by O. M. Grey
Before I could formulate any words one way or the other, she slid to the floor between my knees. After using it for a brief, coquettish smile, her warm, soft mouth covered me completely.
She licked all around my shaft, and I moaned out loud despite myself. Damn the signal I gave to Cecil!
Avalon. Avalon. Don’t forget about Avalon.
She slid her mouth around me until her lips touched the base, and then she slowly withdrew, flicking her tongue on the underneath side as she did. It was ecstasy. Over and over again, sucking gently as she reached the tip before plunging down again and again and again. I threw my head back to mask the fangs that had descended in my excitement. No killing my beloved’s aunt. At least not today.
Just as I was about to come, as if she could tell, she stopped suddenly.
“My turn,” she said, and she climbed on top of me. I was mostly reclined on the chaise longue by this time. She gathered up those chartreuse folds, exposing (yes! chartreuse!) stockings that extended up to her thighs, straddled me, and lowered herself onto my now throbbing member. She slid down with ease and suddenly chartreuse didn’t seem like such an awful color. She rode me expertly. When I tried to guide her hips with my hands, she took them none too gently and thrust them up over my head, holding them there while she rode me until she came. Twice. Each time I came close to climax, she would slow down and prolong it.
Experience. Beats virginal blushing every time.
Cecil would be busting in any moment.
I bucked up into her and it was she who moaned this time, but she wouldn’t relinquish control. She rode me harder and harder until my knees buckled. A bouncing chartreuse delight, that woman was. She and I cried out in climax together, just as Cecil opened the door.
He didn’t even blink. He had seen much worse.
“Urgent matter needs your attention, m’lord,” he said.
Breathlessly, I responded. “I’ll be there presently, Cecil.”
I fully expected Emily to cover her face in shame, but she sat proudly there on top of me, still moving slightly, without the least bit of embarrassment.
“Thank you, Cecil,” she said, smiling. “That will be all.”
Amazing woman, I decided. I underestimated her.
I think I have a new favorite color.
Chapter 10
Thomas had the brougham waiting at the curb. I had dressed in my finest black brocade dining jacket, trimmed with silver buttons, and deep red and black brocade waistcoat. The combination complemented my fair complexion. Although I rarely wear color of any kind, red was reserved for special occasions, and tonight was very special, indeed. A black ascot held with an opulent pearl pin completed the finery along with black gloves and a top hat. I stepped into the coach anxious to meet Avalon at The Wellington in Piccadilly, seven o’clock. It was a beautiful Monday evening in London. Chilly, but not too cold. Dim and grey. The streets were full of people milling about, and I watched them with uncommon joy. It must be a symptom of love. Or perhaps love coupled with complete coital satisfaction. Emily had left without even a kiss goodbye. Exactly as I liked it with such women. No attachments or pretense of affection.
Just in, orgasm, out. Perfect.
Since I had arrived about ten minutes early, I stood outside The Wellington with my hands resting on my walking stick just watching London night life. There were still fewer people out than usual, but many more than a few nights ago. No doubt they kept out of the darker areas of London like Gray’s Inn anyway, but here in Covent Garden, they felt safe enough. Several groups were lingering outside the restaurant, no doubt waiting for a seat. Cecil had sent word early this morning for a reservation. Although there was hardly need, for every restaurant in London had room for a viscount at any given time. One of the many perks of being well-born.
I thought singularly about my mannerisms to Avalon. What to show her and what to hide. I had to show her intelligence, for she respected the learned. Had to play down the title, as such things were of no importance to her. If anything, she found nobility and the well-born elitist, which, of course, we were. No games. I had to be brutally honest and open. Hopefully, that would be a pleasant surprise for her, one who didn’t take to such nonsense as fleeting fashion and flirting games. From her, I had to evoke compassion, respect, and perhaps a bit of intrigue. The usual to hide, of course, but I would not be as forward as I normally was. No, I had to be humble and proper. This was a different kind of woman than that of the scrumptiously chartreuse Emily Bainbridge. I still smelled her on me, and that was enough to have to adjust my trousers on the sly outside this quite crowded restaurant. I quickly started thinking about Henry and Catherine, picturing them together, as much as memory would allow, trying to anger myself so as not to linger on thoughts of Emily. His fat frame gyrating on top of her. Of course, he was not fat until long after he had shamed and discarded her, but that’s how I chose to remember it anyway.
Indeed. That image never fails to wash all amorous thoughts away.
A simple black carriage drawn by a single grey mare pulled up, and Avalon stepped out. She handed the driver a few coins from her black satin bag. She was a vision, looking like a fine woman again, not like the ruffian boy of yesternight. She was again dressed all in black. My color of choice as well, but unusual for a woman. Then, this was quite an unusual woman. This dress, simpler than the last but no less lovely, was black and white striped, double breasted, with black ribbon accents down each side of the bodice and around her wrists. The ribbon also criss-crossed up her arm, inspiring images of a corset. Well done. A small, ruffled top hat was pinned in place atop her ebony curls and adorned with a matching ribbon around its belly. The ensemble’s black full skirt was adorned with the same black and white striped pattern draped in two frilly accents across the top as well as in three rows along the bottom, creating a flirty ruffle.
The bottom tip of the skirt brushed the ground as she walked, properly covering her ankles, although I had caught a scandalous peek when she had emerged from the carriage.
Bowing to her, I offered my arm. She took it, as was proper.
“Good Evening, Miss Bainbridge,” I said, tipping my hat to her.
“Good Evening, Lord York. Lovely night, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed. Might I say that you look beautiful tonight?”
“Thank you,” she said politely. “That is a fine suit you have as well.”
It was a start.
“Shall we?” I asked, as I led her inside. The interior ambiance of The Wellington reflected my intentions: dark and romantic. Scores of couples huddled around small, candlelit tables, laying out a carpet of twinkling lights before us.
“Lord York,” the maitre d’ said. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Always a pleasure, Alfred. I trust you got Cecil’s request this morning.”
“I did, m’lord, but you know you need no reservation here.”
See.
“Of course, but one likes to be polite,” I replied.
“Indeed, m’lord.”
“Alfred, this is Miss Avalon Bainbridge,” I said indicating my lovely dinner date.
“Pleasure, Miss.”
“How do you do?” Avalon said.
“We have a succulent lamb tonight m’lord, and the goose is top notch.”
“Excellent. We look forward to a fine meal.”
After this brief exchange of pleasantries, the maître d’ showed us to our table. We wound through a maze of succulent dishes, both on and at the tables. Avalon walked in front of me, and I was a mixture of pleased and disappointed to see that her black bustle was merely a cinching of some material, not a bustle at all really. It was good, though, as it would keep my mind on the matter at hand and not on her... bustle. The maître d’ pulled out Avalon’s chair, and I took my own seat across from her and regarded the menu.
Avalon sat quietly, playing the perfect lady. So she did know a thing or two about society.
Once the waiter came and left
with our order, she broke her silence.
“Thank you for joining me this evening, Lord York, I know it was quite forward of me to invite you.” Her black-gloved hands rested properly in her lap. Mine reached for the wine glass and fiddled with its stem. I was singularly intrigued as to where this evening would lead.
“Not at all, Miss Bainbridge. I am delighted to meet with you.”
“Please, do call me Avalon.” She showed no sign of shame or anxiety, just the opposite. Her shoulders were back, lower back arched in a rather scrumptious manner as it caused her breasts to be more pronounced. I didn’t mind. Not one bit.
“Only if you call me Arthur,” I said smiling, thrilled that it was she who suggested the familiar this time. I noticed a rather heavy gold chain disappear down her bodice. That must be Victor’s vampire detector.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat for a moment, but then obliged.
“Very well, Arthur. I wanted to apologize for my rudeness since I met you. I am not used to the company of men. Well besides Victor, but he doesn’t count as a man, does he? He’s my partner and my tenant, you see, so there’s that.”
This was a great start to what sure was to be an exciting evening.
“Allow me to apologize as well, Avalon. I was perhaps too forward on the airship. A lady of your standing deserves much more respect, and I intend to give it.” I could play nice, too.
“You’re very kind,” she said, bowing her head to me.
“You look quite lovely this evening, although I suppose that is not unusual for you.”
She looked down at her hands and smiled, but she didn’t say anything. Flattery and compliments didn’t work on this woman. If anything, it put her on guard.
My previous assessment was correct, it seems. No games of flirtation or flattery. Honesty.
Forthright honesty. I’ll just stick with the truth, more or less, and just leave out some tiresome details.
“I was actually very glad you called,” I said to her. “I wanted to continue the conversation from last night. You see, I wasn’t exactly honest about something, and I feel inexplicably comfortable with you. Isn’t that strange?”
This caught her attention. She traced her neck with her hand, no doubt fingering the chain of that contraption hidden beneath her jacket. How she would work that into the conversation, I was anxious to find out.
The waiter approached with a bottle of wine. Deep red, just as I liked my drinks. He poured me a sample. I swirled it and then put my nose into the glass and smelled it. It had a complex bouquet, a mixture of a reglisse and a woody aroma, just a hint of cassis with an intensely corpulent density. Quite nice. I tasted it, and it immediately filled my senses with its hearty flavor. I swirled the dark liquid around my tongue and reveled in its full-bodied flavor before swallowing. The only thing better would be blood, itself. I approved it with a nod, and he poured us both a glass.
“To... new friends,” I said. I had to get her off her guard.
“New friends,” she replied, and we both sipped. It indeed was a fine wine.
The waiter bowed and left after a second approving nod from me. He had waited to be sure Avalon didn’t find it disagreeable. So formal. Then I returned my attention to Avalon.
“You were saying something about not being honest?”
She was curious. Good.
“Of course. I was indeed out for a stroll to satisfy my morbid curiosity last night, as I indicated. However, I led you to believe that I didn’t believe in such monsters as that the police claim did these murders. As I just assumed you would find such things preposterous. The truth is, I do, actually, believe in them. I feel I can tell you this, dear Avalon, because I now know that you believe as well. As you likely are well aware, one must take care when voicing such beliefs in our society. I imagine it will be a relief to share my thoughts out loud, if you’ll indulge me.” I added a little nervous laugh at the end for effect. It worked.
“Of course,” she said. The tension in her shoulders melted away with a sigh, and she was at once more comfortable with me. “Why do you believe?”
“Well,” here’s where the pity begins “I’m an orphan because of a”–I lowered my voice considerably here, mostly for effect–“vampire. My father, you see.” It’s true enough.
Her eyes widened in horror, but she quickly composed herself, as all fine women of this society are experts at doing, and took another sip of her wine. A rather large sip. More of a gulp, really.
“How do you know that was the cause of death?” She patted her top lip with a napkin ever so delicately and then looked at me earnestly, waiting for my answer. Her mouth formed that perfect, adorable “o,” and I almost forgot what I was saying.
“I was there. I witnessed it.” Again. Truth. At least partial truth. “Of course no one believed me, as I was much younger than I am now. The doctors said consumption, for there was so much blood, and father had been coughing of late. What other explanation was there?”
“Oh dear!” she said, “And your mother?”
“Oh, nothing as exciting as all that. She died in childbirth. Commonplace, really.”
“Me, too,” she said. This time she leaned forward towards me a little in commiseration. I could see the compassion in her eyes. Two down.
This was going to be easier than I thought.
“To top it all off, I have a rare disorder, you see. Rather embarrassing actually. It is why I wear gloves all the time.” I held up my hands awkwardly, displaying my feigned shame only but briefly on my face “I won’t bore you with clinical details, but it’s called Cutaneous Porphyria, an affliction of the skin. It’s what makes me so pale, you see. The sun can burn me bright red in a matter of minutes, like one who had fallen asleep in it for hours. Blister sometimes, too.
Ironically”–nervous laugh–”it’s known as the vampire disease. I was teased mercilessly as a child. Children can be quite ruthless and cruel.”
Avalon looked quite sad at my piteous tale, but she believed.
If there’s anything I know, it’s women.
“Not polite dinner conversation, that. On to more pleasant conversation. Now. We are friends, aren’t we?” I said. “You know my darkest, most embarrassing secret. You’re like the big sister I never had.” Well, not for centuries, anyway.
“We are friends, dear Arthur.” She reached across the table and laid her gloved hand upon mine. “Thank you for your openness! It's quite refreshing, actually. Something real instead of all the polite stuffiness. Poor, dear Arthur. So we have more in common: Arthurian-legend obsessed fathers and both orphans, as well.”
“You, too?” I asked incredulously, although I already knew the full story from Emily. Ahh Emily. I adjusted my trousers and returned my attention to Avalon, my beloved. After all, sex wasn’t everything. Right? At least I can tell myself that for tonight. I have been cursed with the body (and therefore sexual appetite) of a teenage boy forever. It can’t be helped.
“Yes. My mother died in childbirth like yours. My father died several years back as well.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, putting a grave expression on my face.
“No. It’s fine,” she said with a wave of her hand. “It’s been a long time. I’m used to being alone now.”
“And you never married?”
“Never did.” She sipped her wine.
I stayed quiet for a moment, knowing the question would ask itself, as it was so uncommon for a woman, especially a woman of good birth, to remain unmarried. She likely has had this conversation often, having to explain why she was different. I’m certainly not one to judge, and I’m certainly not going to press her for an answer.
“My choice,” she said finally. “Never much interested in romance. Now I’m too old for such nonsense.” She laughed and drank the last of her wine. She must be getting her courage up for something. Perhaps her instructions were to feign seduction. Perhaps that’s how she would get the locket-contraption out from under her bodice. Then, just
when I’d get to her corset, she’d jump up ashamed with herself. It could work. I refilled her glass with wine.
“I rent rooms for a living in a modest house in Baker Street,” she continued. “Mostly business clientele. It’s how I met Victor. He’s an inventor, reminded me of my father. He invented strange contraptions as well.”
“Contraptions?” I queried.
“Yes. Bizarre mechanical... experiments, for lack of a better word. Victor tinkers with all sorts of things. Steam-powered. Clockwork. Science and alchemy, too, sometimes. I don’t understand most of it, but I am greatly fascinated by it.”
“How interesting,” I said, taking another sip of my wine. “I should like to see one someday.”
Especially if that would get me inside her house.
She reached inside her collar and pulled out the locket. I can’t believe I led her right into the opening she needed, like a novice schoolboy! She was going to test me right here in the restaurant! I hadn’t convinced her yet!
Don’t open it! Don’t open it! I thought fiercely, keeping my face completely relaxed. Not even a twinge of anxiety was betrayed upon my features. Three centuries of practice. My full power behind this thought, attempting to compel her, but it had no effect whatsoever on this remarkable woman, which, of course, made me even more enthralled with her.
This enchantment might just be the end of me.
Still, she didn’t open it, but rather got up and walked over to me, winding it as she did so.
She was saying something about a family heirloom, trying to pass it off as one of her father’s inventions, as bizarre as the appearance of it was, but all my attention was on that locket. Perhaps it wouldn’t work! Victor had said it hadn’t been tested. I did have a reflection, after all, and this restaurant was rather dark. Still. I couldn’t take the chance. Break it! That’s what I must do!
Break it. If I couldn’t compel her, at least I could use my will to alter matter, albeit minimally.
But in this case, it could work.
With all my supernatural mind power, I focused it all on that watch-sized gadget. Knowing there was a mirror inside, that would be the easiest thing to break, I pictured it cracked. Not just cracked, shattered in a million pieces.