A Knight of Passion - By Tarah Scott Page 0,13

Bryant said.

Dunbar snorted. “The duke would crush you, then the duchess would have your liver for breakfast.”

If what Riana had said to the duchess was true, Bryant would have the duke’s liver for breakfast.

* * * *

Riana slowly walked around the desk, careful to emphasise the sway of her hips. She stopped in front of the warden and knelt. Cold seeped from the stone through her knees clear to the bone, a strange contrast to the warm fire that bathed the right side of her body. She laid a hand over his groin. The firm cock hidden by his tunic pulsed beneath her fingers, and relief flooded through her.

She looked up at him. “You have the power to do with me what you will, but is a willing slave not more desirable than an unwilling slave?”

She lifted the tunic out of the way, bent her head, and, with her teeth, grazed the mushroom tip of the hard length bulging against the thin fabric of his hose. He groaned, and she slowly sucked along the side before straightening.

He released a slow breath and reached forward. She sat motionless, startled as he smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen forward across her cheek. His thumb traced a gentle line across her cheek, then he dropped his hand onto his thigh and relaxed back into the chair.

“My life will be forfeit if I release your father,” he said.

“You said no one would know I had been here, if you so chose,” Riana persisted. “Could Glen not be killed in a fight? Surely the duchess would accept your word?”

She scooted closer and flattened her palms on his muscled thighs, while strategically allowing her breasts to brush his rod.

His eyes darkened. “How can you be certain I will not take what you offer, then send you on your way without payment?”

“I cannot.” Eyes locked with his, she rubbed her nipples against his rod. “But if you do not release him, I will not return.”

The warden studied her. “You are willing to submit as often as I please?”

“As often as you desire.”

“A fine arrangement,” he replied. “But once I free your father, you have no reason to keep your word.”

“Not so, my lord.” Little did he know she might find herself in this prison. Mayhap he would show some mercy if she dealt straight with him now.

Riana grasped the waistband of his hose and pulled it down. His cock sprang free, pointed directly at her as if in command to suck the hard length into her mouth. She could smell his scent, male musk, ripe for a woman’s tongue. His gaze sharpened as she swung a leg over his, then began to rub against his hose-covered flesh.

“If I renege,” she said, “you can have your revenge in any number of ways.” Still rubbing against him, she leaned against his leg and lowered her mouth towards his cock. “One word from you and the duchess will know I was here.”

Riana circled the weeping crown with her tongue. The clean tang of his pre-cum burst across her tongue and she wanted to weep for relief that this man wasn’t the vile creature she’d feared she would have to give herself to. She took the tip into her mouth and sucked his rod deep inside. He thrust into her. She grasped him at the root and began an in–and-out rhythm.

He groaned and tunnelled long fingers into her hair. She continued the rhythm, slow, sure, and sucking hard. His thigh shifted beneath her cunt and she realised she’d stopped moving on him. Riana slowly slid her moist folds along his leg, careful not to lose the rhythm of her mouth on his cock. He thrust along her tongue until her palm edge met her mouth. He seized her shoulders and yanked her up.

Before she realised his intent, he had hauled her onto his desk. Her legs hung off the edge and he eased her back onto the desktop. He spread her legs and stepped between her thighs. When his mouth closed around a pebbled nipple, he shifted and slid his shaft along her wet folds and into her curls. Riana recalled Sir Bryant, the feel of his cock buried deep in her channel…then her arse.

Feather-light fingers made contact with her ribs, and swirled in slow circles. The soft swirls moved downwards into the curve of her waist, across her belly button, the barest ruffle across her curls until he slipped a long finger inside her. She arched into