[Béline]
Sebastien had chosen an open carriage for the journey to Mandrake House, and I was glad of it as we rode through the City. It had been a beautiful day, unseasonably warm for a being just shy of true spring. A soft breeze brushed my cheeks as we rode, and sounds of city life still floated through the darkening streets: D'Angelines taking advantage of the weather, unwilling to go indoors just yet.
It reminded me of summer evenings on my family's estate, when fireflies would begin to sparkle. Here in the City, there were lanterns instead, lit one by one in the streets, spreading a warm glow in the wake of sunset. It was the kind of evening I had loved as a child, when daylight lingered and twilight lasted later still; when there was a kind of excitement in the air because darkness fell without bringing a chill, and one could imagine staying outdoors all night. It brought me the feeling that something, anything, might happen, and it would be wonderful.
I was no longer a child, though, and tonight that sense of excitement was overshadowed by trepidation. I glanced sideways at Sebastien, eyes tracing the proud profile I knew so well. This was hardly my first visit to Mont Nuit—on my last visit to the City, the celebration of my majority had come with a visit to Eglantine House and a night with a merry, sun-haired lute player. On this most recent visit, I had gone twice, to Jasmine and Valerian. But Mandrake House… I had never thought to find myself in a carriage headed there.
It was silly to be so nervous. It wasn't as if I were to be the focus of the evening, after all—we'd contracted a girl from Valerian for that. But the thought of seeing Damien, of sharing any such intimate activities with him, filled me with an uncomfortable, reluctant sort of longing.
In the darkened audience chamber, only the stage-like dais was illuminated by twin braziers. In a rear corner of the room, drums began to beat out a slow heartbeat. Flogger in hand, Damien nó Mandrake began to do what he had been trained for, and I could only watch in silence as heat began to throb within me. Elua, I had never imagined that it would be so beautiful! I had never observed it from a distance, from the outside. The sight of the girl, helpless, bound and bent to another's will... the power in every line of Damien's body as he wielded the crop… Everything fairly shouted of control and submission.
I could not be fond of Damien. He was more arrogant than he had a right to be, and I suppose I was a bit jealous of his closeness to Sebastien. But ah, Elua, he was skilled, in a way that I could never hope to match, with a refined beauty far different from Sebastien's rough exterior...And when my lover suggested we join him for a night, I couldn't refuse.
And so I found myself riding in that carriage up the slopes of Mont Nuit in the twilight, hating the nervous way my heart was stuttering.
The woman who met us at the door was the Dowayne's Second: a short, slender woman with glossy black hair twined into an intricate knot, and a pleasant, round face. She looked too kind to belong there, until she fixed me with a penetrating, evaluating look. I felt a chill under her regard, as if she had examined me to my core and found me lacking, unworthy of her interest. It angered me, that silent dismissal, but she greeted us both with perfect courtesy, and I told myself it was only my imagination.
Arrangements had already been made, and she led us to the chambers where Damien would meet us. Her gown was cut to bare her back, and the marque of the House was inked boldly into her skin, twining up her spine from tailbone to nape. Star-shaped mandrake flowers mingled with elongated leaves, stylized into sharp lines that put me in mind of several unpleasant instruments—blades and whips, mostly. It was far bolder and sharper than any other marque I had seen, and it seemed to fit her perfectly.
She left us in a large bedchamber, where the stone floor was softened by colorful Akkadian carpets. At the center of one of those carpets, our Valerian adept knelt, wrapped in a thin, white silk robe, hands folded calmly in her lap.
I gazed around the room curiously, wondering if it was Damien's own. There were no personal items such as books or clothing, but there was a bed, large and four-posted, with a pale grey coverlet. There was a table, with the carven hands meant to receive a patron-gift; these were made from a rich brown wood, polished to a shine, simple but graceful. A few lanterns lit the room just enough to provide an intimate dimness. There was also a low, cushioned couch, and that was the last of the items that were innocent enough to cause no comment.
In front of the hearth stood a pommel-horse, the wood worn smooth in odd places. On the mantel was a collection of items that sent a thrill through me—metal and leather, even some of ivory. Chains suspended from the ceiling dangled to the floor; hooks were mounted in the bedposts at various heights, and more were attached to an X-shaped wooden cross against one wall.
I tugged at Sebastien's hand, and he approached the girl with me, slid one arm around my waist as I stood before her.
"My lady, my lord," she murmured, eyes on the floor.
"Adélie," I replied, smiling. We'd met on my visit to her House some weeks ago, and I liked her. Pleasantly curved, with thick, blonde curls that tumbled artlessly around her shoulders, she was sweet and eager. "Are you ready?"
"Oh, yes," she breathed, and Sebastien chuckled.
"Well-chosen, my dear," he murmured approvingly in my ear. "This should prove... delightful."
Adélie heard him, and shivered—I believe I did the same. Sebastien drew me over to the low couch, and we settled down to wait for Damien.
There was a mirror I hadn't seen before, set across from the couch; my reflection looked as nervous as I felt. I smoothed my hands over my gown and tried to compose myself. For Elua's sake... There's no need for this, Béline!
It did little good. When the door opened, the sound made me jump, and I felt my face flush in embarrassment. Damien entered, wearing dark breeches and a shirt of black silk. His hair, the color of sunlight on a field of autumn wheat, fell loose past his shoulders. It framed the stern, arrogant face I knew from our first meeting. His eyes were a brilliant, sharp green, and I remembered the look in them, too. When he gazed at me, his face was blank as stone—but his eyes, like those of the Dowayne's Second, said he found little use for this foolish girl who had attached herself to Sebastien. I wasn't used to such dismissal; I had been a noblewoman all my life, but in his eyes, that only counted against me.
He did not let it show outwardly, however. He gave us a low, sweeping bow. "Good evening, my lord de Guiscarde, my lady de Collente," he greeted us. He moved toward the refreshments that had been left for us. "Would you like some wine?"
I declined, while Sebastien went to take the glass Damien offered. The adept poured another for himself and sipped it, eyeing the three of us over the rim of his glass. The silence grew thicker, until I wanted to shout simply to dispel it.
"What are your signales?" he asked finally, the question I'd known would come.
"Cavalry," Sebastien replied. Damien knew it already, of course, but it was customary to ask before commencing. He knew mine, too, from the contract, but still he looked at me, waiting.
"Firefly," I said softly. Adélie murmured hers in turn.
Damien nodded, took another draught of wine, then set down his glass and pulled Sebastien into a hungry kiss. A stab of jealousy shot through me—and hard on its heels, arousal followed, so sharp that I nearly gasped. There was such abrupt intensity in the two of them, in their every movement, that I forgot to be jealous. When they broke apart, they stared at each other for a long moment. Some deep emotion passed between them, and sent another wave of arousal through me—though I could not find the words to say why.
As one, they turned to look at me, dark eyes and emerald both. "What will you, my dear?" Sebastien asked me.
I swallowed roughly, leaned back on the couch with forced nonchalance, waved a hand towards Adélie. "All the Night Court speaks of the two of you, says that a contract with you both leaves them sated like none other. I wish to see why." I smiled, seeing the amusement in Sebastien's eyes.
My lover winked at me, and when he spoke again, his voice was far different, lower and more dangerous. "Come here, girl," he ordered, snapping his fingers.
Adélie rose to her feet and obeyed. Both men seemed to have forgotten I was there; they eyed her just as intently as I was watching them. I watched as the three of them pulled at each other's clothing, sharing kisses between the removal of each bit of cloth. I watched as they bade Adélie go the mantle and choose the instrument she most craved. I watched, heart pounding, as Damien took hold of her roughly, bent her over the pommel horse, and Sebastien plied her with the riding crop she had chosen.
Ah, Elua! Just like the Showing, when I'd first seen Damien, it was stunningly beautiful. The firelit shadows across the muscles of Sebastien's arms, the spill of bright curls as Adélie bent her head, the sharp lines inked across Damien's lower back. And oh, gods, the sounds they made! Adélie's helpless cries, the men's deep voices as they instructed her, taunted her...
All of it washed over me, in relentless waves that forced my arousal to nearly unbearable heights. A throbbing settled in my core, heat coursing through my veins while I watched, enthralled. I was overcome with a simple, mindless wanting... I wanted something, desperately, and I was afraid that I knew what it was. Thoughts and desires spun, overwhelming in their intensity, stirred into a frenzy by the sights I was witnessing. I squirmed on the couch, wishing I was naked, wishing I dared join them...
Wishing I dared take Adélie's place. Elua help me, I had never wanted anything so badly in my life.
Abruptly, I realized that Damien's emerald eyes were fixed on me, and I had no idea how long he had been staring. He had traded with Sebastien at some point; my lover had his fingers in Adélie's hair, his phallus between her lips, while Damien now gripped the crop, watching me. Those eyes still held the same near-contempt as before, but there was a hungry light in them, too.
Suddenly self-conscious, I glanced in the mirror, wondering what he saw when he looked at me. My cheeks were flushed, lips parted, eyes wide; I looked breathless and wanton. I looked as if I were about to do somewhat foolish.
"Little comtesse," Damien said softly. "Would you like to try?"
Startled, I jerked my gaze back to him—and he read the truth in my face, simply knew, in the uncanny way of Naamah's Servants. They always know, somehow—or at least, the good ones do. He knew the truth of what I wanted, and it startled him. Then a dark smile curved his lips, arrogant and knowing.
"Ah, go on, love," Sebastien urged, pulling away from Adélie. "I should like a chance to watch you... It's only fair."
Both Damien and I glanced at him, then back at each other. His amused smirk deepened, and he flipped the crop to catch the top end, held the handle out toward me. My heart lurched, and something deep within me clenched, answering that hunger in his gaze. I rose to my feet, finding myself oddly fixated on the muscles of his outstretched arm as I crossed the floor. Adélie watched me approach, her body trembling.
"Shall we let her try, little one?" Damien asked her softly, as if I were not there, and the indifference in his voice sent another bolt of desire through me.
Adélie moaned, as if words were out of her reach, but her meaning was clear. When I hesitated, Damien took hold of my hand, more gently than I expected, and closed my fingers around the crop. "It isn't difficult," he said, still smirking.
I jerked free of his hand. "I know how to use a crop," I retorted.
He arched a brow, and glanced at the girl, as if to ask why I was waiting.
Ah, Elua, it wasn't what I truly wanted, but it would do. With that throbbing heat still pulsing in my veins, I struck her. And again, and third time, until Damien seized my arm. "This way," he instructed, adjusting my grip. "Start higher; here." And then, "It would be easier, my lady, if you undressed."
I glanced up at him sharply, feeling that he was mocking me; but his expression was serious. Belatedly, I caught his meaning; the sleeves of my gown were rather too tight and restrictive to allow a proper swing of the crop. From the couch, Sebastien made a sound of approval, leaning on his knees with a glint in his dark eyes.
"Damien, assist the lady with her gown, if you'd be so kind."
It had taken two maids to lace me into this dress, and I would not be able to undo it myself. With a curt nod, I turned around so that he could reach the laces.
Silence stretched for a moment, and Damien moved very close, so that I could fair feel the heat of his body at my back. When he spoke, his breath brushed my ear.
"I am Naamah's Servant, little comtesse—not yours, nor Sebastien's. If you want my help, you will ask for it. Respectfully."
Clenching my fist around the crop, I turned to face him again. "Damien nó Mandrake," I said sweetly, with exaggerated courtesy, "Would it please you to do me the very great favor of assisting me with my buttons?"
Those glittering green eyes crinkled at the corners, just slightly. "Turn around."
Again, I did. He freed me from my clothing with the ease of all Night Court adepts, without undue haste; nor did he move so slowly as to be seductive. It was... businesslike, and I swallowed back disappointment, refusing to admit that I had wanted more from him. He never touched my skin, but he helped me at all the right times with a tug on the cloth here and there—and then my disappointment was forgotten, because, I swear, I felt his eyes on every inch of my skin that he bared. It made me flush, and when I turned around, it was worse. His eyes traveled over my frame, down to my toes and back up again, and his expression never changed; his eyes still held that hint of contempt.
I glared back at him. I had always been stubborn; his dismissive attitude only made me determined to prove him wrong.
As he'd said, it was far easier to wield the crop without the restriction of my gown. Sweet Adélie bore it well as I struck her, over and over. I lost the sense of anything else, forgot that Sebastien had taken my place on the couch, forgot that Damien was there with his fingers between Adélie's legs, helping me make her scream.
"Good," Damien breathed. That simple word of approval shot straight through me, like lightning from scalp to toes, and I nearly dropped the riding crop. I looked up to see him watching me, with an amused twist to his mouth as if he knew exactly what effect he had on me. While I stood staring, he moved closer, nearly pressing up against me, using one hand to adjust my hold on the crop again. Gods, I wanted for him to stroke me with the other hand, pull me against him and-
Instead, it was Sebastien who approached and slipped between us, kissing Damien while sliding an arm around my waist. I stood there, the crop held foolishly in my hand, feeling the sudden possessiveness in my lover's touch. Was it jealousy that had drawn him between Damien and I?
"Enough," he said in a rough voice. "Don't you think so, love?"
It took me a moment to find my voice. His phallus pressed against my back, urgently hard. "Sebastien..." I whispered, half-agreeing, half-pleading, not sure what I wanted to ask for.
"Oh, good," he replied, amused. "Come, then..."
I bit my lip as Damien took the crop from my hand, tossed it carelessly onto Adélie's back. She flinched. We left her there, bound and bent over the pommel horse, and I found myself on the bed with the two of them.
Damien knelt behind Sebastien while my lover pushed me onto my back, bent to press his lips to Naamah's Pearl. Pressed against the pillows, I watched Damien guide himself inside, watched the hard length of his phallus sink into Sebastien, and I shuddered helplessly.
Damien found a rhythm, thrusting steadily, and Sebastien followed it, his mouth surging against me in time with Damien's movements. This, they made last a long time. Sebastien knew me well, knew how to bring me to the brink of pleasure and back again. When my climax finally overtook me, it radiated from my very core, setting every inch of my body afire. I shook helplessly as all the night's throbbing need, all that uncontrollable wanting, spilled over me and was released.
When I opened my eyes, Sebastien had shifted onto his side, with the adept still behind him. Damien was watching me with an unreadable expression; when he noticed me looking, he jerked his gaze away. Abandoning his careful pace, he began to thrust harder as need overtook them both. I watched Damien, transfixed by his beauty. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, and he gazed down on Sebastien as if no one else existed. Abruptly, a new sort of jealousy shot through me, and there was no denying it now, for I knew exactly what it meant.
Gods help me... I'd wanted to be in Adélie's place, helpless under Damien's riding crop; and now I wanted to be in Sebastien's place, to have Damien in control, taking me with that same unstoppable need. It was him that I wanted—no matter what he might be doing to me, I wanted him.
Sebastien seized a handful of my hair, with a look in his eyes that I recognized, and drew me down to his phallus. I closed my lips around him, hearing him groan. I grasped his hip at the moment Damien did the same. His hand covered mine in a near-crushing grip. When I tried to flinch away, he only held tighter; I do not know if he realized what he was doing. It was, I thought foggily, the most physical contact we had had all evening.
I closed my eyes as the climax overtook them both. Sebastien gasped, tensing, his seed hot in my throat; Damien hissed wordlessly, driving a few last, desperate thrusts into him.
I slumped back among the rucked-up blankets, my breathing as ragged as theirs. I was still overwhelmed, unable to speak yet. We lay there in a tangle, slowly regaining our breath.
Sebastien was the first to stir, stroking my hair gently. "Name of Elua," I breathed, foolishly. Easing himself away, Damien shot me a look of wry amusement.
Sebastien pulled me up beside him, wrapped one arm over my waist, rested his chin atop my head. Secure in his arms, I watched Damien leave the bed and gather up his clothes.
He dressed himself in silence, and I watched, discovering that I had a good measure of desire still remaining, and that the sight of him was rekindling it. Only when he'd finished buttoning his shirt did he go to Adélie and help her up from the pommel horse.
"Leaving so soon?" Sebastien asked, holding out a hand toward him.
Damien ignored the hand, smiling at him. "My work is finished, my friend," he murmured. "I will bid you farewell, for now." Solicitously, he helped the Valerian girl don her silk robe, careful of the welts that adorned her back. Then his eyes, flat and appraising, looked at me, still with that hint of contempt—still! But something flickered in their depths, as if he saw somewhat in my face that startled him.
"My lady," he said, nodding to me. Adélie dropped a curtsy, graceful despite how the movement must have pained her. The two of them left the room, and I wondered if they were entirely finished with each other. Thinking of the contempt in Damien's eyes, I glared after him. Sebastien did not notice, with my head tucked beneath his chin.
"Sleep, my dear," he said drowsily. "The room is ours, for the night." He promptly followed his own advice, falling into a doze. I could not do the same, though; I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. I remembered the moment of clarity that had suddenly made my muddled desires unavoidably clear. I thought of Damien, and his sharp, knowing gaze, and the sardonic smirk he wore when he saw what I wanted. And I tried, in vain, to ignore the still-smoldering desire throbbing through me. Elua help me, I thought. This is not what was supposed to happen tonight!