Their lips graze momentarily, then Silver swoops down to Ria’s neck, planting a chaste kiss below her ear, sending a surge of heat from head to toe.
Ria whines and tilts her head, baring her neck for more kisses, and Silver obliges. Cradling Ria’s neck in the palm of her hand, she presses her warm lips against Ria’s delicate, pale skin again and again, nipping and biting her gently.
Desperate for more, Ria slides a hand over Silver’s lap, tentatively exploring her upper thigh, reaching for the apex of her jeans …
Clank!
Ria breaks away from Silver at double speed. The gates to D10 open up in front of them, and the perimeter guard steps out.
“Honey says you’re welcome for tonight,” he announces to Ria, scratching at his dreadlocks. “But there are going to be a few restrictions.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ria’s used to having her movements restricted. She’s used to being told where she can or can’t go, and having to ask permission for the simple things others take for granted. That’s what’s it’s like to be a Russian living in London: you need a permit to enter the borough of Westminster, you can’t vote, and it’s difficult to get a decent job. All of that, she’s learned to cope with. What she’s not accustomed to, however, is being handcuffed to someone else.
Standing at the edge of the courtyard, in front of at least half the village, Ria feels a swell of anxiety rise from the pit of her stomach. It’s dinnertime, and people are staring. Her right wrist is handcuffed to Silver’s left, keeping them within a foot of one another at all times, and she feels as though she’s on display.
“This is pretty much the exact type of situation you wanted to avoid, isn’t it?” Silver suppresses laughter, not at all put off by the many pairs of eyes on them.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Ria mopes, not sure what to do, or where to look. “I’ve had nightmares similar to this.”
“Well, look on the bright side: they handcuffed us together, so they obviously don’t care what we get up to.” Silver watches the Delta who handcuffed them consult with Honey, and waits to be told where to sit.
“I’m sure whoever came up with this ridiculous idea would’ve rethought it if they knew I was gay.” Ria twirls the handcuff around her wrist, accidentally tugging on Silver.
“Why?” Silver frowns. “I thought you said they weren’t like that?”
“They’re not, but I highly doubt they want to encourage a pairing between a Russian Taint and a beautiful, wiped woman of breeding age. They’ll want to keep you clean and add you to their numbers. They don’t want me stealing you away from them, and corrupting you with my exotic Russki wiles.”
“Too late.” Silver smiles at her.
Ria feels a blush coming, but it doesn’t get a chance to develop. The Delta, as instructed by Honey, ushers them over to one of the smaller benches and offers them a seat—just one seat—opposite Carmen.
“Really?” Silver glares indignantly at him. “There’s not enough room.”
The Delta slaps one plate of food down on the tabletop and points to a large dog bed on the ground at the end of the bench. “Your doggess can sit there, and if she wants to eat, she can have your scraps.”
He leaves laughing, but Silver has no intention of abusing Ria like that.
Before sitting down, she whispers some words of comfort to her ‘doggess’. “You know I’m not going to let them bully you, right?”
Giving Ria no opportunity for objection, Silver takes the seat on the end of the bench and pulls Ria onto her lap. The handcuffs make it difficult, but she manages to sit with her free arm around Ria’s waist, her handcuffed arm resting on Ria’s lap.
“Comfortable?” she asks, the question hollow, the answer obvious.
“Not particularly,” Ria replies honestly. “We’re the center of attention.”
“If you think this is bad, it’s about to get a whole lot worse.”
“Why?” Ria squirms apprehensively.
“I need you to feed me.” Silver demonstrates that she can’t reach the table.
Her heart pounding erratically, Ria examines the plate in front of them: toast, cheese, and hard boiled eggs. She tears a bite-sized corner off a piece of buttered toast and offers it to Silver’s lips.
“This is barmy.”
“More or less barmy than your nightmares?”
“Slightly less, but only because I’m wearing clothes.”
Ria tries to make the most of it, and they take alternate bites of food until the plate’s almost cleared. When they get to the final morsel of toast, Ria uses it to mop up some butter off the plate, then delivers it to Silver’s mouth.
Along the way, a dribble of butter escapes and trickles down her fingertip, but Silver catches it before it has a chance to form a drip. She presses the tip of her tongue against it, soaking it up, then wraps her lips completely around Ria’s finger, sucking her clean.
In that instant, all the blood in Ria’s body rushes to her cheeks, making them burn with an intensity she’s never felt before.
If the circumstances were different—and she wishes they were—she’d be left in no doubt that any romantic advances she might feel inclined to tender tonight would be hotly reciprocated. The way it stands, however, she fights the reflex to pull back her hand and deliver a sharp slap to Silver’s face.
Silver’s enjoying every minute of this show, and Ria feels like an unwitting participant in some war she intends to rage on the moral high ground here at the Delta compound. In this moment particularly, she suspects that Silver’s flirtation is intended to provoke more than it is to arouse, and that it’s aimed at their sneering, judgmental audience rather than directly at her.
In any event—whatever Silver’s intentions are, either consciously or otherwise—by the time Ria retrieves her finger from Silver’s hot, wet lips, she’s convinced that this little show is nothing more than a bold public statement, not the intimate, personal seduction she might wish it to be.
That being the case, she takes a deep breath and wills her anatomy to stop responding so readily to Silver’s overtly sexual teasing. The hungry flesh between her thighs is throbbing in rhythm with every beat of her heart, and she knows her knickers are damp already—as they were last night, when her body was pressed against Silver’s from head to toe.
“Are you all right?” Silver asks at last, sensing a downturn in her mood.
“Can we leave now?” Ria pleads, eager to go into hiding.
“Sure.” Silver strokes her lower back. “We’ll go take a nice walk somewhere quiet, okay? No more audience.”
Ria nods and slides off her lap.
Unfamiliar with much of the village, Silver takes her to the one place she knows will be peaceful: the grounds of Gwydir. With the exception of a few wandering peacocks, they’re perfectly alone when she offers up her hand to hold.
“I don’t want to hurt you by accidentally yanking on the handcuffs every five seconds,” she explains when Ria appears to hesitate.
Halfheartedly, and only because her wrists are still sore from the rope, Ria accepts.
“Dinner was utterly dreadful. I don’t know how you can possibly take pleasure in being made a spectacle of like that. Do you get a kick out of making people feel uncomfortable?”
Silver shows her to the rear of Gwydir, and to a bench that looks out on a massive stretch of manicured lawn, a small pond in the middle.
“I won’t shun you because of your bloodline.”
“I appreciate that—I really do. You have great strength of conviction, which is a rare and wonderful thing, but there’s no need to take such barefaced delight in the discomfort of others. In my experience, provocation only leads to escalation, and I don’t need these people to have any cause to treat me worse than they already are.”
“Fair enough.” Silver backs down a little. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
Coming from her, that’s about as close to an admission of wrongdoing as y
ou’re ever likely to get. Neither of them has any opportunity for further reflection, though. Alex rounds the corner of the building, heading straight for them.
“I didn’t come to fight.” He holds his hands up, bearing food. “I got you something extra from the kitchen.” He hands her a portion of cold chicken breast wrapped in tin foil.
“That wasn’t necessary.” She takes it from him warily, wondering what ulterior motive he has for being so nice all of a sudden. “But thank you.”
“You need it.” He lights a cigarette and backs away, adding casually but pointedly: “Our baby needs it.”
And there it is: the reason he made the effort. Silver fights the urge to hurl the chicken at his back, and doesn’t need to look across at Ria to know she’s been thrown for six.
A long, heavy silence ensues.
“You’re pregnant?” Ria asks finally, her voice cracking.
“A little.” Silver picks at the chicken.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Silver looks apologetic. “Why do you think?”
Ria knows precisely why, and she’s not sure how incensed she can truly be about someone concealing something delicate for fear that it might change the way someone else thinks of them: she does it every day.
“Is it your first?” she asks then, trying to take it in her stride.
“My only, I hope.”
“You’re not enjoying it?”
“I don’t enjoy being vulnerable.”
“The way you killed that beast by the lake yesterday, I don’t think you have to worry too much about being vulnerable.” She picks at her fingernails. “Is your pregnancy the reason you were forced to leave the Hunter Division?”
Silver nods, fearing the pregnancy bombshell will shatter the burgeoning chemistry between them. “Does this change anything for you?”
“It could hardly be any more complicated, could it?” Ria laughs at her romantic misfortune. “You’re married—you clearly have some unresolved issues with your husband—and you’re carrying his child.” She closes her eyes and looks up at the sky, as if making a wish. “Why can’t I meet a nice, attractive lesbian who doesn’t have any heterosexual baggage?”
“I understand.” Silver finishes the chicken. “You deserve more than I can give you, and I shouldn’t be so selfish.” She gets up off the bench. “Are you ready for bed?”
Ria yawns at the thought of it, but shakes her head. “I’m not sure we should—”
“To sleep,” Silver clarifies. “How long’s it been since you’ve slept in a proper bed? Let me give you that at least.”
Ria succumbs to the lure of crisp bed sheets and a proper pillow, and lets Silver take her into Gwydir—to the bedroom she’s supposed to be sharing with Alex. Upon arriving there, they find Alex shirtless, fresh out of the bathroom.
Silver doesn’t need to say a word; Alex reads her expression perfectly.
“Are you serious?” He clenches his jaw. “You want me to leave?”
“What do you expect me to do, Alex?” Silver upturns both palms, declaring impotency. “The bed’s not big enough for three people, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to sleep with both of us anyway.”
“Don’t worry, I know exactly which one of us she wants to sleep with.”
He retrieves his shirt and leaves the room, knocking roughly against Ria’s shoulder on the way out.
“I think your husband is tiring of me.” She avoids looking at the bed. “Does he know that you … I mean, that you’ve … been with women?”
“He knows everything about me, and that’s not why he’s being gruff. He has no issue with my liking of women.” Silver sits on the edge of the bed, pulling Ria with her. “Things haven’t been easy for us the past few months is all.”
“Is that why you’re seeking a mistress?”
“A mistress?” That word hadn’t even crossed Silver’s mind. “Is that what you think I want?”
Ria shrugs. “Well, you are married.”
“I suppose I am.”
“And you have intentions to bed me.”
Intrigued by the thought of it, Silver cocks her head and tries to read Ria’s mind. Is this what she’s been thinking all along?
“Do you want to be my mistress?” she asks outright.
Ria looks demure. “I assumed that was what was on offer: an extramarital fling and a bit of fun. Although, I do have to confess, I’ve never been someone’s mistress before.”
“Yet you say it so casually, like it’s a perfectly normal arrangement.”
“It is. Since prostitution was legalized, it became much more socially acceptable for married men to have illicit affairs—it destroyed the taboo of paying for sex. Once that became the norm, they started taking on proper mistresses: cavorting openly with women who are not their wives. To have one or two is fairly common, and no-one bats an eye. The wives expect it, and they’d rather their husbands keep mistresses openly than bed whores behind their backs. Mind you, it is highly unorthodox for a wife to be the one seeking a secondary romantic relationship.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”
Silver removes her boots and waits for Ria to do the same, then she removes her weapons and her jeans.
Ria isn’t sure where to cast her eyes. “I thought you said we weren’t going to do this tonight? I don’t think I’m prepared for …”
“They’re uncomfortable to sleep in,” Silver explains. “I’m not trying to trick you.” She sits back down, eyeing Ria’s skintight kicksies. “You can do the same if you want.”
“Honestly?” Ria fiddles with the cuff around her wrist. “We should pick this lock and I should sleep on the floor.”
“You know how?”
Half hoping that Silver would’ve rejected the idea outright, it’s with some reluctance that Ria plucks a bobby pin from her hair and sets about releasing the locks on the handcuffs. She takes her time, but it still takes less than a minute to bend the pin into the perfect shape and pop both clasps.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Silver rubs her freed wrist.
“Come back to London with me and I’ll show you.”
Ria doesn’t expect a serious answer to that, and nor does she wait around for one. While Silver removes her shirt, softly giggling to herself, she sets the handcuffs down on the bedside table and heads for the door.
“Where are you going?” Silver stops her before she can turn the handle.
“I’ll find your husband and tell him it’s safe to return.”
“Don’t bother. He’s a big boy, and he can take care of himself.” Silver scooches over to the other side of the mattress. “Anyway, what kind of mistress are you if you won’t share a bed with me?”
Ria hesitates, not wanting to give her any false impressions. “You know I can’t stay here at D10, don’t you? This can’t be …”
“I know.”
It’s painful to say, but Ria forces the words out anyway, making her intentions clear. “I have to go back to London.”
“Not tonight.”
Ria turns back to face the bed, but it’s not Silver’s sheer cotton undies or tight camisole that catch her attention first: it’s her wounded shoulder. Blood is seeping through the bandage again, and that’s not a good sign.
“You’re still bleeding.” Her brow creases with concern. “You might need stitches.”
“We’ll see to it in the morning.” Silver pats the mattress. “Now get in.”
Ria doesn’t dare move. “Are you sure? Please be sure.”
Proving that she is, Silver beckons Ria to the edge of the bed and crawls over to her. When she’s within arm’s reach, Silver takes her by the hips and pulls her tight against the bed, then begins to unfasten the hook-and-eye closures on her bodice-style waistcoat.
Frozen to the spot, Ria stands silently, barely breathing as Silver’s fingers brush against her breasts, moving slowly lower.
One hook.
Two.
> Another.
Another.
At the bottom, Silver releases the last clasp and peels back the waistcoat, swiftly discarding it to the floor.
“That’ll be more comfortable, no?”
Ria nods, speechless.
Still not done, Silver turns her attention to Ria’s belt. She unbuckles it, tugs it through the belt loops, and doffs it so quickly that Ria feels a flash of heat from the friction of leather against leather.
Silver drops the belt to the floor and hooks her fingers around the waistband of Ria’s kicksies, pinching the button undone with one hand while she pulls the zipper open with the other. Without hesitating, she maneuvers her hands around Ria’s hips, inside the kicksies, and shimmies them down.
They crumple at Ria’s ankles.
Satisfied with that, Silver flops back to the other side of the bed and lets her hair loose, shaking it out over her shoulders.
Ria remains motionless.
“What’re you waiting for?” Silver entices her.
Lacking a decent answer to that, Ria steps out of her kicksies. She finds herself sorely tempted by the thought of a soft mattress and a fluffy pillow, and plenty else besides, but tries not to let her eyes wander.
“If we were elsewhere, we could be hanged for this.” She climbs onto the bed, careful to keep her distance, leaving several inches of cool cotton between them.
“For sharing a bed?” Silver props her head up on her elbow.
“For much less.” Ria untwists her braid, releasing her long dark locks. “I’ve known women to face the gallows for looking at each other the wrong way.”
“What way’s that?”
Ria settles herself between the covers, curling herself up into a ball. “The way I’ve been looking at you since we met.”
“But I like the way you’ve been looking at me.” Silver tucks Ria’s hair behind her ear, stroking her cheek.
Desperate to believe that Silver’s not only interested in doling out lessons in social conscience and human decency, and that she’s keen for more than a bit of political reform, Ria compels herself to ask a question that’s been eating away at her mind all evening.
Lex Talionis Page 20
