The Importance Of Soft Rules To Knighthood

As a knight, Perceval was well aware there were hard rules and soft rules when it came to knighthood. Hard rules were those outlined in the Knight’s Code, those of honor, chivalry, and dedication, and those had to be adhered to unfailingly. But, over time, knights had created soft rules, ones about how to manage families and friendships. And the first soft rule was that when it came to a knight’s wife, he never expressed nerves or doubt about an impending battle, and he did not breathe a word about his possible death. A knight was to have one discussion with his wife in the early days of his marriage about how she and their children would be cared for after the knight’s passing, and that was that. It was to be a practical discussion, filled …show more content…
After spreading open her fleshy pinkness, he tasted her sweetness with long, hard licks. He did not stop until she came with a tremble and cry. Not waiting for her release to cool, he settled back on top of Joan and pushed his way inside. Fisting her hair, he pumped away, keeping his eyes open so he could watch her. Her lips were parted and her eyes closed. She was so decadently beautiful writhing beneath him. When she panted his name in a husky rasp, Perceval’s orgasm hit without warning, and Joan came again right with him, sinking her nails into his back and dragging them across the heated flesh. That act would leave a physical mark, one that would allow him to recall tonight for many weeks to …show more content…
I want to look at my skin and know you touched me, to see it and feel it.”
Her eyes shimmered with tears, which broke Perceval’s heart. But to draw his wife’s blood? She was asking him to do the impossible.
“Don’t make me beg.” She kept gazing into his eyes.
With a groan, Perceval rose, collected his belt knife, and returned to the bedside. He twisted the blade in his hand, hoping it would look imposing and Joan would relent. “Where?”
She presented her left arm. “Here, well above the wrist. My sleeves will cover it, but I can still see it in private.”
Frowning, and with a swift flick of the knife, he sliced what looked like a small letter “P” into her arm. Blood welled up, not much, but enough that Perceval knew it would leave a faint scar.
He kissed the injury. “I hated that. But now there’s something I want from you.”
“Name it.”
“A lock of your hair to bring along.”
Joan took the knife from his hand and sliced off hair near the back of her neck, the width of her thumb. She handed back the knife, braided the length of the lock, and placed it on the bedside table. “There you have it. Now come back to bed. Not that I mind admiring your body, but I like it better beside me. Or inside me.” She waggled her brows and