Perfect Knave

by Kress, Alyssa

  Emile slid her a black glance. "Oh, really?"

  "In truth." Lucy dropped her hands. "I do not have any control over this c-curse. I do not do it on purpose!"

  He sat down, his regard of her cynical. "Oh, I believe that."

  "'Tis true!"

  Emile shoved his foot into his boot. "You have complete control."

  "No!"

  Silent, Emile reached for his second boot.

  Lucy was aghast. He actually thought she'd done this to him on purpose!

  Emile rose to his feet. He stamped one foot and then the other, shoving his boots fully home. Then, feet spread, he looked at Lucy. "You have control. You have so much control that you could cure me, did you wish."

  Lucy's mouth opened. His words caused a strange sensation to whisper through her. "I...could cure you?"

  "Um hm."

  "No..." The strange sensation, not unpleasant, intensified. "I do not know how."

  "Ah." Emile crossed his arms over his chest. An odd smile curved his lips. "But I do."

  "You do."

  "Uh huh."

  Across a few feet of grass and sand, they stood and looked at each other. The strange sensation inside Lucy seemed to lift her, light, right off the ground. "Do you think—? Could you show me how?"

  Emile looked down. He kicked the heel of one boot against the toe of the other. "You have to truly want it."

  "Oh, but I do!"

  "It won't be easy." He shot her an assessing look. "You'll have to listen to me. You'll have to do everything I say."

  "I will."

  His eyes narrowed. "Think before you promise. You'll have to obey my every word. No question, no protest."

  Sucking in her lips, Lucy came back down to earth a bit. He could make this difficult. But— "I do not want to have...injured you. I will do it."

  For a long while he looked at her, as if judging her sincerity. Then he straightened. "Very well." He pointed. "On your knees."

  "What?"

  He threw up his hands. "I knew it."

  "Wait!" Lucy held out a hand. He was right. As unreasonable as the request, she had promised. Anything he said. No questions. Picking her skirt up out of the way, she quickly lowered to her knees. "Look," she begged him. "I kneel."

  He looked. Lucy was pleased by his expression of surprise. He hadn't thought she would do it. But before she could grow too complacent, Emile turned fully toward her. He waved a hand. "Now unlace your bodice."

  "What?" As soon as the damning word was out of her mouth, Lucy snapped her teeth together.

  This time, however, Emile gave her time to consider the matter. He leaned on one hip and their eyes met.

  So, that is how he intends this 'cure' to work. Lucy bit her lip, wondering if she was willing to go so far.

  "Well?" Emile lifted his chin.

  Lucy ignored the peremptory gesture. She simply looked into his eyes. She looked deep into that honey-brown mystery.

  What she saw shocked her. He was injured, deeply and even more painfully injured than he was letting her know.

  Swallowing, Lucy had to admit she was the one who had caused the hurt. She had not set out to do so, had not struck with malicious purpose, but she was guilty all the same. Not to mention she'd been treating him for the past three weeks as if he were bedding her maid.

  Slowly, her hands went to the collar of her dress. She fumbled as she undid the top lace of her bodice.

  Emile stared at the untied lace. His eyes correspondingly lowered as Lucy's fingers went to the next lace down. And the next, and the next. "Now," he said when she had gotten to the bottom. "Take it off."

  Of course, Lucy had suspected this command was coming, but... Slowly, shakily, she raised one hand to the opposite shoulder. There she stopped, unable to go on. She'd dressed in such a hurry this morning, eager to be up before Moll left, that she had not put on a chemise. She wore nothing beneath her gown.

  "Well?" Emile did not look up from her bosom.

  "I—I have to unlace the sleeves first."

  "Nay, just push it open."

  Lucy swallowed and closed her eyes. She reminded herself that she was at fault regarding his injury. If doing this would cure him... She took a deep breath and pushed the material from across her naked breast. Timidly, she opened her eyes to shoot him a quick glance.

  His gaze was glued to her breast. "The other side, too."

  When she did not make a move, his gaze shifted to her face.

  Lucy could feel her cheeks flaming.

  Emile raised a brow. "I see we must cover your eyes."

  With one breast exposed, Lucy stiffened as he approached.

  He stopped. She almost thought he was going to release her from her promise to do whatever he demanded. Then a kind of hardness came into his face. He reached down and, with an efficient yank, pulled loose her left sleeve. "This should work nicely."

  He worked the sleeve into a blindfold and wrapped this around her head.

  As he did so, the world disappeared. Lucy could only hear Emile as he stepped back.

  "Now," he said. "The other side or your dress, Lucy. Pull it back."

  Blind now, she put her hand to her shoulder. With a little whimper, she exposed her second breast.

  "Much better," Emile murmured.

  Was it? Instead of seeing Emile's eyes upon her, now Lucy could feel them. Two eyeball-sized points seemed to press upon the center of her breasts. The sensation expanded as a light breeze played across her naked skin. Her nipples tightened.

  Emile muttered something fierce and low.

  Then Lucy felt—it was more than a breeze. Something was actually touching her breasts, something soft and whispery, like a feather. Lucy drew in a breath. Her nipples puckered tighter.

  The feather moved to her shoulders, tickling where her dress still clung, then moved down between her breasts to her belly. It swirled there, making her skin tingle, before sweeping over her nipples again.

  Lucy drew in a sharper breath. That felt...so strange.

  Then the feather departed.

  She waited. It was silent but for a soft breeze rustling high in the trees. Her skin felt tense, waiting. Almost wanting. The feather had been...not unpleasant.

  But the feather did not return. Instead, Lucy felt a palm-sized warmth cup the outside of each of her breasts. A small noise escaped her. These were hands.

  Firm, gentle, knowing hands. They moved, stroking the outside curve of Lucy's breasts. Then two pads struck out on their own, stroking in, toward her breasts' centers. Fingertips.

  Lucy's breath moved heavily in her lungs. Emile's fingers were so much more immediate than the feather, and they moved with such perfect knowledge. Softly, they skimmed right over her rigid nipples.

  She gasped.

  At the sound, everything stopped: palms, thumbs, stroking.

  "Mmm," she heard someone moan in complaint. More.

  Fortunately, she did not have to state the request aloud. Soft, warm, and clever, those fingers rubbed over her nipples again and again.

  Strange sounds came out of Lucy's throat. This was so very peculiar, light and delicate and teasing.

  And then it stopped.

  "No." There was no denying who had said this. Lucy bit her lip, blushing behind her blindfold.

  "Patience." It was a hoarse whisper as two hands took a firm grip of her shoulders.

  Lucy felt a warm mist on the upper curve of her breast and then a soft brush of...hair. She realized it was Emile's moustache the instant before a warm and muscular wetness wrapped around her nipple.

  "Oh!" Lucy's hands reached up to catch something—anything—as the incredible sensation knocked her off balance. She found a head of curly hair. "Oh!" she repeated as his tongue flicked over her again. "Oh, my Lord. Oh, my."

  Abruptly, he pulled away. Lucy could hear him breathing as if he had just run a mile. Meanwhile, Lucy's nipples stood rigid and cold in their wetness.

  "Untie your skirt."

  The voice
came out of the darkness, harsh and commanding. Emile did not sound the least bit off balance or out of control, despite his labored breathing.

  Lucy, however, had nearly swooned with the sensations he had evoked. If she undid her skirt, there would be more sensation. Perhaps more than she could handle.

  Her fingers fumbled uselessly with the tie to her skirt.

  "Push it down," Emile ordered.

  "I am trying," Lucy retorted. In a rush, she pushed the skirt down past her hips, her heart beating so hard it echoed in her ears. She whimpered as the breeze hit her newly exposed skin.

  Tension gripped Lucy as she wondered what was coming next. Then she felt a sharp tug around her knees. He was pulling at her gown.

  "There," he said, rough, a little breathless. "Lie back."

  "What?" She moved her head, more confused than hesitant.

  "Like this." Firm, he pushed against her breastbone. His other hand caught her back. She was lowered onto what must have been her skirt. Lucy ended with her knees in the air and her feet spread.

  "Mph." She struggled to kick her feet free of the confining gown.

  "No." Two hands went around her ankles. "Stay there, just like that."

  Just like that. Lucy knew her face was burning. She was lying like a wanton, completely open, completely vulnerable. Indeed, she could feel his eyes again, now on her there. She could hear him breathing, heavy and hard.

  Her stomach tightened as the soft feather landed on her belly. It twirled in a rotating caress and then meandered down. Down. So light and airy, right over the center of her.

  Lucy turned her head to one side. Such a tease it was, there but not there, arousing but not giving. At least, she had thought it not giving until the feather abruptly departed.

  Silence. Nothing covering her but the breeze and a logical deduction. Lucy waited, shivering in excitement and nervousness. His hands would come next.

  Sure enough, a firm palm cupped her at the apex. Lucy arched her back as the palm resolved itself into fingers, gently stretching her apart. Her head tossed to the opposite side.

  Barely could she hold onto control as he played with her, so delicately, so stunningly. Sensations ripped through her, all the way up her middle to her brain. It became unimportant that she was lying naked to the world on a sandbank at the complete mercy of a man. All she wanted was more.

  At which point, of course, he pulled away.

  Lucy was panting, her flesh silently moaning in distress. But then, as the breeze rustled high above in the trees, she made the next logical deduction.

  "Oh, no!" she muttered even as a forbidden excitement took hold of her. Her heels came off the ground as his hands took a firm grip of her thighs. "No," she repeated, even as her fingers tangled in his hair. The third negative disintegrated into a groan as the wet warmth caressed her.

  There was no opportunity for further resistance or even embarrassment. It was too wild, too overwhelming for Lucy to be able to think about anything at all. Her head thrashed from side to side as the sensations rose inside, overwhelming her.

  Until he stopped.

  "No!" The word erupted from her without thought. She half rose from her gown-sand bed.

  "Lucy." It was a harsh pant. "Lucy, look at me."

  She turned her head, searching, before Emile tore off the blindfold.

  He took her chin. "Look at me," he said.

  She blinked, regaining her focus.

  Emile stretched over her. His face was taut with strain. He looked as frustrated as herself. "Lucy." He stared into her eyes. "Tell me you want me."

  She realized he'd taken off his shirt again. Her eyes flickered down to take in the ribbed muscles of his side. Further down she could see a pale, taut flank. He had taken off his breeches, too. Bemused, she reached out a hand to test the muscle beneath the golden curls on his thigh. His leg was as hard as steel.

  "Lucy." Emile sounded nearly in tears. "Tell me you want me."

  Her eyes jumped back to his face. "But—?"

  His own eyes widened on her. "But—what, for God's sake?"

  Then she felt something she had not noticed before. Staring up at Emile, she brushed the hand she had on his thigh toward his center.

  "For the love of heaven." Emile's eyes drifted closed.

  "Emile!" Lucy's jaw dropped. "Emile! You are cured."

  "Oh, hardly." He took her face between his hands. "Tell me you want me."

  Amazed, Lucy measured the size of him in her hand. He was cured, no matter what he said. He was cured!

  "Lucy." It was a whisper as he moved one hand down to tickle her gently. "Tell me, for God's sake."

  The sensation brought back all of her tortured anticipation. "Oh, Emile." Lucy pushed up with her hips. At the same time she squeezed her new prize. "Emile!"

  "Never mind," Emile groaned and put his hand over hers. "Over here, my love." He helped her fit himself to her.

  "Will this—?"

  "Nay, not with the way you ride a horse. It won't hurt a bit." He fastened his mouth over hers.

  He was right, it did not hurt a bit as he gently rocked himself inside of her, kissing her over and over. It was a teasing and rubbing and provocative sensation. When he was fully home, Emile dragged his mouth away far enough to whisper. "You all right?"

  "No," Lucy whispered back. She bucked her hips against him. "More!"

  He hesitated in surprise and then gave her more.

  Lucy gasped as he retreated, then thrust close and tight. "More," she whispered.

  Again, he gave her more. At each request, he labored harder, sent her higher, spinning further.

  Lucy clutched tight to him. "Please, please," she chanted, "more, more." Then her feet drove into the ground and she was sent out of control, flying. Her nails bit into his flesh. Oh, Lord, yes, how she needed this, needed him. Desperately.

  "Oh, oh, please— Yes!" she gasped, shortly before he abruptly pulled out of her and gave his own guttural shout of satisfaction.

  Her arms relaxed around his strong back, heaving now as he struggled to regain his breath. "Oh, yes," she murmured, tears pushing from the corners of her eyes. "I want you, I want you."

  ~~~

  Lucy's dress was a mattress beneath Emile's back while the woman herself made a nice blanket over his chest. Emile made a gentle circle against her side with his thumb. He sighed deeply.

  It would be awfully hard to feel sorry he'd done this. Awfully hard to regret he'd gone against his vow to leave her with her purity.

  With her own soft sigh, Lucy lifted her head. Dark tresses wound everywhere. She was smiling.

  Emile felt a happy skip inside. Awfully hard to feel sorry. Besides, he told himself, brushing a stray lock from her forehead, she had been on her knees, had she not? Just like his oath.

  Lucy set a fist in the center of Emile's chest and rested her chin on top of it. "You were not really cursed."

  "I was, forsooth!" One day he would have to ask Lucy how the silly curse business got started. "Didn't you see?"

  Lucy lowered her lashes, chuckling. "It is all right, Emile. I do not regret we...did this."

  "Regret?" Growling, he twisted, rolling her beneath him. Lucy laughed up at him, but a little warning flickered inside of Emile. "Regret?" he snarled. "I should hope not! Else I will be compelled to do it again and again—until you are satisfied."

  "Emile!" Her hands pushed against him—not very seriously—as Emile proceeded to kiss her lips, her jaw, and down the side of what he had discovered to be a very sensitive neck. Lucy laughed and squirmed happily, but Emile remembered. She had said she wanted to save this for her 'next husband.'

  He pulled back, wanting to look into her eyes. Regret. Was it there?

  Lucy's laughter faded as he gazed down at her. But her smile lingered, soft. She did not regret. Not now, anyway. Now she seemed fairly happy with the husband she had. Indeed, she lifted one hand and placed it against the side of his face.

  Emile had to close his eyes. The mus
cles of his chest tightened to the point he could not breathe.

  He was not sorry, but maybe he should be.

  "Emile?"

  Forcing a smile, he opened his eyes.

  "Emile?" Lucy dropped her hand. Her brow furrowed. "What is it?"

  He shook his head. "Nothing. I just wonder..." Was there any way on earth he could keep her happy with him—him and not the husband she'd dreamed of?

  Her eyes flicked back and forth, searching his face. "What?"

  He grinned. "I just wonder if I am cursed, after all."

  Her mouth opened with a gasp, and he closed it with his lips.

  "We will just have to lay my fear to rest, don't you think?" he murmured between a series of short kisses.

  Lucy relaxed beneath him, and Emile arranged himself more completely on top of her, kissing this way, then that.

  Lord, the woman was sweet. She made him feel...that he would go far to keep her happy with him. Emile's eyes squeezed tight as her soft arms went around his neck. Aye. He would go very far, indeed.

  ~~~

  Lucy's gaze went past her shoulder where her fingers worked to retie her sleeve.

  Emile sat on the ground, pulling on a boot. He was frowning.

  Lucy frowned, too. The matter that had just passed between them had been powerful, more powerful than she had ever imagined. Their lovemaking had wiped the slate clean. It had wiped it so clean that Lucy wondered what she did know about this man. She could not even guess, for example, what pulled the narrow line of his beard into a frown, nor why that frown should concern her so. He was an enigma with sculpted muscles glowing in the sun, a being who had the power to make her forget her own name.

  Emile's gaze flicked up to meet hers. "Let me help you with that."

  Lucy dropped her fingers. She waited with beating heart as he hopped to his feet and approached. When his fingers caught her laces, a dart of excitement zigzagged through her. That was all it took, so small a contact as his fingers on her shoulder.

  Warily, her eyes stole to his. Did he feel the same? Did he feel such weakening emotion, too?

  But golden lashes covered Emile's eyes as he concentrated on her sleeve. When he'd finished fastening the lace, he removed his hands from her shoulder.

  Lucy felt a little droop. His touch was gone.