[Damien]
Three times, now, she had come to me. The first visit, it was only by the grace of Elua that I was able to restrain myself, to hold back from the one thing I desperately wanted and could not allow. The second time, I was too weak. I succumbed to desire—all the glorious, forbidden need for the lover of my dearest friend. And the third time...
Seated primly in the chair, skirts carefully arranged around her, Béline scanned the contract that the acolytes had prepared. Her deep auburn hair was pinned up today, with gently curled ringlets framing her face, leaving her slender neck bare. I watched her silently, and the tension in her shoulders made it clear she was aware of my scrutiny. Elua, she was beautiful, and I had no illusions about what I would do to her this night. Her third visit to my House, to my bed... And the last, I thought reluctantly. Sebastien would return from L'Agnace in a few days' time. I had already decided that Béline and I could not see each other any longer when he was in the City.
So we would have this final night, and as I had already betrayed Sebastien's trust, then I was determined to take all that Béline would give me before we parted for the last time.
Evidently satisfied with the contract, Béline signed her name in a graceful hand, then laid the quill on the tray that the acolyte held for her. "No marks," she reminded me, handing me the parchment.
My lip twisted, a smile with no amusement, as I took the contract. The welts I had given her last time were faded by now; she did not wish to add new ones before her lover returned. That was no obstacle, of course... I had somewhat else in mind for the night. "Your signale?" I asked, signing the contract and waving away the acolyte. By arrangement, the young man had not brought any refreshments to the chamber; he left with a worried glance at the empty sideboard.
Béline's voice was breathy, nervous, as she spoke her signale. Her eyes, ocean-blue, were lovely, but I would have to do something about that directness in her gaze.
"Very well," I said. "It seems that the servants have forgotten to provide me with wine. Go to the kitchens, little comtesse, and bring some here. And see that it is well-spiced."
Her eyes widened as I spoke; by the time I finished, they were indignant and furious. "I'm afraid you are mistaken, Damien. I did not come to Mandrake House so that I could serve you," she said, as haughtily as that first time we met.
Ah, Elua, the angry desire that her words triggered... it flared through me like a wildfire! I raised an eyebrow, regarding her flatly. "I may forgive you for using my name, little comtesse... if you are quick with the wine. I am quite parched."
She glared up at me for a moment, until she realized I would not relent. Scowling, she got to her feet and left the room. I smiled as I settled into the chair in her place.
She returned shortly, fumbling awkwardly through the door with the tray. She came to my side and stood frowning down at me, holding the tray as if I should take it from her.
"Shall I pour it for myself?" I asked, as if the very idea were ludicrous. Béline pressed her lips together, whirled away and set the tray roughly on the sideboard. She poured two glasses of wine with ill grace, clattering items about and making no secret of the fact that she was displeased. When she came back to me, a glass of wine in each hand, I took one and watched her wordlessly as I sipped it.
Her face was flushed, a little: shame and desire, a combination I loved to see. Otherwise, she looked composed, a noblewoman clinging to the dignity of her own self-control... but her slender fingers, tapping against the stem of her glass, betrayed her apprehension.
"I am not here to be your servant," she said again, just as firmly as before, and a bit more calmly.
"No?" I asked. "That is a misconception I look forward to correcting."
Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. I twirled my glass idly, regarding her for a long moment. "I do not believe you have given your signale. Until you do, you will be exactly what I wish you to be." I held out my empty hand, nodding at her glass. "Servants do not drink wine with their betters, little one." Not little comtesse, this time; I would take even that mocking title from her.
Shock widened her eyes, and her jaw took on a stubborn edge, but after a moment she handed me her glass.
"Good girl," I said in a low voice. I leaned back in my chair, sipping at the glass she had handed me. "Take off your clothing."
"I'm quite certain servants do not serve in the nude," she said.
"Mine will," I said levelly, holding her gaze. "Unless she wishes to anger me."
Perhaps it was the veiled threat, or the turn of phrase that claimed her as my own; in either case, she changed her mind. Inhaling sharply, she began to unlace her bodice.
I watched her appreciatively, letting silence fill the room around the rustle of her clothing. When she had finished, I gestured for her to return the two glasses. She stalked back to my side after setting them on the sideboard; the movement put me in mind of a bristling cat.
"Anything else?" she asked, a sullen tinge to her voice.
She still did not understand... or she wished to be stubborn. Ah, I was going to enjoy this! I leaned back, fixing her with a stern glare. "You ought to know better," I said harshly. "You have grown up with servants to tend your every whim. Surely House Collente does not allow their servants to speak to their masters this way. Tell me, what would be done to a serving girl in your household who spoke with such disrespect?"
Her eyes narrowed. "She would be put out of the house," she answered warily.
"Ah. Then your family is far more lenient than I. But I suppose I can make exception for you... after all, you have very little experience." I leaned forward, giving her a hard smile. "Never fear, little one. I shall teach you your place. On your knees."
She clenched her fists, but she knelt, glaring at me as she clasped her hands behind her head.
"There now," I murmured approvingly. "This is where you belong, little one- kneeling, and ready to serve." Gently, I lifted her chin with the toe of my boot. "You look lovely on your knees. I think you shall stay there all night. Would you like that?"
She hesitated. "No," she whispered at last, adding belatedly, "my lord."
"Tell me, little one, which is worse?" I asked, as I got to my feet. "Being treated like a servant, or serving a commoner beneath your station?"
She held her tongue, watching me unlace my trousers. I threaded my fingers through her hair, brushing her lips with the tip of my phallus. I offered her a third choice. "…Or knowing that you enjoy it?"
Her chin lifted stubbornly, but she kept silent. With deep, furious, sea-gray eyes on mine, she opened her lips and slowly drew me in. Her mouth was sweet and hot; eager, and tense with the anger I had encouraged. I cupped the back of her head and pulled her against me, forcing myself deeper until she whimpered, throat tightening around me. Gods, the sight of her was as intoxicating as the wine. There was nothing better than seeing nobles humbled at my feet, the length of my phallus between their lips. And when it was her...
I gave her a half-smile and eased my grip on her hair, began to rock my hips against her. "Go on," I commanded. "Until I bid you stop, little one."
She drew in a shaky breath and began to obey. Her skills were not Night-Court trained, but she was D'Angeline, and no virgin girl, either. Need and desire surged through me, and as they grew more and more intense, it was all I could do to bite back a groan. I seized her hands, pulled them from her head and replaced them with my own. She gripped my hip, and used her other hand to stroke my testes in time with her movements.
My climax came with a sudden fierceness. I groaned aloud, gripping her hard as I spilled my seed into her. She moaned, in protest, perhaps, but she did not resist. When I let her go, she sat back on her heels and looked up at me through a glimmer of tears, her lips red and swollen. Her hair, pinned up so carefully when she'd arrived, was in disarray, thick auburn curls tumbling from the crown of her head.
"Very good," I murmured, stroking her hair. "Now, there are other duties I expect of my servants," I added quietly. I lifted one foot and placed it atop her thigh. She looked up at me sharply, and I raised my brows. "Need I instruct you on the workings of boot laces?"
She colored, and that stubborn set returned to her jaw, but she reached for the laces. "No, my lord." She removed one boot, and then the other; I divested myself of my shirt while she pulled my trousers over my hips. When I was bare, I crossed the room to the washstand, then turned to find her still kneeling where I had left her. I beckoned, and she began to rise to her feet.
"Stop," I snapped. She froze, half-risen from a crouch, staring.
"How did I tell you to spend this night, little one?"
Slowly, realizing her error, she sank back to her knees.
"Now," I murmured. "Come here."
Comprehension dawned in her eyes, and it was furious. "I will not!"
I crossed my arms and regarded her coolly. "You will crawl for me, little one, and the night will go easier for you... Or you will walk, and be punished for it. The choice is yours."
Without hesitation, she stood and walked toward me, ocean eyes full of challenge. "I should give my signale now," she muttered angrily. "Simply for-"
"For what?" I hissed, seizing her jaw and craning her neck upward enough to make her wince. My other hand slipped between her legs, finding her wet and fever-hot. "For spite? That would be exceedingly foolish, little one... and it would belie how much you are enjoying it, besides."
She said nothing, only closed her eyes, her breathing unsteady. Grasping her shoulders, I forced her down to her knees once more. "Some duties are best performed by a bathing-servant," I said, letting my voice slip back into a conversational tone. I wet a cloth in the washbasin and handed it to her. "But I am certain you will do just as well."
Biting her lip, Béline took the cloth and began to cleanse me, washing the seed and saliva from my phallus. When she had dried me, I strode to the hearth, motioning for her to follow me. She did so on her feet, as I knew she would. I took a pillow from the bed as I passed, and dropped it on the floor beside the hearth.
"Now, little one," I said, taking the iron spreader-bar and the short lengths of rope from the mantle. "I warned you that you would be punished-"
"Elua," she exclaimed, wide eyes fixed on the arm-length bit of metal. "My lord, we agreed there were to be no marks-"
I shook my head. "I do not intend to strike you. But I have ordered you to remain on your knees, and you continue to refuse... So I intend to see that you obey. Stand still."
She did, while I crouched behind her with the bar. It was meant to force a patron's legs wide, but I bound her ankles only as far apart as her hips, using plenty of rope to cushion the bar.
"Down," I ordered. She crouched, balancing carefully, and reached back at my murmured direction. I hooked her hands over the bar and bound her wrists beside her ankles. It left her doubled over, loose curls dangling over her shoulders.
"Good," I murmured, tipping her forward until her knees hit the floor. Her forehead rested on the pillow I had dropped. "Can you stand now, little one?"
"No," she said breathlessly, her voice muffled. She added, with some satisfaction, "But I cannot crawl, either."
I struck her hard, leaving a red handprint on her buttock- nothing that would not fade quickly. She jumped, falling silent.
"I do not wish you to crawl," I said mildly. "You are exactly where I wish you to be: Bound and helpless, waiting for me to do as I will." I ran my hand over the heated flesh I had struck, then lower. "You will remain here until I have finished with you. And until then, you will be a good serving girl, and wait for me." I withdrew my fingers and stood. "Although, if you ask politely, I may not make you wait so long."
She made a wordless, puzzled sound as I turned away. "My lord?" She managed after a moment.
"Quiet," I snapped. She fell silent. I took a small vial of scented oil from the mantle, and then settled into the chair, facing her. She looked small and vulnerable, her spine trapped in a submissive bow, fairly glowing in the light of the fire nearby. She turned her head, those ocean eyes seeking me. Face nearly upside-down, she stared at me, biting her lip. I watched her in turn, silently, feeling arousal begin to return. Her body seemed all curves, her near side half-shadowed, the far side limned in golden firelight. Silence stretched, while I let desire seep back, heating my blood once again.
"If you wish, little one," I said at last, "you may ask me for what you want."
Béline let out a slow breath. "Please, my lord..."
I held her gaze, twirled the vial idly in my fingers. "What is it you wish?"
"You, my lord," she whispered.
"I should hope so," I said, letting a touch of cruel teasing into my voice. "Else, why are you here?"
She frowned. "I... I want you to take me," she amended, face flushing.
"No doubt," I murmured, the corner of my lip curling upward. "How, little one?"
Her eyes widened, and she hesitated, unsure. "...hard, my lord," she finally replied, turning even redder.
Ah, Elua, those words sent desire through me like a lance, sharp and nearly painful. I forced it down, and drummed my fingertips on the arm of the chair. "Wrong answer, little one. Let us try another. Why should I take you?"
I saw her frustration bubble over in the instant before she spoke. "Because I'm paying you for it!" She snapped, fists clenching behind her ankles.
I laughed softly. "A very wrong answer. Think carefully, Béline; I will ask you again in a few moments. I trust you will not disappoint me again." I made myself relax into the chair, then opened the vial of oil. It was scented with jasmine; the perfume filled the room while I took my phallus in hand. Slowly, I worked the liquid over my skin, watching her as I did. She squeezed her eyes shut, fists still clenched.
Once again, silence reigned. I listened to the blood pounding heatedly through my veins, to Béline's ragged breathing, and I waited for as long as I could stand it.
"Now, little one," I murmured, in a dangerous voice. She opened her eyes; they bore a curious blend of arousal and pride, and I knew the answers she would give this time. "Tell me again. Why should I take you, girl?"
She licked her lips. "Because you wish it, my lord."
I gave her a smile. "And why else?"
"Because..." she drew a deep breath. "Because I... I am here to serve you, my lord."
Once again, desire surged through me, setting my blood to boiling in an instant. "Ah," I murmured in approval, rising to my feet. She watched me approach, the vial in my hand. Her torso shifted with each quick, shallow breath. "And how shall I take you?"
"However my lord wishes," she whispered as I knelt behind her.
"Very good," I praised her softly, grasping her buttocks. I lifted her hips as high as her bonds would allow. "I shall make an obedient servant of you yet." I thrust into her. Ah, gods, she was hot, throbbing around the shaft of my phallus; I groaned, fingers digging into her hips. Béline shuddered beneath me, gasping.
Oh, Elua, it was sweet. Every thrust I drove into her made her cry out, until she fell silent, unable to catch her breath between cries. But I listened; I could hear the way her breathing caught, snagging on jolts of pleasure that came quicker and quicker. Without slowing, I snatched up the vial and fumbled a bit more oil onto my fingers.
"Spend yourself, little one," I said hoarsely, when she was nearly there. I pressed a finger into her nether entrance. "Now."
She did, letting out a choked cry, her body tightening around me. I ground my teeth, forcing myself to wait. Gasping, Béline subsided with a shudder, her body still rocking under the force of my thrusts. I slowed, concentrating on my hands, adding a second finger to the first and listening to her whimper.
"Do you want me to stop, little one?" I asked, as I added a third. She shivered, inner muscles clenching.
"No..." she hesitated, and thought better of it. "Only if you wish it, my lord."
I chuckled, and eased back from her. "Good girl," I murmured, placing the head of my phallus against her nether entrance. She let out a moan as I pressed inside of her, slowly. I watched the length of my phallus sink deeper, and let out a groan of my own.
When I could go no farther, I leaned forward, bracing myself on one arm. With my other hand, I grasped her hair and dragged her head up. "Tell me again, little one," I rasped, rocking against her, inside her. "What are you?"
"Yours, my lord," she said raggedly, eyes squeezed shut.
"And what shall I do with you?"
Béline shuddered. "Whatever you wish, my lord. I am yours..."
"Elua," I hissed, through clenched teeth. I pushed her head back down, and braced myself on her shoulders as I took her. I brought her to climax once more just before I spent myself; our shared cries mingled, blending into one before fading into silence.
I eased back onto my heels, waiting for my pounding heart to slow itself. Béline twitched, caught in the aftermath of passion, but otherwise lay quietly. I began to untie her.
Once freed, she rolled onto her back and sat up, stiffly. I grasped her wrist and pulled it close, examining the impressions the rope had left in her skin.
"No bruises," I said, rubbing the imprints with my thumb. "These will fade by morning."
"I'll be rather sad to see them go," she murmured. I raised my eyes to hers, and was surprised to see none of the haughty noblewoman in those ocean depths. Instead, there was... not affection, exactly, but something like it.
And sadness, a bit.
"You see, my lady," I murmured. "It is not so hard to be a servant, is it?"
She smiled, and it made her eyes brighten like sunlight on waves. "Yours?... Yes."
I snorted, amused, and let go of her wrist. She wrapped her arms about her knees, and we sat there for a moment in the first easy silence we'd ever shared. Some patrons require more attention after the pleasure has been spent, and I often enjoyed giving it... but I could not allow myself to indulge so with Béline. It would be too pleasant, I knew, and too easy to let it grow into something it should not. So I kept that space between us, and did not allow myself to think about pulling her closer, wrapping her in my arms.
"Still," she mused after a moment, smiling. "I think you shall find me better at it, the next time."
I sighed. "There cannot be a next time, my lady. Each of your visits has left me plagued with guilt, and I regret I have not had the strength to refuse you before. But when Sebastien returns to the City..."
Her expression turned serious; she looked away, closed her eyes. "I know," she murmured. "I have put you in an unenviable position, and I am sorry."
"Bad enough we have taken advantage of his absence," I said. "But I will not continue to accept your patronage when he resides not a half-hour's ride from Mont Nuit. I am sorry, my lady..." I drew a deep breath. "But I must ask you not to come to me again. I will not see you." The words hurt, leaving me like a sword being twisted in a wound, but I managed to say them nonetheless.
"I... I understand," Béline whispered. "That will be for the best."
I stood, and helped her to her feet. We looked at each other for a long moment, and the urge to kiss her nearly overwhelmed me—I wanted to taste her, to plunder her mouth with my tongue, to push her against the wall and hold her there while I—
"Someone will arrive shortly to assist you, my lady," I managed, shoving away the thoughts I had no right to entertain. "Farewell." I made myself turn away, and took only enough time to don my trousers before leaving the room. I could feel her eyes on my back until the door shut behind me.
The young acolyte from earlier was kneeling abeyante in the hall, awaiting my command. I sent him to attend Béline, and then strode away. Guilt pressed on my shoulders, thoughts of the hurt I would see in Sebastien's eyes if he knew of my trysts with his lover. Hunching my shoulders, I wandered the House, away from the entrance and the chance of seeing Béline again, listening to the faint sounds of pleasure and pain that escaped the adepts' closed doors.
I found myself in the inner garden, private to members of the House only, where Kushiel's altar was nestled among the foliage. His stone statuette gleamed in the moonlight as I knelt before it, but his face, depicted with its bronze mask, was hidden in the shadows. Still, I could pick out the rod and flail held in his crossed arms. I knelt there for a long time, wishing in vain for my roiling thoughts to settle. The moon-shadows had shifted considerably by the time I rose, but I felt no more at peace than when I had knelt. Guilt still beat at me, pulsing inescapably against me.
"A visit to your temple, then, my lord," I murmured to Kushiel's likeness. It had been a long time since I had sought a penance at the hands of Kushiel's priests. "In the morning." The decision itself seemed to lift a bit of the weight from my shoulders. With a sigh, I turned back to the House, half hoping and half dreading that I would encounter Béline on her way out.