Sorry for such a long delay, school is nuts so I'll update as much as possible but it could be a little slow. Also, I'd LOVE if you guys would write some more reviews, I really enjoy them. As always, thanks for reading and enjoy!
Chapter 7:
Santana paced back and forth, the letter clutched tightly in her hands. She had found it wedged under the knocker of her door when she had returned home from that night's late show. The delicate stationary crackled in protest under her white knuckled grip as she paced back and forth, eyes flying over the page.
Dear Miss Lopez,
I write to remind you of your obligation to have dinner with me, a matter that you seem to have very conveniently forgotten about. Monsieur Marchand assured me that I would be receiving your company before the week was out, and I must insist you comply. I must warn you that failure to do so will result in swift and harsh consequences. You see, I am aware of your rendezvous with Miss Pierce that took place on top of the Moulin last Thursday evening before her dinner with Monsieur Marchand and myself. If you doubt my knowledge I offer you the following proof; you were wearing an ivory gown with your hair down, and she, hair down as well, was clothed in a golden gown, which, to my knowledge, she does not own as I have never seen it before. Now of course you know who Miss Pierce's father is, but you may not know that he has the propensity to be a very cruel man; perhaps it is why we get on so well. However, Miss Pierce has pulled a stunt like this before and he was none too pleased about it, to say the least. If you don't believe me, ask her where she got the large scar on her left thigh. Now, if you fail to do your duty to me, I will reveal my knowledge to Mr. Pierce, and being his right hand man and as Brittany has the history that she does, he will no doubt believe me, and I can assure you that if he gets wind of this you will never see hide nor hair of Miss Pierce again. Therefore, I strongly urge you to consider my words carefully. If I do not see you Saturday night in the West tower, word of Miss Pierce's indiscretion will reach her father Sunday morning, and it will not be the messenger who will be in fear of being shot.
Sincerely,
William Bardwell, Duke of Warwickshire
Santana didn't even have time to process her emotions before the door burst open and the burly figure of Amaury filled the frame. Santana's brows furrowed as she saw the rage burning in his normally calm green eyes, the hard steel line his lips were pressed into, and the quivering ball of rage his hand had become as he raised his fist to reveal a slightly disheveled letter. He covered the distance between the two of them in three great strides, and upon reaching her shoved the letter in her face.
"I'm sure yours says exactly the same thing," he hissed under his breath. Santana could here the rage tussling with his composure as he spoke, just barely restrained, fighting to break free. He abruptly removed the sheet of paper from in front of her eyes and began his assault on the floor, taking powerful steps as he paced back and forth, hand knotted in his silver locks, eyes glued to the wooden boards beneath him. Santana watched nervously, never having seen this side of the gentle giant before. Steeling her nerves, she forced her voice out with assurance,
"He won't win, Amaury." Amaury's foot crashed down as he stopped pacing mid step and whipped around to face her. His eyes seized hers and the look of helpless defeat and fear poured from them.
"He already has, Santana." He shook his head softly and brought a large hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, attempting to quell the headache Santana knew must be wracking him at that moment, "He already has…" he whispered again. Santana stepped forward and placed a consoling hand on his large bicep,
"He doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what he saw. We will be fine." Santana almost fell over when Amaury's head snapped up and his arm flew from her hand. She searched his face for an answer and immediately began to tremble; the rage had broken its chains.
"Doesn't matter? No, Santana, it doesn't matter to you, because you're right, you will be fine," he seethed at her, in a tone that seemed to drip with fury. "Do you know why it doesn't matter? BECAUSE YOU ARE NOTHING!" he bellowed at her at the top of his voice. Santana retreated a few steps back from him, not sure if it would remain only his words that would strike vicious blows. "You are nothing but a whore, Santana! At least that is what the world thinks! She is a kind of special and important that you cannot even begin to understand! So yes, you will be fine! The world will think no less of a dancer from the Moulin if she uses her body to swindle some jewels out of a naïve aristocrat like Mademoiselle Pierce. But she will be RUINED!" The tears streamed from Santana's eyes as the sting and truth of his words began to sink in. He was absolutely right. How could she be so selfish? She had to go. She had to do anything she could to protect Brittany. She looked back up at him and nodded slightly, not yet capable of words.
"You will go to him," he pointed his finger at her, and she swore she could feel it penetrate her heart, a fleshy dagger. "You will go to him. You will do whatever he asks you. And then you will end it with her." Santana stood and opened her mouth to protest,
"But, I love h-"
"YOU WILL END IT!" He roared, spinning on his heels, crossing the threshold and slamming the door so hard the casing shuddered. Santana sat, head in hands, tears pouring down her cheeks. Tears of sadness, tears of fear, but mostly tears of anger. A firm wrapping on the door caused her to bolt upright. She discarded the letter in her armchair as she made her way to the door and seized the handle, throwing it open in fury, ready to meet what was sure to be an attempt at an apology from a regretful Amaury. However, Santana stepped back bewildered when her angry eyes met only startled shards of blue.
Brittany stood shocked into stillness before her. Only for a moment however, until she saw the tears on Santana's face and rushed forward. Santana felt the tension in her body disintegrate as she was enveloped in Brittany's warm arms. Brittany leaned away from her only enough to look into her eyes and gently wipe the tears from her cheeks with the pad of her thumb.
"What happened? I met Monsieur Marchand on the stairs and he seemed flustered, to say the least." Santana nodded, fake sniffling a bit to give herself time to come up with a response appropriate to the tears she was shedding.
"Yes, we had a disagreement. He said my performance tonight was terrible and he sort of let me have it." Santana watched Brittany's brows knot in anger as she shook her head in disapproval.
"Well, I thought you were fantastic, and there was no need for him to be so harsh with you. I would like to see him do what you do every night!" Santana laughed and couldn't help but beam at the gorgeous woman defending her honor before her. She looked down at the frilly emerald skirt and bustier she was still wearing, and picked up the skirt lightly in her hands and then glanced back to the blonde,
"You'd like to see Amaury in this every night?" Brittany's exuberant laughter filled the room, and Santana's right along with her. Brittany placed a gentle hand on Santana's hip and moved towards her,
"No," she murmured in a lower, sultry tone, "I don't think he'd fill it out quite the way you do." Santana swallowed hard and felt her heart do a flip as the blonde lowered her head to meet her lips in a gentle kiss. Santana's eye's fluttered closed and she thought to herself how she could kiss Brittany forever…until she remembered that she couldn't. This was probably her last night with the woman whose gentle lips were pressed upon her own. Her body responded before her brain could and Santana's arms flung around Brittany's neck, seizing her with a fervor that Santana did not know she possessed. She clung to Brittany desperately, never intending to let go, to turn this one moment into forever. Brittany complied instantly, and looped her arms around Santana, and her fingers instantly began working at the tightly knotted corset back of the bustier. Santana pressed her body into Brittany's, letting her hands slide from the back of Brittany's neck, down the slightly open back of her silver gown, down to the firm, round muscles of Brittany's backside. She heard and felt the blonde give a surprised squeak into her mouth as she gave a firm squeeze. However, when Santana opened her eyes to gauge the waters, the tiny trace of surprise in those icy blue orbs quickly melted into smoldering lust. She felt Brittany's tongue dive into her mouth, sliding gently against her own and over her teeth. Santana moaned deeply and used her own tongue to graze Brittany's bottom lip, stopping only momentarily when she felt the cool air assault her skin as Brittany undid the final knot and Santana's clothing fell to the floor. Although every inch of her skin was bare, Santana didn't feel exposed under Brittany's gaze. She watched as the blonde stepped back and examined her hungrily. Then, much to her astonishment, Brittany reached up of her own accord and slid the thin silver straps of her dress off her milky white shoulders, letting the shiny satin slither down her body to nestle around her ankles. Santana felt her jaw drop at the form before her: her breasts were of the purest white, with pert pink nipples. Her stomach was taut and toned; her belly button accompanied on Santana's left side by two freckles that the reader in Santana couldn't help but think looked like a colon. Her hips curved gently and perfectly. Before Santana's eyes could get any further, Brittany came forward and placed both of her hands on Santana's shoulders, gently pushing her backwards. She guided her to the bed and laid her down on top of the red silk sheets. Santana gasped as she felt soft breasts press against her own and a warm, wet heat make contact with her lower abdomen as Brittany straddled her. Santana immediately surged upwards, capturing soft, strawberry lips between her own. She felt Brittany's hand cup her right breast, massaging it gently, flicking her thumb over a tanned nipple, much to Santana's approval. Instinctively, Santana flipped them over so she lay on top of Brittany. However, Brittany was not one to be upstaged. Santana gasped as she felt the simultaneous pressure of Brittany's teeth on her neck, and the surge of pleasure as two fingers entered her. Santana sat up, her head tossed back, and one hand on each of Brittany's breasts, gently messaging, as she road Brittany's hand. With each thrust upwards of Brittany's fingers, Santana ground her hips down, pushing the digits further inside of her and creating greater friction of Brittany's palm on the small bundle of nerves at her center. When Brittany reached up, grabbed the back of Santana's neck, and pulled her down to lock her in a passionate kiss, the sweet taste of Brittany's lips was enough to send her over the edge and her orgasm came in waves, her walls clenching tightly around Brittany's fully encased fingers. Santana lay still on top of Brittany, breathing heavily, waiting for the fog in her brain to dissipate.
When it did, she wasted no time. Lifting herself off of Brittany's fingers, she pressed a kiss to Brittany's lips before dragging her full ones down the creamy pale skin of her neck, flicking her tongue out to taste the thin, salty layer of sweat and the sweet, soft flesh beneath it. Finding a spot at the hollow of Brittany's throat, Santana sucked deeply, and she felt the moan rattle against the thin skin there. When she removed her lips to continue downward, she saw that she had left a blossoming red bud on Brittany's skin that was sure to be a deep shade of violet by tomorrow. Proceeding lower, Santana's mouth found Brittany's left breast and she hungrily encased her nipple with her mouth, swirling and flicking her tongue around the tiny mountain of nerves. She sucked deeply, pulling her mouth away and releasing the pink bud with a "pop". She heard Brittany giggle lightly through her moaning, and Santana smiled to herself as she placed her next kiss to Brittany's stomach, just below her naval. She worked her hand under Brittany and placed it firmly against the palm of her back. She grasped firmly and as if on queue, Brittany arched her back and raised her hips, writhing in pleasure and deepening the pressure with which Santana's lips caressed her skin. Never wasting an opportunity, Santana used the leverage of Brittany's position to drop her own body lower, leveling her face with Brittany's core so that when Brittany's body dropped back down to the bed, her legs rested neatly over Santana's shoulders. Santana's mind was fogged once again as the sweet, fruity smell of Brittany's sex assaulted her senses. She could feel her mouth flood with saliva and could wait no longer. She splayed her left hand over Brittany's abdomen to keep her still, and dipped her head to the blonde's center. Santana's lips encased Brittany's clit, sucking gently. The woman beneath her gasped eagerly, and Santana felt fingers knot in her hair, pressing her further into her. Santana's tongue swooped down and plunged itself into Brittany's entrance, eliciting a tangible shiver and rattling groan. Santana curled her tongue and then brought it out, gently flicking the small bundle of nerves above Brittany's entrance, before pressing it hard and flat against it. Santana then kissed hastily back up Brittany's body, replacing her tongue with two long, caramel fingers. Santana aligned her hips with the back of her hand and began to thrust gently, driving herself deeper and deeper into the gasping woman beneath her.
"Santana…oooh…" was all Santana heard before she felt Brittany's walls flutter and then clamp down upon her own fingers. Brittany's mouth hung slightly open, her eyes slammed shut and she arched her entire body into Santana. When she came down, she opened her eyes and wrapped her arms firmly around Santana, holding her closely and kissing her softly.
"Let's stay this way forever," Brittany whispered sleepily as she kissed Santana.
"Forever," Santana promised, as she gently withdrew her fingers from inside Brittany and rested her hand on the inside of the blonde's left thigh, only to have the hollowness of her word echo in her ears as she felt the ragged, raised edges of a long scar.
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