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The authoress would like to take a moment to thank each and every one of you that have taken the time to submit a review. Your kind words and support have quite overwhelmed!
Thank you,
DGM
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One Good Turn part X
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Meg awoke feeling tenderly sore in places she had never been sore before. She slowly opened her eyes to shafts of moving sunlight drifting through the cab through the slit in the curtains, and she surreptitiously felt for Erik's reassuring presence.
He wasn't there.
She looked behind her, around the car. Nothing. Wrapping herself in the blanket, Meg padded to the privy and knocked. She waited a beat then opened the door.
No Erik.
She gulped, and making her way to her to the door, tried to open it. She breathed deeply when she realized it was still locked. If he had left her, then he would have unlocked the door. That would have been logical. He still had her locked in, and Meg knew she should probably be offended by this, but the way she saw it right now, it was a comfort.
He was coming back.
She looked down at herself and grimaced. There could be no doubt about it; she had been thoroughly claimed last night. And he as well. She smiled wryly. Making her way to the privy, Meg set about tidying herself up as best she could with the washbasin.
They weren't married; at least, not in the traditional sense, but last night had felt like her wedding night. She couldn't explain it, but she felt joined to him, married to him. And she would absolutely kill for some hot water to take a bath right now.
Oh, but she ached!
Just then, there was a rustle outside the compartment door.
"Megan?"
Meg breathed a sigh of relief at hearing Erik's Voice. "In here." She wrapped herself more tightly in the blanket and peeked out.
Erik stood there, a cart with huge bucketfuls of steaming water sat beside him as did a huge breakfast platter fit for princes. She raised her eyebrows. He was dressed once more in his usual regalia of black slacks, white linen shirt, jacket, vest, and cloak. Meg blinked and did a double take. His face was that of an ordinary man's!
Squinting, she made her way from the privy to where he stood by the door. This close to him, she could obviously tell the lines of the mask from where they met his flesh, but at a casual glance, Erik would seem unremarkable, normal even.
Meg smiled at him, and it seemed as though he deflated a little, relaxing. And she realized he had been studying her just as thoroughly and had been literally holding his breath waiting for her response. His yellow eyes looked anxious, uncertain. Drawing a deep breath, Meg decided she would begin as she meant to go on. And rising up to her tiptoes, she kissed him sweetly where the corner of his mask met his lips. "Good Morning, love. Does this make number sixty-seven yet? "
His arms came around her holding her steady, and he looked at her, his expression wry. "Good Morning, Megan my dear. And no, I think it will take a lifetime to fill that particular quota."And she gasped as he picked her up and carried her bridal-fashion back to bed. "You, my love, are going to dine in bed this morning and then have a nice, relaxing soak in the tub. But first, drink your tea." Meg looked at him curiously. It was common enough knowledge that she preferred café au lait in the morning and had been known to be quite cross if none were to be had. He handed her a mug, and she sniffed it carefully.
She took a tentative sip, and while it was not altogether disgusting, it wasn't great-tasting either. She tried to refrain from showing a moue of distaste but was very afraid she missed the mark. Looking up, she found him watching her, laughter dancing in his eyes. "Do not try to spare my feelings on the matter, ptichka. If you think it tastes foul, let me know." His lips twitched; he was teasing her.
"Alright, yes. It's a bit errm..oily-tasting… …errm, what is it?" She looked inquiringly up at him as he drew a tray and began to ply it with foodstuffs.
"It is an infusion of Queen Anne's Lace, a naturally occurring method of contraception." He turned back to her and sat the tray on her lap. Meg finished the tea with a grimace, quickly grabbed a piece of sticky roll and began to chew.
Again, her brow wrinkled in thought. He drew a chair up near the bed and sat facing her, his hands between his knees, his eyes studying her carefully. "It prevents pregnancy, Megan." Meg coughed, choking on her roll, even as he handed some café to wash it down. "Surely you know that what we did last night could have had the potential to create a child?" This time the question was in his eyes, and she nodded, her face running the gamut from pale to blushing hot.
"Yes, I—errm, am aware of that Erik. Although, I must say the thought did not even cross my mind." Biting her lip, she studied her café as if it contained all the mysteries of the universe, and only looked up when she felt the gentle pressure of his thumb on her chin, urging her to meet his stare.
"It is not going to happen, little bird." his Voice hushed, "I have made sure of it." He pointed to the mug. "Besides, you are not even fertile at this time."
Again, Meg looked at him, a question in her eyes, "How do you—"
His lips twitched, "The chocolate torte, ptichka. You will begin craving it in three days. Now eat up, we have much to accomplish today."
Meg did as directed, but a thought was bugging her. "So, am I to drink this infusion daily?"
He nodded, "Yes. It is something that must be taken daily to yield maximum efficacy." He reached over and snatched a roll from the cart, taking a bite.
"And this means…you don't want children… …ever?" Casually, she cut into a rasher of ham, her eyebrows poised in inquiry as she looked at him. They could be talking about the weather.
He gave her a level stare. "No. We will never have children."
She nodded, feeling relieved to her very core, "Thank God!" She took a huge bite of ham and chewed, smiling up at him. "I mean children are great, don't get me wrong" she gestured with her fork, "but I've never seen myself as the mother-type." she shook her head and took a sip of café, "There are just so many other things I want to do, you know?" She paused when she saw the look in his eyes. It was predatory. It was lust-filled.
It made her insides ache.
"Ouch." She rubbed at her lower abdomen even as he got up and removed the tray from her lap. Bucketful by bucketful, he began filling the small copper tub in the middle of the floor, and then he bid her rise.
"Would you like me to wait outside, my little bird?" His tone was solicitous and accommodating, but Meg knew what he—what they both wanted.
She smiled cheekily and turning her back to him, began to unwind the blanket. "No, Erik. I find I need help washing my back." Dropping the sheet to pool below her, she looked at him over her shoulder, "—and my front." She waggled her eyebrows at him.
He growled lowly and picked her up even as she squealed in delight, but he sat her gently in the water. And Meg sighed as the water hit her sore and tender bits most deliciously. He placed her hair carefully over the lip of the tub, falling in a heap to sweep the floor below. And after removing his jacket, Meg watched as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, coming to kneel beside her, a bit of cloth and a fragrant bar of soap in his hands.
And his hands dipped below the water, wetting the cloth, and then he was working lather into her skin, most methodically and industriously. And Meg looked over to find him intent on his task, a look of sheer concentration in his eyes that she had only ever witnessed once before when he was composing. She couldn't help the bubble of laughter that broke free, but she quickly swallowed it, schooling her features and looking at him most seriously. He stopped what he was doing, and studied her, suspicious.
She smiled up at him, gesturing, "Please do continue, maestro."
He narrowed his eyes, obviously trying to find the joke, but continue he did, and by the time the water had cooled, Meg felt so thoroughly scrubbed, she squeaked. Donning her robe, she walked over to him, and stated promising, "You know, maestro, I am going to have to return the favor one day." Her hand travelled a little further south than propriety would dictate, and she smirked to feel his want for her through the fabric of his pants.
Gently grabbing her hand, he kissed her palm and then turned away, seating himself in one of the dining chairs and grabbing a book. "That is unlikely, ptichka. Now go get dressed. It is time to begin your tutelage of the Russian language and the country's customs.
Meg went over to him, kneeling down at his side. "Wait a minute. What?"
The book she thought he had picked up at random was a Russian to French primer. His eyes met hers over the cover. "Go. Get. Dressed." He nodded to her trunk, his eyes going immediately back to the book. Rolling her eyes, Meg rose to comply.
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Oh, but she was driving him to utter distraction!
Furtively, Erik watched as she shed her robe and began to don layer upon layer. Using her trunk as a prop, she pulled on her stockings, one firmly toned leg at a time, clipping them with a little silk belt she wrapped around her waist. Her full and rounded breasts swaying slightly with the movement, and Erik's mouth began to water.
Her pantalettes and chemise were next. And he was sorry to see her don both for that removed the very tempting sight her peaches and cream mounds of flesh. Her slip-button corset was pulled over her head, effectively cinching her tiny waist even further, and then a blue silk taffeta dress over it all to be complete with matching blue kidskin slippers.
And it hit him! Such sights were to be commonplace from now on!
Oh, but he did not ever think he would get used to seeing such delights.
She sat at his side and looked up at him, a question in her eyes, "Well, maestro, where do we begin?"
He blinked, coming back to himself and gestured to the book he held, "This is the Russian, or Cyrillic, Alphabet." He watched as she turned the book and looked over its pages. Slowly, he began speaking, interspersing his French with Russian, and gesturing so his meaning would be clear. "You will learn to govorit and hear it better if you hear russkiy yazyk spoken to you. And so, until you become proficient, ptichka, I will begin to progressively speak in Russian until we are conversing in Russian only. And I urge vy to respond in kind, no matter how long it takes you."
She nodded, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "Ya ponimayu."
He must have looked at her in some surprise because she smiled slightly. "Nick and Valentina have been teaching me small phrases here and there for the last month. Okay, so you want me to learn progressively via immersion?" He nodded and blinked again; she was quick, his little bird.
And so, they whiled away the morning and early afternoon with Megan learning the building blocks of the Russian alphabet and its sounds as well as a beginner's core vocabulary. Lunchtime came and went and still he taught, and she listened, responding as best she could in Russian where able.
It was only when the sun began to set, filling their little cab with golden light, that he realized a few things about his Megan.
Her thirst for knowledge rivaled his own when it came to a subject in which she was passionate. Although she was by no means gifted when it came to hearing another language spoken, she was blessed with a certain ear and amount of talent for it, and he could envision her speaking the language as well as a native in time.
Also, one of them was going to have to look after the other because the both of them had a tendency towards single-minded pursuit which could prove disastrous if left unattended. Erik closed the book they had been using with a snap of finality.
"Oh, but—" He held a finger up to her mouth and shook his head, staying her protests.
"It grows late, and you need to eat, ptichka."
"Yes, but I've got just one more li—" He scooped her up out of the chair to her laughing chagrin and set her on her feet.
"You have not even run through your positions today, Megan. Just because we are aboard a train is no excuse." His chiding tone brooked no protest. "I'll fetch dinner, you stretch." Her swift kiss on his lips took him by surprise, and it was with a small grin on his mouth that he left her.
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As she ran through her positions using a straight-back chair as her barre, Meg contemplated her change in status. What was she to him? pseudo-wife? partner? mistress? She wrinkled her nose. She liked partner best, but it seemed she was destined to always be one step behind him, at least intellectually. My God, but he was brilliant!
But whenever she would tell him, he would remind her that she was younger than him, less experienced. She sighed. Perhaps he had it right when he called them collaborators … she could deal with being his life-time collaborator. She smiled at the thought, liking the whimsy of it.
Theirs would never be a traditional relationship, of that she was certain. There would be no dinner parties or boring soirees out with friends. Definitely no children.
Meg tilted her head to one side, bending deeply in plié, trying to assess if she felt any sadness at the thought.
She shook her head. No. She honestly had never given having children a thought. She supposed there was some kind of nebulous idea out there about finding a husband, but more often than not, in those little meandering fantasies, she and her husband traveled the world while she performed.
With Erik, there would be intellectual debate, conversation, and curiosity. And he was willing to teach her so much... she bit her lip. But the question remained, just what did she have to teach him in return?
Getting up from her stretches, Meg parted the curtain and looked out the window, watching the scenery go by. She could just discern through the gathering darkness snow-capped mountains in the distance. They must be in to Germany by now, surely.
Unbidden, the thoughts from this morning's bath came to her.
He had been so earnest, so focused on 'getting it right', on pleasing her. It had been wonderful to feel that much of his attention, his sole focus, specifically placed on her.
Just what could she do for him?
The thought came in a flash, and she gasped even as she blushed to the roots of her blond hair. Erik had much to learn about human interaction and relationships. And they both had much to learn in this new arena of play so fresh and foreign to them both.
Oh, how Meg wished she had borrowed those marriage manuals from Genevieve when she offered! She quite missed her opportunity to learn of sexual congress between men and women from a perspective other than her own or her collaborator's.
Meg giggled. What would Erik think of her label for them? Grabbing her robe, Meg hurriedly began shedding layer upon layer of clothing.
She left on her stockings and heeled house slippers in deference to the cold, but everything else, she removed until she was quite in the altogether save stockings, garter belt, slippers and robe. Moving her chair until she was by the pot-belly stove, Meg grabbed the Russian to French primer, and crossing her legs in front of her, she opened the book to the chapter she was working on and set out to wait.
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She didn't have to wait long. Erik returned moments later with a loaded platter, quietly entering and closing the door, and then he stopped short when he saw her.
Meg schooled her features to impassivity, continuing to calmly read. She could see in her periphery that she was quite the subject of his sharp-eyed scrutiny. Feeling a kindling of desire, she finished the page she was working on, and licking her finger, reached to turn the page… but slowly, as she crossed one well-toned calf in front of the other, the robe exposing her to the thigh as she pointed and arched her foot.
He still had not moved; she was unsure if he even breathed so quiet and still was he. But she had charted her coarse and set sail, and she would see this through.
She yawned slightly, not the least bit tired, but it gave her an excuse to get more relaxed in the chair, and she did, uncrossing her legs in a very unlady-like fashion and slouching slightly in the chair using her slippered heels for balance. The closure of the robe just accidentally having fallen away revealing the side of her rounded bosom for his perusal.
She heard a small gasp, and it was all she could do to keep reading. But she did begin to blush delicately, and her blush traveled all the way down to her exposed chest. She cocked her head to the side and sounded out a particularly vicious-looking tangle of words. Vyrazit' volneniya ili zhelaniya
"To express excitement or desire." She jumped. He had moved until he was behind her, his hands lightly resting at her shoulders as his Voice whispered in her ear, turning her liquid in an instant. "Dressed for bed so early, ptichka?" He nuzzled her neck, and she shivered.
"With you here, can you blame me?" He growled into her neck, setting her entire body to shiver. His arms came around her, drawing her up against him.
"Put down the book, ptichka."
"Gladly."Meg tossed it aside and turned in his arms until she was facing him. Hesitantly, she put her hands on the flesh-colored mask, and biting her lip, asked with her eyes if she could remove it. He looked sad for a moment and then shook his head.
"No." His hands came up to hers removing them, kissing them, and then placing them at her sides. "Come dinner is growing cold." A nameless disappointment was born in that moment, but Meg tried not to let it bother her or their evening together.
"What are your plans once the train has arrived, Megan?" He had again presented her plate for her and poured her a glass of wine.
Meg picked at her chicken, not really hungry. "That depends on you, doesn't it Erik? I mean, I'm supposed to meet Nikolai and Valentina at the station, but I can't really do that now can I?" She took a sip of wine, shrugging.
He looked at her curiously, "Why ever not?"
Meg set down her fork, looking at him as if he were a particularly dim-witted child, "Erik. I thought the entire point of you journeying with me was to take me back with you to the Populaire. Not that we've discussed it, mind, but—"
She shrugged again, feeling her good humor begin to evaporate.
He wiped his mouth with his napkin and rose, coming to where she sat. She watched as he knelt before her, studying her, his yellow eyes narrowed in thought. At length, he stated slowly, "The entire point of this journey Megan, as you so put it, is to proclaim my love and devotion to you. Not to drag you back to the Populaire, ptichka. You have promised to partner this Demidov, and you will not break your word."
"But—"
"No 'buts'." He held a finger to her lips, quieting her protests. "Now, what are your plans?"
Meg watched as he returned to his seat once more, picking up his fork to resume eating. Her look held mystified wonder, "They are taking me to their familial estate, where I am told I shall be quite sequestered. Nick wants to prepare me for my debut in the Spring." She grimaced. "I imagine it will be quite rigorous; he's a demanding partner." Was it her imagination or did she just see a flash of jealousy in his eyes? She narrowed hers, "You do realize that is all Nick is to me, right Erik? …Erik?" She bit her lip, waiting on his response.
He nodded, setting down his napkin and pushing away from the table. "I do, ptichka. It still galls though. As much as I would like to be your everything, the man holds a claim on you I cannot." Meg's heart leapt to her throat. She got up from the table and making her way to where he sat, climbed in his lap.
He looked startled for a moment, and then his arms came around to hold her as she laid her head on his shoulder. "What of the Populaire and 'The Red Shoes'?"
"Well, I have taken leave of the 'haunting' business for the time being. With my prima ballerina and ballet mistress abandoning ship, there does not seem to be much reason to stay." She kissed the exposed skin on his neck, his fingers playing with the filigree at her robed collar. "The Red Shoes still needs a collaborative effort, and if you must know ptichka, I'm considering approaching this Demidov with the rights." Meg turned quickly until her legs straddled him on either side, her robe quite parting open to leaven nothing to the imagination. "But that will… perhaps… come… in… time." His Voice trailed to a hushed whisper as he looked down at her.
"Erik…" She could feel him stiffening beneath her, and experimentally, she rolled her hips. He closed his eyes on a quiet groan, letting his head list to the side. His hands began to knead the fabric of her robe where they held her at her waist. She continued to roll her hips, now experimentally front and back and then from side to side. He grunted, and Meg felt the hardening part of him begin to jump and quicken underneath her in counterpoint. "…Erik…" His eyes were slits of pleasure, his mouth a thin line as he watched her.
She pulsed her hips, giving little bouncing movements that ground against him and made her breasts bob and sway. She bent forward and gave him a pop kiss. "…take me to bed, maestro."
"As my little bird commands."
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review please. it means the world to this little authoress and all feedback is welcome.