[Béline]

Sebastien had been gone for nearly a week. I had told myself I would not call upon Mandrake House again, nor upon Damien... but it took less than a week of my lover's absence before I found myself again riding to Mont Nuit.

You should not be here, little comtesse, Damien's low voice sounded in my memory, and he'd been right. It had been foolish of me to seek him out...and yet...

I could not stop thinking about him, not since that night Sebastien had taken me to Mandrake House. What I had experienced with the two of them that night... it had kindled flames within me that I had never imagined would alight.

It is not an easy thing to learn about oneself. I was raised to be a lady, with the decorum befitting my station, of course, but my mother had often despaired of my sharp tongue and my tendency to speak without thinking. None of my friends had been surprised when, as we all grew older and explored Naamah's gifts, I discovered that I liked to play the dominant.

I had never imagined finding pleasure on the other side of the whip, in letting a man have power over me. Sebastien had been delighted when I requested it after our shared night with Damien and Adélie. I didn't always allow it, but when I did submit to Sebastien, he was exceedingly good at holding that power over me.

But Damien nó Mandrake... Elua! There was something about him that called to me, that made my pulse quicken just thinking about him. Perhaps it was his arrogant disregard for me, which made me desire to prove him wrong. Perhaps it was the power evident in his every movement, that made me long to have him in control. Whatever it was, it brought him too often into the forefront of my thoughts. When I worked up the courage to go to him, I had hoped that I could put the idea out of my mind once I'd had a taste of it.

But my visit to him had done nothing to alleviate my desire. I'd put myself into his control, and his ungentle touch had only intensified my longing. I remembered the look in his blazing green eyes as he had beaten me with the crop, remembered the torturous skill with which he had used his hands, and I wanted more. I wanted the things he hadn't done— I wanted to be tied and helpless beneath him. I wanted the sharp kiss of the lash against my skin, wanted to taste his seed, wanted him to take me with all the hunger I had seen him keep in check.

And the worst of it was that I could not tell Sebastien. The man I loved, and could always tell everything—I could not tell him this. He would honor Elua's precept, and would not try to stop me, but it would hurt him deeply if he knew that I longed for his friend's touch more than his own.

So I kept my secrets to myself, and swore to myself that I would not go back. I did not, until Sebastien departed the City of Elua to spend a few weeks at his cousin's estate in L'Agnace. And before the first week was over, I bade my driver bring me to Mandrake House, hoping that the Collente family crest on the carriage would not be seen and remembered in Mont Nuit.

I had not intended to meet with Damien specifically, or so I told myself. I thought that perhaps Sebastien would be more understanding if I found another adept, one who was not such a close friend of his. And so, I could not decide if it was good fortune or bad when Damien himself welcomed me in the House's foyer. He looked surprised to see me, for an instant; and perhaps pleased, for another, until he shuttered it behind that look of contempt that I was beginning to know so well.

"My lady de Collente," he greeted me formally, with a very slight bow. "Be welcome in Mandrake House." He straightened, fixing me with a look that seemed both amused and accusing. Of course, he would know that Sebastien was not in the City. "I am surprised to see you here, my lady. I had not expected you to become a regular visitor."

Foolish of me to blame him for the guilt I felt... but that guilt made me angry, and I blamed him nonetheless. I glared up at him. "Perhaps my last visit was unsatisfactory."

Damien laughed softly. "In that case," he murmured, amused, "allow me to arrange something more satisfying." He turned away, then added over his shoulder with exaggerated politeness, "If my lady will follow me...?"

He escorted me to the House's sitting room, which was actually several rooms open to one another, with an adjoining courtyard. There waited the adepts of Mandrake, lounging alone or in small groups, reading or playing chess, some strolling the courtyard garden. There were no other patrons, at least that I could discern. Mandrake's visitors tended to be more circumspect than at other Houses.

The weight of the adepts' eyes seemed to settle on me when we entered, crushing the breath from my lungs. I felt as if I were a rabbit who had just blundered into a flock of hawks; every pair of eyes was predatory. Not a few of them were also contemptuous, that same disregard I knew from my earlier visits. I tried to ignore them, keeping my gaze on Damien's back; he wore a shirt of thin, bronze-colored silk, and the way it tightened over the breadth of his shoulders made my mouth go dry.

"What interests my lady?" Damien asked over his shoulder, as if he did not know how badly I wanted him. "Mathieu, here, is skilled in the art of ropes to bind his patrons." He gestured to a lanky young man with a head of thick, sun-gold curls, lounging on a low chair with his lips quirked. Damien went on to describe Mathieu's talents with all the frankness of a horse trader praising his own stock, and I hoped my blush was not too evident in the dim light.

"Or Esmeé," he suggested, leaving Mathieu behind and guiding me through the room. He drew my attention to a small woman with touches of silver in her dark hair. "She fostered in Eglantine House, and she often participates in the Showings. She enjoys an audience for her assignations, and there are always those who enjoy watching."

Elua! The idea of an audience was not a pleasant thought. I was hardly able to admit to myself that I wanted to be here; I could not bear it if even more adepts wanted to watch. My face grew even hotter.

Damien led me through the entire set of rooms that way, pointing out each adept's traits and skills. There were many of them, for it was still early in the evening. The process was like running a gauntlet, with sharp eyes and knowing smiles as the weapons. We ended in the courtyard, where a young man with luxurious blue-black hair was just coming down the path toward us.

"Astor," Damien murmured for my benefit, as the adept neared us. He was strikingly lovely; even the cruel set to his jaw seemed to suit him. "He is half Shahrizai, and that fairly speaks for itself."

Indeed it did. I shivered a little in the cool evening air. House Shahrizai could trace its lineage back to Kushiel himself; it was well-known that cruelty ran in their blood. Astor slowed as he approached, a look of interest lighting his expression as he looked at me.

Damien introduced us, and Astor bowed slightly. "Have you made a decision, my lady?" the Shahrizai adept asked, with a mischievous smile. "I know the choice can be difficult, but I am certain that Damien has led you to the correct adept." His smile widened, making his meaning clear.

I did not smile back, not wishing to encourage him. "He has been most helpful," I replied coolly. "But I fear that the adept I want has not yet been named." I glanced at Damien, though he could hardly fail to catch my meaning.

"That is... ill-advised," he said quietly. Astor raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

Silence stretched on, while we stared at each other and Astor watched us both. Elua, I thought. Will he force me to ask outright, like a brazen—

"For Elua's sake," Astor said finally, elbowing Damien sharply. "If you don't want her, give her to me."

Damien shot him a glare, and the other adept returned it with such a bland look, he might have been discussing the weather.

"Your pardon, Astor," Damien growled, and seized my arm roughly, guiding me toward the edge of the courtyard. Astor chuckled and moved on down the path. I struggled in Damien's grip until we stepped into the shadows under the colonnaded walk beside the building, where he let me go.

"This is a mistake," he whispered harshly, before I could protest the way he had manhandled me. "You are free to call upon the House, Béline, but you should not ask this of me. Any other adept will be happy to contract with you—"

"I don't want anyone else," I hissed back fiercely. "Elua help me, I came because it is thoughts of you I cannot banish from my head!" I felt myself blushing furiously as the words left my mouth.

In the dim light from the sconces, I could see him clench his jaw. His eyes were shadowed, but I felt his stare as heavily as if we stood in noonday sun. I could see it, when he made his choice; he drew himself up, took in a deep breath. The next instant, he had grasped both my arms, forced me back against the wall, trapped me there with the heat of his body radiating against my skin. I gasped, feeling the rough stone wall pressing against my spine.

"I do not take kindly to being forced into anything, my lady," he snarled. "Rest assured, I will make you pay for it." His hands tightened on my upper arms, and I winced. "You will wait for me, the way I instructed you. You will be nude, and you will be ready when I arrive." Abruptly, he let me go, stepped back, and snapped his fingers, pointing at the shadows a few paces away. I twitched, startled, when a young acolyte unfolded himself from where he had knelt unseen. "Prepare a contract, and see that she is made ready for me," Damien instructed him curtly, not waiting for the acolyte's acknowledgement before striding away, anger tightening his shoulders.

I watched him go, beginning to wonder how grave a mistake I was making.

"My lady, if you please...?" the young acolyte murmured. Letting out a breath I hadn't known I was holding, I let him lead me away.

I had not yet experienced the services that Mandrake House provides in preparation for their assignations, but they were typical of the Night Court. I was led to a private bathing chamber, where two maidservants attended me and a young girl played soothing tunes on a lute in the corner. Far from being soothed, however, my nerves remained on edge, balanced between fear and anticipation. It was possibly the least restful bath I had ever taken.

The servants dried me with the efficiency of long practice, helped me into an emerald-green dressing robe, and returned me to the young acolyte's care. He led me through the corridors of the House to the chamber Sebastien and I had visited before. There, a contract had been laid out. My signale was correct, but I was too much on edge to read the rest of it; I signed hurriedly and shooed away the acolyte, finally finding myself alone.

I gazed around the room, wondering what other patrons Damien entertained there, and what passed between them. I found myself running my fingers over the wood of the pommel-horse, eying the instruments on display on the mantle. The items there were neatly crowded, too many for so little space, but organized. There were things I knew by sight—carven phalluses, cuffs of leather joined by chains; I recognized the riding crop from my previous visits. There were other things I had never seen, but could guess at, like the short whip with multiple knotted ends, surely a cat o'nine tails.

There were also some things to which I could put no name or use, and they seemed all the more sinister for what my mind conjured up. One, an iron rod nearly a pace long, about as thick as my thumb, made me wince to think of being beaten with it; after that, I avoided looking too long at any of the other items I did not recognize.

With a start, I remembered that Damien would arrive at any moment. I turned away from the mantle, and only just managed to untie the dressing-robe's sash before the door opened. I froze as Damien entered; he stopped, leaving the door open behind him, and regarded me silently. My eyes flickered toward the open door as a female adept passed outside. Will he leave it open for all to see?

"You disappoint me already, little comtesse," he said flatly, and I flinched, surprised by how much the statement hurt. "This is not a good start to the evening. I will give you a second chance; it is the only such opportunity you will receive tonight." Without another word, he turned and left the room.

I licked my lips, gripped my sash with both hands to keep them from trembling. His tone had left no question that he was displeased. Aside from the heated thoughts of what he might do to punish me for it, it made me nervous. I had seen the earlier struggle within him, the difficult choice whether to accept my patronage. He was like to change his mind if I pushed him too far.

I shrugged out of the garment and hung it on a peg on the wall. A small fire had been laid in the hearth, and yet gooseflesh still pebbled my skin. Rubbing my forearms, I dropped to my knees with the fire at my back, hoping I would not have to wait long. Clasping my hands behind my head, I resolved to try harder to obey, and then laughed softly at myself when I realized what I was doing. I had never imagined myself trying so hard to please a man... certainly not one who wanted to force me into submission as thoroughly as this.

As I knelt there, though, and endless minutes dragged on, my resolve began to harden into annoyance, then anger. He arrives too soon for me to be ready, and then keeps me waiting for hours more? Surely it was no more than a quarter-hour in truth, but it seemed far longer as I waited, with the floor growing uncomfortable under my knees. A second chance it may have been, but he meant to punish me with it. Grimacing, I flexed my arms as much as I could, and waited.

Finally, Damien returned, closing the door behind him this time. He gave me a glance, then went to the side table to pour himself a glass of wine. Without a word, he settled into a low chair and propped his feet up on the footstool, wineglass in hand. I met his eyes stubbornly, wondering if he could see my irritation.

For a long moment, we stared at each other while he sipped at his wine. If he knew what I was thinking, it only seemed to amuse him. At last he pointed to a place on the floor beside his chair. "Come here, little comtesse."

I climbed stiffly to my feet and crossed the room, knelt again where he had indicated. He took another sip, green predator's eyes watching me over the rim of his glass, before he spoke again. "I feel the need to warn you," he said, almost casually. "I will not be as gentle with you as I was before. Tell me your signale."

"Firefly," I breathed, my mind spinning. Name of Elua, he was gentle last time? The riding crop had left no visible marks, but I had been sore for days afterward. I still remembered the pain, and the tears that had stung my eyes.

He leaned forward, wineglass dangling, dark golden hair spilling over his shoulders. His empty hand traced a line down my cheek with a fingertip, slipped beneath my chin to tilt my head up. I licked my lips, wondering if he would kiss me... but his fingertip moved on, following the line of my throat, the curve of one breast, pausing to circle my nipple, not quite touching it. His eyes followed his hand, heavy-lidded, and there was a twist of a smile on his lips. It was the look of a man who liked what he saw and anticipated a great deal more pleasure from it; it made desire begin to pulse even harder in my core. When his finger slipped lower, seeking my nether lips, he found the moisture of my arousal, and his smile deepened.

Under that sharp gaze, that knowing smile, I trembled while he teased gently at Naamah's Pearl, sending thrills of pleasure through me. Unable to help myself, I began shifting rhythmically, seeking more pressure, more of his touch.

He shook his head once, golden hair swaying. "Don't move," he ordered, and held his wineglass up to my lips. Forced to obey or risk spilling wine over myself, I stilled, drew in a mouthful, hardly able to swallow against the waves of pleasure he sent through my core. But he did not relent, only tilted the glass up, and I was forced to swallow down more, and more, downing the heady wine in gulps. Only when the glass was emptied did he draw it away, and I swayed unsteadily, gasping.

"Good girl," he murmured, and I bit my lip against another, deeper surge of desire. To think I would be so aroused by such simple praise! Abruptly, he sat back in the chair, his hand leaving me. I blinked against a sudden wave of dizziness; I was not accustomed to downing a full glass of wine as if it were water. He watched me with that small, hard smile still curving his lips.

"So," he said. "What did I tell you in the garden, little one?"

"That..." I licked my lips. "That you would make me pay, for..."

"For forcing me to betray one of my dearest friends," he said flatly.

My chin came up at that. "I have not forced you into anything," I said hotly. "You—"

He struck me; not hard, but it was fast and sudden enough to shock me into silence, my cheek stinging.

"Have you not?" he asked softly, leaning forward in his chair. "You come to Mandrake House while he is away, you tell me that you want no other, you..." He stopped, glaring at me, and I wondered what else he'd been about to say.

Abruptly he stood, towering over me; he clenched his fists at his sides, as if to keep from reaching for me. "Perhaps I was too gentle with you, last time," he mused, and stepped past me, continuing to speak as he went to the mantle behind me. "Perhaps if I am more... thorough... you will learn instead to appreciate what you already have in Sebastien."

I shivered, trying to turn my head to follow him. His words did not quite register in my mind; it was the thoughtful, calculating threat in his voice to which my body responded. In the corner of my vision, I could see him moving at the hearth, lifting something from the accoutrements on the mantlepiece. He returned at a slow, measured pace—which made it even more startling when he suddenly burst into motion, kicking aside the footstool behind me. It clattered to the floor at my side, and he stepped into the space it had left, sinking one hand roughly into my hair. I gasped as he hauled me to my feet, then pushed me forward. "Bend over," he ordered tightly, forcing me down until I was leaning over the chair, bracing myself on its arms. He moved to sweep my hair over one shoulder, baring my back... then his hand slid downward, following the curve of my side, thumb tracing my spine.

"I warned you against this," he said in a rough voice, while his hand caressed my hip, slid down my thigh. "I warned you not to come to me... and yet you insist. That sort of disobedience is certain to anger me... especially," he added, fingers tightening on my skin, "when it forces me into something I did not wish to do."

Fear and desire had an equal hold on me, now, warring for precedence, but I could not help my inward smile. He could claim that I forced him into this assignation—though I still did not see how—but he was lying when he said he did not want it.

"I will teach you obedience, little comtesse," he continued, in a voice gone to a dangerous whisper. "For my sake, if nothing else." And with no more warning, he struck me, hard, with whatever object he had in his other hand. Ah, Elua, nothing had ever hurt me so badly! The blow laid a strip of fire across my shoulders; it felt as if he had laid open my skin from one side to the other. My mouth dropped open, but it was the second strike that tore a scream from my throat. Then a third fell, and a fourth, while I stood there helplessly, still seized by shock, unable to do aught but cry out.

Finally, instinct broke through my shock, and I straightened, trying to twist away. Damien's strong hand clamped the base of my neck, forcing me back down and holding me there while he whipped me. I made a helpless sound, struggling uselessly in his grip—and desire flared, again, a wave like warm light that spread out from my core, wanting more, wanting him. Ah, it hurt, and Elua knows there should not have been such pleasure in it... but for a few blissful, agonizing moments, I was helpless and utterly under his control, subject to whatever pain he saw fit to grant me, and there was nowhere else I wished to be.

The bliss faded quickly, however. Desire dwindled to a low, throbbing ache, relegated to the back of my mind as pain eclipsed it. Each blow seemed to rend my skin with flames, from the tops of my shoulders down to the backs of my thighs. It was too much, far too much, and tears spilled over my cheeks. "Stop," I gasped raggedly, futilely. "Please—ah, gods!"

There was no reply, save the blows that continued to rain down. Panic seized me, and I struggled, the nape of my neck caught in his grip like a kitten's. "Oh, Elua, please stop!" No, there was something else I had to say, something entirely different... Elua help me, I thought desperately, unable to remember—

"Firefly!" I sobbed out.

Something hit the floor near my feet as Damien released me. I dropped to my knees, huddling against the chair and shaking, staring at the many-tailed whip that Damien had dropped. It was all black leather, nearly as long as my arm, each slender tail knotted at the end. It looked small and elegant, hardly cruel enough to have caused so much pain.

Damien stood over me, his chest heaving. I dared a glance up at him. Elua! There was a darkness, a fierce hunger in his expression. If fire could be emerald green, I would have said that his eyes were flame. Reflexively, I shrank back against the chair, staring up at him.

He blinked, or perhaps I did; in an instant, that dark hunger faded. He crouched beside me, reached out to gently thumb away the tears spilled across my cheeks.

"Very good," he murmured, almost kindly. "You did well." The words were accompanied by that knowing smile. Name of Elua, he knew how deeply that simple praise pleased me! What is he doing to me? I wondered.

I drew a deep, shaky breath, trying to regain my composure. It was not easy; my back and buttocks were a mass of throbbing, burning pain. "What..." My voice creaked, roughened by my earlier screams. I cleared my throat. "What happens now? I have never..."
"Given your signale?" He finished, helping me onto my feet. "What's next is your choice, little comtesse. I would recommend, however, that you allow me to tend the welts I have given you. They will heal faster for it."

"Very well," I agreed, not at all certain that I wanted him to give my flesh any more attention that he had already. His eyes narrowed slightly; perhaps my tone was not submissive enough for him. I gave my signale, I thought. It's over. He has no right to be displeased. I let him lead me to the bed, and I laid down on my stomach, my heart still pounding.

Damien bent over me, strong hands working some sweet-scented ointment onto my wealed back. He was surprisingly gentle; I had braced myself, expecting him to be rough with it. Instead, he was careful and thorough, and though each welt stung anew under his touch, the ointment soothed it almost immediately. I found my desire returning, that balance of pain and arousal once more tipping back in Naamah's favor.

"Better, little comtesse?" he asked, tending to the last sore place, on the back of my left thigh.

"Yes..."

His hand slid up my thigh, nudging my legs apart. "Shall I resume, then?" When I tensed, he added, "Not with the whip, unless you wish it. I had... somewhat else in mind."

Something in his low voice made me tremble; an echo of that dark hunger I had seen before, perhaps. "Please..."

He chuckled softly, and his hand slid between my legs. His fingers cupped my nether lips, warm and firm. "Those pleas sound lovely on your lips, little comtesse... but you are forgetting something." His fingers moved for a few heartbeats, teasing me with the hint of a rhythm, before he stopped. "Try again."

I let out a shuddering breath, struggling to think past the throbbing desire. "Please, my lord," I breathed.

"I cannot hear you."

"Please..." I forced my voice louder, licking my lips. "My lord, please—"

Slowly, unbearably so, he slid his fingers inside me. Ah, like before, those fingers knew exactly what I needed... but they were not enough. As desire continued to flood me in waves with every thrust of his hand, I shifted restlessly on my stomach, wishing for more.

"Damien—" I began, half-raising up to twist and look over my shoulder. Abruptly he seized my hips and flipped me onto my back, pulled me towards the edge of the bed in one sharp jerk. The motion made pain explode all along my back, flaring white-hot behind my eyelids, and I cried out. When it faded, Damien was still standing over me, arms outstretched. With a white-knuckled grip, he held the chains that dangled from the bedposts as if they were the only thing holding him back.

"Forgive me," he said roughly, his eyes closed. "I... This cannot happen, little comtesse."

I could feel his phallus pressed against me, iron against my thigh, and I knew how badly he wanted to continue. Slowly, I sat up, propping myself up on my hands. He opened his eyes, stared down at me with that green, blazing fire. I met his gaze, and thoughts of Sebastien were far away, as far as he was himself. All I wanted was the man before me. I wanted him to lose that control, to control me instead, to take me for his own and—

I reached out, began to unlace his trousers. He stood motionless, gritting his teeth as if he wanted to move away and could not. "Do not ask this of me," he whispered harshly, as I freed the hard length of him from his trousers.

I closed my hand around him, and asked him anyway. "Please, my lord."

A muscle in his cheek twitched. After a long heartbeat, he snarled wordlessly, shoved me back onto the bed. Pain flashed again all along my spine- and then he was inside me, filling me to the hilt in one smooth thrust. Both of us gasped aloud, but he continued without pause. I twined my legs about his waist and made to sit up again; he forced me down once more and held me there.

Ah, gods, it was exactly what I had needed... to cede control, to be helpless beneath him while he took his pleasure. That indescribable wanting welled up once more, its intensity driven ever higher by Damien's movements. Each thrust sent pleasure swirling outward from my core; and pain, driving my wounded flesh against the bed. The two mingled until I hardly knew which was which.

I stared up at him, half amazed that I could drive a man to such desire. In turn, he glared down at me, and there was a quiet fury in his eyes, warring with the need that blazed there. I wanted to kiss him, to taste that desperate hunger, but he stayed just out of reach, as if he knew what I wanted and was determined to deny me that, if nothing else. He took me hard, and when the climax seized me, I could do nothing but shudder and gasp under his weight, while pleasure and desire and pain culminated in one final wave to wash over me.

He watched me weather it, and when I could meet his eyes once more, his fury had abated, a little... replaced by somewhat else that might have been satisfaction. With a tiny smile curving his lips, he did not relent until his own climax took hold. Hands tightening on my arms, he spent himself with a soft groan.

Breathless, we stared at each other, and I wondered what he was thinking. His face had returned to that careful blankness. He withdrew and moved to lay beside me. Silence fell, uninterrupted for a long while, as I lay there deep in thought.

"You know I will not be able to stay away," I said quietly after a time. I rolled onto my side to face him, wincing as my welted back pulled away from the sheets.

"I thought as much," he replied, eying me where he lay, head resting on his palms. He was still dressed, though his clothing was in disarray. "Even if I refuse you outright? Will you deny Elua's precept, little comtesse?"

"Will you?" I asked, remembering that desperate hunger I had seen in him—hunger for me.

He looked away, fixing his gaze on the ceiling. "What of Sebastien?" He asked flatly.

I swallowed back a surge of guilt. Sebastien would not have cared that I visited the Night Court on my own. But Mandrake House, and the one adept that was his dear friend, while he himself was out of the City? That, I knew, would hurt him deeply.

"I... I will speak with him," I said. "When the time is right. Until then, I would prefer that you did not tell him of my visit. Visits."

Damien snorted. "As you wish, my lady."

I flinched at the way he spoke it, very nearly making the honorific an insult. Something I'd said brought back that hint of contempt in his eyes, and the look he gave me was just short of derision. We eyed each other for a long moment. Gradually, to my surprise, his expression softened a little. I thought again of kissing him, and wondered if he would allow it.

I leaned towards him, imagining his lips against mine. He reached up to slide a hand into my hair—and seized a fistful of it, holding me immobile. "I will send for the servants, my lady," he said calmly, and sat up, releasing me.

Disappointed, I watched him lace up his trousers. He left without another word, though he gave me a final glance over his shoulder as he left, green eyes once again unreadable.

Elua help me, I thought, as he closed the door behind himself. What am I doing?