by E G Manetti
It will be a quiet day within the Cartel. Estella wearied early and Lucius carried her home, leaving Marco and Solomon to host the observatory celebration that continued well past dark of night. Lucius holds little expectation that any of the seigneurs who appear in his Cartel today will be fit for their duties. From yesterday’s logs, it appears Lilian had an interesting race day as well. With that thought, eighth bell chimes and Lilian enters. Calling his discipline to remain immobile, Lucius watches as Lilian takes two steps toward his desk and halts.
She turns so gracefully the carpet fibers do not move. She searches with her eyes. They are so wide when she is wary. Slowly, Lilian pivots, seeking him. Her eyes are wide and dark. Lilian is worried. Lucius deliberately clinks his cup against its saucer. There. The gray eyes brighten as Lilian finds her balance. Her shoulders are relaxed, her expression expectant as she comes to attention. Whatever occurred yesterday, it has not overset her. Stepping out of the shadows, Lucius asks, “Lilian, why needed you a stricture waiver yesterday?”
Lilian’s shoulders stiffen as her expression slides into the politely neutral expression that indicates a planned response. “My commerce attire experienced an unfortunate encounter with a sticky beverage, milord. The concierge released its staff for the race, so I was unable to correct the problem.”
The response is typical of Lilian, complete, factual, and hiding as much as it reveals. Setting his tea on the nearest surface, Lucius closes with his apprentice. Catching her chin in his fingers and tilting her face to his, Lucius raises his eyebrows. He wishes the entire tale and has no intention of pulling it from her one sentence at a time.
Lilian’s shoulders square as if bracing herself even as she silently nods her obedience. “The encounter occurred in the Associates’ Hall as we were gathering for the race. It was one of those popular cold, sticky beverages with the consistency of mud. It was an unnatural shade of pink with a wretched scent and a worse taste. There was a goodly amount of it. Truly, milord, there was naught I could do but retire to the training chambers and make use of my training garb.”
Devious as well as malicious, Lucius judges. Too benign to be considered assault, it was humiliating, unpleasant, time consuming, and potentially expensive to repair. “Were you able to view any part of Master Fletcher’s race?”
“Most of the final period, milord.” Lilian’s aspect lightens and her shoulders relax with the recollection. “Master Fletcher did quite well, did he not? Seigneur Trevelyan lamented that he had not placed a larger wager.”
»◊«
Carrying the suit she retrieved from the concierge, Lilian joins Mr. George by the Blooded Dagger entrance. Mayhap Maman can use them as pigment rags, Lilian speculates dourly on her ruined garb.
“Is it well with you?” the big driver asks, noting Lilian’s dejected expression.
“Well enough, Mr. George,” Lilian sighs. There is naught to be gained by spreading her ill humor. For all his fearsome appearance, she is quite fond of Lucius’ driver and bodyguard. Dressed in the redwood brown of Blooded Dagger’s common servitor livery, with his battered face and deeply pitted weathered skin, he reminds Lilian of a tree-troll. One of the fantastical creatures from children’s fables, depicted as massive blocks of wood capable of rapid movement and stunning strength.
“What have you there?” Milord’s voice startles Lilian out of her dejected contemplation of the ruined lingerie.
In her dismay at the damaged silk, Lilian failed to note the seventh-bell chimes. “Yesterday’s commerce attire, milord. The suit has survived the beverage encounter, but the silk is beyond stained.”
Touching a finger to a scrap of damaged silk, milord laments, “The cerulean?”
“Yes, milord.” Lilian nods morosely. Milord has always favored the cerulean lingerie.
“Mr. George will carry that for you. Come,” milord instructs before he turns and strides toward the waiting transport, knowing that Lilian will follow obediently in his wake.
Seated in the transport, Lilian begins to release her hair, the ritual familiar and strangely comforting. What is amiss? Fingers halting on her nape ties, Lilian searches for the source of her sudden unease.
Milord is sprawled on the far side of the seat, heat rising in his eyes. Not amiss, unusual. Milord has engaged the privacy shield. They are invisible to Mr. George. As milord’s intention becomes unmistakable, Lilian hastily shoves the tangle of linen and steel nape ties into her satchel. She barely seals the flap before milord has her across his lap.
Milord’s mouth sears against hers, demanding entrance. Abandoning reserve, Lilian opens her lips and welcomes the invasion. As milord’s tongue tangles with hers, milord sends one hard, insistent hand roving from breast to hip and then under Lilian’s skirt to tightly grip one buttock. Heat pools below Lilian’s navel and throbs between her legs as her breasts firm under milord’s urgent caress. Tossed beverages, ruined silk, and the ever-present worry over unwitting stricture violations melt away under her increasing arousal. Her arms twining around milord’s neck, Lilian moves eagerly against the exploring hand as she relishes the stiffening of milord’s sex beneath her.
As suddenly as it began, milord’s erotic assault ceases. His hand slides free of her skirt as milord ends the kiss.
Five Warriors take it! They have arrived at the penthouse. Swallowing dismay, Lilian drops her hands to her lap. Milord’s eyes gleam wickedly as he breathes softly against her lips, “Before you leave me this eve, I will enjoy you in every manner a man can enjoy a woman.”
Every manner? Lilian’s heart races with anxiety even as her sex tightens and her jewel flares. Milord is not angered. Milord will not hurt me. Dazed by desire edged with trepidation, Lilian blindly follows milord from the transport, through the lobby, and into the riser. As the doors seal, milord commands, “Lilian, your mouth.”
Mouth? What? Oh. Her surprise betrayed by a sharply indrawn breath, Lilian drops gracefully to her knees, gently placing her slate bag on the floor.
Milord’s satchel settles next to Lilian’s. Milord is a hard ridge in his trousers. Shades’ Grace. Lilian enjoys this, and milord’s first passion is always the most powerful.
Tossing her heavy locks behind her shoulders, Lilian reaches for milord’s belt with one hand as she uses the other to scrape her nails lightly along milord’s trouser-constrained sex. The hard length jerks eagerly, summoning a sympathetic throb from Lilian’s cleft. As her fingers loosen the first fastener, Lilian cannot resist the temptation to tease milord as he so often teases her. Tilting her head, she gently puts teeth to the fabric-covered shaft.
Lucius’ sack tightens and the base of his spine knots at the intense sensation of Lilian’s teeth gently pinching his shaft through the taut fabric. As his rod jerks, Lucius fists Lilian’s hair and whispers harshly, “Woman.”
At milord’s command, Lilian releases milord from her mouth to free the hot, hard length from scarlet silk. Milord is magnificent. Repressing the desire to open her lips and engulf the tantalizing rod, Lilian moves carefully to the base of milord’s sex to lick and suck first one delicate orb, then the other. Gently cupping milord, Lilian briefly draws the sensitive sack into her mouth.
Lucius leans back against the riser wall, one hand gripping the rail, the other in Lilian’s silky locks. The riser stops and the door recesses. Lucius releases his grip on the rail to lock the carriage in place as Lilian begins to lick and kiss her way up the length of his erection. Her hot, wet mouth finds the sensitive head. Her tongue flicks and her lips feather kisses along the tip before she finally engulfs him, sucking and squeezing with her palate, tormenting with her tongue. One elegant hand continues to cup and caress his sack while the other wraps tightly around the base of his sex, squeezing in counterpoint to the heated suckling.
The pressure builds, pulling Lucius’ sack into his groin. At the sharp scrape of teeth the pleasure crests and bows Lucius’ back. His release explodes along his spine, turning his vision white as his sex spasms with
in in the hot, moist cavern of Lilian’s mouth. As the tide of sensation recedes and Lucius’ senses return, he recognizes the weight of Lilian’s head against his hip, an arm around his leg, a breast soft against his thigh. The woman’s breathing is light and rapid.
Lilian feels a caressing hand in her hair as she rests against milord, content even with the clamoring of her aroused body. She has no doubt milord will hold to his will. For the moment, naught is required of her.
Milord’s hand releases her hair as milord shifts and straightens, levering himself away from the riser wall. As milord reorders his trousers, Lilian collects her abandoned slate bag and rises. Her hips are caught by milord’s hands. Gazing up into the dark, heavy-lidded eyes, Lilian recognizes the demeanor of a man who has done intimate acts with a woman and is contemplating more. “Prepare a bath, Lilian. I will join you soon.”
»◊«
Examining the wine and small bites arrayed in his bedchamber, Lucius nods his approval. Sipping wine, he enjoys the view of the Great Crevasse while he strips. Within the Great Crevasse, where labor never ceases, sparkling lights rise to meet the bright stars in a limitless expanse.
His commerce garb abandoned on a convenient chair, Lucius shrugs into his robe, not bothering to belt it. Topping his glass and filling another, Lucius wanders into the freshening closet, where the sharp, tangy scent of the sea rises with the steam. Lilian, her hair in a loose topknot, leans along the tiled shelf that surrounds a tub as big as his bed, testing the water. A mist-green silk wrap swathes the swell of her hips and luscious buttocks, and a hint of gold chain peeps out from beneath the softly draped fabric.
Lucius has barely savored the view when Lilian turns, alerted to his presence by the slight hiss of the door or the shift in temperature. As Lilian starts to rise, Lucius shakes his head and joins her on the shelf, handing her a glass of wine. While Lilian sips, he tests the water and increases the flow of the hot water. Satisfied, Lucius turns back to his apprentice and finds her eyeing him uncertainly.
It is not unexpected. Lucius’ careful preparations have all met with trembling silence from his very obedient apprentice. Tucking a stray lock behind Lilian’s ear, he asks, “You have a question?”
Lilian’s tongue flickers against her lips in a nervous tell that Lucius finds increasingly endearing, mostly as it only occurs during intimacy. Swallowing a smile, Lucius waits patiently for Lilian’s response.
Curiosity and trepidation are blended in her expression. “Every manner, milord?”
Releasing his smile, Lucius pulls Lilian to him so her back rests against his chest. Leisurely caressing her breasts, Lucius is certain of the response even as he inquires, “Have you ever had it so?”
“No, milord,” Lilian responds evenly.
She is withholding. It is not unexpected. Placing a finger under the base of Lilian’s glass, Lucius pushes it toward her lips, “Then you may find it a little strange. Drink your wine.”
Taking a large gulp of wine, Lilian ignores the risk of intemperate behavior. She will hazard an unruly tongue. This night, tipsy is highly desired. As the wine spills warmth into her center, Lilian savors milord’s large, hard, warm frame as he surrounds her, holding her to his chest. Milord’s embrace is as comforting as the wine.
Lackwit. Milord will not hurt you. Another healthy swallow drops the glass by a third. Milord wills she drink it all. Even angered, milord has yet to hurt her. Despite Dean Joseph’s assurances, Lilian expected harsher treatment. Milord is ever inexplicable. Emptying the glass, Lilian accepts that milord’s will is likely to remain inexplicable.
“Halt the water, Lilian.” Milord’s voice pulls Lilian from her reverie. As she leans forward to operate the control, milord’s sharp tug releases the sarong.
Kneeling behind milord in the tub, Lilian runs a warm, soapy sponge across milord’s back, shoulders, and neck. Unable to resist, Lilian sets lips to milord’s throat as she soaps milord’s arms and torso. The action rubs her breasts against milord’s shoulder blades, causing the tips to stiffen. Effrontery, the not-tipsy part of Lilian’s mind whispers and is ignored.
Milord’s quietly growled “enough” validates Lilian’s mental warning. Pulling back, Lilian entreats, “Milord’s pardon, I…”
“Peace.” Lucius silences the entreaty as he finds one of Lilian’s wrists and pulls her forward, repositioning her so that she faces him, her knees on either side of his thighs. Lilian’s head is bowed, her lips slightly parted, the pebbled nipples softening under his gaze.
Grasping the back of Lilian’s head, Lucius forces her to face him. Her gray eyes are wide and uncertain. “Woman, you mistake my will.”
Milord’s kiss is thorough and devastating. With his free hand, milord torments first one nipple then the other, tightening and elongating the tips as they darken from rose to crimson under his skilled fingers. Releasing Lilian from his kiss, milord orders, “Arch your back.”
Hands filled with soap, Lucius begins at Lilian’s torso, stroking across her ribs and back, testing the firm flesh and silky skin that indicate a full recovery from the year’s trials. Once again finding her breasts, Lucius cups the elegant globes and teases the tight peaks. In response, Lilian’s breath becomes uneven, and her eyelids droop as she reaches to one side of the tub for support.
Lips curving in pleasure at Lilian’s reaction, Lucius widens his legs to further separate Lilian’s knees. His suds-filled hands traverse between her thighs and buttocks. Relishing the growing heaviness in his groin, Lucius continues to work Lilian’s crease until his attention wrings a desperate whimper from the young woman. Satisfied, Lucius rises and pulls Lilian with him.
Lying on the bed, milord leaning over her, Lilian cannot control the little movements of anticipation in her hips and buttocks. Milord closes over her, one hand stroking the length of her torso, hip, and thigh. Milord’s mouth starts at her lips and begins to nibble its way along her neck, then breasts. Milord’s clever fingers delve between her thighs, teasing, probing, and arousing her until she is writhing and surging against the contact. With the rising tide of desire, she begs, “Please, milord, please.”
There is a hard scrape of teeth against her sex, and then another as two fingers thrust deep inside her to bring her to pleasure in a wild rush of release.
Lost in the veil dropped by her shattering release, Lilian barely registers the strong hands turning her over. Something warm and slick is gently rubbed between her buttocks. A slippery finger slides inside the tight hole, gently probing, pressing, and stretching. Lilian moves slightly against the exploring digit, once again surprised by the sensitivity of the small opening.
Hands shift her hips, raising her. Milord’s voice softly instructs, “Hold the headboard. Lower. Voice what you must.”
»◊«
“Is it well with you?” Milord’s voice is accompanied by the gentle flick of a finger against her cheek.
Lilian is lying on her stomach contemplating this new experience, face turned away from the man lying on his side next to her. It was odd. It was not unpleasant, but the sensations were unexpected. Milord’s slow, shallow penetration was very different from his normal passionate drive. At the soft words and light touch, Lilian turns her head to regard milord. “Yes, milord. It was as milord indicated, a little strange.”
“Did you dislike it?” Lucius’ gaze searches Lilian’s face, looking for hints of distress. Lilian did not voice red gems. Lucius is not entirely certain that she would use her halt word, regardless of her distress.
“No, milord, it was not unpleasant, only strange. Were I used to such, it might be pleasant.” The solemn countenance holds confusion but no distress.
“And were you used to it, I would not require such restraint. It should not be too long.” At Lucius’ words, some of the confusion clears from Lilian’s eyes.
Seeing the change in expression, Lucius adds, “It will be a little while before you are open enough for full passion. Then you may find it very pleasant indeed.”
Visibly turning the thought over in her mind, Lilian responds, “Yes, milord, I believe it may be. May I retreat?”
At Lucius’ nod, Lilian retreats to the freshening closet, leaving Lucius to muse that he found the experience very pleasant indeed.
Returning from his visit to the freshening closet, Lucius discovers his apprentice curled up by the headboard, sarong wrapped above her breasts, sipping wine, and gazing out at the night. It is an unusual sight. Lilian usually avoids gazing out the windows. Something about the dramatic vista of the twinkling lights in the thirty-mile deep Vistrite Crevasse meeting the stars of the night sky troubles her. Joining her on the bed, Lucius inquires, “What think you?”
“ ‘Seek and ye shall find.’ ” At milord’s quizzical look, Lilian explains, “It is the inscription on an ancient piece of marble found in the ruins on Rimon Deuce. I once thought it meant that to achieve a goal, one must simply put forth the effort. Now I wonder if there is an entirely different meaning.”
“How so?” Milord toys with the warbelt’s clasp lock as he sips his wine.
Turning to face milord, Lilian replies, “We went seeking fraud at Desperation Mine and Refinery and found counterfeiters. We went seeking counterfeiters and found Mercium. Soon we will go seeking a new system to expand Serengeti wealth and opportunities.”
Turning to gaze out the windows again, Lilian concludes, “I wonder, what else we shall find?”
Dropping the clasp lock to pull Lilian into the circle of his arms, Lucius ponders the vast expanse. He had sought a prodigy for his stellar exploration consortium. Someone capable of assessing risk and rationalizing complexity at a level not required in two centuries. He has found something a great deal more.
“Are you among those who suspect there are others out there somewhere?” Lucius asks.