Angel of Desire Ch. 03

Daniel had been fighting a brigand twice his size, but half his skill. He'd watched carefully for the right moment, and when it came, he simply dropped his sword and left himself wide open. The man had slit Daniel's throat, and in less than a minute, he was gone.

Daniel deserved better, Pierre thought. These men, though, did not. He almost wished he could stay, to see what became of them, but it was too risky. Silently, he slipped from the tavern and made his way back to the barn, still unnoticed in the early morning hour. The demon had fallen asleep, leaning against a hay bale. He wasn't surprised. It had been a harrowing night for everyone.

He lifted her gently, but there was no way to keep her from waking. She struggled out of her slumber like she was moving through a bog. He made sure she looked him in the eyes and realized where she was before removing the gag. It would not do if she had another panic attack and woke the entire village.

Holding her tightly to him, he rode back towards the camp, hoping to meet his fellow knights returning from their search. As they rode, she finally gained the courage to ask him about his punishment of the rapists.

"What did you do to them? Did you kill them?"

He noted the bloodthirsty hope in her voice, although he couldn't blame her. It was common enough for a family to demand death for such a crime.

"No."

"Did you castrate them?"

She almost sounded even more hopeful at that thought, and he had to repress a sadistic chuckle that welled up in his chest.

"No."

He wished he could see her face, but her back was to him as they rose. He imagined the scowl marring her perfect pink lips as she tried to imagine something more horrible, and failed. Disappointment and heavy sarcasm laced her words when she threw out the more common punishment for men who took unmarried ladies.

"Did you demand payment to compensate my dowry?"

He couldn't help himself. He laughed. Celina shivered as the large man behind her nearly bellowed in her ear, his chest rippling with his laughter, sending a low hum through her back where they touched. Finally he answered.

"No."

Celina wanted to scream. He made them ride all the way back to town, he promised her retribution, and yet he would not tell her how he had achieved said revenge. She began to doubt that he had done much of anything at all. That is, until he finally cleared his throat, and with a strangely detached voice, explained his truly righteous vengeance.

"I expected them to be drunk in the tavern, and was not wrong. They were completely unconscious, unable to wake, so I stripped them of their clothes and posed them in sinful positions with one another. If they are lucky, they will wake up before anyone discovers them, and never know what really happened between them all. If they are unlucky, they will be found and stoned to death for sodomy."

Celina wasn't sure what to say. It was, in a sense, the perfect revenge. They did not actually commit sodomy, but it would be assumed by themselves and everyone else that they had. The punishment for sexual deviance was one of the harshest in the land, particularly with the village friar. She highly suspected that the man's aversion to homosexuality was because he himself felt attracted to men. Or more specifically, young boys. She had seen him often staring at the boys as they played in the streets, his eyes just a little too keen.

Celina herself had never fully understood the issue with homosexual acts. She had read the passages in Leviticus and Deuteronomy that spoke of it, but there was little in the way of why it was forbidden. Her mother had explained that there were probably several factors, including the Egyptian and Roman practice of temple prostitution and the higher rate of disease among men and women who practiced sex with anyone besides a spouse, homosexual or not. If the Jewish people, and later the Christian people, were to thrive, they needed to keep their people as clean and pure as possible. Restricting sex was a quick and efficient way to accomplish this. It also set them apart from most Pagan religions, many of which used ritualized sex in ceremonies.

That being said, Celina knew the social shame associated with the act, and knew it was what the men should have felt after harming her and Alestra. The fact that they would likely be killed as well helped assuage her blood lust, and she nodded in approval. Pierre was pleased that she approved of his methods, strange as they were. He knew some people would have been horrified that he'd disrobed other men, and put the stigma on himself as well. Celina, however, knew why he had done it, and did not concern herself with anything beyond the results. Pierre found himself oddly relieved that the beautiful demon did not think that he was a sodomite. He wasn't sure why he should care, but he did.

They stopped to take a midday meal, continuing their morning fast and riding straight until noon. Celina ate ravenously, her eyes downcast, but stealthily scanning for any sign that her mother was following them. It was unlikely she would try, at least until the rest of the group gave up their pursuit. Celina hoped that the back tracking would allow Alestra to catch the knight by surprise, before the other men regrouped.

After several more hours of hard riding, however, she began to doubt that her mother would ever catch up to them. They even stopped in a town and he traded his horse for a fresh mount, pushing the other steed hard once they were on an established road, even into the first hours of night. Finally, instead of staying at an inn, he stopped at a nearby farm and offered the farmer several copper coins in exchange for use of the barn.

Pierre took no chances with her this time, tying the demon tightly to a support beam while he and the horse rested comfortably in the hay. He did tie her in a reclining position, her hands over her head and her legs free to move, but it was not her preferred position in which to sleep, that was sure. Celina was tired, though, and it took little time before she drifted off to sleep.

Celina awoke sometime in the night to the sound of her own teeth chattering. It was the end of October, and it was mildly chilly during the day. During the night, the frost was slowly creeping in through the walls and the ground. The knight had supplied her with a dress from the farmer's wife, and a cloak had been laid over her body. It wasn't nearly enough, however. Her thin skin and little body fat were not able to keep her warm enough.

Turning her head, she saw her captor, snuggled up against his horse, both laying in a soft bed of hay. She briefly thought that freezing to death in the farmer's barn might be the better fate than what awaited her at the end of this journey, but she couldn't quite bring herself to admit defeat just yet. Celina was too full of life, and she wasn't ready to die.

Pierre heard the girl struggling to change her position, to dig deeper under the cloak. More so, however, he heard her chattering teeth. In fact, Pierre had heard her clacking jaws before she'd even awoke. He'd struggled with himself, hoping she would somehow become warmer on her own, but when he heard her trying vainly to coax more warmth out of her makeshift blanket, he knew he had to do something about it.

Rising quickly he strode over to the beam and cut the leather thong. Hoisting her to her feet, he carried her to the warm pocket in the hay where his own body had been lying, and set her down, covering her back with his torso. Between the heat radiating from his horse's sturdy body and from his own previously warm body, she should have begun to warm. Instead, she continued to shiver, her eyes squeezed shut, jaw clamped down defiantly.

Celina refused to look at him. She was freezing, but lying nestled against his body was the last thing she wanted. She tried to lean into the horse, but all that did was force him to press himself more tightly to her. She felt the familiar trickle of fear gripping her and fought to keep herself calm. Aside from turning her in to the Inquisition, she knew she had nothing to fear from this man. Over and over he proved himself to be more than the average lust crazed man. She sucked her breath in, counting slowly as she let it out, repeating until she began to feel more composed. No amount of breathing exercises could have prepared her for what happened next.

Pierre knew that she was too cold. Her pale, luminous skin was like ice. The tips of her fingers were red and swollen because of the bindings, and he cursed himself for not realizing the effect this would have on her circulation. Quickly he cut her hands free and gently began to rub her hands and wrists, helping the blood return to her body and increase her ability to warm herself. He didn't stop at her wrists, though. He continued to rub her body down until the shivering began to subside. He was so focused on the task, he nearly missed her reaction. When she was no longer trembling from the cold, he noticed she was stiff as a board.

Celina felt his warm hands caressing her body. He was gentle, and there was nothing sexual about his massage. She knew, as she'd assisted her mother with many patients who had been out in the cold too long, that the massage was probably the best thing to help with her hypothermia. But her reaction to his touch was what frightened her the most.

Celina had never trusted anyone but her mother in her entire life. Never had another single person in her experience done anything for her that she could feel grateful for. It was a very lonely existence. She loved Alestra, and she had been a wonderful mother. But one person was not enough to fulfill the emotional needs of a growing girl. She had wanted friends, companions, and eventually, love. Her mother was a friend, sometimes, and often a companion. In spite of loving her a great deal, Celina was often frustrated that it didn't seem enough.

As the knight's hands rubbed her body back to life, ridding it of the cold, she began to feel the undeniable urge to lean into his touch. She was desperate for his comfort. It stopped mattering who he was, or why he was there, only that he was there, and he was being kind. She felt so abused, so hurt, and he had promised to keep her safe. She wanted to believe it, so badly, but her mind simply wouldn't accept what her heart was aching to trust.

Pierre was enjoying himself far too much. It had been years, over a decade, since he'd touched a woman so intimately. He reminded himself that this was being done for her health, that she needed to get warm. His brain understood that, but the rest of him, the part that was quickly growing hard in response to the soft sighs and moans that escaped her lips, seemingly against her will, wanted to believe it was something more. He wanted to believe that she was responding to him, as a man, and that he was free to enjoy it.

When starting out on this journey, Pierre expected to return to his duties as a holy knight. He could not do so in name, but he could do so in heart. He'd lived this way since he was eighteen and took his vows. It had been difficult to deny himself the love of a woman, but not as difficult as it was for other men. For Pierre, the rules of chivalry as well as the church demanded that he lie only with his one true love, or at least his wife. Since he'd long ago concluded he could not afford a wife, and since no woman since the lovely tavern wench, who was his first and only and had gently turned him down, had ever tempted his heart, he was content, in a way. Now, however, his body was clamoring for release, and his heart was tugging gently at his conscience.

It didn't matter if he meant to continue as a holy knight, he could never be one. If he took a woman to his bed, it would no longer be a disgrace to his vows. He was free. Free to enjoy all of life, and all of this beautiful angel before him. Laying his face in the mass of silken hair, breathing deeply of her soft, flowery scent, Pierre's resolve began to crumble.

When her captor's face buried in her neck, his hot breath brushing her skin, Celina thought she was going mad. She couldn't reconcile her fear and her growing passions. She wanted to feel loved. The men from the village had hurt her, and although she knew this experience would be just as shallow, she thought, just maybe, he would be gentle enough for her to pretend.

It didn't help that he was exactly like the fantasy she imagined when she touched herself. Tall, dark, handsome and a knight. In her fantasies, he would rescue her from an angry mob and bring her into the woods to make sweet love to her. She'd seen one of the barmaids with a man once, and although the whole thing looked terribly uncomfortable, the girl had seemed to enjoy herself immensely. After that one voyeuristic encounter, the only other sex act Celina had experienced was the rape of her mother and her own assault. The incident was so different from what he was doing now, however, that she was able to block the memories, just enough, to slip into the old fantasy.

Pierre felt her body finally relax, opening up to his touch. She kept her eyes firmly closed, refusing to look at him, but that simply meant that Pierre could forget about the strange red irises which branded her a demon, and pretend she was the angel he'd first seen in the lake.

When he kissed her neck, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty skin, Celina's body bucked in surprise. His hands had been trailing across her collar bone, but the sharp movement changed his direction. All at once he was cupping one of her breasts, and she couldn't help but moan as she felt the tight bud harden in his palm. Even through the thin fabric of the borrowed dress, his hands felt like they were burning her skin.

Her moans encouraged him until he was trailing his lips down to meet his fingers, closing his mouth over her nipple, through the barrier of the shirt. Her fingers slipped into his hair, holding his head tenderly. He understood. The minute he felt her push him away, he would stop. Allowing her this small measure of control was the only way he knew to ease her fears.

Her gentle pressure eased his own worry, and emboldened him to push his limits. Pierre began to tug at the front of her dress, unlacing the ties until he was rewarded with one bare breast, then another. He could feel her fingers on his scalp, trembling, but not pushing him away. The nipples were hard, contracted from both the cold and her excitement. When he took one taut bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue to taste every inch, she arched again, holding his mouth tightly to her body.

Pierre licked and sucked with renewed vigor, bathing her nipple until the hard peak softened and began to swell like a luscious, puffy pastry. When her grip eased, he twisted his neck so that he could taste the other. She cried out in pleasure, and suddenly he felt one of her knees brushing against him.

He couldn't help it. He had to know. Sliding one hand down her stomach, slowly, he touched her center, discovering that his speculation was correct. His angel had opened her legs for him.

When Celina's legs fell open, she was still in the grips of her fantasy. She was imagining her dream lover to be doing the wonderful things the knight was with his mouth. She had never dreamed that it could feel like this. It was like when she touched herself, except ten times more intense, and she could feel herself growing hot and moist. When his hand cupped her mound through the dress, the fantasy faded, and she was drawn back into reality.

The feeling was just too intense. She'd never imagined such an powerful sensation, and her mind wasn't able to focus on anything but the burning ache his touch brought to her body. Vaguely she felt her skirt sliding up around her waist, but it didn't register until his hot fingers dipped in to touch her sensitive outer labia. She bucked again, his nimble fingers dancing over her flesh, sinking down into her folds, caressing her molten heat as he continued to lick and suck her nipples.

Celina was on fire. The cold of the night was a distant memory as she writhed beneath his touch. She was burning, aching for more, but terrified that he would give her exactly that. She could feel his erection, hot and hard against her hip. Occasionally he would grind against her, mimicking the dance she so desperately wanted, and feared. She tried to remember who he was, tried to remember why they were there, but the fog of pleasure was just enough that she didn't care. He hadn't hurt her yet. That was more than any other man she'd known.

Pierre was drowning in need. His cock was rock hard and demanding attention. He could do little more than grind against her, however, unless he changed his position. Her wild, uninhibited reaction to his touch was making it more and more difficult to control himself, however, and when her body finally began to break, shuddering into his hands and coating them with her slick juices he knew he was done for. He was going to die if he didn't taste her.

Letting go of her nipple, he spared a glance at her face, slack and beautiful, he lips parted as if in surprise. He wished he could see her expression in a few seconds. Dipping his head between her thighs, he let his tongue lick her damp skin, savoring her salty flavor. The fingers in his hair yanked his head violently, but the rise of her hips let him continue his tongue's eager exploration. Her fierce cries of pleasure rang through the barn. Pierre slipped on finger inside her silken sheath as he doubled his tongue's speed, flicking her pulsing clit while slowly pumping her tight walls with one finger. She was unbelievably tight. Even if he'd found no maiden head, he would have believed her claim to virginity. It was obvious, even to his inexperienced self that no man had been inside her, at least recently. With only a little more pressure, however, he found it, the thin wall of her maidenhood.

He was surprised that the knowledge increased his protectiveness. He suddenly wished he had killed those men who had tried to deflower her in such a violent manner.

When her body began to grip his finger tightly and her mewls and cries were growing louder and more drawn out, he untied the draws of his trousers and let his cock slip into his hands. As she came hard onto his fingers, bathing his tongue in her juices again, he stroked himself once, twice, then a last time, his hot seed gushing onto her thigh. He lay his head on her stomach, breathing deeply, trying to relax his pounding heart. Even though he'd spilled himself, he felt oddly unsatisfied.

When she began to thread her fingers through his hair, stroking his brows, he felt a smile tugging at his lips. He twisted his head so that he could gaze up into her face, and fixed on her slightly bewildered and flushed expression. Then his gaze focused on her red eyes, and the feeling of pride in having brought his angel pleasure vanished. Reality returned.

Pierre realized he'd just been bewitched, seduced by the demon. She might be a virgin, but that didn't make her any less of a temptress.

Celina's smile turned upside down when she saw his face, briefly euphoric, turn hard and cold. She imagined it was the same look he'd given her when they were in the swamp when he feared she would kill him. It was angry, but resigned. He didn't desire her any more. He wasn't looking at a beautiful girl whom he'd promised to protect. He was looking at the demon he'd been sent to collect.

Roughly, he tied her hands above her head again and rolled her onto her side, facing the horse. She was warm, and eventually able to calm her racing emotions and sleep. Pierre was not so lucky. He spent most of the night in silent prayer, trying to decide whether he had defiled himself with the demon seductress, a willing victim to her charms.