doing it. She let her weight sink down against him, feeling the hard edges of the metalwork he wore cutting into her thighs. She smiled at him from under her lashes.
    "But we haven't much time," she said.

For the space of a moment, Sarina froze the smile on her face, sure it would all go wrong and he would add impurity to her list of crimes. But then his hands were rising, slipping into the curve if her waist and tightening with new purpose.

His kiss was tentative, and it was she who leaned into it, she who urged his lips open and deepened the embrace. She bent one knee to mold herself more fully to his front, and this time the hardness she felt below his waist had nothing to do with his uniform.

His hands began to wander more freely. Her stays had been loose before, and so he needed only to give them a tug before the front of her gown had fallen open, leaving her pink and pale and exposed. He twirled her nipples between his fingers, plucking them out until she had to moan and then grabbing her closer to him. Though she hadn't expected to, Sarina's stomach buzzed at his touch and her sex throbbed with sudden, urgent need.

Sir Allard's head dipped to take her breasts in his mouth. His teeth clamped down on one nipple and Sarina clutched him like a brace as her knees gave way.
    "Now," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Turn around, against the wall."

She obeyed without a thought, flattening her palms on the cold stone and arching her back even as he flipped her full skirts up and over her back. She was practically dripping with wet, with a desire for this rough, blunt love-making that galled her.

His breath came hot in her ear.
    "Is this what you want, Princess?" he asked, rubbing the thick head of his cock against her aching clit, making her jump and whimper into the wall.
    "Yes, I swear it."

He fitted himself to her and sank deep into her searing heat, and Sarina could not keep herself from crying out loud.
    "None of that now, highness," he said, wrapping his palm around her mouth. "You'd not like an audience, I think."

He found his rhythm quickly, pushing his hips against her buttocks with sharp, hurried thrusts as she moaned and panted into the callused warmth of his hand. Sarina was contorted beneath the push and pull of his hands, the solid expanse of the wall, and the cock that filled her so perfectly she could have wept. She went slack in his grip, unable to support herself any more as her climax rose to overcome her.

Sir Allard let her ride out the shuddering waves as they rolled up and over her body. When her breathing began to slow, he redoubled his efforts, pushing harder into her and faster until, with a low, guttural sound, his own release coursed through them both.

When he lowered her skirts and fumbled to put his own breeches back together, Sarina stayed facing the wall, letting the turmoil inside her fade away. What passion had this been, that possessed her in a way she’d never known before?

A new sense of wanton disregard had been creeping into her senses since she’d first begun her game of seduction, and now she had to force it away, focusing instead on the matter at hand. Having paid Sir Allard her toll, it was time to be on her way.

    “Well, then,” she said, righting herself. “I’m glad we could reach an agreement. I’ll just be going, then, Sir.”
His arm shot out in front of her, blocking the way up the stairs. Sarina stood blinking up at him, confused.
    “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, my lady.”

Copyright ScarletGirl.com

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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This article was added to our catalog on Thursday 25 July, 2013.

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