Bound to Be a Groom

by Megan Mulry

  “If I’m to become a courtesan in Madrid—or if I’m particularly lucky, perhaps the mistress of a wealthy nobleman in Paris or Naples or London—I’ll need more experience, darling.” Anna dragged her hands lazily through her lover’s long, dark hair, Pia’s head resting on her chest.

  “I know you do, but I still hate it.” Pia’s hands roamed across Anna’s smooth stomach and then up to one breast. Pia leaned down slightly, taking the pert nipple between her lips.

  “Oh, Pia,” Anna sighed. “What else am I to do?”

  Pia released her breast and expelled an answering sigh. “You could remain here.”

  “If it was always like this—” Anna squeezed her closer to make her point. “—then of course that would be perfect.” The two of them were whispering intimately in the narrow single bed in Anna’s sparse room in the convent. “But I shan’t spend my life hiding, sneaking around behind the abbess’s back, taking a night here or there—like tonight—when one of us pretends to be ill and in need of the other’s aid. We deserve to live together, always.”

  “I know,” Pia agreed reluctantly.

  “It’s a terrible bargain but one we’ve reasoned through so many times. It’s the most expeditious route, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, up here.” Pia tapped her head. “I know it’s the quickest way for both of us to escape, but so much can go wrong. What if you fall in love with someone else?”

  “Oh, Pia.” Anna leaned down and kissed Pia’s forehead lightly, then trailed kisses down her cheek until she reached her mouth. Pia groaned, and her strong body softened and bent into Anna’s. “How could that possibly happen? You are everything to me.” Anna reached her hand between their bodies and began touching Pia’s breasts, pinching and toying with her nipples until Pia was squirming and halfheartedly pleading for her to stop.

  Anna and Pia had fallen horribly, madly in love over the past six months. They both knew the night might be their last in each other’s arms for many, many months, or even years. The abbess had arranged for Anna to spend several weeks with Isabella in Badajoz, and then Anna was scheduled to travel directly to Madrid to take a position as a lady’s maid in the retinue of the off-and-on monarch, King Ferdinand VII.

  As they spoke of the future, Anna did her best to hold fast to the last precious moments of the present.

  “You must believe me, Pia. I will prevail.”

  “I trust you,” Pia whispered. “I know you can accomplish anything you set your mind to, but it’s quite awful for me to imagine you with . . . under . . . some horrible man.” Pia shut her eyes.

  “Perhaps I'll learn something that will please you,” Anna teased.

  Pia groaned and turned her head into the pillow. “How can you joke at a time like this?” she said into the linen.

  Anna sobered. “If it means the two of us will live together eventually, I am willing to do almost anything.”

  “Oh, Anna.” Pia looked up and kissed her again. “I know it’s true, but it’s still miserable. I know the sooner you are able to accumulate some savings—with the gems and baubles I’m sure every man will shower upon you—the sooner we will be together. Men will fall at your feet. I know it.”

  “I will always be thinking of you. I will always picture you. No matter what they do to me, it will be your lips and hands and skin that I feel.”

  Pia was crying again. “I will miss you horribly. Please think of me and know that I am thinking of you.”

  “I will. Of course I will.” Anna’s voice was almost stern as she looked down into Pia’s moist eyes. Holding Pia’s chin firmly in her hand, Anna watched as her lover’s sadness turned to beautiful submission once Anna was back in control. It took all of Anna’s conviction not to waver. She was sorely tempted to simply give in to that look, the look that fired Anna’s blood and made her powerfully aware of what the two of them shared, the look that made Anna feel whole.

  “May I show you how much I shall miss you?” Pia whispered, always tentative and painfully shy when she wanted to please Anna.

  “Yes, my love. Show me.”

  Pia worshipped Anna’s body, taking slow, reverent care as she kissed her way down Anna’s lean frame. She was incredibly patient, protracting every moment of their dwindling time together. She licked Anna’s small breasts, and they both moaned when she pulled one firm nipple into her mouth. Anna ran her fingers through Pia’s unbound hair and encouraged her with whispered words and humming sounds of pleasure.

  When Pia moved lower, she looked up at Anna, wanting both physical and visual contact.

  “I see you, my love,” Anna whispered. “Go on.”

  Hesitant and eager, Pia began to slowly lick the seam of Anna’s sex. Anna’s fingers flexed and then relaxed against the back of Pia’s head. “Yes, my sweet girl.”

  As Pia’s eyes closed in submissive pleasure, Anna nearly wept, once again questioning her wild plan. During their time together, Pia had proved to be the most exquisite, delectable lover. She moaned, a combination of carnal satisfaction and bittersweet regret. Pia looked up from between Anna’s legs with sadness in her eyes.

  “What is it, love?” Anna reached out and touched Pia’s moist lower lip.

  “Please don’t let anyone else do this.”

  “Men will want to touch me, darling . . .” Anna’s voice trailed off, not wanting to hurt Pia but not wanting to promise something impossible, either.

  “I know.” A single tear trailed down Pia’s cheek. “But not with their lips.” Her expression veered toward anger. “They’ll want to fuck you with their pricks or prod you with their thick fingers. Please . . .” Pia kissed Anna there, then sucked lightly on her clit before speaking again. “Let my mouth be the only one here.” Her eyes were begging.

  “Very well. Only your mouth will touch me there, sweet Pia.”

  Pia’s eyes drifted shut, and Anna could feel the curve of her smile as she pressed her lips with renewed fervor against the throbbing lips of Anna’s sex.

  Badajoz, Spain – June 1808

  In the library with Sebastian, Anna tried to conjure the same warmth low in her belly that a look from Pia had always produced and transfer it to this dark-haired, arrogant aristocrat. She hoped to feel even a hint of that kind of passion while he held her in his arms.

  Sebastian’s length twitched against her, and she felt her desire fade. Unfortunately, the idea of intercourse—or more accurately, penetration—left Anna cold. It was too invasive, too one-sided. Even the words—fuck . . . prick . . . needle—sounded inelegant at best and violent at worst. Crude.

  Not to mention the possible consequences, which led to ruined lives and unwanted wailing bundles left at convent doors. In addition, she dreaded the way the act itself called for her own nonexistent passivity, to be pinned down and poked. Or at least, that’s how it had always seemed to her.

  “Come here,” Sebastian said, gently drawing her toward a large velvet sofa in the center of the room. He tried to lean her back into a partially reclined position, but she immediately sat upright.

  The buttoned front of his straining buckskins was right at eye level. Quite convenient.

  Then he touched her—stroking down her neck—and Anna instinctively reached for the fall of his trousers. When she palmed the straining fabric, he gasped, and she snatched back her hand.

  “May I?” she asked, looking down, unsure if his shock was physical or a matter of etiquette. She tried to remind herself to be more polite, but the idea that she was about to make these discoveries in broad daylight, with a willing partner, was more than she could have ever hoped for. If she were to arrive in Madrid with a modicum of sexual experience, perhaps she could secure a position as someone’s mistress more easily. Still, as much as she wanted to learn what she could from this man, the idea of being his acquiescent pupil was anathema. She wanted to be in charge.

  As usual, Pia would have said in that throaty voice of hers that always bordered on a shy laugh when remarking upon Anna’s dominanc
e.

  He chuckled and folded his arms arrogantly across his chest. “Do with me what you will.”

  She felt she’d been granted free access to El Escorial, with no pricking or poking in sight. She palmed him through the fabric first, wanting to get a sense of his size and what pleased him, and if she were lucky, what pleased her. In future, she knew her control of a lover would derive from her ability to sense his likes and dislikes, but from her time with Pia she also knew her own pleasure could be equally arousing to her partner.

  Sebastian’s groan was immediate. She pressed harder, and he pushed his hips toward her. She licked her lips, and the thought popped into her head that this might be entirely delightful.

  Keeping one hand firmly against his considerable length, she used the other to undo the surrounding buttons. The front flap came loose, and she slid it down to release his straining cock.

  She looked up at him to make sure he was still . . . pleased . . . and the gleam of lust in his eyes assured her he was. She’d been in this position often enough. She loved the feeling of Pia’s frantic hands in her hair when Anna kissed and licked and loved her swollen petals. She loved making Pia wait and wait and then break apart—against her demanding lips—only when Anna finally let her.

  She wondered aloud, “May I take you into my mouth? Perhaps you’d like to grab hold of my hair . . . or my neck?”

  He looked shocked. Probably a result of her forwardness. She was consumed with a spontaneous terror that she had stepped so far beyond the pale that he’d never—

  He dug his fingers into the base of her skull, giving her a fierce tug that only granted her a split second to open her mouth and receive his enormous shaft flush up against the back of her throat. She almost gagged, but he pulled back enough for her to breathe through her nose, then, more slowly, he went deeper. Petting her and gently asking her to relax, he trailed his hand along her neck, occasionally dipping the tips of his fingers into the edge of her bodice.

  She let him set the pace at first, but she was eager to experiment. She braced her small hands against his bare hips, then trailed them lower until one hand found the base of his cock. She circled it with delicate fingers that barely connected, squeezing once to get a sense of his resilience. He groaned again—a deliciously deep, primitive sound—so she squeezed him harder.

  “Oh dear God . . .” His voice sounded almost angry, but she knew it for what it was. Raw pleasure. She worked his cock like she’d worked his fingers—like she worked Pia—at times giving him deep, hard suction and at other times taunting him with featherlight licks, edges of teeth, air.

  “Anna . . .” It was a warning of sorts.

  Breaking the suction, she said, “No, no. You must be patient. I have so much to learn.”

  His thighs quivered, and he reached for the back of a nearby chair to keep himself standing.

  “That’s right,” she directed. “Be a good lad and hold on for me . . .” She nodded her approval of his restraint, then dipped back to take him full and hard to the hilt. Her throat was already softer and more relaxed, able to take more of him without resistance. The power she felt at his desperate compliance was beyond anything she could have hoped for.

  She found his sac with her other hand and fondled him there as well, learning the feel of the skin and the weight of him. She tried hard and soft pressure, tugging and lightly scratching until she knew what brought him the most pleasure. He liked it rough.

  Delighted shivers rippled through her. If he reveled in her coarse treatment, she was thrilled to oblige.

  She reached further around. Her hands were already slick with her own saliva and the salty, smooth cum that seemed to be seeping out of him with every pull of her greedy mouth. Their earthy scents and fluids were mixed together. Her nostrils flared with pleasure, and then she pushed her wet index finger against the pucker of his arse.

  He cried out, a fierce animal sound that escaped from his beautiful lips before he could repress it.

  She released his cock from her mouth, but she kept up the pressure at that intensely sensitive spot, taunting him as she spoke in a near-careless tone. “You like that?” She pushed against his tight hole. Her voice was a throaty purr from having the head of his cock so far down into her.

  When he didn’t answer, she started to pull her hand away.

  “Oh, God, yes! Don’t stop . . . please,” he begged.

  The sight of him at this point of heedless, shameless entreaty thrust her into some glorious place of wanting to ride him hard, to push him to the absolute limits of what he could bear. Her body hummed in anticipation of the liberties she wanted to take with his desperate body.

  “I like it when you say please.” She took him deep again, and his answering moan snapped through her body. With one hand at the base of his cock, she used the other to circle his tight arsehole with two slippery fingers, straining her eyes up to watch the way his face contorted and smoothed in lovely agony.

  She wanted to penetrate him. She loved all the ways she could get inside Pia’s body—her mouth, her pussy, her arse—all the ways she could devour her and be devoured in return. She wanted to be inside Sebastian in the same way. To reach into him, to grab what she felt was—already, bizarrely—rightfully hers. And then watch him break apart in her hands and explode. She wanted to make that happen, to be the one who made him feel things that no one else had ever made him feel.

  Pia always told Anna that she was such a generous lover, but the truth had nothing to do with generosity. Anna was greedy. And arrogant. She knew how to do this. It was as if she had been born for it. She had worried she only had this intuition, this ability to seduce, with a woman’s body, Pia’s body, because the reaction she could tease and strum from Pia’s eager, smooth flesh was nothing short of miraculous.

  But Sebastian’s responsive enthusiasm was equally delicious. She didn’t know him, of course. She certainly didn’t love him the way she loved Pia, but the way she made his body dance and sway was quite divine. His pliancy was beautiful.

  Without bothering to ask for permission, she circled his arsehole one last time, then pushed her slick fingers inside him right as she drew his cock deeper into her mouth and sucked and bobbed her head. She kept up that pushing and pulling, front and back, in and out, until she felt the hot gush of his release against the back of her throat and the clenching echo of his pulsing climax around her fingers in his arse.

  She was cruel, relentlessly prolonging his sweet, convulsive repercussions. She sucked on him harder, swallowed every drop, and then she slowly licked him clean. She suspected he was sensitive, as she always was, as Pia always was, so she became gentler then, but still persistent. She licked him tenderly, circling the base of his softening cock with her tongue to lap up the saliva and semen there. And it was splendid. He was so satisfied, exuding a throbbing energy of pure, satiated bliss.

  That she had provided, that she had given and taken from him.

  She removed her finger from his arse even more carefully, petting his hip slowly with her free hand as she did. Praising him in some unspoken way.

  When she had finished smoothing his shirt back into place and buttoning up his trousers, she finally worked up the courage to look him in the eye. “I think that was a decent start, don’t you?”

  Sebastian stared into those fiery amber-brown eyes and realized his life had changed irrevocably. He was her slave. He dropped to his knees and gripped her cheeks with his rough palms. “Decent?” His laugh was almost maniacal. “It was the most indecent thing imaginable. You are filthy.”

  Her eyes clouded, suddenly uncertain, and she looked to be waiting for his verdict. Which was even more laughable, since—in his mind—she was already judge, jury, and executioner over his eternally shackled soul.

  When he kissed her, he tasted the particular essence that was Anna, and then a hint of himself on her lips, and then the sweet blend of the two of them together. He wanted all of her, everywhere—with her tongue sliding against his,
like now; with her fingers delving inside him, like before. He wanted her to be coursing through his blood.

  It took a few beats before he realized she wasn’t kissing him back. He forced himself to pull away, breathless.

  “What is it, my sweet, wonderful Anna? Have I frightened you with my ardor?” He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Because that seems impossible. You are fearless, are you not?”

  “I am not fearless.” She tried to look away, but he held her gaze.

  “Well, then, whatever you are when you are swept away like you were just now, whatever that was, it is glorious and splendid and every spectacular word I can think of, and I am in awe.”

  She blushed, but he could tell it was pride at her burgeoning control over him, rather than embarrassment. She was pleased. With herself. With him. The idea slid through him like hot oil through his veins: he would do anything to please her.

  “Now lean back, if you will, and let me taste you—” He tried to position her on the velvet sofa as he lowered himself to his knees and attempted to lift her skirts.

  She resisted immediately. “Oh. That won’t be necessary!” She wriggled away from him, her hands patting her disheveled hair and her back straightening as if she were a governess in the schoolroom. Back to your studies, children.

  Sebastian laughed and then rested his palms on either side of her on the sofa. “Aren’t you lovely when you’re high-handed. Please, may I?”

  “I didn’t think most men enjoyed that sort of thing,” she hedged.

  Sebastian burst out laughing again. “Do you mistake me for most men?”

  She smiled and put her palm to his cheek. “You are quite endearing, but really, you don’t have to do that.”

  He turned and kissed her palm, letting his eyes drift shut as his lips made contact. When he opened his eyes and spoke, his voice was low. “I know I don’t have to, darling. I want to. I’m desperate to please you.”