Isabella was in the parlour of the Lady Margaery Everbloom, surrounded by a party of her laughing, chatting, powdered peers. Ladies all of significant social standing. She was meant to be charming them, but just now she could not be bothered. Tiny Lady Margaery was speaking. Something about investments in America, and her husband and his brilliant foresight. Another woman, Lady Elizabeth Harrow, was laughing gaily at some joke whispered in her ear.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Isabella remembered to smile and nod. She needed to be present, to be here, to woo these women. Behind every great man, as they say, is a great woman. These ladies held the ears of their husbands, lords with influence all around London. It was necessary to listen to their vapid conversation, and cluck along with the rest of the hens.
And yet, she could not be bothered. Her mind was some ways away, thinking the most inappropriate thoughts.
"Lady Fitzwilliam?" Damn, she must have been gone too long. "Don't you think it's a brilliant plan? Pineapples, dear."
Pineapples?
"Of course, pineapples. Your husband really is a brilliant investor." Isabella fixed her expression to something she hoped resembled interest. "I suppose you will be renovating your estate with the earnings?"
This seemed to have accomplished her goal. Just like that, Lady Margaery was off on another tangent about how she would so love to demolish and rebuild her whole home, but would probably just have to settle for redoing the gardens until she could get Lord Everbloom on board. Isabella tuned in just long enough to be polite, but in her mind she was already replaying her last encounter with Charlotte Wells.
The woman had broken one spell, perhaps only to replace it with another, more pleasurable, even exciting one. Their roguery always left a burning memory in the back of her mind.
Isabella cast a nonchalant glance to the grandfather clock at one end of the room. It was high time this party was over. What Isabella wanted most was not to hear about pineapples. She wanted something warm. Something sweet. Something delicious from Greek Street.
"Excuse me, Lady Margaery. I've been stricken with the most horrendous headache all day. I must excuse myself."
The carriage ride back to St. James was not especially long, and yet Isabella could not sit still. She flicked the curtain open to see how far they had gone, made an impatient noise in the back of her throat and flicked it closed once more. When she closed her eyes, she could see that distinctive smirk. She wanted to touch Charlotte, to wind her fingers in that dark hair, to feel her warm breath, to press her body against Charlotte's.
Isabella fidgeted with her gloves. The silk on her hands was a poor substitute for the silken skin she wished to caress. Isabella was thankful for the grandeur of her wealth and social standing, and the comfort it afforded her. But just now, she was finding it especially stifling. Her body was growing warm with her building desire, and the layers of her heavy dress were making her uncomfortably hot.
She removed her gloves, and wrung her hands, wishing to run them over something much more satisfying. To clutch the swell of a hip, the curve of bountiful breasts. Instead, she caressed the back of her neck, hoping for some relief. Her own had strayed to her chest, feeling the softness there. In her mindseye, she saw not her own flesh, but that of Charlotte.
Isabella let out a long sigh as her hands strayed down her corseted waist and down to the layers of her skirts. A heat was growing between her legs, and she cursed every stitch of fabric between her hands and her body.
The carriage rumbled on, and as far as Isabella could tell she was still miles outside of London and far away from any relief.
She dipped her head back, eyes screwed shut and pretended to be somewhere else. She pressed her thighs together, imagining deft fingers there, stroking, probing.
A strangled moaned, frustrated and restrained, escaped her lips. Isabella rocked her hips back and forth to feel some kind of pressure. A flush crept up her chest, making the already warm space nearly unbearable. She clutched at her chest, kneading her breasts as best she could through the layers of her clothing.
The heat between her legs became a pulsing throb. Her need was an ache now, and Isabella could bear it no more. She reached between her legs and began to stroke her thighs. Her hand quested upwards until she found the that part of her that was begging to be touched.
With a satisfied gasp, Isabella dipped her fingers into the slick wetness there, whispering, "Charlotte" as she succumbed to her fantasies.
The carriage came to a sudden stop at the St. James estate. Isabella put her gloves back on hurriedly, and nearly erupted from the carriage, scarcely waiting for her footman to attend her. The poor man was flabbergasted, and mumbled an apology. Had he taken too long?
He was equally confused a mere fifteen minutes later as his lady strode back out of the estate, having changed from her full dress to something a little less conspicuous.
"M-my lady? Should I bring the carriage-!"
"No, Mr. Turner, I think I should like a brisk walk," she called over her shoulder, already several paces down the street.
He mumbled something back, but Isabella was far too distracted to hear him.
It was not usual for her to dress down when leaving the house, but she would not do well to be recognized where she was going. She had chosen to forego any finery, donning a dress of batiste instead of silks, and left her hair down, swept across one shoulder. As she strode out of sight of the estate, she pulled her shawl up to obscure her face, and thus disappeared into anonymity.
When Isabella made it to Greek Street, she was breathless for reasons having nothing to do with her walk. Dusk had begun to fall over London, and all was lit with the warm glow of the setting sun.
Isabella gave the door a smart rap, her very skin tingling with anticipation. Charlotte herself answered it, her expression flicking from mild curiosity to surprise when she saw her guest.
Isabella strode inside, closing the door behind her with a snap, relieved to finally be behind closed doors.
"Isabe-!"
Before the word was properly out of her mouth, Isabella had captured Charlotte's lips in a kiss, taking the woman's face gently in both hands. Her entire body hummed with satisfaction, and for a moment Isabella thought that this was all she'd ever need.
Isabella felt Charlotte's mouth curve into a smile, and a laugh spilled out of her lips.
"Isabella? Did you walk all the way here?"
"I needed to see you. I want to… I need…."
For the first time all day, Isabella's sense caught up with her, and she blushed all the way up to her ears.
Charlotte seemed to understand, and her smile turned into a smirk.
Stalking forward, she said, "You know, this is a brothel. You can say it."
When Isabella could not form the words, Charlotte leaned in, invading her space and forcing her to retreat backwards. When Isabella was pressed against the door, Charlotte leaned up on her tiptoes to further close the space between them. She was so close now that her breath was on Isabella's skin, taking a detour over the curve of her neck to brush her lips over Isabella's jaw.
"You can whisper it if you like," she breathed, breaking the tense silence.
Isabella took a shaky breath. The scent of Charlotte's skin was warm and intoxicating as it rose off of her body in waves. She dipped her head so that her lips were against Charlotte's ear.
"I need you."
Charlotte's gaze flicked up to meet her own, her eyes dark with lust.
"Then take me."
The two of them spilled into Charlotte's room, Isabella pawing clumsily at the lock, barely registering as it clicked. They were a tangle of limbs and hushed moans and hurried, trembling fingers. Isabella pressed Charlotte against the door, leaning on her elbows, half convinced that the woman would disappear out from beneath her body somehow. She buried her face against Charlotte's neck and, only then, completely wrapped up, her head full of the scent of herskin, did she pause to breathe.
Her heart was pounding so hard that Charlotte must have heard it.
"Isabella?" Her voice was low and soft. "It's like there's a fire inside you."
Isabella's mouth quirked into a smile. The words came fully formed, though not from her own mind.
"I want you to be inside me," she said, lifting her gaze to see Charlotte's reaction. As she did so, she reached behind and began to undo the laces of Charlotte's dress.
The woman gave a throaty chuckle.
"My lady," she gasped, pretending to be scandalized, "such language! Clearly someone has been a terrible influence on you."
"Hmmm," Isabella hummed, pleased to see her words illicit a reaction. "I prefer to think of it as being…" Here she plucked at the last lace, "liberated."
"I fear that I have vexed you, my lady," Charlotte said with a self-satisfied smirk. She was laid across the bed in nothing but a sheet. The thin fabric clung to her figure, her skin still damp with sweat. Her chest rose and fell hard as she caught her breath. Isabella found it difficult to tear her eyes away from the sight, for Charlotte Wells looked a lot of things just now, but "fearful" was not one of them.
"Vexed me? How so?" Isabella decided she would play along. Presently, she was seated at the vanity, admiring her companion. It occurred to her, vaguely, that "companion" may not have been the right word. Isabella's own heart was still pounding and a warmth radiated from somewhere in the pit of her stomach-the afterglow of their vivacious antics.
"Well, I've awakened the beast, as it were." Charlotte's smirk was positively impish now. "Surely a lady such as yourself would not engage in such acts if not for terrible influences as I."
"Oh, Charlotte Wells, you have ruined me," Isbella said, her voice dropping to a low, breathy husk. "I simply can't stop thinking about you and your carnal pleasures. Whatever shall I do?"
As Isabella spoke, Charlotte trailed her fingers over her jaw, and down her neck. This gesture was not lost on Isabella, whose eyes followed those fingertips, spellbound. Just now, Charlotte's fingers were grazing over her chest, dragging the edge of the sheet down, down, down, revealing her skin inch by agonizing inch.
"Give in," she said. "Come and give me what I want."
Isabella rose from the vanity, aware of the height difference this would cause. She felt very much like some stalking creature closing in on prey. She stepped toward the bed where Charlotte lay, the sheet so close to slipping off of her.
"And what do you want, succubus?" As she said this, Isabella lifted her shift and discarded it on the floor.
Charlotte gave an audible gasp. This was not the first time she had seen Isabella completely naked, but she never forgot to make the appropriate noises of appreciation. Isabella made a mental note to thank her for this later.
"I want you in this bed. I want to suck the very virtue out of you." The sheet finally slipped from her chest, revealing those pert breasts. Isabella felt the familiar stirring of heat between her legs, no less diminished by their earlier foray. If anything, she felt her need was even stronger.
She stalked to the bed with the air of a predator, some fanged, lithe beast with a hunger in her belly. She dipped her head to capture Charlotte's lips, flicking her tongue out, asking permission to enter. Her hands caressed Charlotte's cheek, before moving up the column of her throat to the ripe fruit of her breasts. Isabella gave them an appreciative squeeze, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger.
Beneath her, Charlotte moaned. Her body arched upward and one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of Isabella's neck. She pulled away just enough to speak.
"I want your other lips," she hissed, urging Isabella down her body. Her words brought a fresh wave of silken wetness to Isabella's thighs. Just now they were slick with the evidence of her arousal, sliding one over the other as she crawled up Charlotte's body, peppering kissing as she went.
Isabella wanted nothing more than to thrust her tongue deep into Charlotte, but she made herself pause to appreciate the rest of her body. As much as it tortured her, she knew it would drive Charlotte to madness. Isabella scraped her teeth over Charlotte's sensitive breast, making sure to pay extra attention to her nipples that were now painfully erect. Sucking on each in turn, she took great satisfaction in the whimpers coming from Charlotte.
For her part, Charlotte was not idle. She ran her hands up Isabella's sides, and planted kisses on every bit of exposed flesh she could reach. She mirrored Isabella's torture, but had none of the patience.
"Please," she murmured. When Isabella did not give in, Charlotte bit her breast and sucked hard. Isabella gasped, and they both knew there would be a bruise there by morning.
Isabella didn't falter. She kissed down Charlotte's smooth stomach, peeling away the flimsy sheet that separated her from her goal. Finally, she reached what she had been yearning for.
Charlotte's legs opened eagerly, and she murmured a plea for release. She parted Isabella's lips and stroked with her tongue. Isabella hummed with pleasure as she kissed and nipped Charlotte's thighs. Finally, she could wait no more. She licked at the sweet nectar between Charlotte's legs with a pointed tongue. She steadied herself on one elbow as her own thighs began to tremble, dipping her fingers into Charlotte.
The sound of the woman beneath her fueled her passion and Isabella groaned with pleasure. She felt her tongue slide over the swollen cherry of Charlotte's arousal, and a sharp gasp came from below. Isabella swirled her tongue around it, screwing her eyes shut against her own impending release.
Isabella's own hips rebelled against her, and she found herself grinding down against Charlotte's eager mouth. Thrusting with fingers and tongues, both women writhed together in a sinuous rhythm, their passions building higher and higher.
"Isabella, please!" The sound of her begging was so sweet that Isabella came undone. As her own pleasure washed over her, she thrust and licked with steady vigor. Her patience was rewarded with another anguished cry of pleasure as Charlotte convulsed against her mouth. Her mind swimming in a sea of red lust, Isabella made herself continue to lick and suck until Charlotte stilled beneath her. Only then did she allow herself to collapse next to her on the mattress, gulping in breaths as she came down from her own orgasm.
For the second time that night, the two of them lay panting on the bed, covered in sweat and Isabella burned with the aftermath of her desire.
"I want to do that every night for the rest of my life," she breathed, the shadow of a grin in her voice.
Charlotte laughed a breathy laugh.
"I really have cursed you," she said. "You're addicted to cunt!"
The two women erupted in laughter at the idea and Charlotte's absurdly coarse language.
"You don't really think that, do you?" Isabella turned over to better see her companion. Her lover.
Charlotte didn't say anything at first, but her expression was conflicted. It was equal parts apologetic and devilish.
"Dear Charlotte, you said it yourself. This was a gift. A most perfect gift." Isabella reached out and stroked Charlotte gently, her spent mind drifting lazily over her warm skin. "Like a cherry without a stone," she continued, only half understanding what she herself meant to say. "Does that make sense?"
Charlotte followed Isabella's drifting touch with a half-smile. "No," she said, somewhat obstinately, leaning on one elbow to look at Isabella. "And what is it with you gentry and fruit?"