Disclaimer - I own nothing, no infringement intended therefore please do not sue! I haven't a penny to give you :( Unless you want to take control of a very large student overdraft - woe!
Comments - Much thanks to those who reviewed - I thought I'd update part two just because the first two of these one shots are linked :)Basically, Elizabeth is summoned to Lord Beckett's study over a certain book... Kinky prose ahead... you have been warned, if beckabeth isn't your cup of tea then best look away. :)
The Fortunate Mistress - Part II
"His Lordship requests your presence madam." Came the maid's voice from somewhere within the space of the dark bedroom.
Elizabeth frowned from behind her Japanese dressing screen. What could he possibly want at this time of night? She thought, rolling her eyes tiredly. She hadn't seen him since earlier that day when he'd confiscated her favourite book from her – treating her like a child. She was still angry – and felt her blood boil just thinking about the way he'd treated her! She was tired of being his prisoner.
"Ugh. Tell him I'm asleep." Elizabeth said as she shrugged out of her ivory day gown – standing only in her stays, underwear and stockings.
She threw it over the top of the screen – happy to be rid of it. She thought she'd seen the end of uncomfortable clothing when she'd left Port Royal on the Edinburgh Trader all those months ago – on her quest to find Will. The same night she'd snuck into EITC offices, stolen the letters of marque and come face to face with her future husband. Ha! If she'd known things would turn out the way they had – she would fired that gun right into his smug face. Sure she would have been a wanted murderer as well as a wanted pirate, but at least she wouldn't have found herself at the mercy of her father's murderer. One who insisted that his wife should act and look like a lady, and that meant no breeches and boots. The end of comfortable clothing.
"He was quite insistent madam." The maid continued.
Elizabeth groaned as she pulled on her green silk dressing gown , deciding that if she didn't go and see him, she wouldn't hear the end of it. Besides, the sooner she went, the sooner she could come back and go to bed, and maybe if she was asleep before he came to join her in bed he wouldn't expect her to oblige him – she thought hopefully. She didn't bother to get dressed, she thought he might find it tasteless for his wife to be walking around the house in a state of undress – and that's what made her less enthusiastic to get dressed. She wanted to frustrate and irritate him – it was one of the only things that amused her these days. She prayed that maybe one day he'd finally have enough and let her go.
Even though the maid hadn't told her where her husband was, it didn't take much thought to realise where he might be. He was always in his private study late at night – perusing papers over a large glass of brandy and even sometimes enjoying some tobacco. Elizabeth had never actually been inside his study during the hours he spent there late at night – but he always came to bed with the smell of brandy on his breath and the musky scent of tobacco clinging to his skin. She always told him she hated the smell, but secretly she liked the strange aroma – especially the place where it clung most, in the hollow of his neck. Of course it didn't mean she liked the man…
When Elizabeth reached Beckett's study, she hesitated and quietly knocked the large double doors that led into the dark depths of her husbands world. She hadn't been in there more than a few times since her marriage and since it had been completely redecorated from being her father's private study.
"Come in." came a voice from behind the doors.
Elizabeth opened them and stepped boldly inside – the room was barely recognisable from what it had been when it had belonged to her father. His memory had been completely erased. At the end of the room in front of dark windows was a large mahogany desk with carefully organised papers placed in piles across it, a small candelabra kept the desk area well lit – and yet left the rest of the room in a dull glow. There was a golden glass of brandy and the faint smell of smoky tobacco in the air, and behind the desk sat his arrogant lordship – dwarfed almost, by the large leather chair he sat in. He didn't look up when Elizabeth entered the room, his face – lit up by the candelabra, was lost in some sort of paperwork as he signed and scribbled with a delicate white quill. On the edge of the desk she noticed the worn leather bindings of her secret book and bit her lip anxiously.
"Yes?" he said – still not looking at her.
"You sent for me." Elizabeth snapped, angry she'd been summoned for seemingly nothing.
It must have been the tone of her voice that struck him; because he instantly looked up, placing the quill in the inkwell before lifting his cold gaze to his wife standing in the darkness of the room. His emotionless eyes glided down across her figure and what felt like each seam and stitch of the green dressing gown before returning up to her angry and stubborn eyes as an afterthought. He lifted his right hand to her, crooking his index and middle finger quickly – asking her without words to step closer. Even sitting, he had a talent for seeming as if he was looking down at you from thirty feet high. A giant, who could destroy you with one sadistic step of his shiny black boot.
"No thank you." Elizabeth replied, narrowing her eyes and folding her arms across her chest obstinately.
"Come now Elizabeth, ladies don't lurk in doorways." He said as he dipped the quill in the ink well once more and went back to his work – Elizabeth rolled her eyes and took a petulantly emphasised step toward the desk.
"I'd be grateful if you could just tell me why you dragged me here – so I can return to bed." She said through gritted teeth, adding a sarcastic 'my lord' to the end of the sentence.
"Remove your dressing gown." He replied, his expression blank.
"What?" Elizabeth blinked, her lips parting in silent shock – surely he didn't expect…?
"Your dressing gown, Elizabeth." Beckett said dryly, before looking up at her expectedly, "…remove it."
He stared at her with a smirk so subtle it was barely there, and waited for her to comply. He leaned over the desk, peering at her with his hands outstretched – fingers intertwined with one another as if he were waiting for some sort of show. Elizabeth widened her eyes in horror at his request, coming so out of the blue. She was used to the late nights where he'd come into her room and take his half of the arrangement – seducing her till there was nothing left of her to take or possess. But this was different.
"I want you to read to me." Beckett continued before Elizabeth could utter a single word in outrage.
She watched as he glanced from her anxious eyes to the book resting on the desk in front of him – her book, the one he'd caught her with. He placed his hand on it delicately, and pushed it forwards, towards the edge of the desk. She stared at him with a half perplexed, half worried frown and detected the hint of a smirk across his lips. He was daring her, she realised. Daring her to do as she was told. He expected her to complain and complain until he had to force her to do what she was told, break her till she had nothing left to herself. Elizabeth decided he wouldn't win, she wouldn't let him. Perhaps if she didn't protest, he'd grow tired – miss the control. So, she proudly lifted her chin to the ceiling and slipped the dressing gown from her shoulders – feeling it graze coolly across her silky skin before falling into a puddle around her delicate ankles.
His eyes widened momentarily yet still remained tepid, he exhaled a sharp breath that was almost a laugh and then lazily took a visual stroll from her stockings to her stays. Inside Elizabeth recoiled from his intimate gaze – but tried her best to remain silent. She stepped forward and grabbed the book from the edge momentarily hesitating, wondering where she was expected to sit and to read from – but before she visibly panicked, Beckett had stood up and stepped aside, offering her his chair. She could feel the warm leather of the chair as she glared at it, the thought of sitting where he'd sat comfortably ruining people's lives for hours made her strangely angry.
"I'd rather stand thank you." She frowned, turning her back to him and leaning against the desk – the cold wood flush with the top of her bare thighs.
"Suit yourself…Begin at the bookmarked page." He said from behind, as he walked casually to the double doors and turned the key in the lock, pocketing it – locking the doors and everyone out who might disturb them.
Elizabeth cracked the spine until she stopped at a red velvet bookmark. Funny, she thought, she never used bookmarks – she always just folded down pages, something her father had always hated! She blushed suddenly, it could mean only one thing – Beckett must have read some of the book during the day.
"Chapter V." she read, before pausing slightly – she knew it well, this was the chapter where Roxana met the French prince and became his mistress. It was her favourite chapter, and the most graphic. "When he sent away his gentleman I stood up and offered to wait on His Highness while he ate, but he positively refused, and told me 'No; tomorrow you shall be the widow of the jeweller, but tonight you shall be my mistress; therefore sit here,' says he, 'and eat with me, or I will get up and serve.'"
Elizabeth glanced up from the book every so often, watching Beckett confusedly as he wandered around the room, picking up dust on his finger as he inspected surfaces lazily, tidying books and looking out of the window every so often. She paused and frowned at his back – wondering what on earth the point of this reading session was, but when he turned around and caught her bewildered eyes she coughed and looked back down at the book.
"I took this time to undress me and to come in a new dress, which was in a manner un…un…" She frowned, hesitating over a French word.
"Un déshabillé." Beckett corrected. Oh God – he has read it, Elizabeth blushed before continuing reluctantly.
"Un déshabillé, but so fine, and all about me so clean and so agreeable, that he seemed surprised. 'I thought,' says he, 'you could not have dressed to more advantage than you had done before; but now,' he continued, 'you charm me a thousand times more, if that is possible.' 'It is only a loose habit, my lord,' said I, 'that I may the better wait on Your Highness.' He pulled me to him. 'You are perfectly obliging,' says he; and sitting on the bedside says, 'Now you shall be a princess and know what it is to oblige the gratefullest man alive.' And with that he took me into his arms and…"
Elizabeth stopped, her eyes skimming quickly over the next passage – knowing full well it was the most graphic part of the whole book. She couldn't believe she was reading her secret book aloud. She'd kept it hidden so well for so long, and yet she should have known nothing ever seemed to get past her husband. He knew everything about everyone; everything from their darkest secrets and weaknesses, to what they desired most in the world. He glanced over at her, realizing she'd stopped and stopped to stand in front of her – so close it was threatening. He knew exactly how to terrorize someone with only his presence. She swallowed, a dry click in her throat – she couldn't do it.
"Go on." He said, looking into her eyes over the top of the book – his voice low.
"I'd rather not." Elizabeth begged, shaking her head as she lowered the book to her lap – her lips were parted, her eyes wide and fearful.
He glared at her – his eyes firm and frightening, a silent warning. Elizabeth snapped her mouth shut and lifted the book back up to her eye level, pushing herself, reading every single word of the purple prose and trying her hardest not to stutter over the truly graphic parts, words that made her blush hard for saying them aloud. Her hands were shaking as she read on, her mouth dry, her palms sweaty and her stomach flipping somersaults with each innuendo and dirty metaphor that passed through her trembling lips. She held the book right in front of her face, knowing he stood right in front of her and would take satisfaction in seeing her expressions as she read. She felt him step closer suddenly, his feet stepping in-between hers.
"Good." He whispered lowly, an encouragement.
She continued slowly, steadily – determined to emerge from the mortifying situation unscathed. But he wouldn't allow her the security of hiding behind the book and lifted his right hand – using two fingers to tease it lower, slowly revealing her golden face, wide eyes and full lips. She hesitated a moment, her eyebrows twitching as he stared at her – his eyes hovering lazily over her lips as she stuttered and stammered.
"Keep going." He said, catching her confused gaze.
She blinked and snapped her mouth shut before continuing – frowning as she focussed all her attention on the inky text, trying to block out the man standing in front of her. What on earth was the point of all this? She wondered.
"Sit on the desk." He commanded quietly.
Elizabeth dithered, but did as she was told, using one hand to steady herself and the other to hold the book as she shifted her body to perch on the edge of Lord Beckett's desk – still reading as she did so, not daring to look up – her eyes hiding in the depths of the text. The security and comfort she turned to daily to numb the boredom and loneliness that came with being Lady Beckett. Her breath hitched as she felt him carefully step in-between her legs, be-ringed fingers gliding up the bare flesh of her thighs spread either side of his hips. She paused suddenly as they felt the slight swell of her hips – before returning to their original spot, his thumbs slipping slowly down to stroke the soft skin of her inner thighs – threatening to spread them wider, to move higher to their warm apex. She swallowed the lump in her throat and felt her stomach turn anxiously as he looked up at her.
"Did I ask you to stop?" he asked coolly, yet sternly.
"No, but…" Elizabeth blinked.
"Stop or stutter again and you'll be back here every night to read to me until you've completed the entire book." He warned. Elizabeth glared at him angrily,
"I don't care."
"Oh I think you do." He replied with a slight smirk, his hands still resting on her thighs.
Elizabeth frowned, exhaling a sharp, frustrated breath before lifting the book and continuing to read – determined to finish so she could just go back to bed and not have to come back. But she didn't realise how hard concentrating on the book without hesitation and frequent pauses would be. He pushed her legs further apart and lifted the short and thin cotton shift over her hips. Elizabeth felt her brow knit worriedly, realising what was coming next and attempted to cloud her mind with the most potent rum she'd ever tasted – to numb her senses. She was out of her depth now, heading into wild waters, and found herself bewildered like a deer staring down the barrel of a gun as she watched him over the top of the book – dropping to his knees before her. It was so out of character for someone who spent every day of his life acting above everyone he met. It was so strange to see him on his knees.
She tried to keep her attention on the book as she felt him kissing her thighs – first on top, then across the soft skin inside, and then right on the warm junction of her thighs. A torturous caress. She gasped, knuckles white as she suddenly clutched the book tighter – eyes fluttering shut as she felt his lips and breath ghosting over her molten core. It took every ounce of will to not stop reading – she felt her eyes flutter shut, her thighs trembled, a thundering ache ignited in the pit of her stomach, and a hand dizzily slipped from holding the worn edges of the book to clutching the edge of the mahogany desk.
"I can't hear you reading." Came the sarcastic drawl, dragging her back down to earth from skimming the clouds.
"Ah…" Elizabeth gasped, forcing herself to continue. "His… mouth… mouth and tongue shamefully...ah, shamelessly stroked…across hot skin to ch… charm the very centre of my…my desire…" she stuttered – how ironic, she thought, that she was describing exactly what he was doing. "Oh God…" she added with a gasp.
"I don't believe it's the bible you're reading…" he warned, his voice thick and seductively dark.
She continued to read dizzily and breathlessly as his tongue dipped and wriggled inside and along every silken fold and ridge – so thorough and masterful in technique he dragged moans and sighs from her trembling lips with every teasing flick. Elizabeth read breathlessly, tripping and stumbling as she tried to stay in control of her body and mind – both succumbing to the potent poison careering through hot veins to where she throbbed violently for release. Damn the book! She inwardly groaned, dropping it to the floor beside her husband before leaning back on one arm – losing all her pride as she found her hand knotting in the fine white hair of his wig. Pulling him closer, deeper. A dangerous gesture.
Her breaths came quicker, the muscles of her abdomen clenched in ecstatic agony, she gasped an expletive and clenched her eyes shut as she got closer and closer to mindless oblivion. Then with one more deep lunge and flick came the frenzied hot rush, a tidal wave surging from her centre to the tips of her fingers and toes. She cried out, barely recognising her own voice as it slowly ebbed into silence with each pleasurable wave.
Elizabeth sighed deeply as she opened her eyes, her lips dry and parted in a rosy 'O.' She remained frozen like a statue on the desk as Beckett finally rose to his feet and subtly licked his lips – staring lazily at her. She raised her eyebrows as she noticed his wig had bared the brunt of their secret reading class – stray hairs sticking up here and there, the wig tilted messily to one side with tiny scruffs of his own brown hair showing on one side. She daren't laugh – though she wanted to.
"Disappointing..." He said as he turned around to face the door, readjusting his powdery wig as he walked over to them. "Such a lack of concentration."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes as she slipped off the desk to stand, rearranging her cotton shift and picking up her discarded book.
"Something we will have to remedy…" Said Beckett as he retrieved a key from his pocket and unlocked the doors. "So I'll expect you back here tomorrow night, and every night after until I'm completely satisfied." He added as he walked back over to Elizabeth – picking up her discarded dressing gown with one finger on the way.
"Fine." She replied icily, snatching it from him.
"You may leave now." He said, smirking slightly as he took the book from her and placed it on his desk.
"My lord." Elizabeth said jokingly as she bowed before him dramatically.
She wrapped the dressing gown around her shoulders as she walked to the doors, her legs wobbling slightly with each step – the warm glow in her abdomen aching happily. She opened the doors and stepped out into the cold corridor, her lips curving into a cheeky smirk as she returned to her bed chamber – a rosy flush across her cheeks.
More soon...