Cards of Love: Page of Swords

by Booth, Ainsley

  “To Halloween,” Sasha says, lifting her glass.

  I lift mine. “And to Bas, because this has been some much needed fun.”

  “To Bas!” we all cry out, our glasses tinkling.

  He winks. “And with that, I’ll leave you be. I have a woman to find.”

  “Ohhhh,” Beth and Sasha say.

  “Awwww,” Violet and I say.

  And then it’s Bas Absalom’s turn to blush.

  11

  Bas

  I find Meadow talking to Oliver. He’s playing with a pile of neatly bound rope bundles, and she’s all over him in a sweet, innocent, eager rope bunny kind of way.

  That bodes well for me. So well.

  I dodge around a man on stilts and join them. “Having fun?”

  She beams at me. “Oliver offered to let me tie him up! Isn’t that sweet?”

  “Adorable. Do you want to?”

  She shakes her head. “Not really. But his demonstration sounds neat.”

  Oliver is a mutual friend of mine and Corinne’s. He knows the drill. Once our VIP guest leaves, he can get his kink on more freely, and I’ve secured a safe suspension tether point on the front of Duke & Main.

  When I installed it earlier this week, I wondered if I was going overboard for a single-use public performance. But two hours into this street party, I’m sure I’ll do it again next year. The theatrical magic happening around us right now is more than I ever imagined—and I’ve got a pretty robust imagination for magical fantasy.

  Meadow catches my eye and I hold my arm out so she can fold into my side.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks quietly.

  “Wondering if we’ve got the right balance of music to stall chatter.”

  “Notes for next year?”

  I look down at her. “How’d you know?”

  She thinks about it for a moment. “Something’s shifted. I don’t know, I just knew.”

  Because she sees me and gets me. I kiss the top of her head. “Yeah. Notes for next year.”

  She hugs me tight. “Good.”

  “How are you doing? Not tired?”

  “Nope. I’ve got big plans later, so I’m well-caffeinated.”

  That makes me laugh. Big plans. “I’ve got plans, too.”

  “Excellent,” she whispers. “Because my plans are just to let you do whatever you want.”

  Ah, fuck. Now I want this magical street party to be over right now, and we’ve still got a few hours to go. “Go on, little one. Find something to distract yourself with for a bit.”

  She does a glorious pirouette and laughs. “Later, Viking.”

  I growl.

  * * *

  The next time I find her, she’s watching Oliver string up a volunteer in front of my bar. She leans against my chest and I don’t offer any commentary. She doesn’t ask for any. It’s all wide-eyed wonder and raw appreciation.

  When he finally releases his willing victim, Meadow applauds and lets out an excited whoop. Then she sighs as Oliver hugs the rope bottom, holding them close for a moment.

  “That was lovely. I’ve never seen aftercare in person,” she says once the crowd disperses.

  “You know about aftercare.” I tug her into the shadows between two buildings.

  “I know a lot of things. I know what I want, and what I might like. What I want to try.” She walks her fingers up my chest, then strokes them over my jaw. “I’m not the vanilla girl you thought I was.”

  “I’m figuring that out.”

  “But tonight, I just want you.” Her words light me on fire, and I crush my mouth against hers.

  She climbs up my body, a nimble little bunny, and I press her back against the brick wall with care.

  We kiss until we’re both out of breath and my cock is rock hard. Then I hold her in place and just…breathe. Ragged inhales and slow, deliberate exhales.

  “One more hour,” she whispers.

  Before I can answer her, something vibrates between us.

  She laughs weakly. “And…my pager just went off. It’ll be a consult call, but I gotta go check.”

  I kiss her again, tasting the corner of her mouth. Someone did some trick-or-treating, because she tastes like candy even after all our kissing.

  “Meet me in my apartment when you’re done cleaning up?”

  I pat her hip and set her down. “Take off the leotard before you answer the door.” My hands linger on her skin. “The rest of the costume…that’s up to you.”

  Even in the dark, I can see her react.

  And my dick throbs.

  * * *

  It’s nearly midnight by the time I knock on her door. There’s no answer at first. Maybe she’s on the phone still, maybe she fell asleep.

  Maybe I’m this is the Cinderella of fantasy fuck stories and I don’t get to sleep with Meadow after all.

  But then there’s a flurry of steps and the door swings open, and all my fears disappear.

  She’s still in costume. No leotard. Her breasts threaten to spill over the top of the corset and her tutu doesn’t quite cover the fact that she’s not wearing any panties.

  “Bas,” she breathes. “I was just—”

  I sweep her into my arms and move forward into the apartment, the door shutting hard behind me.

  We should talk.

  We will talk.

  She bites my lower lip.

  Yeah, talk will happen very soon. We just need to do something else first—fuck, hard and fast. Nothing that requires negotiation.

  But it’s been a week of anticipation.

  “No more waiting,” Meadow whispers as she slides her hands under my fur vest. “Please. Pillage my village, Bas.”

  I howl, because this woman is fucking funny. Sweet and hot and funny, and I’m overthinking everything. Effortlessly, I pick her up, and she wraps her thighs around my waist. Her legs are soft and warm under my touch.

  That’s where I’m starting, just as soon as I can get her to a horizontal surface. She pushes my vest off in her doorway, and after I dump her unceremoniously on the bed, I make short work of my belt and boots.

  Her boots are gone, too, her fishnet legs soft and touchable and very spreadable.

  I crawl after her and wrap my hands over her knees. “May I?”

  “Anything,” she murmurs, stretching out.

  “Spread these for me. Show me how beautiful you are.”

  Her thighs tremble beneath my touch, but she doesn’t hesitate. Her legs slide apart and I crawl closer, needing to catch that first scent of her. See the glisten, and then, once she starts squirming, lean in for a first taste.

  She’s perfect. Coppery sweet, slick and generous in her arousal. I start gently, but she likes firm flicks of my tongue and hard pulls on her clit. I suck on her until her thighs wrap hard around my head and her pussy throbs in a pulsing orgasm.

  When she falls back on the bed, languid and sexy, I stand again and get rid of my cargo pants—keeping one of the condoms I’d pocketed earlier.

  “You want to fuck me like this?” She asks, wiggling her tutu skirt.

  Yes. That way, every way. “Roll over,” I demand. “Show me the back of this corset.”

  She flips onto her front, then takes her time pushing up onto all fours, ass first. The pale white swells of her bottom, the darker line between her cheeks, and then, demanding to be fucked, the swollen folds of her pussy present themselves.

  Who cares about the fucking corset?

  12

  Meadow

  I’m hot all over and slick between my legs. I’m wanton and desperate and if Bas doesn’t fuck me soon, I’m going to tackle him to the bed and do it myself.

  But I don’t have to take over, because his hands are on my hips and then everything changes. Every nerve in my body tingles differently when he’s touching me, when he’s firm—ah, and rough, that’s good too. The hard bite of his fingers into the curve of my flesh makes me bow my head, search for a pillow to bury my screams in.

&
nbsp; “You like that, little one? My hands on you?”

  I groan and nod, and his next press is on my back, pushing the air out of my lungs. Ah, again. I twist my head to the side so he can see my smile.

  His fingers rake up my back, over the lacing on the corset, and tangle hard in my hair. A tug. Another smile.

  “Like that, too?”

  “Mmm.”

  “I’m going to fuck you now.” A statement. A promise. A threat, if I drift into fantasy land. So good.

  “Please…”

  He’s so big, he can do it while he’s got his hand tangled in my hair, holding me down. He notches his cock against my wet, slick hole and pushes inside. Hard. Rough. Perfect in its stretch, amazing in its depth. He takes up space inside me I didn’t know I had to give, and he lights it up with magic.

  The street fair is long gone now, but I can still hear the music, the laughter, the kinky delight.

  Arching my back, I push back against him, bringing him deeper into my body. All the way in, until his body is pressed hard against mine.

  I ache and feel good—so good—at the same time. Like I’m going to have to get used to having him buried in me, and I kind of don’t want to forget the shock of his size.

  And then he starts moving. Slowly at first, dragging his solid length out of me and pushing back in. More magic, more shock.

  “So good,” I tell him, and my voice doesn’t even sound like me. I sound better. Like Meadow+, now full of perfect cock. I laugh a little, and it fades into a happy sigh.

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, Bas…”

  “That’s what I like to hear. You want more, little one?” His hands are on my hips now, he’s let go of my hair and he’s holding on to my sides, his fingers tangled around the garter belt straps, like I should be warned of impending thrusts.

  “More.”

  His next thrust is harder, and the one after that faster. I close my eyes and bury my face in the bed, giving myself over to the sensations.

  His hands. His cock. The wet slap and the thick drag against nerves.

  His sounds.

  The flex of his body behind me, and then, when he starts to fumble, on top of me. He pushes forward, almost crushing me—yes, please, be heavy—but then he pulls out—no!—and flips me over. It’s just a few seconds but I ache at the loss of him. I reach for his slick, condom-covered cock and bring it back to my cunt, fitting us together as he tumbles down.

  We move as one. Kissing, fucking. My costume is in the way a bit but it doesn’t matter. I’m close now, everything tight and needy. Rub, push, rock, fuck.

  When I come, it’s an explosion. And even as my climax rockets through me, I can feel Bas shudder, then long, heavy pulses deep inside me. I hear him, too. New sounds. A guttural gasp of relief, then something else.

  My name, over and over again, breathed against my neck, where he’s buried his face.

  “Meadow, oh, Meadow, fuck yeah, Meadow…”

  It’s beautiful. I press my hand to his head and hold him. In the last week, he’s held me over and over again. Now it’s my turn to soothe the giant, and something wonderful slips into place inside me.

  We lie like that longer than we should when there’s a condom to deal with, but it’s fine as he pulls away. He disappears into my bathroom for a moment, then returns. “Do you need to pee?”

  I grin. “Yeah, be a second.”

  When I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I laugh. The corset is sideways, the tutu is ripped—but repairable. And I’m very glad I didn’t wear more makeup, because the mascara is streaked. I quickly wipe that away, then take care of business and rejoin him on the bed.

  “So, funny story,” he says as he unlaces my corset, his fingers tickling my skin with each pulling release.

  I shiver. “Mmm?”

  “I saw someone I wasn’t expecting to see tonight.”

  I guard myself. “An ex?”

  “God, no. This wouldn’t be the time for that kind of a share.”

  “Right. But I’d be cool with it. I mean, sharing is good.”

  He chuckles under his breath and kisses my bare shoulder. “You wouldn’t be cool with it. You’re adorably possessive and that’s just fine with me. No, I saw the wife of a friend. Well, I guess she’s an acquaintance, too, although I know Max more than Violet.”

  I freeze. Max’s wife was here tonight? He hadn’t said she’d be here. But Max wasn’t a sharer. And we aren’t really that close, other than him knowing the stupid secrets I blurt out in staff meetings.

  “Max Donovan?”

  “Do you know him? He’s a doctor, too, so I thought you might. Small world.”

  “Very,” I murmur. “So why is that a funny story?”

  “Well, what happens in the dungeon usually stays in the dungeon, but I also like to prepare partners in advance—full disclosure and all that. Honesty is the best policy.”

  “Max goes to dungeons?” I squeak it, and it comes out wrong. I twist awkwardly, trying to get Bas to see my face. Like I’m not judging that—at all. “That’s cool. Super fine.”

  Bas gives me a gentle smile. “And we don’t ever have to do that if you don’t want to.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. Dungeons sound…well, they sound made-up, to be honest. Like something out of a book or a movie, not like real things that people I work with actually go to. Although now that you’ve said that, it explains a few things. A lot of things. What do you mean his wife was here tonight and it’s funny?” My words are spilling fast now, total stream of consciousness.

  Bas takes my hands. “Calm down. She’s good friends with Ellie Strong. It was a girls’ night out thing.”

  I’d seen the PM’s wife from a distance. I’d assumed all the women with her were bodyguards or something. “Right.”

  “And it’s just that I realized our worlds might collide, and I should be upfront.”

  Oh God, I’m going to throw up. “About that.”

  “Yeah?”

  I wince. “So a while ago, you had a conversation with Max. I don’t know exactly what it was about, but he brought up a doctor friend of his he thought you might like to meet. And you asked for her number. Max didn’t want to overshare, so he said—”

  Bas’s face freezes granite hard. His mouth barely moves. “He said he’d give my number to her instead. I never heard from her.”

  “Because I came in person,” I whisper. “To introduce myself. There was another woman, though, you called her lovely, and then you asked if I was here to see the apartment.”

  “You weren’t here for that.”

  “No.”

  “You rented this place, though.”

  “I did.”

  “You didn’t need an apartment?” He blinks at me, then his face falls. “Fucking hell, Meadow, do you have another place close to the hospital?”

  Panic screams through every cell in my body. “Bas, it’s complicated.”

  “I bet it’s fucking complicated, Jesus Christ.” He shoves off the bed and grabs at his clothes. “Don’t—I mean, what the fuck—were you ever going to tell me?”

  “I rent out my condo,” I say miserably. “To AirBnB people. I only sleep there if I’m on shift and it happens to be vacant. This is where I live now.”

  “Because you couldn’t be up front with me.”

  When it says it like that, it sounds exactly as terrible as it is. “Bas—”

  “Don’t.” He shakes his head as he yanks on his pants. “Just…don’t.”

  And then he leaves. All my words die on my tongue, and all my hopes disintegrate in his wake as he storms out.

  13

  Bas

  I get as far as the street before I realize I’ve fucked up. The light is still on in the bakery across the way, so I knock on the door.

  Tessa opens the door, yawning as she swings it open. “I thought you’d gone off to bed.”

  “Same to you.”

  She gestures at the bright kitchen behind her
. “Gotta get the baking done for tomorrow—or later today, really. I’ve got a part-timer coming in to work for me at five, so I just need to stay up until then.”

  “Ah.” I pace around the dim space in front of the empty display. “Got any leftover muffins from tonight?”

  “Nope.” She smiles broadly. “Totally sold out. But if you wait five minutes, I can give you fresh ones straight out of the oven.”

  Five minutes sounds like a lifetime, but I don’t want to return empty handed and it would take longer to drive into the city for flowers.

  Also, I have no fucking clue if Meadow likes cut flowers. But she loves muffins. She picks them apart, tiny bite by tiny bite, and licks her fingers clean when she’s done eating them.

  Muffins are a glorious thing.

  And a decent place to start my apology, once I work out my messed up thoughts.

  “Were you happy with tonight?” Tessa asks. “Pretty cool that Ellie Strong came, eh?”

  “Very.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, it was a roaring success. We’ll have to do it again next year.”

  “Count me in. I had a couple of people say they’ll drive out on the weekend to pick up muffins. If that catches on, it’ll be totally worth it.”

  “You should do more of a brunch offering on the weekend,” I say, looking out the window at the dark, quiet street.

  She laughs from the kitchen. “At my three tables? No, I want customers to come and go. In and out. If anyone should do a fancy farm-to-table brunch, it’s you. Your space is perfect for it.”

  I’m looking across at my bar, and I hear her words, but I don’t really hear them. Not at first.

  Then they sink in, and I slowly turn around.

  “No,” I say, heading back toward her. “I shouldn’t. I’m not a chef. But we could partner on it. My space, my drinks, your muffins, and we hire a chef. I don’t want to manage another venture, but I’m happy to donate the space and provide the cocktails. You’re up early anyway. You can oversee the food prep, the menu design.”