by Nia Farrell
His gaze locked on mine. The sudden heat in his eyes nearly singed me. “I. Won.” He sounded like Caesar crossing the Rubicon, about to change the course of our history. “Popular vote, remember? The initial results were your electoral college. Grant barely took the popular vote. They are reporting fifty-two percent. Fifty-two is closer to fifty-one than sixty, my dear. It is for you to concede, not I.”
I avoided looking at Daniel, lest I appear to blame him for my laxity. I should have questioned. Should have read Edward’s damned newspapers for myself. Instead I’d been carving the faces of my first unrequited love, one of Lucy’s gypsy twins, and a woman who still wanted me in her bed, both of us knowing that Edward would not only allow it, he’d applaud it.
“Shit.”
Edward scolded me with the censorial glare that he’d perfected. A foul mouth during coitus was one thing. Outside of sex, he expected me to comport myself like a lady. I pressed my fingers against my lips, stopping the stream of expletives that otherwise would have spewed forth, and regained control of my tongue.
“Well, what now?” I finally asked, almost afraid to hear his answer. But if my neck was on the chopping block, I’d prefer a quick end to things and get it over with (whatever it was) rather than suffer, waiting for the ax to fall.
“I’m still weighing my options.” Edward sliced a look at Daniel. With the outcome of their wager yet to be determined, I was guessing that his final decision would wait until all votes were in and he knew whether he’d be collecting from one or both of us. “And your bed will hold,” he added meaningfully. “You can’t tell, but beneath the bedclothes, the frame has been reinforced and there’s a new spring mattress like the ones used at our hotel in Rochester. Your headboard and footboard were too perfect for play,” he rumbled. “I’ve thought of little else than how you’d look, stretched out naked, with bound wrists and ankles.”
I stepped back when he reached for me and shook my head. “No. Not until we get the stoves installed and some heat up here. If you haven’t noticed, my nose is red and my lips are blue. If you wish to keep me healthy, you’ll take me home and warm me up. Do that, and who knows? You might get lucky.”
He did, of course, although skill had far more to do with it than luck.
Chapter Forty-Two
After the British election, England had a new prime minister and Edward had two bets to collect on. Until he finally made up his mind what he would demand of us, Daniel and I shoved aside our apprehensions and worked.
Edward knew men’s fascination with all things military and suggested that I do a series of images of The Fighting 69th. I had two sketchbooks full of camp scenes (many of them featuring Daniel) that I had drawn after the war, before we reconnected. Looking at them was a trip to our past, taking Edward along for the ride. While Daniel shared stories, Edward listened, and I sketched, adding scene after scene to the stack that we would frame.
Once I’d finished with those, I contemplated what else might appeal to the buying public. I talked Lucy and her harder gypsy Tamás into posing as Miss Brontë’s Heathcliff and Catherine, sketching them first, with the intention of painting them, all the while praying for a happier ending than the characters that they portrayed.
I’d never seen the moors described in Wuthering Heights. I hoped that a visit to the National Gallery might yield the gem that I was seeking—a landscape to use as a background for my own painting. Of the several that came close, one was enough, when juxtaposed with memories of a morning in Maryland, as the blanket of fog thinned to reveal the terrain’s undulating swells and hollows, that I felt I could believably portray the Yorkshire moors.
While I was there, I left cards for the curator and staff inviting them to the grand opening of Lane Davenport Art. Newly inspired, I could not wait to get back to my oils and brushes.
I resisted the urge to drop by the new studio, where Daniel and Young Frank were building the last of the walls. They would be able to start painting them immediately, thanks to the installation of the new heating system. Once that was done, we’d start moving and hanging the framed pieces currently residing on Edward’s third floor.
I missed tea, but Babs was kind enough to let me raid the kitchen, where I snagged a scone, a chunk of sharp cheese, and a sweet, crisp apple to enjoy with a cup of chamomile tea. Although good for the stomach, it tasted disgusting, barely tolerable with added honey and a dash of pie spices stirred in. I drank it first, then ate the scone. With the aftertaste scrubbed away, I could then enjoy my apple and cheese.
I longed to paint but knew better than to start. Once I got going, I wouldn’t want to stop, and Edward had made Daniel and me promise to meet him in the study when he returned from teaching.
Daniel and Young Frank worked until they lost the light, then locked the doors and walked the half mile here. After the day’s exertions, Daniel chose to forego additional exercises and soaked his muscles instead. He was still flushed from his bath when Edward came home, evening papers tucked under one arm.
Entering the study, Edward pulled me to him with one arm and kissed me soundly. He smelled like wood smoke with a hint of tobacco, as if he’d been sitting by a fire with someone who enjoyed a pipe. “Hmm. And how was your day?” he asked, kissing me again, a light, almost playful peck this time.
“Productive,” I said, trying to figure out his mood. “I went to the National Gallery, studied the landscapes, left invitations to the grand opening. And how was your day?”
“Good,” he said. “And Daniel?”
My Irishman updated him on the day’s accomplishments.
“Excellent. Don’t look at me like that, Elena.”
“I’m sorry. What?”
Edward tsked and shook his golden head. “You look as if you’ve been called in for questioning by Scotland Yard. I understand your apprehension, so I shall get right to the point. The bets. The ones to be settled between us—and between Daniel and me. I have come to a decision.”
Things I’d been dreading swirled through my head. Fisting. Double penetration of a single orifice. Sleeping with Sydney—although that would be physically less demanding, it was as unappealing to me as the other two things. I liked Sydney. We’d developed an odd sort of friendship based on our shared love of art in its various forms.
“Your nipples.”
I blinked, having missed most of what Edward had said.
He sighed and repeated himself. “Elena, here with me, please. I said, I want to have your nipples pierced. A gold ring set in each, and a chain that I can attach between them.”
I looked at my chest, trying to envision what that might be like. I could see the appeal for Edward, the extra stimulation they would undoubtedly create. More than that, he would be putting his mark upon the landscape of my body, claiming it as his own, knowing that whatever I was wearing, underneath would be his golden rings.
“And Daniel. I’d like to do your right ear, left nipple, and your penis. A piercing there will give Elena incredible pleasure.”
Daniel slept to my right. Facing me, he’d be on his left side, tender right ear up, left nipple closest to my mouth. Edward had thought of everything.
“Nay.” Daniel shook his head. “Ye’ll have to think of something else. Ye cannot ask that of a man.”
Edward rubbed his jaw. “I believe I just did. I won’t arrange it until after the grand opening. Elena needs to shine, not cringe from tender breasts when she extends her hand in greeting. What say you, pet? Will you let me adorn you?”
“Yes.” I looked at Daniel. “Yes. After the opening. I’ll need to find a Farmer’s Almanac, make certain the sign is below the chest when it’s done. But I stand with Daniel on this, Edward. To change his body, especially where you said...surely you don’t expect him to agree to such a demand, bet or no bet.”
“It will be his choice,” Edward assured me, setting his papers by his favorite chair. “I want it, but Daniel must allow it. The rules are the same for him as for you, hmm? One word stop
s it.” He straightened from the side table. “What’s your word, princess?”
That look. Dominant. Demanding. I wanted to drop to my knees and worship his cock.
“Delphi,” I whispered, setting the word adrift in a room where breath was held and time seemed suspended.
He nodded. “Excellent. After supper. My room. Take care of whatever you need to and present yourself naked at the door. Daniel may watch, if he wishes. We’re using the strop tonight.”
A flood of arousal drenched my knickers just that quickly. Reacting to it, I felt myself clench and pressed my thighs together, remaining in that state of heightened awareness throughout our meal, barely tasting it. My mind was already upstairs where a length of wide leather held my name and a number, he’d once told me. Just how many, I was afraid to ask. Mentally I braced myself for the hundred he had said.
I did as instructed. Naked, I knelt at our adjoining threshold and waited, listening, trying to quell the riot in my stomach and still my inner turmoil. This was something shared between the two of us, something that Edward and I needed, him to give, me to receive. However, what was rewarding to him and cathartic to me seemed torturous to Daniel. I honestly didn’t know if he could remain a silent, passive witness.
Unshod footsteps padded across the floor. The handle turned. The door swung open. Daniel was mostly dressed, no jacket or vest. With manual labor, he preferred a belt to braces to hold up his pants, so the expanse of his plaid shirt covered his chest without interruption. His ginger hair was a mess, like he’d scrunched it in his hands. His boots were off. Vaguely, I noted that one stocking was in need of darning before its next wash.
Darkness had long fallen. The waxing moon shone through the window, adding to the glow of a dozen flickering candles. I was spellbound by the sight of Edward, who stood waiting by the foot of his bed. With his golden hair limned in light and his perfect beauty, he looked like an angel who’d fallen to earth, chosen to be an instrument of Divine Will, ready to assign my penance and offer absolution.
He was dressed in his banyan, with the faintest hint of wood smoke and tobacco that I realized must be from his hair.
“Face down on the bed, hips at the edge, your feet shoulder-width apart for stability,” Edward ordered.
I assumed the position, bending my elbows and placing my hands by my face on sheets that smelled like the three of us.
“One hundred,” he whispered, “because you need it. Daniel, keep count, if you please. She won’t have to worry about starting over.”
Edward shed his robe and took up his strop—that wide, long length of brown leather used for sharpening his straight razor. Hefting it in his hand, he stepped back and swung it, not hard, not yet. He was warming me up, one stinging thud at a time, preparing me for what was coming. And come it did, a hail of stripes laid on my buttocks and the backs of my thighs, while Daniel cringed and choked out the count, freeing me to struggle against it, then embrace it, entering that transcendent state, half here, half not, blissfully unaware that Daniel had reached his limit before I had called mine.
“Jaysus Christ. She’s bleeding,” he grated. “No more tonight, sir. She’s had enough.”
“She’s had eighty-four,” Edward said, laying on another. “Eighty-five.”
“Arrgh!” Daniel snapped. He caught the strop and tried to rip it from Edward’s hand. The two men wrestled with it, then with each other, crashing against the bed and onto the floor. Edward was larger but Daniel was just as strong, just as quick, and just as determined to make him concede. He finally managed to pin Edward, only to find himself pinned, both men heaving from their exertions, one of them naked, both of them fully aroused.
Edward crossed Daniel’s wrists and held them with one hand, pinning him in place with his eyes. “Your word,” he growled. “Hers is Delphi. I need your word when to stop.”
Daniel stared at him, swallowing hard when realization dawned that Edward wanted more than a safe word from him. He wriggled a bit, a token resistance to the situation he found himself in, at Edward’s mercy.
“Your word,” Edward repeated, his face directly above Daniel’s, close enough that his breath blew hot upon his skin.
“Arrgh. Fine. It’s…it’s posy.”
Posy. Like the clutch of violets he’d picked for me this spring, hoping to cheer me up after my meltdown at Falstaff’s. He’d told me then that I had nothing to be ashamed of, that I was strong and so very brave and he was proud to call me friend.
Edward nodded in acknowledgment, then dipped his head, and kissed him. Kissed him, a tangle of lips and teeth and tongue with days and weeks and months of longing poured into his mouth. Sliding one hand down, he undid Daniel’s belt, slid his hand into the front of his pants, and wrapped his fingers around his erection, stroking it until Daniel came, moaning, spilling himself into Edward’s hand.
Edward let go of Daniel’s wrists and raised himself on one elbow. Pulling out his hand, he smeared it across his pectorals, coating himself with Daniel’s cum, his nostrils flaring as their scents commingled, his lightly furred chest heaving, the muscles of his body perfectly defined.
Daniel looked at me, torn, wanting to see if I judged him. How I judged him.
I wet my lips and repositioned myself on the bed, propping my head for a better view. “Lick him clean,” I said, my own voice thick with longing. “Taste yourself on his skin. Know what the two of you taste like to me.”
He was hesitant at first, uneasy at making the shift from passive to active partner. But when his mouth closed over Edward’s teat, tongue lashing, teeth nipping in rougher play than was expected from me, Edward moaned his pleasure and flexed his pectorals, encouraging Daniel to feast on his flesh.
After long moments, Daniel came again and dropped his head to the floor. Edward rolled off of him, his erection bouncing against the muscles of his abdomen like a blind man’s cane, searching safe passage.
It was too soon to find it with Daniel, so he turned to me. Dragging my hips to the edge of the bed, he kicked my feet apart, found my sodden folds, and thrust himself inside, a hot, hard, heavy plunge that made me moan and writhe beneath him. He buried himself to the hilt with every stroke, grinding himself against my raw, tender welts. Fortunately for me, he was near the point of ejaculation already. To speed the process, I blistered the air with profanities and rippled my muscles along his length until his rhythm became erratic and he jerked, coming inside me.
He felt my panic and quieted me with a kiss. “Day twenty-three,” he said. “You’re due to start in five days. Close enough to be safe, pet. Daniel, fetch towels and wet cloths, if you please. The ointment is on the sink.”
Edward cleaned me and treated my backside, pulling the sheets up over the three of us once he’d finished. I smoothed Daniel’s furrowed brow, then lightly kissed his lips that smelled like Edward and offered the words that he’d once given me.
All Edward demanded of either of us was honesty, acceptance, and positivity.
I assured him that there was no shame in what they’d shared.
He was strong. Strong enough to submit.
He was brave. He’d spoken up about the piercings, and he hadn’t said “posy.” Things were strange and new but he hadn’t been afraid to feel, finding pleasure not once but twice.
I told him that I was very proud of him, and was so very glad that he was ours.
Chapter Forty-Three
The next day was Thanksgiving—or would have been, if we’d been in Chicago. The seasonal celebration was observed more in New England than where I was raised, but President Lincoln had made it a national holiday during the war. Ever the fan of anything Lincoln, Edward insisted that we have our own version, with roast goose being the closest English equivalent of a North American turkey. Babs made Daniel’s favorites, bread pudding and pumpkin pie, for dessert.
As soon as the paint was dry on the display walls, we started moving the framed pieces to Lane Davenport Art. I’d had time to consider how I wanted
them arranged, and had mapped out the sequences, left and right sides, front to back, in the order that I wished potential buyers to view them. Young Frank was of great help, holding the pieces while I stood back, directing from a distance, and Daniel marked and measured.
The uncrated marble loomed in the north transept, heavy with promise. The study piece for Oi Treis Erastés was displayed nearby, to generate interest in my next project. I wouldn’t start working on it in earnest until after the open house. It was my first work of that size and would likely take two, possibly three years to complete.
The furnished loft became a magnet for the weary, the hungry, the curious, the bored. Occasionally I played hostess. Most of the time, I let the males fend for themselves. We brought our lunches with us, or sent Young Frank out to fetch them, and kept a pot of coffee hot on one of the small coal stoves downstairs. There was no room for so much as a brazier upstairs, and no real need, since the rising heat kept the loft fairly comfortable.
Daniel moved the last sculpture into place on Friday, the fourth of December. We hoped to give Edward a private tour tomorrow, our last Saturday before opening to the public. The newly installed sign above the front door was already attracting attention. If we didn’t keep it locked, we were assured of having pedestrians drop in, either out of genuine curiosity or in hopes of warming up a bit before they moved on.
Daniel and I sent Young Frank home and climbed the stairs to the loft, to view our domain from on high, taking pride in all that we had accomplished.
“Oh, Paddy,” I sighed. “It’s beautiful, is it not?” And it was. The classic architecture. The soaring space of ancient stone and thick hewn beams. Newly painted display walls as white as a swan’s breast, hung with oils in gilded frames and sketches outlined in dark, stained wood. Pedestals were placed along the walls, holding statues oblivious to changes in temperature and humidity. All except one, a thick fluted column set before the altar with La Belle de la Rosa on top. The display walls created a labyrinth that ultimately led to her.
