Bianca

by Small Bertrice

  She was startled by the unexpected blow, but though her heart was hammering in her chest, Bianca held her ground. “How dare you treat your wife like a whore?” she countered. Her cheek was burning, and she knew it was scarlet with color now. A tiny frisson of fear began to bloom within her. Bianca thrust it back angrily. She was not going to allow this brute to terrorize her any longer.

  “You are a whore,” he shouted. “All women are whores, even those like you from respectable families.” He turned to his men. “Find whoever else is in this house, and drive them out of it. Amuse yourselves with the women if you must. My wife and I have business to transact this night.” He turned back to Bianca.

  “Get out of my villa, and take these bandits you hired with you,” Bianca said bravely. “There is nothing further we have to discuss, Sebastiano. I hate and despise you. Get out! Get out! Get out!” And she stamped her feet at him angrily. “Understand that I will never be your wife again, in any sense.”

  His face grew purple with his rage now. When she turned to leave him standing there, his fury broke. Stepping quickly forward, his fingers dug into her hair, causing the neat chignon she wore to come loose. Wrapping the long, dark ebony locks about his hand, he yanked her back and around so she was facing him once more. His breath, always unpleasant, was now absolutely rank as he screamed at her, “You are mine! Mine, bitch! Mine to do with as I please.” His hand descended several times, beating her about the face and shoulders. “First I intend to punish your disobedience with my hands. Then I will spend some time fucking you into compliance with my wishes. Finally I will give you such a sound beating, there won’t be a place on your silky white body that doesn’t bear my mark. In the morning we will return to Florence, where my little donkey is eagerly waiting for you. I warned you long ago, Bianca, that you are my property, and mine to do with as I will. But before I kill you, cara mia, you will grovel at my feet and thank me for ending your torture. What say you to that, bitch?”

  She looked up at him, one eye already swelling, her nose bloodied. “May you rot in hell of the French pox, my husband,” she managed to say before striking out at him with her two fists. Her whole body was aching with his blows, but she would not give in to this wretched excuse for a human being. She clawed at him and spat at him. She covered him in the worst curses she could think of, seeing the brief surprise on his face. Then he laughed at her and began to beat her once more with his punishing hands while Bianca attempted to defend herself from his attack.

  Suddenly, to her astonishment and relief, her five women servants rushed into the wide entry armed with brooms and pans. They first yanked Rovere away from Bianca and next began beating him with their household weapons as they shouted curses at him, pushing him roughly out the front door of the villa. There, Primo awaited to force the surprised man onto his horse, sending him away into the deepening night with a hard smack on the horse’s plump flanks.

  It had been done so quickly that Rovere could scarcely believe what had happened. Where were his men? What had happened to them? The cowards had probably fled. But without their wages? He would probably find them farther on down the road. The night was cold and damp. He was finally forced to stop in the open, for he could no longer see the road ahead of him. He huddled down in the dark, cursing his fate at a light rain began to fall. As soon as it became even vaguely possible to move on, he mounted his beast and got back onto the country road again.

  His men were still nowhere to be found, and he was yet miles from the main road to Florence. He was hungry and he was thirsty, but having no choice rode slowly on. Every small wood he traversed, he did so nervously. And then suddenly ahead of him on the hilly road he saw a small party of riders. His men? No, there were at least a dozen of them. Well, they could have what little money he had on him just as long as he managed to gain the main road to Florence. As expected, the masked horsemen surrounded him.

  “I am Sebastiano Rovere of Florence,” he said boldly. “You can have what monies I carry, but allow me to pass so I may reach a respectable inn by tonight.”

  “Get off your horse,” a deep voice ordered him.

  “Do not be unreasonable,” Rovere said. “The animal has little value, but I cannot walk to Florence.” Then to his amazement he was yanked rudely from the beast’s back.

  “We do not want the beast or your money, Rovere,” the deep voice said. “We seek your life in exchange for your many sins.”

  Sebastiano Rovere’s mouth fell open with his surprise at the words uttered by the bandit. “Who are you?” he asked, now truly frightened. They were going to assassinate him. He should not have to die like this out on the open road.

  “I will give you whatever you desire,” he began, “if you will spare my life.”

  The party of masked bandits laughed heartily, and their spokesman said, “There is no amount of gold that could buy your life, Rovere. Your sins are too many and too great, I fear. No. Your time has come, and like your many victims, there will be no mercy shown to you.”

  “Gold! Women! Whatever you desire,” Rovere babbled, and he peed himself in his deepening fear of his impending death.

  Again the bandits laughed. “We are not barbarians, Rovere. Say whatever prayers you say so we may be finished with this and have justice done at last.”

  “At least let me know who you are,” Rovere begged. “I want to know who delivers what you dare to call justice to a respected man of Florence.”

  “You are not respected, Rovere. You are feared by the weak and despised by your betters, of whom there are many. You have fallen too low to be saved now. Your evil has run its course, and it is time for you to meet your master, the devil.”

  Two men stood on either side of the unfortunate man. They held his arms tightly, preventing his struggles.

  “I want to know who you are!” Sebastiano Rovere screamed as his executioner stepped forward.

  “You have been tried by the good and found guilty of your sins,” the deep-voiced man on the horse said. “You are sentenced to death. The weapon’s tip has been poisoned, for although we know you are heartless, we have granted you the mercy you never gave to so many of your unfortunate victims.”

  “Nooo!” Rovere shrieked as he felt the dagger plunge deep into his chest. He screamed as it was twisted several times, and he felt the poison beginning to work as his lungs ceased to expand and he could no longer draw a breath. His executioner lowered the cloth that was shielding the face behind it.

  “You?” he gasped, disbelieving with his last breath, and collapsed onto the road as he was released from the hold of the two men.

  “Check to make certain he is dead,” the leader ordered. “Cut his throat for good measure,” he told the men who had been restraining the prisoner. “Cut off his cock and balls too. Stuff them in his mouth for whoever finds him to see. It is a fitting ending for a debaucher of women.”

  One of the men immediately complied. Rovere’s blood pooled in the dirt of the narrow road, then began to congeal. His mouth bulged wide open as his genitals were pushed between his lips, which were even now turning blue.

  His executioner turned away without a word, drawing the face covering up again.

  “Leave his horse and his purse,” the rider with the deep voice said. “Let whoever finds him know that the murder done was personal and not for gain.” Then seeing all his companions mounted, he gave the signal and they rode away. Above the body of the dead man, carrion birds began arriving with noisy cries of anticipation in the gray skies above.

  It was almost a month later when word reached Bianca that Sebastiano Rovere had been set upon and killed on the road as he returned to Florence. She was almost healed now from the beating he had administered before her female servants had driven him out of the villa. She had learned from Agata that they had quickly dispatched the four men-at-arms who had accompanied her deceased husband. Rufina and Pia, the two pretty housemaids, lured them with bared breasts and raised skirts while Filomena and Gemma had slit th
e throats of each man as he eagerly fell upon a girl.

  “They would not allow me to help them with those men,” Agata said, sounding relieved. “They said a city woman had too great a conscience, whereas a country woman did what must be done without regret.”

  “What happened to the bodies?” Bianca wanted to know.

  “We put them in bags weighed down with stones. A cousin of Gemma’s is the fisherman who supplies us with our fish. He took the bodies one by one out to sea and dumped them. They were scum hired by Rovere, and not his own men. They will not be missed by anyone,” Agata assured Bianca.

  They had been living in fear that Bianca’s brutal husband would return with a stronger force to retrieve his wife and take his revenge on the women of the villa. Then had come word of his death. It had been a shock, for Bianca had never considered that her husband might be assassinated by an enemy, though such a thing was not uncommon in Florence. But as the shock quickly evaporated and relief flooded her, Bianca realized that she was at last free.

  “Send Ugo to the prince with word that I must see him urgently,” Bianca told Agata, and a smiling Agata hurried out to send the manservant on his way.

  That fatal night that Rovere had arrived at Luce Stellare, Ugo had taken a horse and raced down the beach to the prince’s villa to fetch him. When he had arrived he had learned that both the prince and his servant, Krikor, had gone to the city several days prior. He had quickly brought back word to Agata, and it was then the women had acted to drive Sebastiano Rovere from the house and rescue Bianca.

  Afterwards Agata had told Bianca of the prince’s absence so she might know he had not abandoned her in her hour of need. Amir had come immediately upon his return and, seeing her condition, had sworn in both Italian and Turkish, vowing to see Rovere dead the next time he came to the villa. Now, upon learning of her husband’s death, Bianca wondered if her prince had not waited for Rovere’s return to Luce Stellare but gone after her husband and killed him on the road.

  She saw the gray stallion galloping down the beach from the terrace of the villa where she was standing watching for him. She waved to him, her heart beating rapidly as she considered what her new freedom meant for them.

  Amir saw her on the terrace, and when she waved, his heart caught in his throat. She did not look frightened or unhappy. What was so urgent that she had sent Ugo for him? He urged his stallion up the path, and gaining the top he leapt off the animal to run to her side. “What is wrong, Bianca? Are you all right?” He looked anxiously at her.

  “My husband is dead,” Bianca told him.

  “What?”

  “Sebastiano Rovere is dead. I am free of him, Amir. Free!”

  “How? When?” Allah, be praised! This was good news.

  “The day my women drove him from the villa,” Bianca said. “He was set upon as he traveled back to Florence. There is no doubt it was an assassination, Amir. Neither his horse nor his purse had been stolen.” Bianca had not been told of the mutilation of her late husband.

  “Do the authorities know who did it?” the prince inquired of her.

  Bianca shook her head. “No one has admitted to it, nor was there any evidence that pointed to anyone. I do not believe anyone cared enough to pursue the matter, even his own sons. They took his body to the city and buried him. I still do not know how he found me in the first place, but it doesn’t matter now.”

  “No,” the prince said slowly. Then he pulled Bianca into his embrace. His hand caressed her face, cupping it tenderly as his mouth descended upon hers in a deep, hungry kiss. Raising his head, he looked into her eyes. “The only thing that matters now, beloved, is you and I.” And then he began kissing her again.

  Chapter 8

  H er head was spinning with delight and excitement as his lips brushed, pressed, and coaxed her shy but eager responses. Bianca had never really been kissed until now. Her late husband had not been a man for romantic kissing. His rough kisses were meant to impress his ownership of her. She was discovering that kissing was a delicate art as she followed Amir’s lead and returned the kisses.

  When he ran the tip of his tongue along her moist lips, Bianca gasped with surprise. His tongue immediately took advantage of her open mouth, slipping inside to play with her tongue. The sensation was exquisite, and she eagerly engaged his tongue with hers. Tongue play with Rovere had been disgusting, for he used it as he did everything—to claim ownership. Amir, however, teased and played, their two tongues dancing joyously, his scented breath mingling with hers. She almost fainted with the sensation.

  His arousal was instant. He quickly broke off the embrace in an effort to cool his own ardor. He did not want her first real experience with passion to be quick or rough, given all she had suffered at Rovere’s hands, but he still held her close. The softness of her breasts against his chest was almost painful under the circumstances. But he would take her slowly this first time. And with care.

  Then she surprised him by saying, “I know, I know, my beloved. You would treat me like a delicate flower, but I am not a delicate flower. I have waited my entire life for you, Amir. There is nothing you could do that would remind me of Sebastiano Rovere. I want you as badly as you desire me. Do you understand what I am saying, Amir?” Then she took him by the hand and led him into the villa, up the tiled staircase, and into her bedchamber. She shut the door behind them after they had entered the room.

  “Bianca, beloved, you have never known the passion of one who truly loves you,” he told her as she unlaced his shirt. He groaned as her warm hands slid over his warm, smooth chest. Her dark head dipped to kiss his nipples.

  “I’m glad you did not bother to wear a tunic,” she said to him, her hands going to his wide pantaloons and loosening them.

  He laughed low. “Oh, my sweet Bianca, you have no idea the beast you are awakening in me this moment. It longs to devour you, my beloved.”

  She leaned forward and whispered hotly in his ear, “I want to see you naked, Amir, my love. I have waited so long, and feared I would wait forever. Now Sebastiano is dead, and I am free to do as I please. It would please me to see you naked, signore. It would please me very much, if the truth be told. Did you think because I am a respectable woman I could feel no desire? Feel no need for you?”

  The truth was he had. Amir had assumed it would be up to him to stir desire in her, but now seeing that was not so, he was rather pleased. “I want to see you naked too,” he growled, and his fingers reached around her and began unlacing her gown. He slowly drew the garment down to reveal her exquisite breasts beneath the sheer fabric of her chemise. Bending, he rubbed his face over the soft mounds of barely covered flesh. She shivered, her nipples puckering like flower buds. “I would worship at the shrine of your body, beloved,” he told her passionately as they continued undressing each other until they both stood as the Creator had fashioned them.

  He then knelt before her, pulling her body against his face. Her skin was satiny, warm, soft, and scented. His eyes closed, he rubbed his cheek against the tender flesh. The sensation was almost painfully exquisite. She was, he thought, utterly and completely flawless in every way. His desire to join their two bodies rose, but with supreme self-discipline he restrained it. It wasn’t yet quite time.

  Bianca almost swooned with the simple joy the touch of his cheek against her skin gave her. Her experiences with her husband had been horrific, but from the passion her parents seemed to have for each other, she knew Rovere’s possession of her was not the way it should be. With Amir it was a far different thing. It was as she had always imagined in her girlish dreams. He stood slowly and carried her to the bed.

  She could see the state of his arousal now, and smiled. “Do not wait,” she said to him. “Afterwards there will be time for the rest of it. You want me now, and I would know the taste of true passion, not merely a possession by a man who believes he owns me.” She lay back and opened her arms to him, smiling.

  Amir could not deny her honest plea. He loved this beau
tiful woman, and she had admitted to loving him. “Let me have my way with you but a moment longer,” he said. Then he covered her breasts with kisses, his lips slipping down her torso briefly. Bianca sighed with the delightful pleasure those sweet kisses offered. Finally, he covered her body with his. “I admit to being unable to wait any longer,” he said, sliding between her welcoming thighs, guiding his cock to where it might enter her body.

  Then he pushed himself slowly, slowly, slowly into her, for he knew that she had not been used for some time. She was, as he expected, very tight, but her sheath was slick with heated moisture and eager for him. The muscles of that tube squeezed him in an embrace. He groaned loudly with the incredible pleasure she gave him. He kissed her mouth fiercely, and she kissed him back as eagerly.

  “Fuck me!” She surprised him, whispering urgently into his ear as he first pierced her, then sank deep inside her. “Do not treat me as if I would break. I am as hot for you as you are for me, my beloved prince. I will not shatter. Your honest passion is nothing at all like the brutal treatment I received at my husband’s hands. Now make love to me as if you mean it! Show me the depth of your emotions—I beg you, Amir!”

  He was burning up with his need. He began to use her hard, his cock flashing quickly back and forth within her welcoming body. He felt her sheath tightening and shattering about his cock, but he continued on, a thrust for each long night that he had been denied her passion, although he realized such a thing was really impossible. Still he drove himself in and out, in and out, in and out, seemingly unable to cease his action.

  With the edge briefly taken off her own lust, Bianca wrapped her legs about him, encouraging him to greater and greater heights. She felt herself reaching for the heavens and wondered that she did not explode with her pleasure. She was higher than she had ever been. She soared among the stars. This was no passion forced from her by her brutal husband. This time her passion was freely given to the man she could not survive without. They were one! She cried his name over and over again until her throat was raw with the sound. “Oh Amir, my love, my love!”