The Cartel
Page 16
“Socraide’s Keeper is silent,” Helena announces as she reaches a hand down to assist Lilian in rising.
At the unexpected statement, Lilian searches her mother’s face for signs of distress and discovers sly delight. Maman is not speaking in riddles. She is referring to Virgil, Socraide’s Keeper at the Garden Center Warrior Ring and the highest ranked Socraide Prelate in the Third System.
“Virgil is silent,” Lilian repeats skeptically.
“Yes daughter,” Helena smiles. “It chokes him.”
“Maman?” Lilian is beginning to share her mother’s delight.
Socraide’s Keeper Virgil has been virulent in his outcry against Lilian and her family. His vituperative tirades have done much to harden sentiment against the disgraced household.
Even before the ruin, Lilian did not care for the haughty and narrow-minded prelate. His influence is unquestioned. After Jonathan’s Lord Prelate, Virgil is the most influential prelate in the Third System. It would require an exceedingly powerful force to silence the arrogant man.
“Virgil is on the wrong side of Monsignor Lucius’ will,” Helena is all but grinning.
Milord!
After a moment, Lilian nods, “Monsignor does not care to have his will challenged. It was foolish for Virgil to be openly defiant.”
The events of her Second Day are never far from Lilian’s thoughts. Being on the wrong side of milord’s will is an unpleasant location, one she does not wish to revisit. The notion that Virgil is suffering such discomfort is beyond pleasing. “Maman, I believe Virgil will continue to choke. It is not pleasant to be on the wrong side of monsignor’s will.”
With a nod of agreement, Helena admonishes, “Make haste Lilian. It will not serve to be late to the Cartel.
»◊«
Lilian dislikes using the expensive Serengeti concierge for her apparel maintenance. The long bells at the Cartel do not offer opportunity to seek more affordable service. A loosened waist had this skirt sitting too low on her hips in defiance of milord’s instruction on skirt length.
Exiting the riser shortly after first bell, Lilian notes a group of associates lingering in the Fountain Café. Five Warriors take it! It is Martin and his court. Lilian’s stomach knots as they go silent at her passing.
With an internal wince, Lilian pays the concierge while she mentally scrambles to assess the threat of Martin and his sycophants. I am the sum of my ancestors. Martin and his court have abandoned the café for the Blooded Dagger risers. Lilian watches as one of them enters the newly arrived carriage. With a malicious smirk, she sets the riser to hold.
As each new carriage arrives, another member of the court enters and holds until forced to release by the urgent chiming of the system. Lilian stands stoically as Martin and all seven members of his court take a carriage. As the last riser closes, Lilian walks to the Commons risers. Commons will be slower than using the Blooded Dagger risers, but the only person expecting Lilian is Chrys. He will no more betray her in this than she would him.
»◊«
A warning chirp from her slate pulls Lilian from her tasks. It lacks but a quarter of period until sixth bell. Greeting Mr. George in the lobby as sixth bell chimes, Lilian releases her altered skirt to the driver. Within moments the tall figure of milord strides across the lobby.
Ignoring Lilian as she loosens her hair, milord employs his slate for the brief transit from Serengeti Headquarters. Exiting the transport, Lilian follows milord into the penthouse. At milord’s abrupt halt, Lilian is forced to skip to the side to avoid collision. Milord’s quick glance warns that her gracelessness was noticed.
As a door recesses, Milord turns from Lilian and tosses back, “Await me on the bed.”
Ignoring the chill of her nude flesh, Lilian works her assignment queue. She is seated on left side of the ornate bed, a pillow at her back, her slate resting on her raised knees. It is not the most productive position for work. It is the best she is able to devise. Milord’s will was explicit.
At the quiet hiss of the chamber door recessing, Lilian sets aside her slate, lowers her knees and curls them to the side so that she may face milord. She does not attempt to rise at milord’s entrance. She is as milord commanded. Expecting passion, Lilian discovers rising irritation.
“What do you, Lilian?” Milord’s tones are clipped and hard. Milord’s jacket is in one hand, tunic collar loosened.
“Milord’s, will,” Lilian offers tentatively. Did she misunderstand milord’s instruction?
“My will, Lilian?” Milord’s tones have moved from clipped to silken. Milord’s irritation is turning to anger.
Mounting the dais, milord looms over Lilian. He grasps her chin to turn her face up and bring her to her knees. “Think you, I wish you unclad and upon my bed for purposes of commerce or pleasure?”
Shades save me. She has erred. It was a game. Milord wished her to spend the half period speculating on the form milord’s pleasure would take. She has failed milord’s will.
Slipping from the bed, Lilian kneels at milord’s feet, head bowed. “I beg milord’s pardon. I failed to comprehend milord’s true will in this.”
Lilian’s contrition is greeted with silence. The silence stretches and Lilian’s tension builds. Honor knows not fear. He is going to beat me.
Milord shifts. Honor endures. Lilian forces herself not to flinch.
Milord descends the dais and moves away.
In the waning light, Lucius considers the brilliant tableau of sparkling lights that emerge in the depths of the Crevasse.
Does she dare play counterfeit obedience games with him? Naked on his bed and in no way prepared to serve his pleasure. The correctly attentive countenance held no more passion than an eighth bell attendance.
The sudden flicker of understanding in Lilian’s gray eyes was followed by quickly masked dismay. The nude woman kneeling at his feet was the picture of contrition. Tempering his anger with intellect, Lucius acknowledges the challenge of Lilian’s inexperience. He knew when he designed this arrangement that she lacked preparation for her role as Cartel apprentice. It was error, not defiance. Error she will be offered the opportunity to correct.
“Lilian, attend me,” milord demands.
Relieved that the ominous silk has left milord’s voice, Lilian rises. Milord is facing the windows, standing near his favored reading chair. Halting a pace behind and to the side of milord’s left shoulder, Lilian awaits milord’s will.
The hand holding the jacket extends toward her. Accepting the elegant garment, Lilian executes rapid analytics. Milord wishes his pleasure. Milord must disrobe. She is to assist milord. Recall of her second day at the Cartel flashes. Error and humiliation. No, not again. This day.
Lilian swiftly surveys the chamber. The panel for the servitor’s cabinet is well hidden. Carefully, Lilian inquires, “I beg milord’s pardon. I am unable to discern the servitor’s cabinet.”
Without turning from the emerging abyss, milord responds coldly, “Behind you. Beyond the watercolor of Socraide’s Falls.”
With the jacket carefully placed for collection, Lilian returns to find milord has turned from the windows, his face set in harsh lines.
The tunic. The tunic next. Honor endures.
Eager to avoid the darkly brooding gaze, Lilian turns her attention to the fastening at the cuff of milord’s right sleeve. Milord’s wrist is warm under her fingers. With that thought, Lilian is suddenly, sharply aware the large, powerful frame so close to hers. Heat flames in Lilian’s center and forms a pleasantly aching knot. With desire comes the beginning of inspiration.
Forcing her attention to milord’s left cuff, Lilian is drawn by the sight of the large, long-fingered hand that can wrest such pleasure from her. Licking suddenly dry lips, Lilian raises her eyes to the column of milord’s throat and the loosened tunic collar. As she releases the fastenings of the soft linen, milord’s scent assails her. The tangy scent of the sea mixes with the special, musky scent that is uniquely milord.
Milord has not moved. Milord will not assist her.
Honor acts as duty commands. Lilian leans into milord, her breasts graze milord’s chest as she reaches around his waist to free the last of the tunic. She cannot mask her pleasure in the contact as her nipples contract and her breath catches. Her sharply indrawn breath is echoed by milord. Easing back, Lilian glances up at milord. Heat is joining the darkness in milord’s gaze.
Contrition. Milord enjoys active contrition.
Dropping her eyes and swallowing, Lilian slides her hands along milord’s shoulders, pushing the tunic back and down. Beneath her fingers, milord’s skin is hot satin over steel. The pleasant knot in her groin blossoms into insistence.
I am the sum of my ancestors. Ignoring her kindling senses, Lilian crosses to the cabinet to dispose of the tunic. When she returns, milord has settled into the chair. A quick glance reveals milord’s eyes are heavy lidded, his mouth relaxed.
Milord is pleased. You can do this. It does not need to be like the last time.
The knowledge emboldens Lilian as she kneels. Pulling milord’s right boot free, Lilian lowers milord’s silk encased foot to her thigh. Inhaling, she sends her hands inside milord’s trouser leg and slowly rolls the silk sock free. Resting milord’s bared foot on her thigh, Lilian drops the sock into the boot.
Milord’s toes flex and then trace the crease at her thigh and hip before tickling the red-gold curls of her sex. Lilian’s core tightens as she determinedly collects milord’s other foot and repeats her actions. Milord’s will. Milord’s will.
From under her lashes, Lilian steals another peek at milord and discovers the heat has been joined by predatory anticipation. Confidence rising, Lilian carefully lowers milord’s feet to the floor before collecting the boots and carrying them to the cabinet.
Milord remains seated at her return, not allowing her to remove his trousers. Confusion yields to understanding. Milord has not granted her pardon. Sinking to her knees at milord’s feet, thighs resting on her calves, Lilian bows her head and awaits milord’s will.
After a moment, milord rises and voices, “Continue.”
I am the foundation of my family.
Lifting from her calves and straightening her back, Lilian reaches for the belt that is just below her chin. Pulling it free from the loops, Lilian carefully coils the supple length of leather. She is at a loss. Before Lilian can form a question, milord pulls the curled length from her hand and places it on the reading table.
Milord’s sex is a hard ridge straining against trousers. She can do this. It will not be like before. Gathering breath and conviction, Lilian releases the trouser fastenings. She exhales against the bulge of milord’s sex as her fingers skim his flanks. Milord’s sharp sound of pleasure elicits an echoing throb at the juncture of her thighs.
Milord is pleased.
Slowly lowering milord’s trousers, Lilian sends another exhalation against the cobalt blue silk causing the swollen contents to jerk in reaction. Milord yields another sound of pleasure and Lilian’s jewel swells in response.
Returning from disposing of the trousers, Lilian kneels again. Leaning as close as she can without pressing against milord, Lilian slips her hands inside the silk briefs. Slowly she slides them down milord’s hips and then thighs releasing milord’s rigid shaft. Resisting the urge to nuzzle milord’s erection, Lilian continues to slide her palms down the long muscular columns of milord’s legs. Freeing the small handful of silk from milord’s feet, Lilian begins to rise when milord’s voice halts her.
“Leave it.”
Releasing the silk to the floor, Lilian sends her hands back up the length of milord’s legs. She savors the texture of the crisp hair of calves and thighs, warm skin and hard muscles as much as the tension that signals milord’s increasing passion. Gripping the taut buttocks to aid her balance, Lilian gently licks then suckles one delicate globe then the other. Guttural sounds escape milord inciting an answering pulse in her swollen jewel.
Ceasing to tease milord’s sack, Lilian assaults the long hard length of milord. She feathers kisses from the base to the tip, and then continues to tease with long strokes of her tongue. Milord’s hands fist in her hair. Obedient, Lilian engulfs the swollen head with her mouth and then as much of the hard length as she can manage. Sucking and squeezing with tongue and palate, Lilian revels in the taste and texture of milord’s arousal.
“Lilian,” the rasp of milord’s voice is accompanied by hands cupping her head, tugging her hair. Lilian carefully releases milord and raises her eyes to milord’s passion drenched regard.
“Spread on the bed.”
Centered on the bed, legs parted, her arms curled by her head Lilian is the picture of wanton abandon. The once chill flesh is flushed with passion. Moisture glistens in the delicate folds of her sex. Lilian’s gray eyes are dark, heavy lidded and expectant. She is very much as Lucius wished to view her when he entered the chamber. He had intended to take his leisure, enjoying her slowly and thoroughly. Instead, Lilian has explored him at a leisurely pace. The tentatively seductive gestures have aroused him to a fever pitch.
Kneeling between the spread thighs, Lucius carefully strokes a finger along Lilian’s opening, delighting at the warm liquid that flows at his touch. It will take but a few breaths to bring Lilian to whimpering, writhing need.
A small sob escapes Lilian as milord surges into her. Rising in response, Lilian wraps her legs and arms around the well-muscled form, arching into the waves of pleasure that surge through her until the last, final wave peaks and crests.
“…personal servitor,” roused by milord’s movement away from her, and the suddenly chill air against her cooling skin, Lilian struggles to comprehend. Turning and lifting to one arm to face the recumbent man, Lilian requests, “I beg milord’s pardon, I did not hear.”
Milord’s relaxed countenance holds a teasing light, “I voiced that you are an entrancing but impractical personal servitor. Over a half period to disrobe cannot be sustained.”
How to respond? What to voice? Practical considerations surface as Lilian struggles to adapt to milord’s latest humor. “If milord pleases, may I retreat?”
“Tend to your need,” Lucius agrees. As the lovely derriere reaches the freshening closet, a new thought occurs. “Lilian, you are not done as my personal servitor this eve. Prepare a bath. Use the oil in the amber vial.”
The scent of the sea greets Lucius as he enters the freshening chamber. Lilian is stretched along the tile shelf, her hair in a loose topknot. As she leans over to test the water, Lucius is treated to a view of her elegant back and delectable ass.
At his entrance, Lilian releases her interest in the bath water and slides to the floor, kneeling. Her thighs rest on her calves, her head is bowed.
What does she? Striding forward Lucius demands, “What do you, Lilian?”
“Have I milord’s pardon?” Lilian does not raise her head. Voice, demeanor and question are exactly as prescribed by stricture.
Shades take it. She owns not the slightest understanding of nuance or custom. Did she, she would not remind him of his earlier ire. Their shared release should be all the absolution she requires.
Milord’s fingers lightly graze Lilian’s temple, “Peace woman. You have my pardon. Mind the bath water.”
With that milord disappears into the personal needs cabinet leaving Lilian to scramble to contain the water that threatens to overflow the tub.
Sevenday 7, Day 2
“There is one other matter, Lilian,” milord’s fingers steeple as he gazes at her across the black expanse of desk.
Eighth bell attendance was dedicated to the counterfeiters and milord’s intention to experiment with the results of their larceny. There is no anger in milor
d’s aspect. The steepled fingers are an ill omen.
I am the sum of my ancestors.
“How is it you exceeded yesterday’s respite allotment?” Milord inquires.
Startled, Lilian performs the required sums in less than blink. It is as milord voices, she exceeded her allotment by almost seven minutes. A minute or two might be excused. Seven cannot be. Rimon condemn him. Martin’s game at the risers has her caught.
Slates are carried everywhere as a security-privilege measure but also to monitor movement. Lilian rarely consumes her respite allotment, personal needs and the occasional counsel with Rebecca or Chrys do not require many moments. Yesterday’s delay at the risers had not troubled her. She had failed to account for milord’s sixth bell attendance requirement and the preparation that eroded her respite. Commonly, milord’s requirements allow her to prepare after sixth bell.
I am the foundation of my family.
“I beg milord’s pardon. I was inattentive. There was some trouble with the risers yesterday, after midday. I failed to account for it.” Truly, there was naught she could have done. Lilian executed no other respites between the riser incident and preparing for milord. Does milord wish, he may indict her for an excessive respite period. The interlude with Martin consumed almost twenty minutes.
Lucius is well aware of the riser incident and that Martin and his set were at its source. The arrogant protégé is beginning to prove as annoying as his mentor. It matters not. Lilian dare not be inattentive to such readily discerned infractions.
“You must learn more diligence in this. For the remainder of the sevenday, you will employ no more respite than required for your personal needs.” Lucius knows that Lilian rarely consumes her respite allotment. The recorded penalty will appear more severe than it is.
“Yes milord.” Lilian acknowledges. It could have been a great deal worse.
“You may go. Return at midday.” With the dismissive words, milord returns to his techno group.