Enchantress (10 page)

One by one they tongued her, suckled
her shaven mound, kissed her pouty nether lips.

Nino forced himself to remain
detached. He ate his meat and drank his wine, ignoring the fact
that the feast he really wanted was taking its deliberate time to
get to him.

Once she did, he tossed the
clean-picked bone of pheasant aside and greedily set his greasy
lips upon her, forcing his tongue deep, wanting her to come hardest
with him. To know he pleased her best.

Oh, it was a forbidden
thought.

He should share her without a thought
of possessiveness.

Nino doused her cunt with wine before
setting to it again, drinking from her until she was almost dry.
Her heard her breath hissing out between clenched teeth, felt her
inner muscles pulling on his slick tongue as it delved in and out.
He focused the tip against her sensitive pearl and it swelled,
blossoming. But he slid his tongue out again before she climaxed.
He spanked her hard on the pussy with the flat of his hand, and he
knew the sensation would echo through her loins.

When she set her feet down, standing
upright before him, he saw the flash of anger in her eyes because
he had not let her finish. He grinned leisurely and poured himself
another cup of wine.

By then his brothers were ready to
fuck. Their meal finished, they took her to the furs by the great
fire and began to argue about who should go first. Nino joined
them, walking slowly, as if he did not care and was merely there
because he had nothing else to occupy his time that
evening.

He watched over the rim of his cup as
Jesamyn, on her hands and knees, sucked Sebastien's cock and
presented her arse for a steady reaming by Dominigo. The big man
slathered his dick in grease before he mounted her, his fingers
digging into her buttocks and prying her open.

Ram and Alonso lay on their backs and
slid heads beneath her breasts to suckle her ripe nipples at the
same time, mouths tugging greedily at her pinkened nubs, almost
bruising her in their hunger. Meanwhile Raul and Salvador knelt on
either side of her hips, reaching under to slide their fingers in
and out of her pussy at the same time.

The hall began to fill with groans,
sighs and grunts, the slick, sticky sound of aroused juices and
skin sliding into skin.

Domingo jerked out of her bottom and
shot a high arc of cream onto her back. Then he motioned for Nino.
Usually Nino pushed his way in. Tonight, however, he forced himself
to be patient. She thought him a boy, a cub who could not restrain
his impulses. He would show her differently.

"I am content to watch," he muttered,
kneeling on the fur and sipping his wine. "Sebastien, don't come in
her throat. Spill in her pussy." He knew, of course, that this was
her only rule, so he would make sure it was broken. Just as he
would make certain to show her that he did not care who broke it.
Damn her.

She thought him a fool. A
boy.

Sebastien, apparently amused to be
taking orders from a younger brother, slipped out of her lips and
moved around to spear her pussy while she was still on her knees.
Sal held her labia wide open for his brother while Raul diddled the
crest of that saucy nether mouth with his thumb. She was coming
even as Sebastien entered her valley, but she was silenced in the
next moment for Alonso and Ram both presented cock for her mouth
and she was spoiled for choice. Unable to wait his turn, Ram shot
semen in her face and she gasped, her body arching further as
Sebastien plowed her cunt roughly, hips smacking into her in a
quickening rhythm and spilling his load only seconds later, howling
at the roof beams with his familiar gusto.

Nino quickly decided he'd held off
long enough. He needed the warmth of that lovely haven for
himself.

* * * *

She'd made up her mind to go through
the motions, to be submissive like the other women. Let them think
her pussy tame, even if she had spoken scornfully and truthfully to
their father. Perhaps they would think this orgy enough to put her
in her place and silence her. Then, once they were reassured and
unsuspecting, she would strike.

With seven pairs of hands upon her
naked body, even with seven splendid cocks moving in and out,
Jesamyn thought she could remain aloof, desensitized.

She was wrong.

They were, by turns, rough and gentle,
hard and soft, ribbed and smooth, hairy and shaven. Surrounded by
their heat, their masculinity, she lost herself. Jesamyn gave
herself up to the pleasure and thought of her twin watching,
learning.

Jasynda made her do it, she decided.
Jasynda and that unbound curiosity about men and sex had brought
her to this place and laid her out like a sacrifice on those
butter-soft furs.

And Nino, turning her over to enter
her cunt, held her wrists over her head as if he imagined she might
fight. But the fighter slept, dormant for now. She wrapped her legs
around him and felt that glorious, marble-hard manhood opening her
sex slowly, inch by inch. Her bells jingled a merry tune as he
plumbed her deeply, rocking her body.

Each one of the brothers felt
different when she had them within. Her mind was too misted and
stupid for once to let her describe it, but each cock had its own
vibrant, pulsing personality.

A thought floated through the
dizziness. Seven brothers and seven sins.

Seven was a mystical
number.

Seven.

Nino climaxed with a feral growl, his
hips writhing to push his seed further than that of his brothers.
"There. There. That is what I think of a whore making rules.
Telling me what I can't do with her."

"Bastard," she hissed, because she
ought to.

"Yes." He smirked down at her. "Thank
you."

* * * *

They rutted with her throughout the
night. Jesamyn felt the strength of Dom, the ruthless power of
Salvador, the tenderness of Alonso, the greediness of Sebastien,
the playfulness of Ram, the warmth of Raul, and finally ...the
arrogance of Nino.

It was he who lay down with her that
night on the fur by the fire and closed her in his arms and thighs,
as if she was an object to treasure, a priceless gemstone that
someone could try to steal. "Don't try to get away, wench," were
his last words before he appeared to fall asleep.

Get away where, she wondered. Did he
think she might slip through the guards at the gate? Escape all his
brothers? No, she had no plans to leave.

Her death would come here, she had no
doubt. She was resigned to it.

But by then all these men would be
dead of her poison. Her life would no longer matter to her once her
duty was done, her murderous deed carried out. The monk Herallt
thought she did this for the coin he promised her. Idiot. She had
seen at once that he did not mean to pay her the other half of the
fee he owed. He would have her killed, if she ever survived long
enough to escape this fortress. Herallt wanted no witnesses, no one
who might expose his dealings to the king.

Ah, but within the year he would be
dead from the tumor that grew inside him. She had seen
it.

Jesamyn glanced down at the strong
arms enclosing her. Antonino. A boy who would be a man. And
suddenly she saw a picture of a little boy with dark curls running
so fast down a slope of grass and daisies that he tumbled, his feet
falling. He laughed as he rolled. Reckless! Was he never
careful?

He was enjoying the sensation of
losing control and yet scared at the same time. Until a woman
caught him, set him upright and wiped his muddy, laughing
face.

Ask him about the
bracelet.

No
, she argued inwardly with her dead sister.
Do not bother me with that again.

Since arriving there she had seen the
d'Anzeray crest all over the place. All the brothers wore silver
cuffs engraved with it. Nino did not.

Could it be that his was the hand that
struck down her mother and sister in their cottage? He must have
lost his cuff there among the debris. He could have been no more
than thirteen or fourteen.

She saw now a young boy being given
his first sword by a proud father. A boy with fire in his eyes.
Again there was fear, but the boy wanted to make his papa proud.
Lost in the gang of seven sons he sought a way to be noticed. So he
set his fear aside and put up his chin.

A d'Anzeray was never too young to
kill. They came out of the womb fighting, so he was told and she'd
heard.

Ask him about the
bracelet
.

No.

Then you are a
coward.

A coward, because I don't want to see
how you died?

Because you won't face the
truth.

I know the truth. I read
it.

In this case, you refuse
to see it.

Never.

You refused to read them
as they were. As we showed you
.

What else could I do? My course was
set.

There was no answer. It was as if the
spirits grew tired or gave up. Which they never had
before.

So she opened her mind.
Reluctantly.

Jesamyn cleared her throat. "Bastard
Cub, are you awake?" She had just elbowed him in the gut while
twisting over, so he should damn well be awake.

"What is it, Whore?"

"I saw that all your brothers wear
silver cuffs with the family crest carved into it. Why do you not
have the same?"

He sniffed. "You know why."

"If I knew I would not ask,
boy."

"Oh, you can't
read
it? You
can't
see
it with
your wretched magic, woman?"

She paused and then sighed. "I do not
know what I see. I can make no sense of it."

His eyes glimmered down at her,
sizzling like the ashes in the fire, shooting out little stinging
sparks occasionally. "I gave it to you in that marketplace. I told
you to buy food with it."

Jesamyn frowned. "Why?"

"Because you were a skinny bag of
bones," he snapped. "And I took pity. Fret not, it won't happen
again."

Was that how the bracelet came to be
among the ruins of the hut? Because he had given it to Jasynda, not
because he lost it there when he came to murder and
pillage?

He held her wrists now, circling them
easily with his long fingers. "You did sell it, I
suppose?"

Slowly she shook her head. "It was not
sold. It was kept." Like a secret. One of those secrets Jasynda
loved to possess.

"Then where is it now?" he
demanded.

She sat up, reached for her leather
purse and took it out. The cuff was snapped, the color tarnished,
but she had carried it with her all these years as a reminder. "You
can have it back now," she muttered. It was needed no longer. It
had led her to him, performed its service admirably.

Nino had not sat up, but remained on
his back, eyes hot, watching her. He told her to keep it. "I gave
it to you. I do not take gifts back."

"But I don't want it." She carefully
placed the broken cuff on his bared chest, for suddenly it felt as
if it burned her fingers.

"I suppose you would take back those
kisses you gave me. If you could."

"Yes," she hissed. "I hate
you."

He rolled onto his side, the cuff
falling to the fur between them. "Well, you cannot. I won't allow
it." Nino caught her around the waist and tugged until she was
secured beneath him again. "And I shall take more of those kisses,
wench. Many more." His lips opened upon her startled mouth and he
kissed her with anger, with force that was almost brutal. She
tasted wine on his breath and the sharp spice of aniseed. His body
was heavy over hers, pinning her down, but Jesamyn did not care
suddenly. She was at the end of her journey. There was a sense of
accomplishment.

But there was also a strange feeling
of regret. It came from wondering what might have happened if she
was the sister Nino found hiding behind a clay pot in the souk ten
years ago. Jasynda, like a love-struck dreamer, had kept his
bracelet like a souvenir. Jesamyn, being the practical one, would
have sold it at once.

Or would she?

They certainly had needed the coin,
and Jesamyn was always very aware of that, whereas her sweet sister
preferred not to know the unpleasant facts. Indeed, Jesamyn had
sheltered her sister from those facts many times.

But if young Nino
kissed
her
when
she was nine, would her life have turned out differently? Would she
have kept his bracelet and thought of him each time she looked at
it— not thinking of him as her enemy, but as a kind boy who once
shared food and kisses with her? Would she have been the one that
stayed at home on the morning of the attack?

Nino's kisses continued, winding their
way across her cheek and down her throat, where he nibbled her skin
in a frenzy of little pecks. Slowly she raised her hands to his
hair, threading her fingers through the thick darkness to feel the
warmth of his scalp, the dampness of his sweat.