by james
“Tonight, you will come to me. Change into your peignoir and meet me in the hallway outside your room.”
“Why?” The question slipped out, but she felt it a legitimate one.
“Because I promised you something different.” He led her to the door. “Go now, and don’t be long or we’ll miss it.”
Sensing an adventure, her weariness forgotten and her curiosity piqued, Bridgett hastened to do his bidding.
Chapter Seven
Bridgett slipped quietly into the corridor, wishing for a candle to ease the darkness, but knowing he wouldn’t approve. Whatever the Count had planned for this evening, it appeared to involve the utmost secrecy.
She strained her eyes and ears, struggling to orient herself in the pitch-blackness. A hand gripped her elbow and she would have screamed if another hadn’t covered her mouth.
“Shhh…it’s only me.”
She relaxed at his familiar voice and nodded to let him know she understood the need for silence.
The Count removed his hand from her mouth, but held on to her arm. “Come with me, and don’t speak until I tell you it’s safe.”
She followed him down the hall and around a corner. They came to a stop, and she heard the sound of a key slipping into a lock. He pulled her inside the room and quietly closed the door behind him.
“You can talk, now, but nothing above a whisper.”
Bridgett nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes, milord.”
She felt him leave her side and heard him shuffling around, and then suddenly the glow from a small candle illuminated the room. She looked around.
The room was completely empty, except for a long, low sofa that faced one wall. Cobwebs draped the corners, and thick draperies that looked older than time, itself, covered the only window.
“What is this place?” She moved to stand beside him, near the wall.
“Sit down. I’ll need to blow out the candle, and I want you safely situated before I do.”
Bridgett sat, curling her legs up beneath her to warm her toes. Bare-footed and half-dressed was not the most intelligent of ways to be traipsing around a stone castle.
“Remember, nothing above a whisper.”
She nodded and watched as he blew out the candle, plunging them both back into darkness.
Her sense of hearing seemed to grow more acute, and she listened as he moved about, directly in front of her.
Suddenly, a tiny bit of light filtered into the room, and she gasped. As if by magic, a window appeared in the wall. A huge bed sat not three feet away, obviously in the adjoining chamber, and atop that bed were two of their guests, Camilla Secrest and Walter Andrews. Bridgett stared, transfixed.
The Count sat beside her, pulling her back into his arms.
“They cannot see us?” she asked.
“No, nor hear us, as long as we whisper. The glass is tinted.” He nibbled at her neck, and she shivered but did not look away from the spectacle before her.
“Surely they know we are here!”
“Probably. When the paneling is in place, it looks like a painting behind glass. Now that the paneling is removed, if they looked in this direction, they would know someone watches.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Surely they would object to having their privacy invaded in such a voyeuristic manner?
“They know about this room, and they know that someone could be watching. They don’t mind, believe me. Look.”
Beyond the glass, Camilla lay with her legs spread wide, Walter between them. He lowered his head to the juncture of her thighs and began to kiss and lap at her. Camilla grabbed his head and bucked her hips frantically, the look on her face one of pure ecstasy.
“What is he doing to her?” Bridgett squirmed and tried to stay focused on the action in front of her, but the Count had pushed up her nightdress to caress her thigh.
“He is tasting her, bella mia, the way you tasted me.”
His hand moved upward and she shifted, wanting him to touch her. Needing what she knew only he could provide.
“Do men like that? The taste of a woman?” Bridgett could not imagine it.
“Some do, some do not.”
Do you? She wanted to ask, but did not have the courage.
“For some, it is sweeter than the finest pastry, more intoxicating than the finest wine.”
He did. His words, his tone of voice, told her he described his own feelings.
A gentle brush of his hand against her inner thigh caused her to catch her breath. She held still, perfectly still, as his swirling fingers moved further and further, closer and closer. She was afraid. Afraid that he would stop. That he would back away as he’d done before and leave her aching.
In front of her, the scene had shifted. Camilla had turned over, on her knees now, with her full breasts swaying heavily as Walter covered her from behind. An image of her stepsister and Edward flashed through Bridgett’s mind, but she mentally shrugged it away. That time, that place, was not something she wished to remember.
The two lovers began to move slowly, each of them rocking back and forth. Bridgett watched their faces. Walter’s furrowed brow and tightly closed eyes. Camilla’s mouth, slightly open and glistening with moisture as she licked her lips. Their expressions said more than any words could convey.
“Does it excite you to watch them?” The Count ran his tongue across her earlobe, his voice husky with promise.
Bridgett moved in order to face him, but when she did, his seeking fingers slid upwards and she would have screamed had he not chosen that moment to kiss her. She moaned against his mouth while he lightly caressed her pussy, sliding through her wetness with just a whisper of pressure. Jolts of pleasure, one after the other, shot through her body.
He broke the kiss. “You are so hot and wet, bella mia. Your lovely body responds so sweetly to my words, to my touch.”
A desperate ache formed in her lower stomach, a tightness that begged for release, and she moved against his hand, lifting her hips from the sofa. He pressed the heel of his hand onto her mound, allowing her to thrust against it, and her toes began to tingle.
He removed his hand, and she grabbed for it blindly, unwilling to let him stop again, to leave her hanging unfulfilled.
“Stand up.”
Bridgett shook her head. “I cannot.”
“Let me help you.” He stood and took her hand, and she struggled to her feet.
“Can you stand?”
Her shaky legs barely supported her, but she nodded. “I think so.”
The Count sat back on the sofa, stretching his long legs out, one on either side of her.
“Now turn around. Face them, and undress.”
Bridgett slowly turned until she could see the other room’s occupants. They had changed positions again. This time, Walter lay on his back, while Camilla sat astride him. They were so close; Bridgett felt that they must surely be aware of her presence.
“Slip the straps of your gown down over your shoulders and let it fall by itself.”
She wanted to turn around, to see his eyes, but the scene before her held her enthralled. She could see the thick length of Walter’s penis sliding in and out as Camilla raised and lowered herself, her head tossed back, the tip of her pink tongue barely visible between full, red lips.
“Bridgett.”
The softly spoken word was a command, reminding her that he’d asked her to do something.
She reached up, slipping first one strap, then the other, from her shoulders. The light silk slid down, across her breasts, and came to a rest on the swell of her hips.
“Are you certain they can’t see?”
“Yes.”
She heard him move, and knew he would touch her even before his fingers traced a line down her spine, causing her to shiver and sway slightly on her feet.
The heat of his tongue replaced the touch of his hand, and her knees shook. Only his hands at her hips kept her steady. He kissed her waist, just above the line of silk, and she cl
osed her eyes. He nibbled at the flesh beneath her arm, and she moaned. He tugged at her nightdress and it slid past her hips to the floor, and she thought she would faint.
His hot breath against her back sent shivers of pleasure up her arms. He cupped her buttocks and explored them with his mouth, with his tongue. She swayed backwards, wordlessly asking for more.
When he stood up and pulled her against him, she could feel his hardness, his need.
“Watch them, bella mia.”
Camilla had moved from her position atop Walter, and now sat on her knees between his thighs. When she leaned forward and took him in her mouth, Bridgett felt pressure on her shoulders.
“Get down on your knees, Bridgett. Pleasure me as Camilla pleasures her lover.”
Her knees gave way and she sank to the floor. He moved to stand just to the front and side of her and released his breeches, pushing them down over his hips. His erect penis sprung free, and he took it in his hand, stroking it lightly while pulling her near.
“Take me in your mouth,” his voice was strained, urgent, “caress me with your tongue.”
She leaned close, breathing in his scent, a warm, musty odor that was not unpleasant. She took him in her fist and ran her tongue from base to tip, before opening her mouth and drawing him in. Swiftly. Deep.
He gasped and buried his fingers in her hair, holding her close.
Bridgett glanced beyond him. Camilla no longer moved with languid strokes. Her head bobbed up and down furiously, her nostrils flared. Walter held her hair back from her face and every detail could be plainly seen.
The Count held her hair back. She did not need to look to know that he was watching her, watching them.
Holding the base in her fist to keep him from going too far, she began to move, mimicking Camilla, sucking him in and stroking him with her tongue.
“Yes, bella mia,” he thrust forward, “yes.”
She felt him stiffen and knew, from the night before, what to expect. She took him a little deeper, sensing it would add to his pleasure.
He moaned, a low, agonizing sound that echoed in her ears and then she tasted him as he bucked against her with short, jerky thrusts.
He eased his grip on her hair, but did not release her. She caressed him with her tongue, gently, sensing he needed soothing. He stroked her cheek, then sank back on the sofa, dragging her up with him and pulling her into his arms.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered against her hair, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “Perfect.”
Bridgett snuggled close, enjoying the way he stroked her hair, content to hear his words of praise. Her body still tingled, and she longed for something that she could not name, but was thankful that tonight he did not seem inclined to leave her side.
He stroked her back until his breathing became slow and steady. When he stopped caressing her and breathed a heavy sigh, she knew he slept. Slowly, so as not to awaken him, she turned her head.
Someone had drawn what appeared to be a curtain over the opposite side of the glass. So it was true. They had known, and they had not cared. And if they knew someone could be watching, then they could probably guess who it was. The thought made her wonder how she would face them the next morning.
Thinking of the dusty cobwebs that decorated the room, Bridgett shuddered, thankful for the warm arms that held her tight. She moved closer, snuggling against him, and closed her eyes. Comforted by his scent, lulled by his steady breathing, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
* * * * *
Searing heat spread through his loins. Soft, moist flesh pressed against his lips. He turned his head, gasping for breath, but she moved with him. A whispered command, and he used his tongue the way he’d been taught. Flabby thighs quivered against his cheeks, at his groin.
He could feel her, the one who rode him, begin to tremble, her vaginal muscles pulling at him, tightening, and he prayed she would hurry for he was not far behind. If he achieved release before her, he would be punished. Severely.
He closed his eyes and lapped at the woman who straddled his face.
The hum of voices – how many were there tonight? – buzzed in his ears. Soft murmurs, low moans. And then he heard her.
“I don’t want to. Please don’t make me.”
Fear clawed at his stomach, tore at his heart. He turned his head again, but could not see her.
“It’s all right, Marie, I won’t hurt you.”
He struggled to rise, but thighs tightened against him, holding him down. He returned his attention to his task, wanting it to be over, trying to force the climax.
“Yesssss…”
Fiery liquid engulfed his cock and he bucked his hips, instinctively, obsessively. Unable to resist, his entire being suddenly focused on gaining his own satisfaction.
Closer.
The body over his face began to shudder. Musky juices bathed his face, dribbled down his chin. He hungrily drank them in.
They rolled off of him and he cried out. “No!”
So close.
His engorged penis jerked and spasmed and he rolled over, humping the mattress, desperate, driven.
“No!”
Marie.
He had to get up. Go to her. Make them stop. But he could not. He was too far gone, and the years of careful conditioning could not be overcome.
Tears flowed down his cheeks as he spilled his seed onto the soiled bedding, his sister’s screams of pain and terror mingling with his own savage cry of release.
“I’m sorry, Marie. I’m sorry. Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”
Vincent tossed his head, trying to block out the screams that seemed to go on and on, then bolted upright.
Sunlight streamed through the tall, narrow windows, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow.
A dream. But so real. His cheeks were damp. From the tears. He refused to look at the mattress as he tossed aside the quilts and slid from the bed.
He stalked across the room, naked, his fists clenched in anger. In frustration. He drew in a breath, forcing himself to calm down, drawing his carefully constructed cloak of indifference about him like a protective shield.
It worked. Almost. A bitter taste remained in his mouth.
Do men like that? The taste of a woman?
He shuddered and sank into a chair near the window, dropping his head in his hands.
More intoxicating than the finest wine.
More irresistible, for some, than Opium.
His hands shook as he reached to pull the chord to summon a servant. His entire body trembled, like an addict who’d gone far too long without.
* * * * *
Something tickled her nose.
She swiped at it, then snuggled down deeper beneath the quilts.
“Oh, sleepyhead, wake up.”
The singsong voice was soft, and this time something stroked her eyelids. She batted the air near her face. Someone giggled.
Opening her eyes, she squinted into the blinding sunlight that spilled into the room.
“Marie, what on earth are you doing?”
“I’m trying to get you to wake up.” Lady Marie waved a large ostrich plume in the air. “I thought you’d like to accompany me on a ride this morning.”
Bridgett sat up, pulling the covers with her to hide her state of undress, and glanced around. For a moment, she struggled to remember how she’d come to be in her own bed. She had a vague recollection of being carried in strong arms, of whispered reassurances and a gentle touch.
Her Count. He must have returned her to her chamber sometime during the night.
“What of your guests?”
“They left with the dawn, I’m afraid.” Marie swirled the feather in the air. “Now, are you going to stay in bed all day, or will you join me? It’s a gorgeous day.”
Bridgett wrinkled her nose at the idea of climbing onto a horse so soon after practically living on one for three straight days, but a quick glance out the window told her Marie was right. Brilliant sunlig
ht sparkled in an azure sky dotted with clouds that looked like cotton.
“I don’t have a riding dress.”
“Yes, you do.” Marie crossed to the large armoire and threw open the doors. “It’s probably chartreuse or pitch black, but I’m sure Vincent ordered one made for you the day you arrived… Yes. Here it is.”
Eyeing the deep red habit that Marie held up for her inspection, Bridgett shook her head. “How did he acquire so many new things in such a short period of time? We’ve only been here two days.”
“This castle is a great distance from, well, from everywhere. We’ve learned to become self-sufficient, and there are several excellent seamstresses within our employ.” Marie placed the outfit on the foot of the bed. “I’ll wait for you downstairs. Do hurry. I want to leave before Vincent discovers what we’re about and assigns five grooms to attend us.”
“I’ll hurry.” Bridgett agreed with a laugh.
She waited just until the door clicked shut behind Marie, then jumped from the bed. She would dress herself this morning.
Using water from the pitcher, she washed quickly, suddenly as anxious as Marie to be out of doors.
After slipping into a light, linen chemise and silk stockings secured with intricately embroidered garters, she put on the riding habit. Thankfully, the Count apparently held no preference for corsets. She could not imagine lacing herself into such a contraption, especially without assistance.
A pair of leather half boots completed her ensemble, and she paused to look in the enormous gilt mirror near the bed.
Her hair. Without someone to aid her, she could do little with it. The Count had thought of everything…except a bonnet.
She picked up a brush and attempted to untangle some of the knots, but she only succeeded in getting the bristles caught in the disheveled tresses. She yanked it through, her eyes tearing with both pain and frustration.
“Here. Let me.”
Bridgett jumped and spun around. “What are you doing here?”
The Count took the brush from her hand and turned her back to face the mirror. “In light of your anger towards me yesterday morn, I felt I should pay you a visit before I conducted my business today.”
She watched his reflection as he began to ease the bristles through her hair, gently working out the tangles.