Kier, reluctant to explain his impotence, tries to discourage Ivy. But he underestimates her determination. Without benefit of a modern day sex therapist, it is up to these medieval lovers to find a cure. Ivy’s antics while trying to learn all she can from her friends will have readers laughing out loud before racing for a cold shower.
Reader Alert! Ivelisse Sterling would rather become one of her father’s whores than marry a man of his choosing. But he and the women who helped raise Ivy want a different life for their little girl. The company’s plans are thrown into upheaval the moment Ivy sees the local blacksmith, Kier Dufrance and decides he will be her first customer. But Kier shows no interest in her attempts to seduce him. What kind of whore will Ivy be if she can’t even give it away for free?
To My Readers: I dreamed about my poor blacksmith years ago when I first began writing. I have worked on Ivy and Kier’s story on and off ever since. I love these two characters more than any other I’ve created and am thrilled that their love affair will finally be in print. Will the seduction techniques Ivy learns from a troupe of medieval prostitutes be enough for her to get her man?"
About the Author: "Yes, Bambi is my real name.” I grew up on a farm in South Georgia. My high school was very small with a graduating class of less than 100 people. Shortly after high school, I met my wonderful husband who took me to Belgium, where a three-year tour turned into fifteen. While living in Europe, I nurtured my love of all things medieval. I often get homesick for Belgium, but with the world wide web, I’m home with the click of a mouse. I now live with my husband and son in North Alabama.
Broken Armor by Bambi Lynn
A dull ache started at the back of Kier’s neck. The girl was relentless.
Before the first time she had come round, he felt like a man who had been wandering alone for longer than he could remember. He had grown used to solitude. But now he yearned for her presence like the fire behind him yearned for air.
He clenched his teeth so hard his head pounded as though he banged it against the anvil. Yet he could not drag his gaze from her as he imagined what it would feel like to draw her into his hovel and crush her body against his.
It would be so easy to pull her beneath him, to slide his hand into those tight breeches that so erotically molded to her thighs and slip a finger or two into her silky quim. He instinctively knew she would already be wet, hot, open to his seduction. Inviting heart ache, he allowed the image of her naked body to fill his thoughts. He longed to feel the tangle of hair betwixt her legs as he stroked her. To hear her soft moans in his ear, her warm breath on his skin, as he brought her to the peak of pleasure.
His fingers itched to cup her breasts. To knead them and feel her hard nipples against his palms. The tiny pebbles had poked out at him yestermorn when he had first encountered her up at the castle. He recalled his first sight of her. Given the richness of her gown, he had thought her to be a high-born lady come to snare a husband from the spoils of the tournament.
He wanted to taste her so bad, his hunger increased tenfold.
He regarded her, piqued at the slow, tantalizing sway of her hips. He had been around enough ladies to know one would never have emerged unescorted from a lodging house nor been caught dead in such a get up as she currently wore.
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