“Is this wise?” I asked, as he placed hot, urgent kisses on my bare shoulders. “What if someone comes looking for us?”
“They won’t,” he assured me. “For now, they are still far too interested in learning the secrets of Abel’s construction. Trust me, Violet…”
His mouth moved lower, kissing the exposed tops of my breasts. My body was responding to his caresses, a pulse beating hard in time with my heart between my legs and my nether lips beginning to bloom with sweet moisture.
He pushed me up against a sturdy tree trunk. Even the nightingale had fallen silent now, as though there was no longer anything in the world but the two of us. The professor’s hand burrowed between my legs, finding the opening in my bloomers and straying inside. For the first time, I felt a hand other than my own stroking the soft, haired-fringed lips, then pressing between them to find the whorled bud that held the key to my pleasure. So many nights I had lain on my bunk in the windmill, stroking these secret places and dreaming that one day the professor would do the same. Hopeless dreams they had seemed, even as my body had arched in fierce ecstasy beneath the bedcovers, but now he was touching me in a way I was sure would bring me to those same arching spasms in moments.
A second finger joined his explorations. This one pressed up, up into my tight channel, till it met a gentle resistance. A firmer push, and the barrier was breached. I hissed between my teeth.
“Hush, Violet,” the professor soothed. “Now there is no impediment to our immediate union. At last, we can become one.”
Fumbling with the fly of his evening trousers, he brought his cock out into the open. I gazed at it in wonder. The professor and I had talked at length about the possibility of fitting Abel with a similar organ. As I reached out to touch him, I realized what a feat of engineering this would be, to recreate the hydraulic action that enabled a cock to grow and swell as the professor’s had done, to simulate that steely core within its soft sleeve of skin. Pulling that skin back and forth over the plum-shaped head, I heard the professor’s breathing grow harsh.
“That is so good, but I need to be inside you.”
He guided himself into position, and as I felt his cockhead nudging at me, I wondered how it would ever fit inside. Then he was pushing up into me slowly and insistently, never going farther than he sensed was comfortable for me, as my body grew used to the feel of this delicious intruder.
I had never imagined my first time would be anything like this, half-dressed and pressed against an elm tree in a secluded Bloomsbury garden, but as the professor began to rock his hips back and forth with a steady, almost mechanical motion, I was sure it could not have been engineered any other way. Sensations pulsed through me from tip to toe, sweeter and more intense than anything I had ever experienced. My hands caught in the professor’s curls, bringing them closer to their usual disorder. His mouth nipped at my earlobes, my cheeks, the base of my throat, rousing me further.
Faster and harder he moved, the laces of my stays scraping against the tree with every thrust. My hands clasped his still-trousered buttocks, seeking to pull him even farther into me. His groan told me the moment of his crisis was almost upon him and could not be averted.
“Oh, oh, Violet,” he sobbed, and spent himself within me.
We clasped each other tight, until the professor’s hand moved to find my bud once more, rubbing until I was the one who shuddered against him. In the moment before it seemed as though my whole being dissolved into its component atoms, I caught sight of Abel over the professor’s shoulder. I had no way of knowing how long he had been there, or how much he had seen, and he had no way of telling me. His eyes shone and his face bore an unmistakable expression of enjoyment, but by the time I was able to alert the professor to his presence, his mechanism had wound down to nothing and he stood inanimate once more.
“Do you think he saw us?” I asked.
“I should not worry if he did.” The professor smiled. “He would only have seen how wonderful it can be when two lovers feel free to express their longing for each other. Now, let us hurry. Where Abel leads, Bella and her guests may not be far behind.”
Indeed, barely had I scrambled back into my dress when Lady Portway appeared in the garden. I stood with my back to the tree, so she might not see that the fastenings were awry.
“There you are!” If she felt any ill will toward the professor following their earlier awkwardness, she did not show it. “Please, John, bring your fabulous creation back to the party so we might all admire him further.”
As the professor wound Abel’s mechanism once more, he shot me a look full of love and admiration. Whatever other miracles he had demonstrated tonight paled beside his unequivocal demonstration of his feelings for me, and I knew we would move toward the future together all the stronger for it.
UNDERGROUNDED: HANNAH HAWTHORNE AND THE STRANDED TIME SHIP
Vida Bailey
1 The Crash
The ship lurched and groaned as it hit the deserted building. There was a brief, ominous silence before it disappeared into the floor, leaving clouds of dust and debris behind it. Lights flickered on and heads poked out of windows, but to all outside, it must merely have seemed that one more roof in the dilapidated row had given up the ghost and collapsed on itself. Hopefully no one would believe that an air balloon had crashed through the laundry roof, then fallen through the floor to the subbasements below. Not many people lived round the crumbling old laundries anymore. This part of town was sliding into gradual decline.
After some moments the dust started to clear and the clink and chink of falling brickwork quieted. The door of the ship creaked open and a figure stepped out. The light revealed a slim woman, somewhere in her twenties, with wild copper hair that had been fought into a thick braid. She peered around the side of the airship, taking in the deflated silk of the balloon and the crumpled blades of the propeller. Her breath hissed when she saw the damage.
She was joined by a man with a far less restrained reaction. Clad in an undershirt and leather trousers, implements shining from his tool belt and others stuck in his high boots, he danced around the downed ship in frustration.
“Damn it! Damn the bloody thing to hell! Blast! Blasted buggering arse!”
He kicked a pile of rubble and stood fuming in the ensuing dust cloud. “Ah, Hannah.”
She reached out to him, wrapped her fingers round his arm.
“It’s all right, Darien. The professor can fix it, I’m sure.”
“Sweetheart, I’m sure he can, but we can’t get to him. We’re back in eighteen-twenty. We’ve no idea where he is.”
“So we’ll look for him, we’ll find him, I’m sure. We’re in London, aren’t we?” He nodded, disconsolate. “We’re resourceful. I’m sure we’ll find a way.”
The door of the ship resisted as it was forced open from within, and a dazed couple stumbled out. Hannah’s mouth fell open as she saw what her companions were wearing. Will looked respectable enough in boots, trousers and undershirt, but Elana was evidently naked underneath her silk kimono, and her hair was wild and loose, thick black tresses falling in silk ropes to the base of her spine. Her lips were swollen and red, and she was bleeding a little from her temple. They had clearly been caught in flagrante by the accident.
Elana shook her head, and wrapped her arm around her lover’s back.
“I thought otherwise before we got interrupted by the crash. But now I can clearly see that we’re fucked.”
2 Grounded
Hannah and Will had left Darien and Elana crouching by the ship, banging things and cursing, and gone out to forage for supplies. When they returned, laden with bread and cheese and wine, things looked pretty much the same, but the cursing was louder. Darien looked up at them.
“We ain’t going nowhere without the professor, darlings. We’re all out of power. Did you see any sign of him?”
Will shrugged.
“We went to his workshop. There’s a faded sign on the door, doesn’t look like
anyone’s been there in a while. Who knows where he is? Or when…”
“It looks like we’ll be here for a while, then,” Hannah said calmly. “Hey, Elly, I got some silks and things—if we’re going to be here for a while, we may as well make ourselves more comfortable.”
Darien looked up. “Eh, hang on, I had a thought. We might be a bit less conspicuous one level down—I know we’re fairly hidden, but this place seems to be on top of old London, there’re lots of undiscovered layers. I was thinking if we just got a bit of strategically placed explosive, we could pop the whole ship through the floor and be even more out of the way.” He raised an eyebrow at Will and their eyes gleamed with shared manly zeal at the prospect of an explosion. Elana looked quite excited too, so Hannah knew there was no point protesting.
“All right, you boys get on it, and I will sit here and drink and watch you singe your eyebrows.” She perched on a beam, boots swinging, their buckles glinting, and pulled a gadget from her pocket. Unfolding its workings, she wrapped it round the bottle top, pushed, pulled, and uncorked the bottle with a pop. Elana cheered and came to sit beside her, letting her passion for daytime red wine override her interest in explosives. She twined Hannah’s bronze curls in her fingers absently as they watched, cheering as the floor gave way and the ship bumped another level down without discernable damage. The men appeared triumphantly from the dust cloud. Applauding, Hannah and Elana passed the bottle on to them and went down to investigate.
A couple of hours later, the ship was made secure, a ladder was rigged up to the hole in the ceiling, and the underground room had been transformed with silks and cushions and candles. Hannah lay back on her bed piled with eiderdowns and cushions, full of soft bread and creamy cheese. Darien tripped his fingers over the straps of her corset, tugging at the buckles and stroking the leather. Elana got up and pulled Will into the ship by the wrist, sliding the door closed with a whoosh and a snap.
“Hmmm.” Darien began to pop Hannah’s buckles and moved up to kiss her wine-stained lips. “I could grow to like this desert tent arrangement. Gimme some velvet.” She kissed him again. He rolled over on his back, pulling her with him. She sat astride him and he loosened one more buckle. “I love this, Hannie, the way your bubs spill out over this tight leather.” He palmed them, one hand holding her cinched-in waist. “My girl.”
Hannah moved slowly on top of him, feeling his erection growing against her, pressing her clit to it, harder as it hardened.
“You seem relaxed down here,” she said. “I thought you’d be climbing the walls to get out and find a way back.” He shrugged.
“We’ll see. For now, it’s nice to have a break from all the breaking and entering. Maybe just focus on the entering for a while.” He flipped up her skirts and ran his hands up her thighs. She raised herself so that he could undo his trousers, but he grabbed her silky buttocks and moved her forward until her sex hovered over his mouth. Hannah pushed her fingers into his hair and felt his tongue opening her up and teasing her, dipping in and out of her and sliding around her slit. He moved underneath her and she knew he had taken out his cock and was stroking it as he licked her. Darien was so good at this. He had once seduced her with a flying machine and time travel, but if she ever considered straying, it would be his clever tongue that kept her there.
She slipped back down and straddled him again, smoothly pressing him inside. They moved slowly together, until Hannah realized she could hear cries coming from inside the ship. Sharing a small space together had made the two couples matter-of-fact about their lovemaking, and now, knowing Will and Elana were about to climax too made Hannah all the more excited. And Darien loved that it did. He moved his hand from round her waist to her clit and rubbed, making her buck and press him harder against her spot. Hannah couldn’t hold back the breathy moans that signaled her release was close, and Darien thrust harder, ready for it, ready to join her. She came hard, her hands on his chest, pelvis pushing against his as her aftershocks stilled.
“Lover.”
“Lover.”
3 The Underground Children
“Wotcha, Mister, Missus!”
Hannah jerked up with a shriek, causing Darien to gasp too. He peered around Hannah, who was rearranging her clothing and reaching for the little pistol that she kept in her garter. Darien fumbled his trousers shut and laughed.
“It’s all right, love, I think we’re safe enough.”
Hannah looked around and saw a small crowd of grimy faces staring at her. Children of various ages, clad in hats and boots, coats and goggles and fingerless gloves. You could tell the girls by their hair and flounced skirts, but that was about it.
“I see it’s a gruesome horde,” Hannah observed, but kindly. Growing up in an orphanage had left her with tender feelings toward street kids. Or underground kids; none of these pale little waifs looked like they saw sunlight too often. She handed them the rest of the bread and cheese and they tore into it like a wolf pack.
“What’s that, Mister, that big boat thing? Does it fly?” One of the older boys had noticed the ship.
“Not right now it doesn’t, lads,” Darien answered. “It needs fixing. We’re grounded for the moment.”
“I bet we could fix it, Mister! Or at least Doc could.”
Darien laughed.
“Maybe not this one, kids. Here, go buy some more.” He flicked pennies in the air, which they caught and were gone, all in a flash. All except one, a small child who lurked behind and stared at the ship with a gleam in his eye.
“Are you Doc, by any chance? Do you live down here?” Hannah tried to strike up conversation but only got nods in return. She assumed they’d blasted down into an old tunnel network, who knew how big or far reaching. She tried to imagine living in the dark indefinitely. Right now she felt safe here, but she knew she’d miss the sunlight soon enough. “Would you not be better off somewhere where you get fed? In an orphanage? Something?”
“Or the workhouse?” The child shook his head. “Nah, Miss, never. We likes our freedom. We make do.” He winked at her knowingly, and she realized she had just met a small school of cutpurses. Kindred spirits, in other words. She and her friends made their living from clever private acquisitions and negotiation of the timeline and antique markets, in various eras. And here was the rub: being a time bandit was no good to you unless you could access your money. And as they lived off interest from future savings, there wasn’t much to be had back in 1820.
4 Settling In Too Comfortably
Further searching for signs of the professor had proved fruitless. He didn’t seem to be in London at this time, and subtle inquiries at other workshops had not suggested any other time mechanics were working in London then. Elana had even spent some happy hours in a high-end whorehouse, reminiscing with some old toffer acquaintances of hers, and making careful inquiries. She and Will came home with nothing more useful than the smiles on their faces.
They all spent more and more time with little bespectacled Doc, who was transfixed by the ship. He absorbed knowledge like a sponge and it wasn’t long before they found out why. One day, in fun, Elana pulled off Doc’s hat. A great mass of dirty blonde hair tumbled out around the little grubby face, and Elana gasped. Not only was Doc a girl, but underneath the spectacles that had come askew gleamed a prosthetic lens. It fixed invisibly onto the child’s smooth skin, gold frames held in place without hint of scar or stitch. It was a work of beauty, that prosthesis, but alarming too, against the child’s face it inhabited. A sudden hush fell.
“Where’d you get the eyepiece, Doc?” Darien asked.
“From a friend.” The girl looked fearful, as if guarding a secret. Will held up his right hand, to reveal a silver and gold pinkie finger. He wriggled his fingers and the metal finger moved in synch.
“I think your friend might be our friend too, Doc. Can you tell us where to find him?”
Doc relaxed, visibly. “Nah, he’s gone away. Long trip. Said he’d be back sometime, but he didn’t know whe
n. I fink ’e went to Africa or summink.” Ah. The friends looked at each other. The Egypt trip. That’s where the professor was then. They’d been gone for a good six months that time.
And so for now, that end was dead.
Yet Darien seemed happy to be stranded. Hannah had spotted him standing on a street corner, chatting with a rat-faced individual who couldn’t have been more shifty if he’d been hopping from foot to foot. She was mildly alarmed to learn later that Rat Face was a new contact of Darien’s, a fence.
“Darien, did you run a job today?”
“Just a little one, my dearest, only a little one. But it means we have steak pie and ale tonight!” And he opened a small sack and trickled a rain of coins into her hands, which had been outstretched in appeal, not for rewards. Hannah put the coins back in the bag without speaking. She looked at her man leaning back on their makeshift bed, content with his small-time robbery, and she felt a pang of worry tug at her chest.
“We can’t get away, if they catch you,” she warned in a hushed voice. “No escape off the roof this time.”
“Oh, Hannah. Why would you worry about that? You know I’m bullet proof.” He winked and left her even less convinced. The broken ship, the dark of their home, the scurrying past of the children. It was all expanding into a ball of disquiet and she felt that some action was necessary to dispel it. Perhaps that was why she’d gone to see her parents.
5 The Fight
Hannah’s nightdress swirled around her as she paced. She’d been listening for footsteps, and finally they came, too fast. Darien and Elana burst into the room, breathless and laughing. The laugh faded in his voice as he looked up and saw what she was wearing. Midnight blue silk clung to her breasts and fell in waves toward the floor. He could see her toes peeping out, a rare sight of them, so often boot-clad. The pink and white vulnerability of her naked feet made Darien all the more conscious of the softness of her stomach, freed of its usual bindings. Her breasts were looser than usual also, and the wider valley between them was captivating. Hannah caught his eye, let him know what she could read in his gaze. Her hair spread out like fire around her, crackling with static from the brushing it had recently received.
Steamlust Page 10
