"Mind your manners, milord." She tugged his hair in annoyance, and he yelped.

"I thought you were going to be nice!' he winced, his aqua eyes flashing in annoyance. He bit his lip as she tugged again.

"We'll get to that presently. Where are the goods?" She pushed him up against the coach, which rocked from the impact. She pressed her cool length against his, breast to breast, broad chest to incredible bosom.

"Be reasonable. Just who is getting robbed here, anyway?" He was once again surprised by her height. She was staring at him eye to eye. Her legs were so, well, long in her boots up to the thigh and tight man's breeches. Her doeskin-clad hips writhed against the silk of his breeches, and he felt himself leap to sudden and profound attention. He choked as his thoughts traveled straight down to the warm vee in her parted thighs that was cradling the heat of his erection.

"The jewels are in a compartment under the driver's seat," he said breathlessly.

"That's my good boy," she purred, then brushed his lips with hers.

He leaned to kiss her more fully, and was surprised when she met him halfway. Her red lips parted, and her tongue swept in to parry with his. She tasted so fresh, so sweet, like a cool gla.s.s of spring water. He moaned and shook as l.u.s.t took over his body.

"Mmm." She sighed, breaking their kiss.

"Can we untie my hands now, I'd like to..." he stopped as he gazed down at the expanse of exposed bosom so tantalizingly close. He desperately wanted to hold those abundant creamy globes in his hands, then peel them from her half-undone waistcoat and draw her nipples into his mouth.

"I have a better idea," Molly whispered.

"What?" He felt her palms against the silk of his breeches, then busy fingers on his trouser b.u.t.tons. His mind churned to a sudden halt, and leapt in panic. "Right here? In front of your, um, a.s.sistant and my coachman?" It was getting very difficult to think. All he could concentrate on was the feel of her gloved fingers inside his breeches, then along the contours of his rigid flesh.

"And your two footmen as well," she chuckled. "Mustn't forget them. Don't worry, I've got a floor-length greatcoat on, they won't see a d.a.m.ned thing."

He watched in fascination as she caught the fingertip of one glove in her white teeth and pulled, peeling the leather from her hand. They both sighed as she slid her bare hand into his pants and along his heavy erection. She snuggled up tight against him. He tried to make room for her by getting his hands over her head, but she wouldn't let him drop his hands around her. He ended up holding them high. They struggled for position a bit more, but he so very wanted to touch her, and his hands and elbows kept getting in the way. If he hadn't been so f.u.c.king hard, he would have laughed at the situation.

She grunted in frustration. "It seems that you're right, doing you up against the coach could get problematical, seeing as your hands are tied," she conceded.

"You could untie me," he whispered invitingly as he nuzzled her perfumed neck under that incredible mane of red waves. He rocked his hips and his c.o.c.k against her palm.

"That would take the fun out of it," she giggled and pulled away.

She gripped the lapels of his frock coat and he gasped. "What?" He was tugged forward, then pushed back.

"Into the coach, my fair lord, I'm gonna f.u.c.k you on your seat-cushions," she growled.

He sputtered in alarm as he was shoved onto the leather bench of his own coach. Aggressively, she tugged his cravat from his neck. Her lips found the column of his throat, and shivers raced up his spine as her tongue made magic on his skin. Diligent fingers undid his breeches the rest of the way, releasing his aching flesh from its painful captivity. It rose firm and unrepentant against his flat belly.

"Now that is a lovely sight," Molly purred, her eyes locked to his erection. She licked her lips and pulled away, dropping her greatcoat on the opposite bench. She opened her waistcoat the rest of the way and parted her shirt.

His mouth dried in appreciation. "That is a magnificent pair," he choked. The uncertain light of the candle lamps in the coach gilded her skin warmly. Her nipples were a soft rose and p.r.o.nounced, rising from generous areolas.

"Why, thank you," Molly said softly, then skinned out of her leather breeches.

His eyes slid down the muscular length of her long legs, then back up to the soft red nest of curls at the joining of her thighs. He licked his lips in antic.i.p.ation. She grinned cheekily, then straddled his thighs with her knees up on the seat. She sat up and brought her delicious b.r.e.a.s.t.s to his lips.

He dove, rubbing his cheeks and lips against the silken softness of her voluptuous b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He delighted in her resulting moans. He bared his tongue, tasting, sucking, licking, nipping and partaking of her flesh as though she were a dessert he would never be permitted again. She whimpered and pulled suddenly away, her engorged nipple slipping from his lips with an audible wet smack.

"What? Oh!" He sputtered as her mouth descended onto his. She slanted her lips over his for a better fit, then swept in with her pointed tongue, showing no mercy. She wriggled over him as she positioned herself. He worked his hands, but the knots were too tight around his wrists.

He jerked as he felt a cool hand between their bodies, then on his hot erection. She captured his length and tugged it, stroking its firmness. He felt the swollen head of his c.o.c.k being rubbed against wet heat. His b.u.t.tocks clenched as his body felt the entrance to moist haven. She dropped and engulfed him in her snug wet sheath. Their moans filled the coach as she sank to his b.a.l.l.s.

"Umm, that is a very nice fit, milord," she sighed them pressed forward, her nipples raking across the silk of his shirt.

"Since we are now on more-" He swallowed. "-more intimate terms, you can call me Beau." He grunted, then moaned as she rocked forward onto his c.o.c.k. She was so wet that he could feel the trickle of liquid down his b.a.l.l.s.

"Mmm, I like Beau. Thank you, Beau." She rocked back, then forward to please herself and him in the process. "You'll forgive me if I hurry," she panted.

"I'll forgive you anything," he groaned as he strained up into her moist depths. "Just tell me your name."

"Call me Molly," she said, hissing as her body clenched around him with rising pleasure. She rocked atop him, gripping his shoulders, her thighs holding him captive. She thrust hard down on him, f.u.c.king herself on his rampant c.o.c.k.

"G.o.d, Molly," he grunted as his crisis became painful, "f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k," he chanted, trying to hold on and wait for her. She was very close, he could feel by the way her body was trembling around his c.o.c.k. She stilled. She threw her head back and began pumping up and down on him, her c.u.n.t squeezing him so tightly he was convinced she was going to milk him dry.

"Beau!" she moaned, her mouth open as she violently came.

He shouted as ecstasy suddenly ripped through him.

Molly abruptly dismounted, and ropes of his c.u.m spurted forth to spatter across her.

Beau fell back against the padded seats of the coach in exhaustion, delighted with his release and the luscious view of Molly's bountiful b.r.e.a.s.t.s decorated with his c.u.m. Pearls of creamy liquid hung on the tips of her nipples and across her throat.

"Remind me to give you pearls in honor of this occasion," he said softly. She actually blushed, then picked up his cravat and wiped at his cream, smearing it across her flesh.

Molly smiled. "I'm afraid you'll have to catch me first."

"Oh, I will. Beau sighed and smiled. "Give me time." He leaned forward on the seat. "You are just too magnificent to forget." His smile broadened. "Sooner or later I will find you, and then it will be my turn to tie you up."

Molly froze momentarily at the sight of his confident smile and hurried into her doeskin breeches.

A shout came from without. Molly grabbed her coat, then dove out of the coach, her shirt open and b.r.e.a.s.t.s still bare. They gleamed wetly in the starlight. She disappeared into the shadowed, rustling woods surrounding the road. Fading hoof-beats filled the night.

Beau bent down and angling carefully, pulled a throwing dagger from his boot. In seconds he was free. Quickly and efficiently, he put himself away and tidied as much as he could with his handkerchief. His cravat, sticky with his own spending, was quite beyond help. He sat back to wait.

Long minutes later, a full troop of uniformed and hors.e.m.e.n wearing his personal household livery appeared. They came galloping down the road to intercept the waiting coach. The troop's Captain reined in his gray gelding, then bent over his saddle to peek into the coach window from the back of his sweating horse.

"Well, Lord Rushford, what do you think of our Highwayman problem?" asked the Captain.

"I have met the enemy, and I am determined to catch her." Beau's aqua eyes gleamed with the challenge as he stepped out of his coach. "I can also see why she's been given the name Molly Coddle." He straightened the lace at his cuffs. "For a hardened thief, her form of persuasion is rather gentle," he said with sarcasm. "And vastly unique to say the least."

The Captain frowned. "Her persuasion is gentle?"

The mounted troops behind the Captain looked at each other in confusion.

"This is the first thief I've ever run across that doesn't use knives to pry out information." Beau tugged at his cuffs and blushed.

"I, uh, see. So, do you think you can catch her?" queried the Captain.

Beau looked up. "I was Spy-Master in Paris during our last war on the continent. I excelled at finding and apprehending enemy spies for years. Now that I'm home from the war, I should be able to catch one little thief," he scoffed.

The troop captain saluted Lord Rushford without a word. He straightened in the saddle and motioned his garrison down the road. In a well-ordered ma.s.s, the mounted troops paired up, then cantered down the dark road, leaving the coach alone on the rutted highway.

Beau turned and stepped back into the coach. He settled in his seat as his coachman whistled the horses forward into a trot. The coach picked up speed as they cantered homeward.

"Oh, yes, I'll catch you, my Mistress Molly Coddle." Beau chuckled. "And then it will be my turn." The perfume from their s.e.xual frenzy scented the coach's interior. "Pearls," he whispered softly to the night. "Long, thick ropes of creamy white pearls."

Queen of Dragons.

Sorceress Seduction.

A blue and gold banner emblazoned with a clawing white lion snapped in the wind above the War Duke's head. From the height of the ridge, his golden eyes watched the carnage of the battle that had shifted from the ridge to the valley below. His great black war-horse shuddered under him, excited by the scent of blood and death. The ma.s.sive stallion pawed the bloodied earth, jingling his bit, his armored sides heaving. The horses of his accompanying troops shied nervously under their armored riders as they stood arrayed about him to either side.

The War Duke's eyes were drawn to the opposite ridge of the blood-drenched valley, where a woman battled ferociously atop a screaming fire-red stallion. Even in her crimson armor with its fanged dragon helmet, there was no mistaking the feminine curves. She lashed out at her attackers with uncanny speed and deadly accuracy.

The War Duke pushed his helmet visor up to get a clearer view of the woman. She looked like a red dragon in female form, the gilded scales of her armor glittering in the dying sunlight, her scarlet cloak flying about her like wings. Her sword flashed with the unmistakable glint of blue steel. The hilt was set with a stone that caught the dying sun's light and blazed crimson. No one could stand against her. Obviously an artist had made that scaled suit of steel for her alone. It hugged her curves and moved as easily as flesh.

The War Duke whistled as he sat atop his restless stallion. "My G.o.d, she's magnificent!"

"Where in the seven h.e.l.ls did the Boar find her?" one of the captains exclaimed.

The War Duke narrowed his eyes. "I can't tell what family she comes from, her shield is too smeared with blood to see what's on it. She has to come from good family, though, I think that's a ruby in her sword. Nothing else would glow that bright in sunlight."

"G.o.d in heaven! She just cut that soldier in half!" said another.

"That's not a woman. That's a she-demon conjured from the pits of h.e.l.l," said a grizzled older captain. "Look at her, she fights with more than the strength of a man."

"I heard that the woman is supposed to be a sorceress called the Wyvrn, a fell creature born of magic, both woman and dragon," remarked one of the war duke's lieutenants. "Her armor is made from the enchanted skin of a dragon."

"I heard that she was conjured by a powerful Sorcerer during the Age of Legends." One of the War Duke's younger captains nudged his stallion closer. "I also heard tell that the Boar struck a deal with a devil for her."

"A sorceress wearing a dragon's skin for armor?" He laughed. "The Wyvrn is a creature of myth." The War Duke smiled grimly. "This woman is just a formidable warrior in a clever suit of steel." The War Duke looked about at his doubtful Captains. "I will hear no more talk of sorceresses."

The armored roan the woman rode trumpeted a challenge, then reared on his hind legs, pawing the smoke-tainted air with bladed steel-shod hooves. The woman moved in perfect time with her infuriated mount. Her sword struck like lightning at the tide of men surging all around her. The roan suddenly spun in a circle, hooves slashing and teeth snapping. Horses bucked fighting their riders, trying to get away from her inhuman fury and her demonic stallion.

The War Duke felt a stirring in his breeches at the sight of her dancer's grace and exquisite control over her screaming mount. His mind filled with images of himself wrapped in her powerful thighs, battling to ride her to submission.

"When we win this battle, I want the woman brought to me if she still lives," the War Duke ordered his men.

They rolled their eyes, but saluted their obedience.

Smoke shifted across the battlefield, obscuring the War Duke's view of the sword-woman. He snapped his visor down over his face and shouted to his troops. As one unit, they charged down the embankment to join the battle, trumpets blazing and the flying hooves of their mounts a deadly thunder.

The War Duke awoke to a pounding headache. He groaned as torchlight speared into his eyes. Shifting away from the glare of the torch, he suddenly realized that it was full dark, and his wrists were tightly chained behind him. Lying on his side, he still wore his armor, though his helmet was nowhere to be seen. With great difficulty, from the sheer weight of his steel plate, he sat up against the wall. With a groan, he shook his head to clear his long black hair from his face. The back of his head throbbed in time with his heart.

In shock, he looked about him at the milling troops and realized that the red and gold banners of the Boar surrounded him. Walls of mortared stone rose all around him, surrounding him. He was within a castle somewhere. He squinted in the uncertain torchlight, looking for a door, an escape, anything.

"Bring the prisoner," he heard someone call.

Two fully armored, burly men-at-arms lifted him by the elbows and pushed him to his feet. His steps hampered by chains, the War Duke's spurs jangled on the stone floor as he was shoved forward.

"Where are you taking me?" he shouted. "What happened? Where are my men?" In stoic silence, more armored soldiers came forward. He struggled against his captors, swearing in three languages, his questions ignored by the guards. He took some measure of pride in that they had to use four men to hold him, even chained.

He was pulled and forced down a long, narrow stone-walled corridor, then shoved hard to his knees. His grieves squealed sharply on the floor. Mailed hands held him down by the plates across his shoulders.

The sound of steel-shod boots swiftly approaching came from the corridor before him. He could hear the voice of the Boar growling to his dukes about the morrow's battle.

A group of fully armored knights, still spattered with gore from the recent battle, stopped ten paces before him. The crowd parted, and suddenly the dragon-helmeted woman was standing before him in all her scaled glory. At her throat, a huge ruby seemed to glow with uncanny fire. He had thought her armor red. He smelled the strong taint of copper and crimson dripping from her entire suit. The red was blood smeared across her as thickly as paint.

Her body flowed like silk and water. Her armor was so exquisitely crafted that the scales shifted, flexing with each step as she moved, expanding and contracting with each breath. He watched as she turned to the man next to her and said something softly. Suddenly, he could see her back. Her arms and spine were ridged with razor-honed overlapping spikes. Her gauntlets were tipped with sharp claws and armed with daggered spurs to the elbow. The artistry of the armor was perfect in every detail, and gilded with silver even on the tiniest edge. The fanged helm appeared to be joined to her suit seamlessly. There was nothing to show how the helm was attached to her shoulders, or how it was to be removed.

Her magnificent body looked naked but for the carnage-spattered scales that covered her completely. The vee of her woman's flesh was delicately outlined by her armor, and at eye level. The War Duke felt the blood pound to his manhood as he gazed at her.

"Yes," she said, her voice hissing from within her dragon helm. "This is the one." Her horned dragon helm turned ruby eyes to the Boar standing a pace away. "He is mine, you agreed." She wasn't asking a question.

The War Duke could not believe his ears. Hers? He was her prisoner?

"I agreed, witch. Him, you can have with my blessing." The Boar let out a filthy laugh. He looked directly into the War Duke's eyes. "You poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You should see what happened to her last one."

"Where are my men?" the War Duke snarled.

"Without you, they'll fall to my troops at dawn. If I were you, I'd be more worried about her tender mercies." He laughed again then strode away with his knights.

So,the War Duke thought,they have me but not my army. If I can escape...

"I must be prepared for the battle before me," the woman said to the War Duke, interrupting his thoughts.

He could feel an odd tingling in his head as she spoke to him. The helm parted seemingly by itself at her throat, and she pulled it from her head. Hair the color of blood fell in a scarlet cloak to her hips. Her face was that of an angel, with wide-set onyx eyes and full lips made for kisses. The white line of a scar slashed across her cheek. Rather than marring her perfection, it added incredible character.

"You are not like the others," she continued.

No longer distorted by her helm, she spoke in a voice that seemed to reach inside and stroke him from within. He was enchanted.

She c.o.c.ked her head to one side as she gazed at him, eyes narrowed. "I have no time for little mysteries or for niceties. I have need of your strength."

Looking into her black eyes, he though he saw the crackling of distant lightning deep within. There was power and a touch of sadness.For him?

Handing her helm to one of the waiting guards, she gestured, ordering them to strip him of his armor.

The War Duke had no idea what was going to happen, but he wasn't going to willingly submit to anything. They unchained his wrists, then held him down arms spread wide as they unbuckled, then peeled the separate pieces of his steel armor from him. Even on his knees, he fought them every step of the way.