Innocence and Carnality

by J. Alan Veerkamp

  Even with all these interwoven ideas swimming in my skull, a whole other type of inappropriate line of questions took root. It was the kind of inquiry I knew I should hold my tongue over, but I couldn’t choke down my curiosity and stifle it.

  “Blythe, you said you didn’t kill the officer, but… have you ever killed a man?”

  He stilled, his face paling. “You shouldn’t ask a man such questions.”

  “That isn’t a no.” His hesitation gave away far too much, but I couldn’t halt my train of thought. Blythe grunted as I waited, no doubt debating how much to reveal for a change. A sliver of guilt dug deeper under my skin the more his bravado unsettled. I almost rescinded the request until I realized he was going to answer.

  Blythe spun a cautious glance around us again, making sure we were still alone. “I’ve been forced to hurt men before. Sometimes worse. But every one of the lot deserved what came for them.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Only the worst of men have to worry about me.”

  I let out a near silent breath laced with a relief I didn’t completely understand, like most of my new life in Marisol. “Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry I pressured you. It wasn’t exactly fair of me.”

  Blythe shook his head. “You should know what kind of man works for you.”

  “Well, for Rother, at least.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, it’s the same thing.”

  Harston’s recruitment still needled me. While only serving drinks, could an argument be made for a future agenda? What more would be expected of him over time? And when I extrapolated that direction of thinking, one other scenario reared its paranoid face.

  “Could you answer me something?”

  “Sure.”

  “You’ve known Rother far longer than I have. He’s very good at bringing people into the fold. Do you ever think Rother would expect me to perform services for Delaga House?”

  I felt ridiculous for asking as soon as I uttered the question.

  “You mean shagging clients?” Blythe stared at me, the scar on his face keeping me from seeing whether he was smirking or sneering at my idiocy. I averted my eyes, unable to let him see my shame.

  Blythe grunted. “Never. Rother’s always been way too possessive to share his boys.”

  “Boys, plural?”

  “Figure of speech.” This time I could hear his grin. “I imagine he’ll be worse with a husband.”

  I shook my head, ridding myself of the notion. “Thank you. I don’t know what got into me.”

  “I’d tell you, but you’d slap me after. Come on. Gather your purchases and we’ll collect Harston and get to the clothier. Your day is wasting.”

  Blythe was right. It was time to improve my wardrobe to better find my place in Delaga House.

  IN FRONT of the dressing mirror, I held a new garment against me. The color was bolder than I liked, but Blythe had wasted no time in reminding me the outing was to make me more indigenous. He spouted commentary on every choice, lewd or otherwise. When we approached the undergarments, I sent him outside. Some opinions did not need verbalizing.

  “Excellent choices.” Rother picked through the wardrobe, examining my new garments. “So how much of my money found its way into shop owners’ pockets today?”

  “Not even the smallest coin. I have my own funds, thank you very much.”

  “Since when?”

  “I brought some savings from Deilia. We stopped at the usury and exchanged it for Marisolian currency before visiting the clockwork foundry.”

  “You were walking the streets with all that money in your pocket? Are you a complete fool?”

  I stopped my task at his harsh tone, turned slowly, and skewered him with a glare of my own.

  “No. I was not walking the street with all that money in my pocket. Blythe was. You’ve seen the man, haven’t you? What idiot would take the chance at robbing him? Besides, I’m not familiar with your denominations.” I refused to admit Deilian nobles never carried hard cash on themselves. It was considered common. Trying to shed the more pompous aspects of my past, I decided it was in my best interests to keep the practice to myself.

  “Very well.” Rother continued perusing my clothing selections, nodding with a tiny approving smile, when he noticed I’d yet to stop glowering at him. “What?”

  “I dare say you owe me an apology.”

  We locked eyes for an extended pause. Frowning, he grunted and straightened. “I may have been quick to judge. That was a clever solution. You’re acclimating a little too well. I’m not sure if you should be spending so much time with Blythe after all.”

  While it was hardly a proper apology, I was learning to accept the small victories. Rother’s dominant streak gave up little in a battle of wills. It was one of his most frustrating and attractive qualities.

  “He does his job well.”

  “Yes, he does.” Rother sidled over to the table where more of my purchases rested. “Are these from the clockwork shop?”

  “They are.” I couldn’t help but grin at my acquisitions. Each tool and gadget helped ground me, settling my nerves inside Delaga House.

  “Are you going to tell me about them?”

  “Am I going to bore you to tears in the process?”

  Rother stepped in close. “Perhaps, but I like to think if you become excited, you’ll be more… willing afterwards.” His lusty words made me shiver. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find my husband attractive. I did. Very much so. But I was hardly going to undress and debase myself at his whim like a tawdry mistress. I had standards of seduction, and I intended him to meet them.

  Even so, I was ecstatic over my new items and wanted to show them off. I jabbered about a few of my new tools until I reached my favorite.

  “I found the most brilliant magnification monocle…. Hold on….” I scanned over my collection. “Ugh. I bet Harston still has it. He was carrying some of my packages.”

  “Well, go get it.”

  “You want me to?”

  “I’d hate to see your enthusiasm dimmed. Go. You can give me a demonstration.” He gave me a heated stare. “Then I’ll give you one.”

  With a glance over my shoulder, I hurried out the door, knowing my fate if I hesitated. Rother’s appetites were insistent, and I was determined to complete my presentation before beginning to submit. I composed myself as I traveled the hallway down to Harston’s room. The door was ajar and ignoring the noises coming from inside, I pushed it open without thinking. The sight froze me at the threshold.

  On his hands and knees, Harston crouched naked at the foot of his bed. Behind him, Blythe held a vise-grip on Harston’s waist. My bodyguard thrust his hips forward, over and over, growling as he hammered into my valet. He wore nothing more than his unbuttoned shirt, which flew about with each thrust, giving me a salacious view. Both men grunted and growled as the tempo held an almost violent cadence.

  Even from the doorway, I could scent the sweat and musk. Their coupling was nothing like my encounters with Rother. Lacking the subtlety of a lover’s tryst, this was hedonism on another level. Blythe was little better than an animal and with each pained moan, Harston urged him for more. Bracing his arms, he pushed back into each brutal slam. I swore I could feel each impact, and it made my pulse race. From this angle, I could see the entry point, and Blythe’s girth shocked me.

  My face blazed. I didn’t know what to do, and I couldn’t tear myself away from the spectacle. In the end I didn’t have to. It all stopped when Harston gasped.

  “Nathan!”

  Harston scrambled up the bed, madly trying to cover himself. With hazy eyes confused with lust, Blythe turned toward me, huffing in exertion. He approached me, his open shirt doing nothing to make him decent. It couldn’t hide the glistening slabs of his fur-covered chest. His stomach was made up of hard ridges leading to a pair of chiseled thighs. Jutting out between them from a sweaty snarl of hair, his veined and fearsome cock glistened, unwavering with
each footstep. The foreskin drawn fully back, the flared, purpled knob looked ready to burst. His physique was nothing like Rother’s sculptural proportions. Blythe was a beast.

  We stood staring at each other for far less time than it seemed. So stunned by the scene, I couldn’t bring myself to speak. The scar on Blythe’s face made him unreadable. Was he furious at me for interrupting?

  To answer my question, he reached out and slammed the door shut in my face.

  I was so humiliated, my feet refused to move. How deviant must I have been to stand watching? I wanted to knock and apologize, but the obscene noises resumed.

  Leave now, before something else happens.

  Stumbling backward, I spun and found my way back to our bedroom. Leaning back against the door, I pushed it closed, making a point to turn the lock.

  “Where’s your treasure?” Rother asked.

  I tried in vain to swallow my embarrassment and the agitation it spawned. “Um…. Harston was preoccupied.”

  “How so?”

  “He seems to be getting along better with Blythe than I expected.”

  Rother’s brow cocked as he scrutinized me. “As in….”

  “Intimately.”

  “You saw Blythe undressed?” He growled as his posture stiffened. This was not the reaction I expected given Rother’s profession.

  “And my valet, but not on purpose. I may be scarred for life.” My attempt at levity didn’t smooth my husband’s scowl. It was strangely endearing and somewhat offensive.

  Either way, his attitude did little to dim my racing pulse. It made me pay attention to the cut of his clothes and how well he filled them out. The growth along his jaw caught my fascination, and how it burned my skin when he bit me.

  The reason behind his displeasure was absurd—I would never betray him in such a manner—but the sight of Blythe and Harston’s heated rutting made Rother’s earlier suggestion of how we could spend our time far more appealing. Flashes of the sights and sounds were stoking my ardor. However, if he continued to stew in his unhappiness, this would end in an unsatisfying argument. And given my state of arousal, I needed him. The thought of tending to myself left me uneasy. Rother’s participation was the only scenario I found myself comfortable entertaining. Propriety demanded it.

  Not wanting to add to the confrontation, I attempted to defuse it. Stepping close enough to brush our chests together, I stroked his broad shoulders. We were no longer strangers to each other’s bodies, but touching Rother elated and terrified me. “There’s no competition when you compare a man to my husband.”

  Rother paused, his brow arched. “Really? Tell me about him.”

  I inhaled deeply, squirreling away the nerves choking my part in this roleplay. “He’s daring. Handsome.” The more I spoke the braver I felt. “A devilish rogue who brings out my carnal side. Who makes me want to embrace it.”

  Rising onto my toes, I feathered a soft kiss to his lips, trying to entice him. If I came off too eager Rother might resist, and I couldn’t afford that. Staring into his dark eyes, I watched them gleam with desire. With a graveled moan, he snatched a fistful of my hair and devoured my mouth. He ground against me as his tongue relieved me of any last hesitations. The swollen evidence of his interest pressed hard into my hip.

  When Rother released my hair, I tore away at my restrictive clothing. His smoldering gaze watched every piece of skin I revealed with a fresh hunger until I was completely bare. Pulling me close, he resumed the kiss. He squeezed and kneaded my backside as my wandering hands dismantled his belt and trousers. Rother wasted no time kicking them away, not even breaking our connection. After unbuttoning his shirt, he moved to slide it off.

  I whispered against his mouth, “Leave it on.”

  Chuckling, he pulled back, licking his lips. How decadent he appeared partially dressed, and I refused to look away as I walked backward, leading him to the bed. I climbed up onto my hands and knees, my rear right at the edge where he could reach me.

  Coming up behind me, Rother pressed his sex into the valley of my ass. The silky hardness drew a shudder over me. I wanted my husband, but the idea of lovemaking fled with each second.

  He bent over my back, his chest hairs tickling my skin as he breathed in my ear. “You want me to take you like this?”

  “Please.” I rocked my hips, rubbing my cheeks up and down his erect length.

  Rother’s hands roamed my back as he made sure I knew how hard he was. He leaned over to the nightstand and gathered the oil. I closed my eyes as his fingers defiled me, and I silently begged for more. His movements were rushed, the preparation hurried, and I welcomed it.

  Holding my hips, Rother pushed into me. I fisted the sheet as I pushed back, determined to get him deeper. Once his balls touched my own, he drew back and sank into me again.

  The air rushing out of me left me unable to do little more than gasp. “Harder.”

  My husband complied. He pounded into me, the slap of his skin a sharp contrast to the brush of his shirt along my thighs. Shoving back, I met each of his thrusts. The impacts jolted my backside, sending shocks through to the front, each surge rushing into my groin. I cried out in matching rhythm, marking the cadence. The charge built into a torrid fire, and it threatened to detonate. My wanton pace left me on the fringe of self-control, and I willingly leapt off the precipice.

  A guttural howl ripped out of me as I exploded without touching myself, spraying the bedding under me. Rother gasped, his grip tightening into my flesh. Driving shorter and deeper, he shouted a string of expletives and spilled inside me.

  My body shivered; the quaking of my release continued far beyond the finish. When Rother finally slipped out of me, I fell forward, not caring about the damp covers beneath me. He climbed up behind me, leaving soft bites along my shoulder and neck as his sated gasps ghosted over my skin.

  As my giddy high leveled itself, it brought a wave of guilt with it. My thoughts were elsewhere rather than on the lewd moment I’d just shared with my husband. I wasn’t sure how to cope with reenacting the scene I shouldn’t have been exposed to in the first place.

  ROTHER ROSE from the breakfast table, dropping his napkin onto his plate. “I have business in the city today.”

  In too good a mood, I ignored his minor breach of etiquette. “Will you be back later?”

  “In time for supper, I think.”

  “All right. I’ll see you then.”

  I watched my husband strut out the door, smiling as he adjusted his cuffs.

  Out of habit, Harston collected our dirty breakfast plates. “Lord Rother seems to be in good spirits.”

  “He was well taken care of last night. How are you faring this morning?”

  The plates in Harston’s hand rattled with his sudden start. “I’m well, thank you.”

  It wasn’t typical of me to make jokes at his expense. Finn and Thomas had rattled me as such all through my adolescent years. I’d been told brothers treated each other this way. It was expected. Now here I was doing the same to Harston. Did I think of him as a brother? Harston certainly treated me better than any of my blood relatives. My morning disposition must have been brighter than I thought.

  I waited for Harston to say more, but he was silent as I followed him into the kitchen. He passed the dishes to the kitchen maid to wash and moved back into the dining room. Barely a word had been spoken between us since I walked in on him and Blythe last night. Brother or not, the uncharacteristic behavior unsettled me. Or perhaps coming face-to-face with the event. Of course a romance could happen at some point in his life. It was poor form on my part to assume it couldn’t. Barging in as I did was something I’d like to forget, but I would like to think our relationship could weather the awkward moment. Was his silence telling a larger story?

  Now that Rother had left, I hoped Harston would confide in me. He had witnessed far more intimate details of my life over the years than I of his. Our relationship was more important in some ways than the one I shared with my hus
band. There needed to be some balance. I waited to hear something. Anything. But his eyes shifted away at every opportunity, and I realized I would need to act first.

  “So, you and Blythe….”

  Harston glanced at another staff member and spun away, making quick steps toward the sunporch door. “Yes.”

  Outside, I followed him to the garden, surrounding us in trees, foliage, and a modicum of privacy. Clearly, Harston wanted a lack of witnesses. Choking down the edge of my impatience, I kept a sweet demeanor as we strolled through the lush backyard.

  “I have to admit I was a bit taken aback.”

  Harston’s response was hesitant. “No more than I.”

  “I hadn’t realized he was so keen.”

  “Blythe is a relentless man.”

  An awful thought came forward, somehow justifying Harston’s reluctance. One I didn’t want to believe. “He didn’t… force you—”

  “No! Of course not. I would have said something. Blythe is… strangely persuasive.”

  A wistful tone to his words piqued my curiosity, but good sense warned me off asking what my bodyguard could do to seduce my valet.

  “I suppose he has his skills.”

  “Oh yes. He does.”

  Given Blythe’s lewd behavior, I didn’t need more of a picture than I already had. Before gruesome details could emerge, I redirected the conversation. “Am I to believe you and he are together now?”

  “You mean….”

  “A couple?”

  Harston pulled a face, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Blythe is a fun bloke, but we’re only having a laugh. I’m not the man he’ll settle down with. Even if he would.”

  “And why not? There’s nothing wrong with you.”