It had been months since the girls of St. Tinian's had supposedly defeated him, and all was quiet around the estate of Sir Piers Pomfrey; too quiet. Surely by now the girls would've noticed that they only made off with the play and that Piers still had Shakespeare's letter. Without the letter, the play was nothing more than a mere work of 'fan fiction', and Piers knew that the girls had found out that the letter was gone, so where were they? Why hadn't they attacked yet?
Piers sat down at his desk and peeled off his grey suit jacket; leaving only his dress shirt and red tie. There was a mountain of paperwork on his desk that he'd been ignoring, and that would continue to go on being ignored until he sorted this out. The school year had ended a month ago, and now all the girls have a lot of free time. So why not use that to retrieve the letter? They loved wreaking havoc, so why haven't they? Maybe it was because Annabelle had graduated this year, and without someone filling their heads with ideas, maybe they'd backed off. There was a loud crash outside the office door, "Then again, maybe not." Piers said.
He stood to face his attacker with dignity and his jacket slipped off the chair and fell to the floor. The door to the study flew open and a pair of black stilettos stepped into the office area. Piers's brown eyes traced the outline of the shoes and up the slender, bare legs to the hem of the short plaid skirt. They then moved up the lines of the curvy torso that was being hugged by a white dress shirt, and he lingered for a moment on the low V-neck cut of the shirt before finally landing on the pale face framed in ringlets of brunette hair, "Well, well, well," Piers stepped around the desk, "Little Miss Annabelle Fritton." She kept her crystalline blue eyes trained on him as he circled her and went for the door. It closed with a soft 'click' and the two were alone. Annabelle didn't like that, and he could see it in her eyes, "Not like you to travel alone; where's the rest of your little band of trouble-makers?"
She smirked, "Nervous, Piers?"
"No," he sidled over to stand in front of her and ran a finger around the curve of her jaw, "Are you?" He could feel every muscle in her body tense up at his touch and he smiled evilly; power and desire ran white hot through his veins, exciting his blood and sending it rushing wildly to every single part of his body. But behind that, he also felt rage. Rage that a girl had broken into his home and gotten past his guards, rage that this girl was also attractive, and, most of all, rage that he wanted her. He wanted her so bad. And she wanted him; he could see it in her face for a flicker of a second when he had touched her.
"Don't touch me." She whispered weakly. Annabelle was trying to resist, and Piers felt another surge of power.
"Now, now," He whispered softly; she wasn't going to get away from him. He wanted her. And he ALWAYS got what he wanted, "That's what your head says. What does the rest of you say?"
"The rest of me…" Annabelle paused for a second, and then looked him right in the eyes, "The rest of me wants to know where the letter is." She grabbed his wrist that was still hovering close to her face and dug her nails in.
The sharp, blood red nails cut into his pale skin and little crimson drops fell to the floor, "Annabelle," He yanked his wrist out of her grasp, the searing in his wrist only made him want her more, "Play nice, now."
Annabelle spun on her stilettos and walked slowly around the room, running her slender fingers over every personal object that Piers owned in the study, "Ok, I'll play nice. If that's what you like," she looked up and bit her lip, causing a shiver to run down Piers's spine, "But you have to play nice in return."
"Oh no." Piers swaggered up to her, "That's not how I do it, Annabelle." He put every ounce of sensual energy he had into saying her name. Every syllable was dripping with the sweet sticky tendrils of desire. Annabelle shivered.
"Then how DO you do it, Pomfrey?"
Piers suddenly became very aware of the closing space between them and right before he was about to show her how he did it, she beat him to the punch. Annabelle grabbed the bright red tie around his neck and pulled him towards her. Their lips met and Piers was enjoying the taste of the cherry red lipstick, so much so that he didn't even care that a woman had made the first move on him. He just concentrated on backing her into the far wall of the study and hiking her leg up around his hip. She ran her fingers through his silver hair and her lips left a trail of lipstick down his neck line.
The buttons on her white dress shirt were sliding out of their holes quickly and easily in his slender fingers and he was soon sliding her out of it. His fingers brushed the bare skin of her shoulders, arms and back, and Annabelle screamed his name and arched in pleasure at his touch; exposing more flesh of her neck for his mouth to explore. His fingers found the clasp of her bra and were about to unhook it when—
"Annabelle?" Lucy, the brains of St. Trinian's, was gaping at the two of them from the doorway; the whole 'letter rescue squad' was standing behind her as well.
"Annabelle, what the hell is going on here?" Bianca stepped forward, looking ready to kill whichever one gave the wrong answer.
Annabelle's eyes met Piers's for a moment, before she slipped out from under him. Piers let his head fall with a soft thud against the wall of the study; he couldn't even start to try to sort through how he was feeling at the moment. But mostly, he was mad. Mad that he'd had something good going, and the girls ruined it. Again.
Annabelle ran over to Bianca and wrapped her arms around the girl, "Oh Bianca! Thank God you're here! You have no idea what he was about to do to me!"
Piers clenched his fist against the wall. That little slut was trying to pass off her mutual consent as rape in order to save face. He wanted to yell this at her, but he felt that his time would come later. Bianca was sympathetic, however. She took her track jacket off and helped to cover up Annabelle as she said, "You poor thing!" Then she turned on Piers, who still had not moved, "How dare you?"
Piers didn't even flinch. Bianca was about to yell at him some more when Piers's assistant, Peters, ran into the room. And, being the idiot that Peters was, he started to say, "Sir! The girls are here! The girls have invaded—" He stopped short when he saw the congregation of St. Trinian's girls in the study.
"Yes, Peters," Piers said quietly, "And what are you going to do about it?"
"Uh, right." Peters ordered the guards that had followed him to take the girls to the basement to the holding cells, and to imprison them there.
Piers glanced out the corner of his eye to see Annabelle flit him a pleading look, but he didn't have time to return it before she was whisked away to the holding cell with her friends. Piers was alone in his study and the white dress shirt was slipping from his fingers. He grasped it tighter in his fist and a strong fragrance of perfume and femininity wafted up towards him. Why did they have to always ruin everything, and stop him from getting what he wanted?
"Peters, get the Fritton girl and bring her up here," Piers said from behind his desk without looking up from the papers he was working on. The neglected mountain had been diminished all the way down to the last few pages that he was currently working on. But, he had been having trouble concentrating on them, and finishing them took much longer than normal. He was thinking about Annabelle all day.
Piers wanted to be angry with her for lying to her friends about what had been about to take place, but he just wanted to get her alone again and it was all he could think about. Then again, she hadn't really lied to them; he had been about to do something to her. In fact, he'd been about to do several things to her… He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. Thinking about it just made him more restless.
Piers had avoided sending for Annabelle for almost 24 hours now. He'd resisted sending for her when he was lying awake last night, and resisted sending for her while he was getting ready for the day, and resisted sending for her when he sat down to do his paperwork several hours ago. But now, he couldn't wait any longer. So, he devised a plan for when she got up to his study. A tentative knock on the door to his study told him that Peters had brought her up, and he told them to come in, and then dismissed Peters.
As soon as Peters was out of the room, Annabelle slinked up and placed her hands on the edge of his desk, "Hello, Piers. Back for more?" She leaned forward until she was lying across his desk, her head propped up on her fists, her legs crossed at the ankles and suspended in the air. She was still wearing the track jacket.
Piers ignored his instincts and continued with the plan. He slid the final piece of paperwork out from under her elbows and pretended to scan it; there was no way he'd be able to concentrate on actually reading the words. Without looking at Annabelle, he pulled the white shirt from under his desk and handed it to her, "Here," Piers said calmly.
Annabelle stood up from off his desk and took the shirt carefully, "I don't understand. Is this all you wanted?"
"Yes. Peters will see that you get back to the cell safely." Piers looked up briefly and smirked to himself at the confused look on her face.
"Look, if you're mad about what I said to Bianca and the others, then I'm sorry. But, do you know how badly they would've reacted? We'd both be dead." Annabelle fidgeted with her plaid skirt.
Piers let his eyes flit once to the hem of the skirt, then trained them back on his paperwork, keeping silent until she left the room to go back to her cell. As soon as the door shut again, Piers let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. He'd stuck to the plan and hopefully, the rest will fall into place and he'd have Annabelle by this evening.
If everything went according to plan, then Annabelle would discover the copy of the master key in the breast pocket of her dress shirt soon. She'd find the note around the key, too. The tiny little piece of paper on which he'd written 'see you soon'. Hopefully, she'd wait until the night to sneak out of her cell and unlock her way up to his bedroom, just like he planned. Piers dropped the final piece of paperwork onto his desk; it'd have to wait for later. Right now, he needed some fresh air to calm himself down.
Piers slid into his black silk pajama pants and slipped the pajama top off its hanger. He considered the top for a bit, before putting it back; he never slept in a shirt anyway. The dim lighting in his room usually made him sleepy, but right now he was so railed up, that he couldn't do anything but pace. Pace and wait for Annabelle.
The clock on the mantle above his bedroom fireplace clicked to eleven o'clock and its melodious chimes cut through the still air. Piers walked over to the mantle and looked at the clock; it had belonged to his great grandmother and had been in the estate ever since she'd married his great grandfather. The firelight was dancing off the clock face and casting strange shadows across the numbers. The chimes were loud, so Piers did not hear the click of a key in the lock to his bedchamber.
He did, however, hear Annabelle close the door softly behind her, "Ah, Miss Fritton." Piers whispered, not turning around to face her, "I was starting to think you weren't coming."
"That's what you get for making me think you didn't want me anymore." Annabelle wrapped her thin arms around his bare waist and kissed his shoulder delicately.
He turned around in her grasp and kissed her lips. They only stayed like that for a brief moment before Piers took her by the arms and threw her, quite roughly, down onto the black sheets of his bed. He climbed on top of her and began to kiss her again.
It was then that Piers realized that life is a game of pleasure. It was a competition between those who had the most, and those who had the least. And it was then, with his slender fingers knotted into Annabelle's dark brunette curls, that Piers knew he was winning.
A ruckus in the courtyard woke Piers with a start. It wasn't a surprise that the muffled cries of his guards had awoken him; he was so revved up that it was a miracle that the mere ticking of the clock hadn't woken him. He sat up and turned towards the large French doors that overlooked the courtyard. Camilla Fritton had busted the girls out of their cell and they were now looking for Annabelle. And he knew they would be here any moment and Annabelle would have to choose between him and the girls.
Something glinted in the moonlight on his bedside table; the copy of the master key that he'd given to Annabelle was resting on the empty bedside table. He reached for it and fingered the cold metal; thinking about what was about to go on. Then, he got an idea. He reached over the edge of the bed and grabbed his pajama pants. He pulled the black silk ribbon out of the waist of the pants and tossed them back onto the floor.
Piers threaded the ribbon through the ancient designs of the key ring and tied the two ends together, making a long necklace. He knew that she was going to choose the girls, so was going to give her a way to come back to him. Piers turned to Annabelle, who was sleeping peacefully beside him. Her dark brown curls were spilling out across the pillows and the moonlight was reflecting gracefully off the pale skin of her bare chest. He leaned down and kissed her lips, waking her up, "Why hello, there Mr. Pomfrey." Annabelle whispered. She sat up and looked around, "It's 2 in the morning, why are we awake?"
"Annabelle, you're going to have to make a choice soon. I hope you make the right one," He said sadly, because he knew she wouldn't. He slipped the key around her neck and kissed her again. Annabelle didn't know what was going on, but she just gave in to his kiss. He broke away and got out of bed; the girls would be breaking into the room at any minute, and he wanted his pants back on when they did.
He slid back into the black silk pants, and sat on the edge of the bed. Annabelle crawled over and put her arms around his neck; the feel of her bare skin on his back sent a cool shiver down his spine. But he repressed his feelings and pushed her away, "What's wrong?" She asked.
"Nothing," He shook his head and turned to face her; if he was only going to have her for a short amount of time, he might as well enjoy it. He traced a finger down her neck line and she flinched when he accidently applied to much pressure on the large hickey at the base of her collarbone.
She leaned forward to kiss him again and he let her. Her lips were moving down his neck when the door flew open. Camilla Fritton, Annabelle's aunt, was standing in the doorway, baffled by what she was seeing, "Annabelle!" She screeched.
Annabelle fell back on the bed away from Piers and scrambled around the room, throwing her clothes on with supersonic speed. Piers turned on his game face, and stood to face Camilla, "Can I help you, Camilla, dear?" He leaned against the wall next to the door, trying to block Annabelle from Camilla's sight so she could get dressed without her aunt scrutinizing the bruises on her pelvis and thighs.
"Piers Pomfrey, you sick, spoiled rotten, pompous—"
"Now, now, Camilla, no need to get harsh," Piers his hands up in a surrender position, "You might hurt my feelings."
"I don't care!" Camilla roared, pinning Piers against the wall, "What did you do to my niece?"
"Auntie!" Annabelle slid between the two and pushed her aunt away, "Please, be civilized."
"Annabelle Fritton, I don't even want to know what you've just done."
"Oh, don't play stupid," Piers pushed himself off the wall and got right up in Camilla's face, "You know exactly what's just happened."
Camilla looked ready to kill him, "Annabelle, you're coming with me." She stomped out of the room expecting Annabelle to follow.
Annabelle searched Piers's eyes, looking for a reason to choose either option, "I think your aunt is waiting for you," Piers whispered quietly.
"Maybe I don't want to go with her," Annabelle whispered back. Piers raised a questioning eyebrow, "Ok, you're right I do. But I want to stay here with you, too. I mean, we… we..." She gestured toward the bed and ran a frustrated hand through her curls, "Just tell me what to do, Piers."
Piers just shook his head, "No."
"Oh please, you're the leader of AD1; don't tell me you're going to pass up an opportunity to order a woman around." Annabelle was pleading with her eyes. He knew she wanted him to force her to stay, so she could keep her friends and her lover.
Piers laughed a little, but before he could appease her, Camilla yelled form the hallway, "NOW!"
Annabelle gave him a quick peck on the cheek and ran after her aunt. Piers ran after them, stealing through the shadows trying not to be noticed. He stopped in the front door, however and finished watching them go. The game of pleasure was a life-long one with many wins and losses, but watching Annabelle leave, Piers felt like he was losing. And it was a horrible feeling.