by Fox, Georgia
She wouldn't dare use it on him. She wouldn't dare.
Leaning close enough to touch her lips to his ear, she whispered, "Oh yes I would, Max."
The woman had the ability to read his thoughts, to know what he felt. He didn't know whether he liked that or not. He certainly knew he should not like it.
"You're not deflating on me, are you Max?" Her hand returned to fondle his dick, merciless.
He tried to calm his breathing. "I'm getting dizzy bent over like this," he muttered.
"Then you'd better ask me for permission."
His throat was too dry to swallow.
"Say it, Max." Her voice poured over him like rich cream. "Say – Please may I come, Mistress. Say it like a good boy." She took her hand from his manhood once again, leaving him in agony to release. He pulled on his wrist bindings, but that La Vere woman had tied them too tight. His thighs trembled.
He took a breath. "May I…please."
"Please what?" She licked her finger, sliding it between her lips all the way to the knuckle.
"Please," he hissed between gritted teeth, "please may I come, Mistress."
Her wet finger pressed between his arse cheeks and poked at his anus. He tensed. "Good boy, Max. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Her prying finger squeezed through the tight rim, unaided by any form of lubricant other than her saliva, but he was aroused enough that her slender finger caused only a brief flare of pain. Then she returned her other hand to his raring shaft.
He growled, closed his eyes and let the release begin.
"Yes, Max. Now you may spend." Her finger, buried in his arse, moved cleverly, hitting the very spot to send him into oblivion.
****
"We can take those boots off now," he told her, eyes gleaming with amusement to watch her strut up and down in his private chamber. "You've enjoyed them long enough for one night."
"But I don't want to take them off," Cat complained, pouting.
"You can't sleep in them." He tossed back the fur coverlet and fell gratefully onto the soft mattress. He was all aches and pains after the rough way she'd treated him in the audience chamber tonight. But it was a good sort of pain. Something he was familiar with—although usually on the dispensing side, not the receiving.
She crawled onto the bed on all fours. "I can sleep in them. And I intend to." She licked his rough cheek and laid down beside him, but above the coverlet. Even when he tried encouraging her under it, she stayed where she was. And she kept her boots on. In truth he was delighted she loved them that much, so he made no further protest.
He let her get away with a great deal already and perhaps he ought to nip it in the bud now. But then she nestled at his side, let out a contented sigh, much like the purr of a cat, and whispered, "Stroke my hair. I love that."
Before he knew it, he was stroking her hair, following yet another of his new slave's demands. It was rare for him to take a slave to bed with him—even rarer to let her sleep there with him.
He began to suspect, somewhat ruefully, that he would let this one get away with far more than was wise. And he wondered exactly what he'd taken on. What he'd taken into his house and his bed.
Moonlight shivered over the lump curled up at his side and Maximilian Rafael, the Comte de Falaise, sneezed. Three times in quick succession. Damn it. That bloody cat had better not be anywhere near his chamber.
Chapter Fifteen
Cat lay quietly, getting her shape accustomed to the new master at her side. It would not be long now until dawn broke. If she kept her female form, then she'd know that Peter had found his Heart's Desire. She tried not to think of him with another woman, for it hurt. It hurt dreadfully.
Yet she was with another man, so how could she be possessive of Peter?
Furthermore, she had enjoyed herself tonight with the Comte. She felt her lips bending in a wicked grin, when she thought of how she'd taken control of him—mastered the master himself. He took it better than expected and it broke a barrier between them, equalized the playing field. She suspected he'd never had that happen to him before. He was very still at her side.
She wriggled against his body, turning her face up to study his fine profile in the moonlight. His eyes were only half closed, contemplative.
"Do you sleep?" she asked redundantly, just needing something to say now he'd caught her looking.
He smiled slowly. "Yes."
"No!"
His lips parted enough to show a brief glimmer of white teeth. "I think I dream," he muttered.
Just like Peter, she thought. And then she felt guilty thinking of another man while she shared the Comte's bed.
There it was again, she thought churlishly. Why should she be so torn between these two men? She knew she did not love the Comte—she loved Peter, or else why would she go to these lengths to help that fool? Yet, when this man touched her with his lips, there was another kind of magic. She needed to see if it was still there now, while she was not bound like a slave, so she shifted up the bed and placed her cheek against his mouth.
His large hand slowly swept through her long hair, held the back of her head and pressed her more firmly to his lips, as they puckered gently.
Cat closed her eyes. Warmth stole through her body, made it unfurl like a bud touched by the first warmth of spring sunlight.
Suddenly the peace was spoiled. Loud angry voices filled the passage outside the Comte's bedchamber. A clash of metal. A fist pounded on his door.
"Let me in, Falaise. I want my slave back. The agreement is null and void. I changed my mind."
The Comte sat up and Cat fell back to the bed, her pulse bouncing like spilled jumping beans.
"Falaise!" The pounding shook his door. "I want her back!"
Her new master said nothing to her, but slipped a long robe over his shoulders and took a candle to the door. He opened it and signaled to the guards to let Peter in.
"What can be the meaning of this, Revellaux? I thought you wanted my niece?"
"I thought so too," said Peter, staring at Cat where she sat on the bed, her legs in those long boots curled under her. "But I didn't realize…" he pointed at her, "…I thought she was a dream. She let me believe that."
Cat was not in the mood to leap into his arms. It still smarted that he'd thought himself in love with another, when she'd given him so much of herself. Besides, he was ruining all her plans. How would she break the witch's spell, if he did not get his prissy little virgin—his Heart's Desire? Being a feline during the day had its perks, but she was with the Comte now and he, clearly, had an aversion to cats. She wanted her body back for good.
So rather than speak a word, she sat very tall and proud in her new boots. And folded her arms under her bare breasts.
Peter stared. "Why did you do this? Who the hell are you?"
She remained silent, haughty.
He had to go back to Lady Serena, or else the curse would stay and by dawn she'd be a cat again. Even now the sky lightened.
Her new master reminded Peter that he'd agreed to the terms. "This slave girl is mine now. I have no intention of giving her back."
"But she was mine first," Peter argued, "and I signed nothing. The Lady Serena lured me under false pretenses." He turned to the Comte. "I begin to think you put her up to it, just to steal my woman away."
At this point Cat could remain silent no longer. "I am not your woman," she shouted, kneeling up.
"Why? Because now you want to be his?" Peter strode to the bed. "Because he's rich I suppose, is that it?"
She shook her hair over her shoulders. "He wants me." Hands on her hips she added tartly, "He knows a good thing when he has it. He doesn't moon about after other women."
It was Peter's turn to fold his arms. "He keeps female slaves. You're just another to him."
"So what!" she yelled. "What am I to you?"
"A woman who fucks me and leaves me."
"I had no choice!"
"Oh, that's a new one," he scoffed, feet apart, rocking on his
heels.
"You know nothing. You're addled. Why I ever thought I—"
"I'm addled? What sort of woman goes willingly into slavery?"
"What sort of man falls in love with a woman he doesn't even know?"
"I'm not in love with her."
"You thought of her every time you were with me."
"No." He stopped, breathed deeply. "I thought of you every time I was with her."
Finally there was silence but for the puttering candles. Cat looked into his eyes and found sheer need staring back at her, reaching for her.
The Comte moved around the bed and held out his hand to her. "Will you stay with me, slave?"
"Of course." She glared hard at Peter. "I stay where I am wanted and needed. Where I am useful. Not in the way."
"What the devil does that mean?" he growled.
The Comte sneezed.
Cat and Peter broke off their argument to chorus in unison, "God bless you!"
She was aware of the nobleman's eyes watching her intently. Abruptly he said, "Do you love this man?"
"No!" came the speedy reply.
He sneezed again, even more violently. Oh no, was she transforming already?
While the Comte was shaken by yet another loud sneeze, Peter lunged, sweeping her up in his arms and making a run for it.
****
The guards gave chase, but he was unburdened by the weight of armor and although he carried a woman in his arms, Peter's feet suddenly had speed they'd never known. For the first time in his life he knew what he really wanted and he had her now. He meant to keep her. A man who runs for himself, runs faster than a man who runs out of duty to another and thus he soon outpaced his pursuers, but Peter didn't stop running until they reached the deepest part of the forest.
There he set her down beside a tree. She was naked but for those curious, high-heeled boots, her long, midnight black, silken tresses falling over her shoulders. Awakening dawn light dripped through the canopy of leaves, mottling her shape with shadows and her eyes were downcast. She was breathing hard, as if she'd been the one running.
"You fool," she said softly. "Look what you've done."
"Rescued you," he replied proudly.
But she shook her head. "You'll see. Now you'll see what I truly am. Now I am stuck."
He placed his hands around her face. "Kiss me, wench of mine. Prove to me I'm not dreaming this time."
Her lips remained tight, stubbornly sulking, so he gently placed his mouth to hers and kissed them open. His blood was hot after the chase and he should have been tired, but he was not. His cock hardened swiftly, encouraged when she touched her tongue tentatively to his, finally conceding to let him in. He slid one hand down to her breast and fondled it, rubbing his palm over the puckered nipple.
No woman's shape had ever fitted to his the way she did. He bent his head to kiss her other nipple, wetting it with a few quick licks of his tongue.
"Don't," she murmured, unmoving, hands between her back and the tree trunk. "It's too late. It will soon be daylight. I don't want you to see—"
He moved down her body and kissed her pubic mound. The hair there was as soft and fine as the hair on her head. The Comte had just fucked her, he thought suddenly. Would he taste the other man on her? He stuck out his tongue, burrowing between her thighs. Above him his woman purred deep in her throat. She made no more protest.
He stroked her leather boots and then eased her stance wider so he could tongue her properly. Peter's cock was pressing on his breeches, uncomfortable, so he quickly freed it with one hand, keeping his mouth on her twat, his tongue fucking her slowly.
"Peter," she moaned, her hips writhing.
He leaned back to look up at her. For the first time he could see her clearly now as night slipped away. She had beautiful, stunning green eyes, almond shaped, full of tears today. Her lips were a delicate shade of pink, as pretty as those between her thighs—the ones he was more familiar with.
"Do you want my cock inside you?" he asked huskily.
She pressed her lips together, closed her eyes and nodded.
"Then tell me you love me. Tell me you'll stay and not abandon me again when daylight comes."
It was so quiet in the forest that he heard her swallow a gentle, despairing sob. "I can't ell you that," she whispered, choking on the words.
Peter stood swiftly, directing his cockhead at her pussy. He couldn't wait after all. He had to have her now, whatever happened. The heels of her new boots gave her enough height that he barely had to bend his legs to enter her on the spot. Instantly he was sheathed in her tight, sticky heat.
At last she moved her arms from behind her and wrapped them around his neck. His hands cupped her bare bottom and lifted her until her booted legs wrapped around his waist. And then he walked all the way home to his cottage, fucking her in broad daylight, her body impaled a little deeper upon his cock with every step he took through the forest.
****
Sun was shining on her back, she realized suddenly. She'd been so busy enjoying being bounced on his splendid shaft, that she had forgotten everything else around them.
"I'm coming," he grunted, pausing by the gate of his cottage and trembling, his fingers digging into her buttocks.
Cat felt the rush of his hot seed filling her cunt, his cockhead pressed tight to her womb. She mewled in delight, grinding down on him as he leaned against the gatepost for balance.
"I love you, Peter," she cried out. " I love you!"
He gasped, half laughing. "Thank Christ!" And he kissed her eyelids, her nose her mouth. "Why did you keep me waiting?"
She looked up at the bright, blue morning sky and wept openly. The spell was broken. She was a woman again in daylight.
How could it be?
"At last you're mine to keep," he whispered, nuzzling her cheek, his manhood still semi-hard within her. "My Heart's Desire. Dreams do come true."
Finally Cat realized that she had indeed succeeded in helping Peter get what he wanted. It just so happened that what he wanted was her. Not Lady Serena, after all.
He carried her inside where they kissed and laughed and made love again, tireless as newlyweds.
"What shall I call you?" he asked her, apparently only just realizing she had no name.
She tangled her fingers in his tousled hair as they lay in bed together. "My name is Catherine." She winked, purring. "But you may call me Cat."
****
The Comte finished writing in his book, ending his tale with a lavish, curlicued scroll and the words, The End.
He watched the ink dry. He supposed he might have made himself the hero of the piece, but he was not really made for gallant acts and grand declarations of love. Although he wrote these tales of romance, he kept it as his secret. No one would ever imagine he had the tiniest romantic bone in his body. And he preferred them not to know.
Setting down his quill, he stretched his arms overhead and sighed.
The clock on the mantle clicked into its hourly chime.
Aha! His favorite slave would soon be here for the next lesson. Excitement built in layers throughout the afternoon on those days when they kept their appointment and she came through the forest to visit.
His sweet Pussy in Boots. How he adored her. It wasn't love, he had protested to Gideon many times. No, no! How could it be? It was fascination, lust, the pleasure of a naughty secret. The Comte de Falaise did not fall in love.
He gave lessons in discipline.
Although when it came to Cat, she was the one who taught him.
Another secret he had no intention of ever letting out.
He sipped his wine and thought of Gideon again. His Pussy in Boots had lately suggested that he give his niece to the ever-loyal Gideon for a wife. It was an outrageous idea. Perfectly ridiculous. Gideon had no fortune. He was but a solider. The Comte could not give his niece to a man like that.
But when his Pussy had that riding crop in her hand she was remarkably persuasive.
&n
bsp; Just as he'd suspected, almost from her first challenge to his authority—the first wicked, knowing gleam of her jade green eyes —he was never long capable of refusing his Pussy anything she desired.
The End
www.georgiafoxauthor.blogspot.com
Other Books by Georgia Fox:
The Ever Knight
The Virgin Proxy
The Craftsman
The Good Sinner’s Naughty Nun
The Wagered Wench
Lumina
A Bolt from the Blue
Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com