Pleasure and Purpose

by Megan Hart

  "I do," she said after a moment. "For stillness is a part of solace, is it not? Stillness is serenity, yet in stillness there can be action, as well, if it's the choice you've made." She was correct, and none of the serving maids he'd ever had would have known to make such an observation. "Are all Handmaidens so named?"

  "When we enter the Order, we're given names that reflect our Calling. You may call me Nessa, if you prefer."

  "I don't. Stillness suits you." Her smile made him wonder how he could have thought her plain.

  She tilted her head. "Thank you. And what shall I call you?" This took Edward aback. "What do you usually call your patrons?" Her blue eyes twinkled, reminding him of light on water. "Whatever they wish. My lord or lady, sir or madam, mistress or master."

  "Not that," he said sharply, though the word sounded so pretty from her lips and brought to mind memories of pastimes best forgotten. "You can call me Edward. Or sir, should you prefer it."

  Stillness ducked her head briefly. "It's your preference that matters, sir. Perhaps we shall discover together which you like best."

  There was that twinkle again, something he hadn't expected. A sense of humor. Her ease with him was perhaps meant to relax him as well, but all at once the entire situation had made him anything but.

  "Must you kneel?"

  "It's called Waiting." Her answer came with the air of someone who's answered the same question many times. "I find this position comfortable and easy to maintain while I wait to serve you."

  "Surely you don't do it when I'm not around."

  Stillness gave him that tilt of her head, the twinkle. "I do sometimes, sir, when I'm not dusting or straightening or making tea."

  Damn. The chit was clever as well. He looked around the room to hide the sudden gleam of interest he was certain flared in his gaze. "You've done that rather well, I see. The last girl rearranged everything. You've managed to rearrange nothing." She laughed, tipping back her head but not otherwise moving from her position, and Edward watched fascinated at the play of firelight on her skin and golden sheen of her braid. "It was no easy task, sir. You left me quite a challenge, but I suspect there are few who can truly achieve solace in squalor."

  The room did have a much nicer air about it. His gaze swept around it once more, then to the cabinet at the back corner. Made of heavy, carved wood, it blended neatly into the woodwork while also managing to remain a focal piece of the room. Perhaps only to him, as he knew the contents of it. She'd polished the handles so they shone.

  "You may have free reign in these rooms," he told her. "But not in that cabinet. Understood?"

  "Of course. The Order chose me for you based upon the documents you filled out. I hope I'll be a good match for you, but if there is anything you desire, or anything you do not, you must let me know." She didn't question, didn't even look at the cabinet itself, but merely accepted his command as though it was inconceivable to do anything else. But then, was that not why he'd sent for her in the first place? He couldn't deny her appeal. Her serene voice and manner, the demure dress that nonetheless accentuated every supple curve, the shining braid of sunshine.

  He put the cup on the tray. "I'd like that bath, now."

  She nodded and got to her feet, again two steps behind him as he went through his bedchamber to the bath. He saw fresh linens on the bed, turned down invitingly, the pillows plumped and sprinkled with essence of gillyflower he could smell from the doorway. The tub of clear water steamed. She'd laid out towels and soap.

  "You may—" Leave me, he meant to say, turning, but her fingers were already working the buttons at the front of his coat.

  Stillness opened them as efficiently as she'd poured his tea, and something in her quick and easy movements allowed him to stand motionless while she worked.

  "I haven't had anyone undress me since I was in short trousers," he murmured, looking upon her bent head as she tugged the coat from his arms and hung it neatly. She looked up, working next upon his shirt buttons and the laces at his sleeves. "If ever I should do something you don’t care for, all you need do is tell me and I'll stop at once. I shall endeavor to serve you so completely you need never want for anything so long as I'm with you."

  She bared his chest, her small nimble hands cool on his warm skin. She eased his arms from the sleeves and hung his shirt next to the jacket. Next she went to the buttons at his waist, and Edward's pulse leaped. He hadn't had a woman's touch there in months.

  "And you do this because you believe it will bring about the return of the Holy Family." He focused on words instead of how her hands felt against his belly and thighs when she knelt to pull down his trousers.

  "Aye, I do so believe."

  By the Arrow, at his feet, her face tilted upward to meet his gaze ... his cock twitched in the confines of his underdrawers. He could imagine too well how hot and wet her mouth would be. Yet she was doing nothing to entice or arouse him.

  She got to her feet. "You're not a believer?"

  The chance to discuss philosophy with her and keep his mind from his burgeoning erection made him answer more fully than he'd have done, otherwise. "The story of Sinder and the Holy Family was made up by the priests to order compliance and regulate the behavior of men who need fear to keep them from running rampant." She loosed the ties at his front and slid the final layer of linen down his legs as she touched the back of each calf, lightly, for him to step out. Then she stood again without so much as a curious glance at his nakedness and took his hand to lead him the two steps to the wooden grate over the floor drain.

  "Only the men?" She waited for him to sit upon the bathing stool, then reached for the cloth and pail of soapy water.

  "It's not often women who pillage and murder. A woman's crimes are theft or deceit." She scrubbed and rinsed him quickly and waited for him to step into the tub of heated-to-perfection water. Her hand nudged him back against the curved porcelain, and he couldn't help the sigh that leaked from him as the hot water caressed him. Her fingers went to the buttons of her gown. She wore a thin shift beneath, and unlike the gown that covered her from throat to toes, the shift dipped low enough to reveal the enticing globes of her full breasts and the smooth flesh of her arms. A slit gaped to show smooth, pale thighs and a hint of curls slightly darker than the hair on her head. She knelt by the side of the tub and lifted a cloth. "May I assist your

  "Yes." Was this not why he'd sent for her? To assist him, in all ways? Stillness smiled and added scented oil to the cloth. She moved it over his body. The steam from the bath curled the tendrils of hair that had escaped from her braid. Her cheeks flushed as she leaned over the water.

  "Nobody has—" Edward stopped at the rough sound of his own voice. She didn't pause in her ministrations. Her hand moved slowly over his body. She'd already cleansed him of grime. Now she soothed him. She nodded, her eyes fixed upon his.

  "Nobody has touched you this way?" she murmured. "Taken care of you in such a way?" He nodded, lost in the blue depths of her eyes. Her hand moved across his stomach and his cock thickened, though she'd not touched it. He let out a small groan. If she'd smirked, he'd have ordered her gone without a second thought, but she didn't. Her gaze stayed on his, solemn.

  "My lord Edward,, you are tense and fractious. Would you allow me to relieve you?" He waited for her to touch him, but she didn't until he nodded and breathed a hoarse,

  "You may."

  Then her hand closed around him and he closed his eyes to thrust upward into her hand. She stroked him gently from hood to base, dipping lower to caress his testicles with her palm. He'd wanted this from the moment he saw her waiting for him on her knees. Wanted her hand on him, that sweet pink mouth engulfing him, wanted to sink his aching cock deep inside her slick heat and fill her. He wanted to feel her writhe beneath him, feel her quim tighten around him, hear her cry out in ecstasy.

  Edward opened his eyes, expecting to see the bored expression of a doxy but finding instead the face of a woman completely engrossed in her actions. He
r breasts rose and fell with her rapid breaths. Water had turned the linen of her undershift transparent, her taut pink nipples clear beneath the fabric.

  She smiled. "Does this please you?"

  "Take . . . take off your gown." His voice had gone low and growling. She did, and he sat up, reaching for her. She entered the water willingly, straddling him as he positioned her and sank inside her. She gave a small surprised yelp, perhaps at the suddenness of being so impaled, but made no protest.

  "Did I hurt you?"

  "No."

  Her cunt was hot, as he'd imagined. Slick. Tight. Her body embraced him, and his cock throbbed. He thrust inside her once, twice, in reaction rather than conscious effort, and she murmured something wordless.

  Edward stilled, finding his control. As much as his body craved the mindlessness of fucking, his mind didn't readily relinquish its focus. He moved again inside her, water slopping between them. Her breasts moved enticingly, and he closed his fingers on her nipple, tugging. She made that noise again.

  He thrust inside her again, harder, seeking swift release. She let out a sigh as his fingers rolled her nipple, the noise so sweet and perfect his balls contracted. He wanted to fuck, to grab, to press and pull... to bite ... he gave himself up to the ecstasy and pulled her closer, his hand finding the base of her braid and pulling to expose the line of that beautiful throat.

  His teeth found her skin. He had to taste her. Fill her. Fuck her. Own her. Her cries grew louder, and his senses sharpened. Heightened. Harder he thrust, hand fisted in her hair and his mouth sucking greedily on her skin. He grabbed her other breast, then found her nipple with his mouth and suckled that as well, moaning at her flavor, salt and sweetness mingled.

  He was going to explode. He fucked harder. Limbs tangled. His knee banged the side of the tub. Water sloshed between them like the sea against rocks.

  She cried louder and a thread of alarm brought him back to earth. He was being too rough. Too fierce. Yet he couldn't stop now.

  Stillness let out a last, shuddering cry and hot liquid erupted from his prick. His mind wanted to go red with it, but he held back, knowing to give totally into such passion meant being lost.

  He loosed his fingers from her hair and sat back, panting. Her throat bore the mark of his sucking, a small red-purple bruise. She would likely bear the signs of his attentions elsewhere as well, and he swallowed guilt.

  He caught his breath and looked at her, expecting stunned grief or the glint of anger, both expressions he'd seen on the women he'd taken to his bed in the past. She was smiling.

  "Handmaiden."

  "My lord."

  "Get off me."

  Her smile faltered, but she did as he said. Edward, shamed of what he'd done, pushed her aside and got out of the now cool water. He dried himself. The looking glass showed his face, stern, flushed with self-reproach. He looked away. Behind him the water splashed onto the tile floor and he heard the slap of wet feet.

  "Have I displeased you?"

  He tensed, expecting a touch, but Stillness didn't touch him. That she was there to provide him with absolute solace didn't excuse what he'd done. He could have taken his pleasure without causing her pain. Without speaking, he left the bathroom, and her.

  Chapter 2

  His sudden change of behavior surprised her, but Nessa didn't hesitate to follow him. Her gown had remained dry and she pulled it on, doing up the buttons as she went after him on bare feet. She found him standing in front of the fire, no longer naked but clad in a loose spidersilk robe.

  There were five positions of the Waiting, the folded position that was the staple of a Handmaid's existence. Nessa, uncertain what she had done to displease him, knelt with her heels beneath her buttocks and her body stretched out on the floor in front him, her hands placed flat on the ground next to her head in Waiting, Remorse.

  "I plead your mercy. Tell me how I displeased you—"

  "Don't. Don't do that."

  Nessa looked up at him. "If I've failed—"

  He stared at her, his expression unreadable. "What are you doing?"

  "Waiting."

  "That's not what you were doing earlier!"

  "There are five positions in the Waiting," she explained, trained eyes taking in his tense shoulders and grimly curved mouth. "I was in Waiting, Remorse, for I've displeased—"

  "You haven't! Get up!"

  Her patron turned from her, breathing hard, his face still flushed despite the release he'd taken in the bath. After a moment, she moved forward quietly to put herself into the line of his vision. If he'd wanted her gone, he'd have ordered it.

  A good Handmaiden did more than judge when to serve tea and how hot to run a bath, more than clean a messy room or help a patron dress and undress. The Handmaiden's purpose was to provide solace, for each soul that found it would send another Arrow to fill the lord Sinder's Quiver. Only when his Quiver was full would he and his wife and son, the Holy Family, return to bring peace.

  There was more to solace than understanding how to create physical comfort. Handmaidens needed to create mental ease, as well. It took time, skill, instinct and intuition, and Nessa took no small measure of pride in her ability to guess the needs of her patrons, to offer them what they needed.

  But what did her patron need? She'd thought her body, the release of tension. Yet his reaction, after, puzzled her. She'd failed. She needed to understand him more completely.

  "It takes time," she said after a moment, voice quiet, "to understand what you need. I plead your mercy for having failed you."

  "You didn't fail me." Edward's voice was cold. Distant. He kept his back turned to her.

  "I'm here to serve you. But woman I begin and woman I shall end. I'm not a magicreator, nor a reader of minds."

  He turned stiffly, giving her his profile. "I shouldn't have treated you as I did in the bath." This gave her pause. "You didn't wish to make love?"

  His short, sharp burst of laughter had little to do with amusement. "That was not making love. That was fucking."

  Her mouth curved slightly. "Did you not wish to fuck me, then?"

  "I did. I did wish it." He scowled.

  "I don't understand."

  He turned to face her, reaching out to flick open the hastily fastened buttons at her throat. He touched the base of her throat, where his teeth had left their mark. She waited for him to speak, and when he didn't, Nessa wracked her brain to think of what he might wish to tell her. Her fingers touched the sore spot, which even now gave her a thrill at the memory of how he'd felt inside her.

  "Are you worried about this?"

  He nodded stiffly. "There was no need for it."

  She spoke cautiously, treading with her words as carefully as she'd have stepped with her feet on uneven ground. "There was need, else you'd not have done it." Her patron stared into the fireplace. "There is never need to cause another pain for one's own pleasure."

  "It's a small wound, only," she hastened to assure him, but he wasn't willing to listen.

  "No wound is small when done apurpose!"

  Again, Nessa hid her smile. "I assure you, I wasn't harmed." He looked at her. "The marks on your throat say otherwise." She dared a step closer. "Sir ... as your Handmaiden, I'm bound to serve you as best I can. To that end I will do what is needed, be it dusting your shelves or taking you inside my body. It is my purpose to do these things, but you must trust me when I say it is my pleasure, as well."

  He didn't believe her, she could tell, and her sympathies roused for the man whose nature pulled him so fiercely in such opposing

  directions. She took one more step closer, taming him as one tames the fox in the field. His face worked, fleeting emotion in his eyes she couldn't discern, before he stiffened and gave her his back again. "You are dismissed. I rise with the dawn. You may attend me then."

  It wasn't her place to argue, and Nessa did as he'd told her without protest or a second look back.

  A nd this one," said Cillian, "can be heated in th
e fire." The Prince of Firth held up the long, thin metal rod, his green eyes alight with glee. He waved it, then hung it back upon the hook in the wall. He stepped back, admiring his collection, and turned to Edward.

  "I do so love acquiring a new toy. Almost as much as I enjoy a new girl for my hareem."

  "My lord Cillian," said Edward without pause, "one can only marvel at your . . . taste." Cillian, unaffected by Edward's disapproval, laughed. "Ah, Edward, my dear one, don't tell me the sight of them doesn’t get your cock fair to aching!"

  "The girls or the toys?" Edward leaned against the heavy table and watched Cillian loosen the ties of his cravat.

  "Both, of course." Cillian tossed the fabric to a naked woman who folded it neatly, waiting as the prince tossed off his jacket. She took that, too, and handed him a ribbon, which he used to tie back his fall of red-gold hair.

  "You do have an exquisite hareem, my lord, but as for the other—"

  "As for the other," snapped Cillian, "I know you better than you do, Edward. You long to have a woman on her knees before you. You yearn to watch the stripes appear on her skin when you flog her. You like to fuck her wet, hot snatch as she cries out your name and bleeds from your touch—"

  "No," said Edward sharply. "You're wrong in that." Cillian looked at him closely. "Perhaps not that."

  When Edward said nothing, Cillian sniffed and took off his white shirt, tossing it without heed to the naked maid. "You can deny your nature to yourself, but you can't deny it to your cock. Tell me you don't get hard at the sight of that."

  He jerked his chin toward the nude woman in the center of the room. Her wrists were bound to the cross of ironwood. Her unbound hair, the color of shadows, flowed over skin the color of milky tea. Her legs were secured at the ankle, parted just enough for Edward to glimpse the tangle of dusky curls.

  "I'm not here to discuss my bedroom antics."

  "No?" Cillian grinned and hefted the flogger in his left hand. He trailed the thin leather straps over the back of his right. "Why are you here, then?"

  "Because your lord father wished me to discuss the plans for your upcoming appointment."