Lady of Chains

by Scottie Kaye

  "Who? What are you talking about?"

  Jorr shook his head. "Never mind. Help me to my bed?"

  She agreed, and got behind him, hooking her arms under his armpits. She dragged him toward the thin single-person bed which leaned against one wall. She could barely see it in the room's faded light; to her, the place was haunted. Every shadow was sharp enough to draw blood.

  With effort, the two of them got him onto the bed. When she tried to stand afterward, he held her wrist.

  "Stay."

  She didn't argue. She lay down beside him. Watched the rise and fall of his chest.

  "Has this been happening your whole life?" she finally asked him.

  "I don't know," he said. "I guess so." He turned his head to look at her out of his one good eye. "Makes me look pretty weak, doesn't it?"

  She thought of Zaina, tied up. Of Loren beneath Ragen Wise. Of the dusty compartment under the elevator at Reading.

  "That depends, Jorr. Do you try to endure it? Or do you take revenge on the world, because you've been hurt?"

  He frowned. "No?"

  Lassyne shrugged. "Then I think that makes you strong."

  He laughed again. "You sound like Raena." He groaned as he shifted, throwing an arm over her. "What are you doing here, Lady True?"

  She swallowed. Jaen's final warning rang in her head.

  You will never tell Jorr what we spoke of, tonight. Do I make myself perfectly clear?

  "Just passing through," Lassyne said.

  Jorr mumbled something, pulled close, and kissed her. The action lit a tiny, almost imperceptible fire—a fire that she'd thought had gone out.

  "You should pass through more often," he told her.

  And they fell asleep in each other's arms.

  Twenty-Six

  A week passed, and she heard nothing about Zaina. The other Thorns seemed happy that the girl had escaped.

  Only Lassyne knew the truth.

  At the end of that week, Jorr came to visit her. Lassyne called for him to come in without rising from her armchair, without bothering to put on more than her shift. She was cold while she wore so little fabric, but honestly, it was her own fault. She had placed the plush chair next to her only window. And she kept the window unlatched. Always.

  But this room was still a cage.

  "How are you, Marigold Lassyne?" he asked. She didn't look at him. Her eyes were still on her hand, where she held a small scribbled note. She recognized the handwriting now.

  She closed her eyes. She had only been a Rose for a week, and already they had let her rank up to Marigold. Gods knew the damn color suited her.

  Lassyne held up the note. "He told you?"

  "Of course," Jorr said. "My brother tells me everything." He poked the yellow flesh around his eye, the skin still slightly bruised. "He likes to make sure I know what he thinks."

  "One of the tests is loyalty," she stated flatly. That's what the note had said.

  "Yes."

  "And I'm loyal because...?" She wanted to know what reason Jaen had given to Jorr. Because she knew it was not the real reason.

  "Because your family offered an alliance and a king's ransom to have you back," he replied. "And when King Rastus gave you the choice, you said no."

  She nodded. So that was it. "Well, my loyalty is to this House now. So I suppose the new rank is fitting."

  In reality, she couldn't care less about the Thorns. She'd rather keep breathing, thank you. And she wouldn't keep doing that if she left Jaen in the lurch. Whatever he had foreseen she would do with his magic, Lassyne had yet to do it—and Jaen had made her choices quite clear.

  With a shrug, Lassyne rose and tossed Jaen's note into her hearth, where it burned in the flames that she kept burning, always. She'd had the fireplace built with Loren's money—the twenty-five thousand that remained, after she paid the crown ten, and after Jaen Portent had taken his cut. Fifty thousand marks gone, vanished into the ether. And she'd heard no word of Zaina. No one had got word.

  You let me take care of Zaina.

  Jorr looked around. "It smells nice in here."

  "Rose oil," she said. She no longer liked the smell. But it reminded her of the mistakes she had made in her life. It reminded her that roses had thorns.

  Jorr drew closer and took her hand. "Lassyne? Are you all right?"

  All right? she wanted to ask. All right!? she wanted to scream.

  "I'm fine," she told Jorr. She wasn't.

  "Are you sure?"

  No, I'm not. I'm in pieces. Jaen killed Zaina, and I'm stuck here forever.

  Lassyne closed her eyes, buying time, trying to cool off before she answered. Everything in this place was a lie, built on another lie. She had learned that when Hellen came a few days ago, when she had thanked Lassyne for not telling Jorr about Zaina. You let us get her out, so you can't be all bad. It had been a grudging apology, and a misguided one, too. It had stemmed from the belief that Zaina was safe.

  "I'm fine, Jorr," Lassyne said. She felt the heavy weight of Jaen's shadow. You let me take care of Zaina....

  Jorr tucked a stray dark ringlet behind her ear. "That was genius, what you did. Stealing all that money from Loren. Eighty-five thousand—and so much to charity! Now there's one way to handle cold feet."

  She nearly snorted. Charity. That's where the fifty thousand went, at least as far as Jorr knew. Not to the crown, not to Zaina, not anywhere. And she only knew this because she had asked a man from the treasury. It was amazing what a lowly scribe could find out, if she only hinted at all the ways she would screw him.

  Jaen wanted to keep me here, that's all, she thought. I couldn't buy my way out if I didn't have fifty thousand. That was the only reason he had taken her money.

  Well, she thought, at least Loren Stone doesn't have it. Every storm had a silver lining, so they say.

  "Tell me," Jorr said, his hand on her waist now. His touch made her loosen, made her remember the night where she'd held him. "What made you decide not to marry him?"

  Lassyne turned into Jorr, her chest against his. Hellen had explained that Jorr could not be seduced, at least not by only one woman. But there were some things that Lassyne could still do him, without needing to have him in her bed.

  "You're the reason," she lied. "I wanted you, Jorr. You gave me value that Loren didn't."

  That much was true. His presence made this place bearable. They had something in common, after all.

  Jorr smiled, his eyelids growing heavy. His silver gaze seemed to pool in her core. When he slipped her shift off one shoulder, she let it fall, a specter of silk on her hips.

  His palms traced down the sides of her breasts, and she stood there and enjoyed it as he trickled kisses to her nipples. He pulled one into her mouth, working the shift off her hips. She wore nothing beneath it, and his free hand took advantage.

  She buried her hands in his hair as he sucked on her harder, as his finger circled her clit and made her forget. When he moved to switch breasts, she pushed him hard to the floor. She knelt and started to take off his clothes.

  On his back now, Jorr gripped her leg. "Get up here," he growled. For a moment she didn't understand, but the way he was pulling her—

  She scooted forward and spread her legs on his face.

  The first touch of his tongue made her quiver, her hands forgetting to touch his hair. She took a moment just to feel Jorr and his mouth. His tongue roved up her sex, parting the folds, and then his lips closed on that traitorous nub....

  He toyed with her, making her want him. The only man who'd ever done this for her.

  But that was exactly why she wouldn't just sit here. She had to show him that he meant something to her. So she got her mind in one place, and pulled off him, shoving his pants off his hips.

  "Scented Queen," she swore when she saw him. He pulled her back over his mouth, though she was now facing the other direction.

  "Mmm," he said, his voice vibrating through her. She shuddered and arched her back, putting his p
enis between her hands. He was decently long, but he was fat as a prize cucumber. She knew because she'd stolen prize cucumbers.

  Tentatively, she pressed her lips to his head, flicking her tongue, tasting for cum. His hips rose toward her, as if they were begging. It wasn't the easiest angle—but she was a pro.

  He grunted as she pulled him all the way to the base, opening her throat and mentally blocking the gag. She swallowed saliva, her throat tensing around him. He groaned again, and she felt the cum shiver, moving through the shaft, ready and waiting.

  Mouth wide, she drew back and slammed down again. He slipped fingers into her, a few from each hand. She thrust onto him quicker, with ugly animal sounds, hungry for every prod of his fingers.

  I'll love him, she thought. I have to love someone. I can't live, without loving someone.

  The idea raced through her nipples, her vagina, her toes. She gripped his base and massaged and went harder, sucking down, putting pressure all over him.

  He gave up on pleasing her when he couldn't take anymore. Her cheeks were tiring, her gag reflex going mad, but still she went down, and down, and down....

  "Oh Senseless fuck," Jorr shouted, and she pulled her head off just in time to watch him squirt white all over his own stomach. She petted his shaft while he finished. "Good boy," she said. "Good boy. You did well."

  "Shit, Lassyne—"

  "Shut up," she said. "I'm not finished. Use more fingers this time."

  He said nothing at first, and then the fingers came back.

  "Make it feel like you," she instructed. "Make your mistress proud. Make me feel your big little buddy...."

  She didn't know if he liked the words, but she did. Telling him what to do made her wet. So she was ready for him when he made his thrust wide, his thumb prodding her nubbin each time.

  So that's what I like, she thought, as she sat up straight, bobbing with the rhythm he fed her. She had read the essay on dominance, but she had picked the wrong side. Lassyne True liked nothing more than she liked control.

  "Faster, you pathetic fuck," she growled. "Don't you want your mistress to come?"

  Faster. She watched his penis shrink in front of her. Small and insignificant. Yes....

  Lassyne threw her hair back behind her, facing the ceiling. The wet sounds of his struggle, the pressure on her clit—

  Her orgasm felt like she'd rained on his face.

  The rest was a fog to her. His smile, the "wow" on his lips, his hands on her breasts and his penis on her leg. He had liked it. His penis twitched. He'd liked it, and he wanted more.

  This place isn't so bad, she thought as he kissed her, pulling her mouth soft against his. At least here, she could be and do what she wanted.

  "You're incredible," Jorr said, his breath on her cheek. "Lassyne, I'm so glad you stayed."

  She faced him, throwing an arm over his shoulder. The fire crackled. "I thought this wasn't your kink?

  "No," he said, "but I like strong women. I can never get off with a sub."

  She wasn't disappointed. She could work with that.

  Jorr frowned. "What is that?"

  Lassyne sat up to follow his gaze. Something had fallen under her bed—a crumpled sheet of paper. Lassyne reached for it, folded it open.

  She frowned. It was the dominance essay—the final page. She remembered suddenly how it had gotten here. Jaen had handed it to her—it had been stuck to her Rose Contract. It must have fallen from her pocket when she got back to her rooms.

  But why had Jaen handed it to her to begin with? She flipped it over.

  And there on the back was one final line:

  The Psychology of Dominance....

  By Housemaster Jaen Portent.

  Epilogue

  Zaina

  It was the same memory, over and over. Each time, it grew more faded, more dark.

  I wish I knew how to thank you, she had told Loren.

  And then he'd hit her over the head.

  He'd done more to her, after. Things that had hurt. But it was all black now. Nothing was real.

  How does it feel to lose everything? He had asked her. Tell me, Zaina, how does it feel?

  A pounding. Thud thud. Someone groaning. What the hell?

  "Sir, you're needed in the barracks. There's been a fire."

  "Well, put it out!"

  "It's in your tent...."

  "Dammit." More thudding. A door slamming.

  Nothing. Nothing was real.

  More quiet, as the memory replayed itself.

  Tell me, Zaina, how does it feel?

  The small sound of a lock shifting. She had heard it before. It was years ago. Or it was minutes.

  "Kings below," a voice swore. Footsteps, a thunk. "Hey, now, Zai. Drink this."

  Zaina couldn't move, but she could swallow. She drank what the phantom gave her.

  "You'll feel better soon, but I have to move you. I'm going to pick you up, okay?"

  She wanted to nod, but she couldn't. Arms surrounded her, curled her up. She felt like a doll with all the stuffing removed.

  "Do you have family? Someone who could hide you?" The voice was a man's, vaguely familiar. It was a voice she thought she should be afraid of, but he spoke like a breeze over grass.

  Then it came to her. The heavy darkness was fading. "Jorr?" she asked, unsure.

  "No. Not Jorr." A pause. "Damn, that woman was lucky. If she'd found Jorr in that room, and not me...."

  She heard rain, thunder; she realized it had been there all along. He was still carrying her.

  "Zaina," he said, "do you have someone who can hide you?"

  She considered his question as he took her down steps. The sounds of the storm faded away.

  Then a loud noise like a door shoving open, and darkness on her eyelids again. Her feet and her head bumped into walls. They were walking someplace tight, some sort of passage.

  "Rock," she said. The word was sand in her throat. "Rock Barren," she managed to say.

  "I'll find him," the man said. "You can sleep now. You're safe."

  Zaina nodded. Safe. She was safe now.

  She hadn't lost everything, after all.

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  It’s not over for Lassyne and Jorr!

  Don't miss the companion novel The Rose Contract, Book 1 of the Sleeping Lotus series...

  Thank you so much for reading! I would be immensely grateful if you could take the time to leave a review.

  ~ Scottie Kaye

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  Acknowledgments

  To my little crew of Patreon supporters: Willie Handler, Sandra VanOrmer, and Daniel Bontrager. I know erotica isn’t your thing, but thanks for caring anyway!

  About the Author

  Born in Traverse City in 1990, Scottie Kaye grew up in small-town Michigan and earned degrees at Michigan State University and Northwestern Michigan College. She has always enjoyed the shock value of being a woman who smokes cigars, drinks whiskey (now gin), brews beer, and loves action flicks. She unabashedly hugs trees while killing “unkillable” plants. She lives with her husband and two cats near Detroit, Michigan.