“I’m at your service in this, Ma’am. I’ve never refused a fight. "
I’ve never lost one, either!"
To his surprise, instead of making a pass at him, she sauntered over to join him at the service niche. She took up an Imperial armorers’ sponge in her fingers, and began cleaning and disinfecting the blade of an épée, which showed that she knew what she was doing.
Her curled hand stroked firmly up and down the long shaft, leaving a gleaming trail of moisture where the sponge in her palm had pressed. The erotic suggestion was almost certainly deliberate.
Two could play at that.
Two probably would. They both had a lot to learn, and most of it was about sex, one way or another.
“Are you ready to demonstrate your prowess at sword-play, Your Majesty?”
“Let’s make this interesting,” she whispered. “I challenge you to a proper duel. To the drawing of first blood. If you lose, you will impregnate me.”
He untangled his weapon and stepped back. It was such an unusual reversal of the way these things usually played out that it took a moment to come up with a suitable rebuff.
“If I lose, I impregnate you?” he rasped a follow up question when their actions brought them close enough to whisper again.
“And if you win, you don’t have to, darling.” She was breathing heavily, and her words were audible.
She was shameless! She turned morality upside down. She was in sore need of a very stiff lesson.
“It seems to me,” he said slowly, striving for the right balance of arrogance and legal pedantry, “that I don’t ‘have to’ anyway.”
Her heart rate increased. Hearing the faster beat excited him. As they circled and feinted, he found himself eyeing her with indecent interest.
The superb, layered cut of her outfit allowed for a surprising range of movement. When she twirled, the panels of her coat-dress top flew wide, revealing a glossy, lipstick red lining. Her reflection in the long wall of mirrors showed her long, slender, racehorse legs.
Nice legs. Shame about the… morals.