The Enchantress of Ingley Ch. 07

By the time they neared the last few buildings before the dirt road wound off toward the manor, Marissa was almost drunk with the sense of Jenrea beside her. The noblewoman's hand drifted down from her shoulder, to caress intimately along the barmaid's side, only to settle just above her hip. She wanted to touch her, to kiss her and taste her, but also to hurt her, to whip her and degrade her.

Marissa trembled with uncertainty, lust, and rage. Behind them, her footprints steamed upon the loose packed earth and gravel of the village road.

If her ankle had been in better shape, she would have spun Jenrea up against the nearest wall, ripped her dress down the front, and done such terrible, wicked things. As it was, she spoke in that same, authoritative tone she used before, "Let us rest near that house there."

"Alright, Lady Marissa," Jenrea spoke as if in a dream. She helped the limping noble toward the wood and plaster wall of a nearby house, just where it came near to the road, angled away from the sight of any who might pass along it. Of course, only the watchman on duty would come along at that hour.

It occurred to Marissa that she hadn't seen said watchman for some time, but at that moment such passing thoughts were secondary to her desire.

With the wall to brace against, there was less need to worry about her ankle. Marissa stared into Jenrea's eyes. She wavered between lust and rage. Her heart raced as she drew quick, panting breaths between parted lips. She dipped her head in toward Jenrea, who simply looked confused.

"Kiss me," The order, breathless as it was, surprised even the one who spoke it.

For a moment, Jenrea looked conflicted. Her brow knitted, she worried her lower lip, and Marissa began to panic. What if her greed, her want, had pushed that potion to its breaking point? Would all her effort to get the silly barmaid to the manor fail because of her own inability to control herself?

But then, Jenrea blushed, and stammered, "If- if t-that is what you w-wish, Lady M-Marissa."

Marissa's heart leapt at those words of acceptance. She trembled with anticipation as Jenrea turned in toward her. Ample chest pressed to ample chest as she leaned in. Marissa braced herself against the wall with one hand, her other arm still clung to the barmaid's shoulders for support. The desire overwhelmed the rage in that moment, and her gaze fixed upon those deep jade eyes before her. The young noblewoman felt as if they could devour her very being.

Indeed, she felt her mind slipping, Marissa could no longer even pretend to be in control of her own actions. The warm play of Jenrea's breath across her own full lips urged them to part, and the hand that had so firmly clutched those slender shoulders instead descended along the barmaid's back, moving to caress her spine through the relatively thin fabric of her dress.

She felt Jenrea's hands settle about her waist, and she dared to draw her other hand away from the wall, relying on the other woman to support her. Marissa slipped her now freed hand down to the swell of those broad hips, the somewhat coarse fabric of the barmaid's skirt couldn't detract from the pleasant curve there.

All thoughts of the task the Squire and Isolde had assigned fled when Jenrea's lips touched her own. The kiss was clumsy, inexpert at best, but the feel of that soft, moist mouth against her was beyond anything she could remember. There was magic in that kiss, figuratively or literally she did not care.

Marissa moaned, submitting to the moment. Her order may have initiated it, but Jenrea's touch, her kiss, her still staring jade eyes all conspired to steal away the noblewoman's will. All that mattered was the feel of the commoner's body against hers, the taste of her lips, the scent of her.

She moved her hands down Jenrea's back, toward the firm rear that had so attracted the Prince's stare. Jenrea's own touch barely moved, only shifting when Marissa did, but the Squire's daughter barely cared. She tried to deepen the kiss, though Jenrea could only crudely mimic the act, unpracticed.

Somewhere, a cat hissed and growled. Marissa was sure that it was something she should pay attention to, but she didn't.

She just wanted to lose herself in Jenrea's embrace.

With a shuddering whimper, Marissa finally broke the kiss. Her chest heaved, each breath dragged her bust against the barmaid's. She worried, for a moment at least, that the other woman would note how taut her nipples had grown. Then she simply decided she didn't care.

If Jenrea's innocent kiss could have such an effect, she shuddered at what the woman would be like once properly trained and taught. And oh, what a delight those lessons would be.

Marissa giggled softly, drunkenly, "You have such a lovely kiss."

Jenrea blushed in return, "You are too kind, Lady Marissa."

With one hand still resting on Jenrea's exquisite rump, the noblewoman lifted her other to caress her cheek, then teased it upward to wind within her hair. With a slight tug, she pulled Jenrea's head back, and leaned to drag her lips and tongue along that delicate neck. She simply couldn't get enough of the other woman's taste.

The barmaid offered a gentle whimper at the feel of those hot lips along her smooth skin. She certainly didn't seem to have much experience in such things, and Marissa delighted in the sounds she was teasing out of the other woman. With soft, suckling kisses, she moved ever lower, toward the neckline of that simple dress. Her hand gripped and kneaded at one buttock.

Jenrea instinctively stepped ever closer. Marissa felt one knee bent, to seek to push between her own. Their skirts were hateful barriers, that cruelly kept those lithe limbs from entwining.

Marissa growled in frustration, moved to step forward, and then pain lanced up from her ankle as she put her weight on it.

For just a moment, her hatred and rage returned. The flash of emotion was confusing, but somehow felt alive, as if some force of nature were trying to rouse Marissa from euphoric dreams. Despite her desire to remain near to Jenrea, her wits began to return.

That awakening was hastened by the tramp of boots through brush and grass. With a quick shove, Marissa pushed Jenrea away from her. As the barmaid fell back with a confused squeal, the noble turned to face the two figures that had crashed through the dark toward them.

And immediately, her ankle gave way, sending her crashing down to the ground, toward the toppled barmaid. The sudden rush of the ground occupied her attention as much as the flare of pain from the now twice twisted ankle.

Her last conscious thought in that moment was whether Jenrea's lush curves would cushion her fall at all.