Knightshade Ch. 01

The feeling of unease towards him is accentuated now that my fear of being falsely accused as a witch seems farther away and miniscule. I do not know where we head, but I worry about what will happen when we get there.

I do not want to underestimate his ability to cut my throat with one of the large hunting knives at his side and leave me in the snow to bleed to death.

As the horse slows down and stops, I realize that I am pressed tight against this man's chest. I feel his breathing and his warmth through the cloak he has wrapped around me. Awkwardly I lean forward to put space between us. This action only seems to emphasize the fact that I had pressed myself to him in the first place, and I suddenly wish I had not moved.

Even though I know he noticed this action, he does not react. Instead, the knight leans past me to pat his horse's neck before swinging himself to the ground. I see that his hand is extended towards me and I take it. Holding his hand in mine, I swing my leg over the horse in an effort to land on the ground as he had. I must still be weak from my imprisonments, for I fall towards the ground instead. Swiftly and easily the knight catches me in his arms and sets me safely on the forest floor. He lets go of me, and I catch a mumbled word similar to "marchogaeth," or horse-riding.. I can only think that he is commenting on my lack of ability.

"I do not ride horses often," I reply in Welsh, irritated at this whole situations, even though I know he will not understand my words.

The knight's dark eyes move towards my face quickly, blank so that I cannot read his thoughts. Perhaps he understood some of what I said, perhaps he wary of my odd words and strange language. Either way, he does not pursue it further, but instead moves quickly to set up camp.

I stand awkwardly beside the horse, unsure of what I should do.

Run?

Maybe, but I do not think that I would survive this cold or this place on my own. I watch as the knight lays out bedrolls. Closer to him, I see that he is taller and broader that I had previously thought. As he leans to arrange the blankets, his dark hair swings past his shoulder, the multiple braids creating texture to otherwise straight strands. He is strange, I can tell that. Even in this land, even compared to the other knights, he dresses strangely and acts in a way that I cannot assign to the other men here. I wonder why there is such a difference. Mostly, I wonder what his intentions are with me.

Either way, I know he would not allow me to escape, he would find me easily in this foreign land.

To the sound of words, I look up from the place I have been staring at on the ground. The knight is laying in the blankets, his hand waving me towards him. I take a few steps, and then falter. Fear and uncertainty clog my throat and chest.

Impatiently, the man beckons again. The slight frown on his lips tells me to obey, and I soon find myself sitting on the blankets next to him. I fidget, playing with the cloak that engulfs me as this knight leans closer to brush the hair from my face and bare shoulder. I try to look away, anywhere but at the intensity in his face. His fingers grip my chin harshly and I find myself pulled within only inches from him.

"Tristan," he murmurs, as he points to himself.

Tristan?

I can only think of King Arthur's Knights, and wonder how common the name Tristan is for a Knight. I think I know the answer, but I do not what to think such things. Instead, I respond in kind, "Juliette"

"Julietta" the knight repeats, emphasizing the end with an added 'uh'. I do not know how to respond, but quickly find that I do not have to as he turns his attention to the cloak—his cloak—which I am covered in.

As his fingers pull the cloak from my skin, I hold it tighter around myself. The sudden fear has returned, and I cannot stop the shiver that shimmies down my spine. The knight stops, his eyes hard as he looks at me, then he roughly pulls the cloth from my body and I am sitting naked and shivering on the forest floor.

Before I can react, Tristan pulls me easily back onto the blankets, his cool hands moving quickly to tuck me into the warmth of the cloth.

Although he has covered me with blankets, my chest remains bare. I move to cover myself against the cold night air, but he stops me with a strong hand. Balancing between indecision, I stare into his eyes and, seeing that unreadable look, decide to drop my hands to rest at my sides. I do not want to anger this man. He turns his attention to my tattoo, examining it as he brushes his fingers over the curve of the falcon which dives from the hollow of my collarbone to between my breasts. Tristan seems fascinated by the detail.

Brushing fingertips downward, the knight touches the barbells that is pierced through my nipple. His fingertips are cold against the warmth of my nipples, and bite back the gasp that wants to escape my throat. Tristan stops, noting my subtle reaction with a raised eyebrow. I feel embarrassment flush my face as I wish that I had better control of myself. Wishing that my breasts were not so sensitive to this man's touch.

I begin looking away from his intense stare just as he tweaks the bud between his fingertips. This time I cannot hold back my moan at the gentle sensation. I feel a familiar warmth spreading through my body and pooling at my core.

At the shock of hearing my moan, I quiet myself, biting my lip in order to prevent any other sound to escape. I do not want to encourage this man, but as I look towards him, I think I might see the hint of a smirk on his usually emotionless face. The knight moves to my other nipple, tweaking and kneading my breasts as I moan again, my hands seeking out his arms to grip. He does not stop, does not give me mercy until I am writhing under him and think that I cannot take anymore.

Tristan moves back away from me then, and I open the eyes that I did not realize I had closed.

I am breathing heavily as the knight pulls the blankets from the rest of my body. My stomach is in knots as his rough fingers follow the lines of the dragon on my ribs. He murmurs something, but I do not catch it. Instead I have turned my head, eyes closed against his actions again.

My heart is racing, and I fear what this man will do to me. But his touches feel so good, and it scares me.

Prompted by my own indecision—my own battle over what it is I want—I move my hands from their place at my sides and attempt to push the knight's touches away from me. I need to think, I need to cool off and get my wits back. Easily batting my hands away, Tristan moves faster than I had thought possible. Wrapping his strong fingers around my throat, he squeezes down, not enough to completely stop the flow of breath but enough to make his warning clear: I do not have a say in this.

The knight leaves his hand resting on my neck as he continues to examine my tattoos and my body. He slowly moves down, lower, and begins pushing my bare legs apart. I do not want to be so revealed, but as I simply think of not cooperating, his fingers around my throat tighten as if he knows my mind.

I let my legs fall apart.

Fingers softly trace the stitches of my cuts, moving upward to rest on my slit. I hold my breath as Tristan leaves his finger to linger at my entrance. I can feel it so lightly, it is almost a tickle and I feel anticipation winding within my stomach. He asks a question, and I understand the word "hurt."

I consider his question and, deciding to tell the truth, I shake my head "no, I do not hurt anymore."

Seeming to understand, the knight focuses back to my slit. I watch his face; the night is coming quickly. Shadows play against his dark eyes and hair. He is painfully handsome, wild—like the anti-hero in some smutty romance book. And, although I fear this man and what he will choose to do to me when I am asleep, I feel conflicted about this moment and what I think is going to happen. Whether I want it to happen.

With his fingers still curled around my throat, the knight plunges his fingers into me. I feel shocked and ashamed at how easily he enters me, how wet he has already made me. As Tristan's fingers withdraws and then slams into my core, he turns his eyes up to look at me. While the onslaught goes on, I can imagine that I make quite the sight: laid back, my curly hair wild around my face, tattooed skin—moist with excitement, breasts swaying with the movement he forces onto me.

I can no longer look at him, look at the signs of pure lust on his face. I look away, only focusing on the elusive ever rising tell-tale signs of an orgasm building within me. Just as I think I will hit the peak; I feel a new sensation that causes me to look down

The knight is leaned in and, as he finger-fucks me, has begun to lap at my clit. With his tongue flat, he licks me in broad strokes in time with his thrusts. I do not think I can take it anymore. I realize that that I am moaning loudly as I fling my head back and forth. It is all overwhelming, the pleasure, the uncertainty. The knowledge that I do not know this strange man in this strange place and that I really had no choice in this.

Despite this sudden conflict that begins to overwhelm me, as soon as Tristan bites down on my clit I cum. My fingers wrap in his hair, unsure whether they want to pull him away or push him farther in. Either way, he continues pounding me. I feel the twists and pulses running through my body as I scream at this continued orgasm that he is forcing on me.

He is still licking me as I finally come down. Turning back towards him, I feel wet. His face is glistening with wetness as well. Instantly, I realize that I have squirted all over myself and him. It is something that has not happened in a long time to me, and when it did was always embarrassing. My eyes widen at his devious grin, and I look away quickly. I feel ashamed and tired, but more relaxed and sated than I have felt in a long time.

I feel myself floating. I think I hear him chuckle lowly as I drift off to sleep. I think, but I am not sure.

I am only sure that for the first time since I arrived in this horrid world, I am suddenly warm and comfortable.