The Assassins Gambit she who has the amethyst eyes
- 3 years ago
- 24
- 0
The Assassin's Mark free porn video
He slid off the back of his horse and landed in the dirt. His cloak swirled around his boots. From her vantage point she could not see his face. But she understood from the way he moved and the controlled power with which he guided his horse that he would be difficult to take down.
She shrank deeper into the shadows to observe him. He was tall. Taller than Bryn, who came out of the stable to take the big horse in for the night. He also didn't like to speak with people much, either. He handed Bryn the coins owed and turned away, despite Bryn's attempts at conversation.
She watched him walk into the inn and once he was inside, she began to prepare for the attack she was to give him.
He sat at his own table, surveying his surroundings with the cool determination of a lion that knows when to attack. He did not like this inn, but he had been riding all day and Kingsley needed a rest.
Perhaps it was fortunate he chose this inn, however. He had not been with female company for several weeks, and he could now see an attractive maid serving drinks to some filthy men in the other corner.
She was young, with a smile that she flashed all too regularly to just be an innocent maid. No doubt she would do.
He continued with his dinner, keeping an eye on that one maid. When he realized he was watching only her, he sat up and pushed his drink away. Surely she was not the only maid in this whole place. No, a young woman with flaxen hair to her waist came out of a side door, carrying a tray. Not only was she taller, she had much wider curves, and she smiled that slow suggestive smile that drew men in.
But it was still the small woman with her dark hair in a plait that caught his attention. When she walked by him on her way to another table, he found himself admiring the body he knew he would find beneath her garments. He could tell she would be slim. But would she be strong beneath her womanly softness? Would she react to him or would she lie still?
He found himself heating even as he watched her. He had to have her, even if it was only once. Even if the price was very high.
He knew that she would give him intense pleasure.
She was beginning to panic. Under her blouse, a bead of sweat was rolling down her spine. He had noticed her and had been watching her all night. He hadn't taken an interest in the blonde woman, as she had hoped he would, but instead seemed interested in her. Damn, it was all going wrong. He knew. He must have known. Had someone warned him?
She could see him stand at his table and turn to look around. She knew he was looking for her. She ducked into the storage room on the pretense of filling the ale pitcher again.
He saw a flash of skirts and knew she had gone into the back room. He strode from his table. He so relished a chase like this.
He paid for his room and went into the storage room. He pocketed his key and stopped to listen. She was around the other side of the kegs.
He slipped around them and found her with her forehead pressed into her hands. He walked up behind her and pulled her to him. It was a moment of sheer pleasure.
The moment ended abruptly when she spun away, pulling a dagger from the innumerable folds in her skirt.
He took a single step forward, a step she had not anticipated. He came up hard against her, gripping her wrist with one hand and her waist with the other. He pushed her to the wall, where he took advantage of her softness and pressed his hips into her. He suppressed a groan.
The noise was still torn from his throat when he said, "No need for that." He sounded harsh, guttural.
He twisted her wrist sharply. Startled, she let go of the dagger. He saw the keen edge glimmer as it fell. The clattering as it hit the ground sounded hollow.
He twisted her impossibly, until they were in an embrace that she could not break free of. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the room he had purchased.
As he shut the door, she took a mental inventory of the exits. Two windows, one door. He shoved the door shut. The sound was like a gavel in it's finality.
He pushed her back until she fell on the bed. She had decided to play the whore to keep him here, and attack him as he undressed.
She realized as he turned away to lock the door that she had left her killing dagger on the floor of the storeroom. She would have to use one of her others. She began to slide her hand along her bodice, to the bottom edge, where her second-best dagger was concealed.
He turned back to her, feeling heavy, hot, and hungry. She was touching herself, running her hand down her side. Her legs were splayed under her skirt, and she had lost one of her shoes. Her bare foot hung over the edge of the bed, resting on nothing. He shrugged his cloak and vest to the floor.
He came to her and kneeled on the bed. He pushed one boot off. It hit the floor with a surprisingly loud noise. She jumped.
He chuckled as he kicked off the other boot and lay on her. She was breathing hard.
He put his mouth on her neck, tasting her pulse as he pushed up her skirts and undid her braid, letting her hair spill over the blankets in glorious disarray. Her hands were on his arms but he did not heed her.
He was unbuckling his belt. She could see that he was ready. She lay still now, afraid of him. This was a depraved man. He knew his enemy and sought to ruin her before he killed her. And she had no doubt now that he would kill her. He gazed at her with eyes blazing heat. How he must hate her, and yet he would still ravish her.
He narrowed his eyes when she had no response to him. No response wasn't good enough. He threw his belt aside and lay on her again, but this time his hand snaked between them and tore her vest. She made a sound, an angry noise, and fought him.
He pushed himself against her undergarments, rubbing himself on her.
She shuddered and went still again. Smiling, he unlaced her shirt, pulling the material aside to expose one round breast.
Her back arched of its own accord. His huge hand on her breast sent a lightning-sharp sensation down her body. She watched in horror as he took his hand away and replaced it with his mouth. Her hands forgot the search for her dagger and she held his head there. She didn't want him to stop.
When he did, she was almost crestfallen.
He had to hand it to her. He'd been ready when he came up here, but now he was rock hard. He longed to just bury himself in her and forget about the world. But he wanted more of those delicious responses.
He put his fingers beneath her undergarment. He could feel her heat. She gasped as he touched her, petted her firmly but gently. Her hand gripped his wrist but he refused to stop. He lay on her, pulling on the undergarment until it came away from her, its threads disintegrating. She was gasping again and tried to cover herself up, but he gripped her hands and pulled her upright. She sat up on the edge of the bed, her blouse slipping from her shoulders and her skirts in a mess. He wanted to smile at her, but when he did he felt too fierce.
She fumbled at his shirt and slipped her hands beneath. Puzzled, he watched her close her eyes and put her head back. He stripped away his shirt and threw it aside.
She gasped again. He was so muscular. He was magnificent. She felt the muscles under her fingers and felt her desire increase. She wanted him on top of her. Now. She wanted him to come into her. She wanted him to claim her, every inch of her becoming his.
She forgot her purpose as she instinctively pulled on him, tugging his pants down and freeing him.
He pushed her back down and thrust into her. She was so tight, so hot.
She made a noise in her throat and pushed into him, arching almost off the bed. He could feel straps against his hips. It felt good. He didn't even wonder why she wore a garter belt when she had no stockings on.
He lay down on her and started again. He only wanted one thing right now, and that was the feel of her flesh closed around him, hot throbbing relief from this pain. He pushed in, finding resistance. If he didn't know any better he would say she had never done this before.
Then he hit it and he knew.
She felt torn apart. All her desire fled. Something was terribly wrong. And yet he was still pushing. Oh she wanted to scream from it. He was hurting her!
She sobbed uncontrollably, the noise tearing loose from her throat. It sounded raw.
She should have known he would do something like this.
After a moment she could feel him petting her again. His hand stroked her breast. She wanted to find her
knife and make him get off her.
He was whispering to her. Words of encouragement.
"Just hold on. It won't hurt for long." He could only guess. Dammit, he had never been with a virgin before. He had only heard stories.
She was clenched tightly around him, her body creating a barrier to stop him from going any further.
Oh she was crying. His breath caught in his chest to see it. He did the only thing he could do: reassure her.
She had enjoyed him toying with her breasts, so he did. She did not notice the way he wanted, only tried to push him away.
Finally he put his hands on both sides of her head and kissed her mouth.
This new shock erased her pain. She wondered if she wanted the pain back. But warmth spread from his hands, his chest, his mouth... Even inside her, his...
She lifted her leg a little and inside a muscle jolted. He made a little jerking movement and she gasped as he moved. He felt wonderful now, the pain of a moment ago disappearing as her passion grew again.
She put her arms around him, and the muscles in his back tensed up. She put her head back and he kissed her neck. She ran her hands around and over him. She wanted to touch him everywhere. She pushed her hips up, taking him into herself. He began to move inside her. She clutched at him helplessly as he moved in and out, again and again.
She was aware of the raw power of his body, the sheer strength. And yet he was so gentle with her.
She didn't want gentle any more. She wanted more of him.
He sensed her need. She was growing more supple, increasingly wet. He slid in and out, throbbing for her. He wanted all of her. Perhaps by the end of the night he would have all of her. Perhaps she would allow him to lead her down several paths...
At the thought of doing this many more times, it hit him with force. He clenched his jaw and attempted to hold on, increasing speed to bring her first.... She arched upward and cried out. He bent over and kissed her mouth, pulling her closer and closer as he pushed in...
He too bent forward and cried out. They clutched at each other for a long moment before they sank together, spent.
He was hard again. He opened his eyes. He was beside her, lying on his side. She had not climbed fully from her clothes, and suddenly he wished to look at her. All of her.
She opened her eyes as she felt his hand on her breast, smoothing her shirt aside. She was too late to stop his fingers meeting the handle of her blade.
He pulled another dagger from the folds of her shirt and stared at her. He held her down as she tried to sit up. He kept one hand on her shoulder as he ran his other hand over her body, as he should have done before he even lied down with her. She closed her eyes; even this impartial search felt sensual.
He found the knives on the sides of her legs and pushed her legs apart. He ran his fingers around the leather straps that he had mistaken for garters. She sucked in her breath as his fingers came so close...
He unbuckled it and it fell away. His hands left her body and she opened her eyes to look at him. He stared at her with a gaze that she could not stand. It was not hatred. It was not anger. He was just blank. He could now see her tattooed hip, the sharp symbol etched into her skin.
"You do not belong here. So why are you here?" His tone was flat. He kneeled on the bed, set away from her.
"I was sent to stop you from reaching your next destination. I was not to kill you except as a last resort." She trembled at his gaze. She was still lying in a tumbled mess of clothes.
He was still for a moment, and then stretched out his arms on either side of himself. "Then do your worst." He was taunting her now.
She pushed aside her vest and, never taking her eyes off him, seized the dagger that he had found first. She unsheathed it and kneeled before him, as utterly naked as he. She held the blade up before him and laid it deliberately across his arm. He did not flinch. She replaced the blade with tongue, teeth, and lips.
She allowed the blade to fall to the ground as she kissed the inside of his arm, from his wrist to his elbow, from his elbow to his shoulder, and then to his neck. She slid around his body to kneel behind him.
At his back, her body absorbed his heat. At his ribs, her hands caressed. At his neck, her mouth formed words.
"But come. I have no desire to harm you." She pulled herself forward and pressed her body against him. "Let us forget," she whispered into his shoulder, "For now." By tomorrow's dawn, she intended to disappear and feign that she had not seen him.
But for now she wanted to touch him.
He did not want her. He repeated it in his head to block out what she was saying. Until she laid hands on him, he was strong. Until she gripped his erect manhood in her hands, he had resolve. He lost everything when she lifted a leg and allowed him to slide inside.
He pulled her with him, kissing her so strongly he was sure she must break. He folded her legs around him and pushed her back against the wall. Supporting her with his hands, he thrust into her, hearing the noises she made. He used her as ruthlessly as she used him. When she came, her scream was so laden with sexuality, it induced his release.
They subsided to the bed again to rest.
She pushed all her discarded clothes off the bed and slid under the covers. He did the same and, after a moment, slid his arms around her. She turned in his arms and laid an arm over him, staking her claim to his body.
He continued to kiss her, though he was exhausted. He had just felt an upheaval of everything. This woman had to be his now. She had left an indelible mark on his skin, a watercolor signature. He wondered if she would remember him if she refused him. For he knew he belonged to her now.
All she had to do was agree to be his.
She shrank deeper into the shadows to observe him. He was tall. Taller than Bryn, who came out of the stable to take the big horse in for the night. He also didn't like to speak with people much, either. He handed Bryn the coins owed and turned away, despite Bryn's attempts at conversation.
She watched him walk into the inn and once he was inside, she began to prepare for the attack she was to give him.
He sat at his own table, surveying his surroundings with the cool determination of a lion that knows when to attack. He did not like this inn, but he had been riding all day and Kingsley needed a rest.
Perhaps it was fortunate he chose this inn, however. He had not been with female company for several weeks, and he could now see an attractive maid serving drinks to some filthy men in the other corner.
She was young, with a smile that she flashed all too regularly to just be an innocent maid. No doubt she would do.
He continued with his dinner, keeping an eye on that one maid. When he realized he was watching only her, he sat up and pushed his drink away. Surely she was not the only maid in this whole place. No, a young woman with flaxen hair to her waist came out of a side door, carrying a tray. Not only was she taller, she had much wider curves, and she smiled that slow suggestive smile that drew men in.
But it was still the small woman with her dark hair in a plait that caught his attention. When she walked by him on her way to another table, he found himself admiring the body he knew he would find beneath her garments. He could tell she would be slim. But would she be strong beneath her womanly softness? Would she react to him or would she lie still?
He found himself heating even as he watched her. He had to have her, even if it was only once. Even if the price was very high.
He knew that she would give him intense pleasure.
She was beginning to panic. Under her blouse, a bead of sweat was rolling down her spine. He had noticed her and had been watching her all night. He hadn't taken an interest in the blonde woman, as she had hoped he would, but instead seemed interested in her. Damn, it was all going wrong. He knew. He must have known. Had someone warned him?
She could see him stand at his table and turn to look around. She knew he was looking for her. She ducked into the storage room on the pretense of filling the ale pitcher again.
He saw a flash of skirts and knew she had gone into the back room. He strode from his table. He so relished a chase like this.
He paid for his room and went into the storage room. He pocketed his key and stopped to listen. She was around the other side of the kegs.
He slipped around them and found her with her forehead pressed into her hands. He walked up behind her and pulled her to him. It was a moment of sheer pleasure.
The moment ended abruptly when she spun away, pulling a dagger from the innumerable folds in her skirt.
He took a single step forward, a step she had not anticipated. He came up hard against her, gripping her wrist with one hand and her waist with the other. He pushed her to the wall, where he took advantage of her softness and pressed his hips into her. He suppressed a groan.
The noise was still torn from his throat when he said, "No need for that." He sounded harsh, guttural.
He twisted her wrist sharply. Startled, she let go of the dagger. He saw the keen edge glimmer as it fell. The clattering as it hit the ground sounded hollow.
He twisted her impossibly, until they were in an embrace that she could not break free of. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the room he had purchased.
As he shut the door, she took a mental inventory of the exits. Two windows, one door. He shoved the door shut. The sound was like a gavel in it's finality.
He pushed her back until she fell on the bed. She had decided to play the whore to keep him here, and attack him as he undressed.
She realized as he turned away to lock the door that she had left her killing dagger on the floor of the storeroom. She would have to use one of her others. She began to slide her hand along her bodice, to the bottom edge, where her second-best dagger was concealed.
He turned back to her, feeling heavy, hot, and hungry. She was touching herself, running her hand down her side. Her legs were splayed under her skirt, and she had lost one of her shoes. Her bare foot hung over the edge of the bed, resting on nothing. He shrugged his cloak and vest to the floor.
He came to her and kneeled on the bed. He pushed one boot off. It hit the floor with a surprisingly loud noise. She jumped.
He chuckled as he kicked off the other boot and lay on her. She was breathing hard.
He put his mouth on her neck, tasting her pulse as he pushed up her skirts and undid her braid, letting her hair spill over the blankets in glorious disarray. Her hands were on his arms but he did not heed her.
He was unbuckling his belt. She could see that he was ready. She lay still now, afraid of him. This was a depraved man. He knew his enemy and sought to ruin her before he killed her. And she had no doubt now that he would kill her. He gazed at her with eyes blazing heat. How he must hate her, and yet he would still ravish her.
He narrowed his eyes when she had no response to him. No response wasn't good enough. He threw his belt aside and lay on her again, but this time his hand snaked between them and tore her vest. She made a sound, an angry noise, and fought him.
He pushed himself against her undergarments, rubbing himself on her.
She shuddered and went still again. Smiling, he unlaced her shirt, pulling the material aside to expose one round breast.
Her back arched of its own accord. His huge hand on her breast sent a lightning-sharp sensation down her body. She watched in horror as he took his hand away and replaced it with his mouth. Her hands forgot the search for her dagger and she held his head there. She didn't want him to stop.
When he did, she was almost crestfallen.
He had to hand it to her. He'd been ready when he came up here, but now he was rock hard. He longed to just bury himself in her and forget about the world. But he wanted more of those delicious responses.
He put his fingers beneath her undergarment. He could feel her heat. She gasped as he touched her, petted her firmly but gently. Her hand gripped his wrist but he refused to stop. He lay on her, pulling on the undergarment until it came away from her, its threads disintegrating. She was gasping again and tried to cover herself up, but he gripped her hands and pulled her upright. She sat up on the edge of the bed, her blouse slipping from her shoulders and her skirts in a mess. He wanted to smile at her, but when he did he felt too fierce.
She fumbled at his shirt and slipped her hands beneath. Puzzled, he watched her close her eyes and put her head back. He stripped away his shirt and threw it aside.
She gasped again. He was so muscular. He was magnificent. She felt the muscles under her fingers and felt her desire increase. She wanted him on top of her. Now. She wanted him to come into her. She wanted him to claim her, every inch of her becoming his.
She forgot her purpose as she instinctively pulled on him, tugging his pants down and freeing him.
He pushed her back down and thrust into her. She was so tight, so hot.
She made a noise in her throat and pushed into him, arching almost off the bed. He could feel straps against his hips. It felt good. He didn't even wonder why she wore a garter belt when she had no stockings on.
He lay down on her and started again. He only wanted one thing right now, and that was the feel of her flesh closed around him, hot throbbing relief from this pain. He pushed in, finding resistance. If he didn't know any better he would say she had never done this before.
Then he hit it and he knew.
She felt torn apart. All her desire fled. Something was terribly wrong. And yet he was still pushing. Oh she wanted to scream from it. He was hurting her!
She sobbed uncontrollably, the noise tearing loose from her throat. It sounded raw.
She should have known he would do something like this.
After a moment she could feel him petting her again. His hand stroked her breast. She wanted to find her
knife and make him get off her.
He was whispering to her. Words of encouragement.
"Just hold on. It won't hurt for long." He could only guess. Dammit, he had never been with a virgin before. He had only heard stories.
She was clenched tightly around him, her body creating a barrier to stop him from going any further.
Oh she was crying. His breath caught in his chest to see it. He did the only thing he could do: reassure her.
She had enjoyed him toying with her breasts, so he did. She did not notice the way he wanted, only tried to push him away.
Finally he put his hands on both sides of her head and kissed her mouth.
This new shock erased her pain. She wondered if she wanted the pain back. But warmth spread from his hands, his chest, his mouth... Even inside her, his...
She lifted her leg a little and inside a muscle jolted. He made a little jerking movement and she gasped as he moved. He felt wonderful now, the pain of a moment ago disappearing as her passion grew again.
She put her arms around him, and the muscles in his back tensed up. She put her head back and he kissed her neck. She ran her hands around and over him. She wanted to touch him everywhere. She pushed her hips up, taking him into herself. He began to move inside her. She clutched at him helplessly as he moved in and out, again and again.
She was aware of the raw power of his body, the sheer strength. And yet he was so gentle with her.
She didn't want gentle any more. She wanted more of him.
He sensed her need. She was growing more supple, increasingly wet. He slid in and out, throbbing for her. He wanted all of her. Perhaps by the end of the night he would have all of her. Perhaps she would allow him to lead her down several paths...
At the thought of doing this many more times, it hit him with force. He clenched his jaw and attempted to hold on, increasing speed to bring her first.... She arched upward and cried out. He bent over and kissed her mouth, pulling her closer and closer as he pushed in...
He too bent forward and cried out. They clutched at each other for a long moment before they sank together, spent.
He was hard again. He opened his eyes. He was beside her, lying on his side. She had not climbed fully from her clothes, and suddenly he wished to look at her. All of her.
She opened her eyes as she felt his hand on her breast, smoothing her shirt aside. She was too late to stop his fingers meeting the handle of her blade.
He pulled another dagger from the folds of her shirt and stared at her. He held her down as she tried to sit up. He kept one hand on her shoulder as he ran his other hand over her body, as he should have done before he even lied down with her. She closed her eyes; even this impartial search felt sensual.
He found the knives on the sides of her legs and pushed her legs apart. He ran his fingers around the leather straps that he had mistaken for garters. She sucked in her breath as his fingers came so close...
He unbuckled it and it fell away. His hands left her body and she opened her eyes to look at him. He stared at her with a gaze that she could not stand. It was not hatred. It was not anger. He was just blank. He could now see her tattooed hip, the sharp symbol etched into her skin.
"You do not belong here. So why are you here?" His tone was flat. He kneeled on the bed, set away from her.
"I was sent to stop you from reaching your next destination. I was not to kill you except as a last resort." She trembled at his gaze. She was still lying in a tumbled mess of clothes.
He was still for a moment, and then stretched out his arms on either side of himself. "Then do your worst." He was taunting her now.
She pushed aside her vest and, never taking her eyes off him, seized the dagger that he had found first. She unsheathed it and kneeled before him, as utterly naked as he. She held the blade up before him and laid it deliberately across his arm. He did not flinch. She replaced the blade with tongue, teeth, and lips.
She allowed the blade to fall to the ground as she kissed the inside of his arm, from his wrist to his elbow, from his elbow to his shoulder, and then to his neck. She slid around his body to kneel behind him.
At his back, her body absorbed his heat. At his ribs, her hands caressed. At his neck, her mouth formed words.
"But come. I have no desire to harm you." She pulled herself forward and pressed her body against him. "Let us forget," she whispered into his shoulder, "For now." By tomorrow's dawn, she intended to disappear and feign that she had not seen him.
But for now she wanted to touch him.
He did not want her. He repeated it in his head to block out what she was saying. Until she laid hands on him, he was strong. Until she gripped his erect manhood in her hands, he had resolve. He lost everything when she lifted a leg and allowed him to slide inside.
He pulled her with him, kissing her so strongly he was sure she must break. He folded her legs around him and pushed her back against the wall. Supporting her with his hands, he thrust into her, hearing the noises she made. He used her as ruthlessly as she used him. When she came, her scream was so laden with sexuality, it induced his release.
They subsided to the bed again to rest.
She pushed all her discarded clothes off the bed and slid under the covers. He did the same and, after a moment, slid his arms around her. She turned in his arms and laid an arm over him, staking her claim to his body.
He continued to kiss her, though he was exhausted. He had just felt an upheaval of everything. This woman had to be his now. She had left an indelible mark on his skin, a watercolor signature. He wondered if she would remember him if she refused him. For he knew he belonged to her now.
All she had to do was agree to be his.
Wynona
- 21.06.2022
- 20
- 0
- Category:
- Seduction
