by Chloe Cox
“Sit, Ramora.”
Roberto Ramora sat back down. His eyes were wide and unblinking, and he kept looking to either side, perhaps to see if there were any other Ramoras who could possibly be the subject under discussion. There were not. Layabout sons did not rank invitations to such events.
Cesare stalked his way down the length of the table until he stood across from Roberto Ramora’s blanching face, and then he grabbed the fat banker and dragged him up out of his seat and across the wide table on his belly. Spilled wine and the blood of roast beef seeped into his fine white silk cravat as Cesare drew his face up to his own.
“Who did you sell the Lyselle debt to, Ramora?”
Ramora gurgled nonsense. All told, much of his business relied on discretion.
“I advise you, in the strongest terms, to tell me.”
“C-Clavel!” Ramora shrieked, his eyes shut tight. “Vintner Clavel!”
Cesare let the man drop to the table, genuinely confused. “Who?” he said.
But Lucia was already by his side, and he felt her anger, her rage, gathering together, building up into a great, crashing wave. It nearly knocked Cesare off his feet. He stood stunned for a moment, while Lucia pointed at a blond, confident looking man, one of the sort with large hands and a good handshake, who, among all of those involved, was the only one who did not look afraid. He looked irritated. The irritation of watching someone ruin a perfectly good plan. The sort of evil that had little regard for the lives of others.
“Why?” Lucia demanded of him.
“Obviously I never meant for it to go this far,” the man called Clavel said, as though this were a sufficient explanation. “It was your own fault. If you and David had just agreed to marry like normal people, or if your idiot father had agreed to sell, I wouldn’t have had to try to get your bloody amberwine processes by other means. But you had to do it the hard way,” he sneered.
Cesare stared at Clavel’s hateful face and wondered what it would look like just before death.
“Don’t go anywhere, Clavel,” he said softly.
“All right, Cesare, that’s all behind us, then,” the Duke called out, desperate to brush everything aside before things spun further out of control. “Let’s get on with the holiday. You can go change, and—”
Cesare jumped on the table and ran the length of it, back to his father’s seat. He wanted to see the man’s reaction up close, wanted him to see just how uncouth his son really was, and how much it suited him. “No, father,” Cesare said, staring down at the Duke. “You haven’t made your announcement yet.”
“My announcement?”
“The one in which you abdicate your office in favor of me.”
There was a crash, as one of the ladies in attendance seemed to faint, and fell over on her place setting. Otherwise the world waited, balanced precariously on this particular point in time.
“Father,” Cesare said, his voice marked by the sort of forced calm that sounds very dangerous, “you are an old man. And you have always been a weak man. Only weak men need to prove their strength by beating little boys in the Castel courtyard. Only weak men allow rival families to gain so much wealth and power that everyone thinks they might be a threat to the Ducal seat. Only weak men allow themselves to be so manipulated by corrupt advisors that they think there is a plot to poison their amberwine. You are an old man, and you are making mistakes.”
And now Cesare kneeled, and put his face very close to his father’s, only to find that he couldn’t hate the old man any longer. He only wished to protect his city from him.
“Abdicate to me, or consider the alternative,” Cesare said, and let the full authority of the beast carry in his voice. It wasn’t a voice that could be disobeyed.
The Duke’s neck retracted as far back into his shoulders as it could go. And then he licked his lips, and he nodded. “Perhaps it is time,” he said quietly.
Cesare jumped down from the table, pulled Lucia to him, and raised the bottle of the Duke’s Blend.
“A toast!” he shouted. “To J’Amel! To Bacchanal!” Cesare looked down at Lucia’s smiling green eyes, let himself feel the full joy of the moment, and said, “And to a wedding!”
The pride and love in her face told him all he needed to know about his future.
EPILOGUE
The wedding procession might have actually bored Lucia, were it not for the delicately carved stone plug that Cesare ordered her to wear inside herself.
It probably should have been exciting to lead a stately, richly-adorned procession astride a magnificent white horse on a circuitous route up and down J’Amel’s broadest avenues, with what seemed like the entire citizenry lined up to get a good look at their new, future Duchess—and she was theirs, she was a commoner, like them—but after the first few minutes, it was, in fact, very repetitive. It’s not as though Lucia was allowed to actually interact with any of those adoring citizens. Instead, she was to sit prettily in her white and gold gown, wave until her hand ached, and smile all the while.
Cesare would have known that such passivity wasn’t in Lucia’s nature, and he wouldn’t have allowed for it, unless…
Unless he could make it part of their games.
So when Lucia was led from the bath to her new rooms, her equally new servants demurely stepped out and left her alone with a series of garments and a note from Cesare. And…the plug.
And now Lucia was bouncing gently astride an enormous white horse, feeling the plug—and Cesare’s presence—every step of the way.
Her smile was genuine.
Even more so when the procession finally turned into the Royal Plaza, where Cesare waited with his own escort, ready to receive her and formally take her back to the Castel Lupin. The crowd around Cesare was almost as noticeable for who was not there: the Grimaldis, absent in protest; Rickle, absent because he’d been convicted of bribery and sent to labor at a monastery in the mountains; Claudio Clavel, who had been banished, possibly to the same place as the Ramoras, his life spared at Lucia’s request; and the Duke himself, wasting away in comfort at the Lupins’ summer estate.
Lucia’s father was absent, as well, but that was because he was happily ensconced in the amberwine still that Cesare had built for him at the Castel. Crowds frightened her father, and the best way he knew to celebrate was to create something beautiful. Lucia knew he’d have a special blend for them later.
From upon the horse’s back, Lucia had an incredible view of the Plaza and the crowds, and, if she looked, her new husband, Lord Cesare Lupin. She was almost afraid to look at him, at where she knew he’d be standing, because that would be it: everything else would fall away. And she did feel, repetitive or not, that this was probably something she should try to remember. She looked for Remy, happily free on the streets, but with a comfortable bed whenever he might want it at David’s new theater, and saw that she did have a shadowy escort of street boys, always darting just out of view. She would be their Duchess, more than anyone else’s. She had plans for them: money to be spent, homes to be built, services to be offered. And she would be David’s patron, at the theater he was building with the money he’d gotten from the sale of his father’s amberwine business. Lucia had demanded that Cesare give him a good price.
All in all, this was a perfect moment, when everything, miraculously, appeared to be just right. Lucia knew it wouldn’t last; nothing did. There would be politics, and more plots, and the actual very hard work of helping to run a city. But for right now, this instant…
She looked for Cesare.
He stood, wide stanced and broad-shouldered, his fine, dark hair falling loosely to his shoulders, his scars just visible above the simple cut of his doublet, his dark eyes shining with lusty impatience. The beast was ever-present in the man.
Gods, did she love him. The familiar cord that tied them together tugged gently at her, and she licked her lips, knowing that he felt it, too.
Soon. Soon, they’d be alone.
It seemed to take he
r horse forever to make his stately way through the cheering crowds, and even longer for the fanfare to die out. But then it was time. Cesare came forward and slid his huge hands around her waist. For just a second he looked up at her and grinned.
And then he’d lifted her high up off the horse, as though she were weightless, and deposited her by his side, taking her hand in his and raising it to the crowd.
The roar was deafening. Lucia couldn’t help herself: she laughed, and blew kisses, winking at the delighted citizens. Cesare drew her close, and bent down to her ear.
“Impertinent,” he whispered.
Lucia only smiled. She smiled even more when the carriage drew up by their side, and Cesare held the door open for her. She noticed the curtains on the windows were pulled shut.
“Get in,” he said.
Cesare waved once more to the drunk and happy citizenry, and closed the door to the carriage. He leaned back into the pull as the carriage started forward, his arm over the back of the seat, and looked at his wife.
“Over my knee,” he ordered.
Lucia happily complied.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Thanks so much for taking a chance on Cesare and Lucia! If you want to know about my new releases as soon as they come out, you can sign up for my new releases list
here.
I discount prices for new works so fans can pick them up for less, and I only use that email list for new release announcements or when I give away free books.
Also! If you enjoyed The Wolf’s Captive, go ahead and lend it to whomever you want. And if you can, consider leaving a review here to help match this book up with other readers who will enjoy it. If you do leave a review, shoot me an email at [email protected] pointing it out to me and I’ll add you to my list of people I send advanced review copies to (if you’re into that kind of thing).
Thanks again! I love getting into the heads of these characters and exploring the power dynamics between them, and I love writing these kinds of steamy, suspenseful love stories, and it makes me crazy happy to think people enjoy reading them, too.
‘Til the next book… ;)
Chloe
AN EXCERPT FROM DOCTOR’S ORDERS
Claire is living a boring life, full of little humiliations and impossible dreams. That is, until she gets a secretive invitation to see the mysterious Doctor.
Claire is skeptical about his treatment at first, but hell, what does she have to lose? At least it's exciting. She doesn't expect the Doctor to be so tall, so attractive, so commanding. She doesn't expect to be examined so...thoroughly. She doesn't expect to be disciplined so effectively. And she doesn’t expect to fall in love.
Each session, Claire learns something new about herself and her sexual desires. And each session, she gets closer to her ultimate goal: the Doctor himself.
Here’s an excerpt from Doctor’s Orders: The Complete Series…
I want to speak – I want him to speak to me – but the game has already started. We have our respective roles. I tug at the hem of my dress, marveling again at the deep, dark red against my very white thighs, and wait for him. I’ve never been good at sitting still and waiting. I can’t help but look around, curious. I’m drinking in the surprisingly understated interior, the leather seats, the full bar, when suddenly I see that the divider is down and there’s a flash of smiling eyes in the rearview mirror. It’s the driver, getting an eyeful.
“Give me your leg,” the Doctor finally says.
I hesitate for just a moment, knowing I’m visible to the driver, but I push forward. It’s about trust, I learned the last time. I trust the Doctor, so I shift in my seat, spread my legs slightly, and hook my left leg over his right. He puts his warm hand on my exposed leg. Casually he traces the curves and hollows of my knee with his thumb, and my skin starts to come alive in his wake.
“What is the thing that you feel most often, Claire?”
His hand is slowly inching up my leg, each caress pushing gently further up my thigh, defining a new border, a new line that I want him to cross. I don’t know how he does this to me. Already I feel wetness leaking between my thighs. As instructed, I’m not wearing any underwear.
“Claire, I asked you a question,” he says. I grip the leather seat with my open hand, and try to calm my breathing. I can’t help but check the rearview mirror again, and my eyes meet the driver’s. He doesn’t look away.
“What?” My voice shakes a little.
“As you go about your day, Claire,” the Doctor says with an air of tested patience, his hand pushing at the hem of my very short dress, “what do you feel most frequently? What is the emotion that guides you? That dominates you?”
My eyes are locked on the driver’s. He looks away only when necessary. My head is full of the Doctor’s lightly accented voice, my body full of his touch. My nipples strain at the thin material of my dress, and I can feel my pulse everywhere.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
The Doctor slips his hand around my waist and roughly pulls me onto his lap. I put my arm around his neck, and relax into his chest. He smells...warm. I could get used to this, the feel of his arms around me, his scent. His hands. My eyes half close as his hands begin to roam over my body, one hand slipping between my legs, still toying with the hem of my dress, the other curling around my torso and palming my breast. Suddenly he squeezes my breast, pressing down on the nipple, and I moan, wriggling my ass into his leg in appreciation.
When I open my eyes I see the driver. Watching. The Doctor must feel me tense up.
“Claire. You do know. Tell me.”
His hand leaves my breast and moves to my back. The sound of a zipper slowly unzipping is surprisingly loud in the rich silence of the limo, loud enough that even the driver can hear it. I know this because I see the corners of his eyes turn up in a smile.
The front of my dress falls forward a little, barely held up by my breasts. If I breathe too deeply...
“What do you feel right now, Claire?”
“Besides turned on?”
The Doctor looks directly at me for the first time, and smiles briefly. I think part of him likes my spunk, sometimes. He slides a hand further up, under my dress, and squeezes my thigh, hard. Reminding me who’s boss.
“Yes, Claire. Besides that.”
The eyes in the rearview are still watching me intently, barely watching the road. If there were more traffic it would be dangerous.
“Afraid,” I say softly.
“You feel fear?”
“Yes.”
His hand leaves my thigh, moves up to brush the loose strap away from my shoulder, to tease the front of my dress away. Slowly, so slowly.
“Of what are you afraid, Claire?”
“Being seen,” I whisper. Not low enough: I think the driver heard anyway. It doesn’t seem to deter him. His eyes stare back at me without shame.
“Why should that frighten you?”
“I don’t know.”
He pulls the front of my dress down in one swift motion, and my breasts burst forth, nipples already hard, skin flushed. The driver stares. I’m humiliated by my own arousal, but I can’t keep myself from pushing my breasts forward, begging for them to be touched.
The Doctor absently toys with one nipple, then the other, before dropping his hand to my lap. He shoves past the hem of my dress this time, and finally, finally, I feel his fingers dip between my folds, idly working the length of my slit, still toying with me. My skin flushes hot, and my breath hitches as desire coils tightly around his touch. I want him so badly.
“Of what are you afraid?” He asks again, slightly amused. I can barely focus with his fingers so close to my entrance, his palm pressing into my clit. I open my eyes to try to clear my head, and there he is again: the driver, watching in the mirror.
The Doctor doesn’t make mistakes. None of this is an accident.
“That he’ll think I’m a slut,” I say between panting breaths, noddi
ng toward the front of the limo. “That I’m stupid.”
“So?” the Doctor asks.
He slips two fingers deep inside me, curling them as he does so. I shudder and grind my hips into him, my head dipping as I hold onto his neck. I wish I could answer him, but I can’t, and it’s not just because he’s begun working his fingers in and out, fucking me with his hand like he did last time, his palm pressing into my clit in the same rhythm.
“Claire.” There’s a hardness to his voice, and when I don’t reply, lost deep beneath the surface, swirling around the sensation of his fingers inside me, he grips my hair, close to the scalp, and tilts my head up to look at him. “You will come for me as he watches.”
Oh, God, I think I will...
You can find the rest of Doctor’s Orders: The Complete Series here:
Amazon US Amazon UK
OTHER WORKS BY CHLOE COX
The Lady Submits (BDSM Bacchanal)
Amazon US Amazon UK
Doctor’s Orders: The Complete Series
Amazon US Amazon UK
Bad Teacher (Erotic Lessons)
Amazon US Amazon UK
LICENSE NOTES AND DISCLAIMER
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only, and is not for resale or distribution, but if you like it enough to lend it to one of your friends, that’s cool with me.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead are entirely coincidental, and really quite incredible, considering.
Copyright 2012 Chloe Cox. All rights reserved.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
