The Golden Lion (Knights of Passion Series 2) (2 page)

The lion was
asking the Sultan if he could have the girl, and the Sultan refused because he never shared. He was a greedy man.

The Sultan did send for her
later that night and he was insatiable, thrusting his cock into her and pumping until he came, again and again. And that was when Batilda knew he would never let her go, not willingly, not ever.

She
was trapped in the depths of the harem, in the claustrophobic world she had grown to loathe.

That
night, when the Sultan had finished with her, she lay in the airless harem with all the other women, and she ran her hands over her breasts and imagined they were
his
hands, and she slid her fingers inside the fleshy lips between her legs, and dreamed they were
his
fingers, and when she drove her fingertips into her core, deeper and deeper, while her thumb stroked her hard little pearl, she pretended
he
was making love to her as she longed for him to do.

“And what happened to her after that?” Garrick asked. “Did she ever see him again?”

The woman stroked his cheek. “You will have to wait until later. Sleep now. You need to sleep and get well.”

So he slept, and dreamed of the girl Batilda, with her dark hair and wanton smile.

***

“What happened next?” Garrick was naked on the bed. She had been bathing his feverish body, cleaning him with loving hands, and wondering if he would ever
regain his full strength. “What happened to Batilda and the English lion?”

“
Do you remember how Batilda found the magic cloak that made her invisible and was able to sneak out of the harem when she felt like it? How she visited the town and the markets? Well a few days after the dancing she decided she would visit the Englishman.”

The Sultan had given him and his men a house nearby, and she
waited until it was evening, and then went to the same slave girl she had used last time. The girl was willing, and when she had the guard occupied in the room next door Batilda put on the magic cloak and went to the house.

One of the Sultan’s
eunuch guards was at the door and Batilda slipped around him when she had the chance and went inside. It was late and the men were either sleeping or preparing to. Invisible as she was, she checked all the rooms until she found the room of the English lion.

He was lying on his bed, awake, the candle flickering in the draft from the open windows. His chest was bare,
his skin as golden as the rest of him, and he wore his breeches, the cloth clinging to his hips and muscular legs.

Batilda’s mouth watered. She wanted to lick his skin and taste him and learn all there was to know about what gave him pleasure. But she did not want to startle him and she did not want to throw off her cloak in case he thought her a witch and called for the guard.

She was still considering her best course of action when he spoke.

“Who are you?” He sat up, blue eyes narrowed, and looked about the room. “I know you’re here. I can smell your perfume. Show yourself.”
He reached down beside his bed and withdrew the wicked looking sword he kept there.

She gasped and the sound seemed very loud. And then he st
ood up, the sword in his hands, as if he was going to swing it through the air, and quickly she divested herself of her magic cloak. As it fell to the floor at her feet, suddenly she was visible once more.

He looked startled,
as well he might. She was wearing her flimsiest costume of silken scarves, a jewelled belt low on her hips, and her dark hair was loose about her. The scarves were so fine she might as well have been naked, and she knew he could see the curves of her body through them.

H
e came and stood before her and she looked up at him, her dark eyes shining. He was just as big and handsome as she remembered, with his golden hair and smiling mouth. Then she noticed there was a scar through his left eyebrow and somehow that imperfection made him even more desirable.

Tentatively he
reached out to touch her arm as if to confirm that she was real and not a ghost. His fingers were warm and when he was satisfied that she was made of flesh and blood he closed them around her arm to hold her.

“
You are the woman who danced at the feast,” he said.

She smiled, because he’d remembered her.

“What is your name?”

“Batilda.”

He brushed his fingers across her cheek and then traced the shape of her lips. “How are you here, Batilda? Are you a witch that you appear out of the air like this? Should I be afraid of you?”

She shook her head. “
No, I am no witch. It is Aghar’s magic cloak. I . . . borrowed it. Once it is on I become invisible. You see?” She lifted the cloak and swung it around her shoulders. At once she was invisible again but he reached out and found her.

His mouth curved into a smile and he gave an amazed laugh. He removed the cloak from her and she was there again, head tilted to the side, watching him, wondering what he would do now. He ran his hand over the cloth,
frowning down at it, then shook his head in wonder.

“Magic indeed. How did the Sultan come by this thing?”

“No one knows but it is thought he brought it with him when he came from the east.” She explained what else she had seen in the locked room, the golden orb and the bones. “It is thought Aghar stole them from a prince.”

The English lion seemed interested, and while he listened to her he poured a goblet of wine from a jug and sipped. “And these things, they are all in the same room? With the cloak? Then how did you manage to get hold of the cloak, Batilda?”

When she explained about the guard he laughed and his eyes gleamed.

“You are very
clever. And very beautiful,” he murmured, and then he brushed her lips with his. She tasted the wine, and when he pulled her against his body she felt the warm skin of his chest beneath her palms, and the hard bone and muscle against her softer curves.

“Why did you come here tonight?” he asked.

“To be with you,” she said, looking into his blue eyes.

He
took her to his private rooms. He seemed fascinated with her beauty, stroking her face, and then kissing her until it was clear he was full of desire for her.

Their lips clung and she made a sound of need in her throat.
She felt his tongue, wetting the seam of her lips, delving inside her mouth. He held her jaw, his thumbs stroking her soft skin, kissing her more firmly now.

Batilda felt his cock against her thigh and shifted slightly, shimmying until she had it where she wanted it, pressing to the apex of her thighs. The ache only grew worse, but as they kissed, she bumped her hips against him, rubbing herself on the
hard bulge that pressed against his breeches.

Ah that was better!

The pleasure began to build now, and she could feel her female parts swelling and dripping the moisture of desire. He took hold of her buttocks, lifting her and settling her against his cock.

“This is what you came for?” he groaned. “When I saw you at the dancing I wanted you. I asked for you.”

“I know,” she whispered, and clung to him as he carried her toward the bed. “I wanted you too. That night I touched myself, thinking of you.”

Her words seemed to spark something
wild in him, and he lay atop of her on the bed and she felt his fingers sliding between her thighs, stroking the aching flesh, finding her pearl and giving it a tweak. She whimpered, arching toward him, but he was pushing aside her flimsy clothing, his mouth closing on her and sucking hard.

Pleasure such as she had never known spiralled through her, raising her upwards, and then she shattered with the
joy of it.

A moment later he was naked, his cock rearing up against his belly, his eyes glittering down at her from the candlelit shadows. “What will happen if I take you with my cock, Batilda? What will A
ghar do to me?”

“He will kill you,” she replied, eyes half closed, her breasts heaving still from her climax.

“Then I will have to kill him. Because I must have you.”

And with that he pushed his cock into her, deeper and deeper, and her body struggled to accommodate him. But the fullness, the tingling
in each inch of her channel, made her want to move against him. Wanting more, needing more.

He
lay above her, his heavy thighs between hers, his buttocks tightening with each thrust as his cock stroked her inner flesh. And then she was climaxing again, quivering and crying out, and he roared above her like a lion indeed.

She was his and there was no going back
.          

“
We are supposed to be guests here and yet we cannot leave and there is a guard at our door.”  

“He is a greedy man.”

The lion eyed her with interest. His hand was fondling her breast, squeezing the firm flesh, fingering her thrusting nipple. She felt herself growing languid with desire again, but he seemed to want to talk. Batilda was not used to men wanting to talk to her after they had fucked her; the Sultan was always eager to send her back to the harem.

“Where do you come from?” he said,
and bent his head to lap his tongue over her nipples, sucking them gently into his warm mouth, making her heart beat heavier. “Before the harem?”

She tangled her hands in his
golden hair. “I don’t know the answer to that,” she said, breathless, her body melting from his touch. “The ship I was aboard hit the rocks and sank and then we were sold. My mother and father and I. We walked across the desert for many days. At the slave market people bought us for money. They took my family away and the Sultan bought me to be a slave, but later he took me into his harem.”

“And there you are one of many,”
he murmured. “But still, I think he must value you. Any man would.”

S
he smiled, and reached to kiss his mouth again. Her fingers reached down to caress the muscles of his belly, before closing on his cock. It was long and hard and she could no longer resist the urge to lick him.

He rose up onto his knees and she knelt
before him, her mouth covering him, her hands gently squeezing his balls. Her long hair hung about her face and he caught it back in his hands, so that he could see her lips about his hard rod, and the sight seemed to make him even harder.

“You learnt these things in the harem?” he said shakily.

She stopped and looked up at him, licked her lips wantonly. “Of course.”

It seemed too much for him. He sank back onto the bed and caught her to him, spreading her legs about his thighs so that they were locked together in a seated position, and
then he pushed himself inside her with a groan. She locked her legs about his waist, her arms tight around his neck, and her mouth on his. She was already climaxing with a shuddering moan of ecstasy but then he too roared out his pleasure, and set her off again.

She lay in his arms, sprawled across him,
and he thought she was so small and light in comparison to his brawn and strength. He wanted to protect her, to rescue her, to take her home and make her his forever. He noticed she said nothing of tomorrow or the day after that. She did not make plans or promises. It was as if she didn’t dare to believe there may be a tomorrow. That this moment must be enough for her.

He touched her belly lightly, following the curve down to her mound, plucked hairless as was the custom, and then slid a fingertip inside her lips there, stroking at her hard little bead.
She was hot again, and moist from their couplings. He watched her eyelids flutter and listened to her quickened breathing.

“This is dangerous,” he said, and he sounded breathless too. He bent his head and let his tongue follow his fingertip, deep inside her
plump, fleshy lips, sweeping along the slit that ran down to her core. She tasted as exotic as she looked.

“Very dangerous,” she gasped.
“We risk death, both of us.”

The thought of the danger made him aroused. She could see that his cock was bigger even than before, rising up from his groin, the drip of salty cum on its tip. She opened her legs, wanting him inside her, but he used his tongue again, causing her to climax with a
low cry. Only then did he take her again.

“My men and I are his guests. We rely on him for our safety here in this enemy land,” he said, and he rose up above her, the tip of his cock pressing to her channel, easing in further and further
while she melted around him. He stretched her almost to pain, and yet it was more pleasure than the Sultan had ever given her, with his practised lovemaking that brought her to climax and yet left her heart cold.

“If he found out . . .” she whispered as he rode her, thrusting fully inside each time, his eyes boring into hers.

“I swear I will take you from him.”

“Will you? Will you take me from him?” she cried out as the pleasure grew almost too great.

“Yes!” He shouted and she felt his seed spill into her, the seed of the lion.