Retribution (Sebastian Trilogy Book 3)

by Rosen, Janey

  “Taste it,” he says seductively.

  “Wow.” The fire travels down my throat and hits my belly. “Spice…caramel…and fruit. Is that right?”

  He’s beaming at me. “There’s no right or wrong. It’s your personal interpretation, but I’d say yes, that’s how I taste it too. Finish it.”

  The fire spreads from my belly to my limbs; the delicious warmth saps my strength. He puts his glass on the nightstand and crawls off the bed, hips swaying. He reaches me, and he’s all meanness and seduction. Oh God, what you do to me!

  Pulling at the belt of my jeans, he tugs me toward him and, with skilled dexterity, strips me in a heartbeat, my clothes pooled at my feet. “Lie on the bed on your back,” he instructs coolly.

  “Certainly, Sir.” Doing as he bids, I lie supine; the fire now burns in my nipples, my apex slick with my arousal. He pulls the belt of my silk robe free where it hangs on the back of the door. Oh Christ, my desire is palpable. With skill he binds my wrists with the silk belt and, pulling my arms above my head, loops the silk through the spindle of the bed frame. My legs part. I am exposed and yearning to feel his torso between my thighs. My breath quickens, my pulse races.

  “Fuck me,” I plead.

  “Fuck me, what?”

  “Fuck me please.”

  “Fuck me please, what?”

  “Fuck me please, Sir.” My body writhes in anticipation and with raw need. He strokes his cock languidly, his eyes focused on my erect nipples.

  “No.” He shakes his head slowly, his hand working his erection more fervently now as he stands beside the bed, the muscles in his arm straining, and the blood vessels along his enormous length pulsating.

  “Don’t tease me. I need you,” I say urgently. My thighs squeeze tightly together now, the sensation between them almost unbearable.

  “No. Don’t speak. Watch me,” he rasps. His breath catches as he pleasures himself, his eyes now fixed on mine, his skillful hand milking his hardness, which oozes the first delicious drops of nectar down his thigh.

  He moves onto the bed, kneeling beside me, so near and yet he doesn’t stop working his throbbing member. “Oh fuck. I’m coming.” He quickens his stroke, eyes closed he arches his back, his erection jerking as he spills forth,ejaculating his warm, creamy climax over my quivering breasts. “Oh yes, oh fuck.” He expels the remaining drops, which bead upon my belly leaving me bereft and wanting.

  A lone tear escapes and runs like a tiny sorrowful river to my hairline. Doesn’t he want me? A sob escapes my lips as I stare up at the man whom I love more than life itself and who just brought himself to orgasm rather than make love to me.

  “Don’t cry,” he implores.

  “Why? What’s wrong with me?” the tears flow faster.

  He doesn’t reply. Instead his hand massages his warm semen over my breasts, my nipples slick with his pleasure. His mouth moves down to my sorely neglected folds and he sucks and flicks at my clitoris until I’m screaming his name.

  ***

  The clock on the nightstand tells me I’ve slept until ten in the morning and yet I don’t feel refreshed. The brandy must have left me with a hangover; I’m so drowsy this morning. Sebastian has left a note on his pillow letting me know that he’s gone to London for a meeting and will be back late tonight. He’s taken Bella with him for a day out and given her money to go shopping. I suspect she’s meant to buy a birthday gift for me but will no doubt spend it on clothes and make-up instead. I’m glad she’s having a day away from Penmorrow. It’s not good for a young woman to be cooped up in this old house.

  My thoughts turn to my party in just three days time. I’m so unprepared for it. I really must check on Scarlett’s progress with the food and flowers. Scarlett. What did you do? Perhaps it is grief affecting my judgment, or maybe I imagined our conversation and was more drunk than I thought. The powder. What are you up to? Stretching and yawning, I drag my weary body from the comfort of the bed, pull on my robe and head for the kitchen.

  Scarlett is making porridge, the aroma from the creamed oats and honey fills the kitchen fueling my appetite. “Good morning, Mrs. Dove,” she says absently as she stirs.

  “Scarlett.” The pestle and mortar have gone. Opening the cupboard, I see them clean and carefully put away in their place.

  “Can I help you with something?” she asks.

  “Actually, yes, you can. What were you grinding with the pestle and mortar last night?”

  She looks surprised. A trace of emotion fleetingly flicks across her pale face, possibly guilt, perhaps something more sinister but it’s gone in an instant, her features now set in a cold stare. “Cornflour and rock salt. Why?”

  “It didn’t taste like that,” I reply accusingly.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I don’t believe you. You’re up to something and I intend to find out what, and when I do you’ll be history. Do you understand?”

  She glares at me insolently, her mouth agape.

  “And don’t think I’ve forgotten what you said to me the other night, Scarlett. This isn’t over. I want you to trust me on this. I have no idea what you’ve done or how, but you will regret crossing my family.”

  She returns to stirring the porridge in silence and this unnerves me. I’d expected her to react and protest her innocence, but instead she takes two bowls and ladles the creamed oats before setting the dishes on the table. “I don’t know what to say.” She sits at the table and tastes the porridge. “We both said things the other night, Mrs. Dove, things that were spiteful that we didn’t mean. I want you to know that I’d never ever do anything to harm His Lordship. You do know that, right?”

  Seating myself opposite her, I regard her closely. “I do believe that you would never harm him. What I don’t believe is that you wouldn’t harm me.” We sit in an uncomfortable silence. The steaming porridge looks so tempting. My stomach rumbles as I play with the spoon set beside the bowl. It’s just porridge, Beth; you’ve seen her make it. Did she crush anything into it? No, she didn’t, so stop being irrational and eat. It tastes so good, the warm gloop filling my belly, the honey sweetening my bitter mood.

  “Do you want me to leave?” she whispers.

  “Yes. I do. Will you?”

  “If that’s what His Lordship wants, then yes I will. I see how happy you make him, do you know how painful that is for me?” Her voice cracks as tears spill down her high cheekbones. She wipes them away with the back of her hand. “All I’ve ever wanted is to make him happy.”

  “I’m sure you did, Scarlett. You were here for him when Libby died and that would have meant a great deal to him, but I’m here now. He has a family and it’s time you accepted that and moved on.”

  She rises and scrapes her uneaten porridge into the bin before returning to the table and collecting my empty dish. Suddenly I feel sorry for her. Pity is not an emotion that I anticipated feeling toward her but she looks bereft, lost and childlike. “Why don’t you stay for the party and then go?”

  She lifts her red-rimmed eyes to mine and smiles. “Yes, I’d like that, thank you. Let’s go over the plans. I’ve worked hard to prepare the very best party for you. Everything’s ready.”

  Yawning, I try to focus on the details of my party but fatigue grips me and it’s all I can do to stay awake. “Are you sick?” Scarlett looks concerned.

  “No. I’m just tired. Too much brandy last night. When we’ve finished going over the itinerary for the party, I’ll grab another hour in bed.”

  The sun is low and shadows cast over the room create shapes that look like demons. My eyes fix on a demon with a tail, which lurks next to the bathroom door. It is still, just a shadow. No such thing as demons. The demon moves, a flick of its tail, nothing more but it’s enough to make me scream.

  “What’s wrong, Mrs. Dove?” Scarlett appears in the doorway, her face etched with concern. I’m sitting up in bed now, the demon hasn’t moved again but I’m watching it. I’m watching you. I’m watching both of you
: Scarlett the demon and the shadow demon.

  “Mrs. Dove, are you sick? Shall I call His Lordship?”

  “I’m fine. What time is it?” Blinking my eyes very fast makes the tail flick. Must not blink. Must not blink.

  “Six-thirty. You’ve been asleep for hours. I didn’t want to disturb you but if you need something…?”

  “What? Where did the day go? I must be sick, I never sleep in the day.” My balled fists rub the remnants of sleep from my gritty eyes, which now watch Scarlett. Her eyes glow red. Demon. I rub them again. Blue eyes staring back at me. “I saw that. I saw what you did with your eyes.”

  “I’ll bring you a tray of supper, Mrs. Dove. Stay in bed and I’ll get you some analgesics. I think you must have a fever, you’re hallucinating.” She turns and walks away and as she goes, her tail flicks against the doorframe. The wooden frame ignites where her tail caught it, embers glow and then combust. The burning frame becomes a ball of orange fire, and the fireball rolls across the carpet toward the bed. I can’t scream because my lungs are burning, the orange flames are travelling down my esophagus, melting my bronchioles and even thrashing at my chest with a pillow doesn’t extinguish the flames. Reaching to the nightstand, I clutch the glass of water and gulp as though my life depends on it. The flames go out, the pain is gone. I won. I’m alive. I won.

  There is no fire. There are no demons. Everything is as it should be and Scarlett is placing a tray on the nightstand. She’s cooked me an omelet but I’m not hungry. “You’re sweating,” she observes. “Here, take these.” She places two tablets in my hand and passes me a fresh glass of water before going to the bathroom and returning with a damp flannel. She gently lays the cooling cloth on my forehead and wipes away the beads of perspiration from my hot skin. It feels so refreshing. She lifts my hand to my mouth and helps me to put the tablets on my tongue. Her hand cups mine and she raises the glass to my lips. I swallow the pills like a good girl.

  “Thank you, Scarlett.”

  “You’re welcome. I need to take care of you,” she murmurs.

  ***

  Sebastian tenderly kisses my forehead. My eyes feel heavy as they blink open, adjusting to the artificial light from the bedside lamp. “Hey, darling. How are you feeling?” His fingers lightly stroke my cheek.

  “I’m sick,” I reply feebly.

  “I know, darling. Scarlett told me. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you today.”

  “That’s okay, Scarlett took care of me.” The irony of my words is lost on me.

  “Scarlett was very worried about you. She sent me a text this evening saying you were running a high temperature, so I came straight back. The traffic was diabolical on the M4, it took us nearly four hours.”

  “You’re here now. Thank you,” I smile up at him and run a finger over his pouting lips. “Just seeing you makes me feel better. Is Bella home? Did she have a good time?”

  “Bella’s fine. She spent all the money I gave her and is busy in her room trying on the plethora of clothes she bought. She’s had a wonderful day. We went for lunch together at my club.”

  “You have a club?” I ask. Has he mentioned a club before?

  “I’m a member. I don’t own it.” He chuckles. “It’s in Pal Mal. I’ll take you there for lunch one day soon. They have some very elegant bedrooms there too.” He grins salaciously. “Anyway, you need to get well. It’s your party soon.”

  “I’m feeling better already,” I lie.

  Chapter 3

  It’s the day before my fortieth birthday and I have a list of final preparations, yet feel riddled with panic and anxiety, this being the largest social event I have ever hosted. With so many of Sebastian’s friends and acquaintances attending I feel the enormity of the task at hand, even if Sebastian and Scarlett have taken over much of the planning. I have to make a good impression on those Sebastian cares about; I need them to like me.

  Sebastian is back from his ride early this morning but, even so, it irritates me that today of all days he still went for a ride when there is so much to do. He’s in the kitchen munching on toast and reading The Times. Clearing up the scattering of crumbs he has left on the breadboard, I ignore him purposefully. “Leave that, Elizabeth. Scarlett can do it.”

  “Scarlett can’t do it. She has one hundred jobs to do today, Sebastian,” I scold, casting the breadboard into the enamel butler sink with a loud clatter.

  “I said leave it.” His tone is not one to challenge; he does not like being disobeyed. Tough. You have no idea the stress I am under today, mister.

  “You seem very laid back, Sebastian. It’s fine for you, you know everyone who is coming, whereas I feel I’m going to be judged by thirty strangers who all knew Libby and will no doubt be comparing us and realising that you’ve landed a neurotic crazy lady.”

  “Which is exactly what you sound like right now,” he observes coolly.

  “Oh, well, pardon me for being ever so slightly nervous. I didn’t want a sodding party anyway.” I know how ungrateful and childish I sound but I’m so tired I have little control over what escapes my lips.

  “That’s gratitude for you. Come with me.” He rises from the pew and takes my hand, pulling me roughly in the direction of the hall. He casts a glance at me. His eyes are narrowed, dark. He has a steely resolve.

  “Ouch, leave me alone,” I hiss, trying unsuccessfully to retrieve my hand. “Where are you taking me? I’ve not got time for your games.”

  “You’ll see. Games are exactly what you need, my girl. We are going to relieve some of this stress.” Oh shit. This is not at all what I need. I need to get on with the plethora of jobs that have to be done today. He is determinedly striding toward his study with me in tow, pulling against him and shuffling like an errant child. When we reach the steps to the cellar I know precisely what he has planned for me and I am not happy about it, not happy at all.

  “You’re an inconsiderate pig, Sebastian. Do you know that?” Knowing that such words will only be used against me shortly, I plough on regardless. “All you can think about is your dick, when I have so much to do. You are adding to my stress, not relieving it.”

  “Carry on ranting, Elizabeth. It won’t make a jot of difference to me, it may however make it harder for you to sit down.”

  “Sebastian. You wouldn’t!”

  “Oh. You know I would.” Sebastian flicks the switch illuminating the small chamber. The edge of the circular bed presses into the backs of my thighs. He has locked the door, rendering escape impossible, fanning the flames of anger within me. Pacing back and forth, his back to the door, his breath comes in short pants, nostrils flaring like a stallion who has been ridden hard. His long fingers stroke his chin as he decides what to do with me.

  “Sebastian, I have to—” Before I can finish, he steps forward, grasping a handful of my hair he pulls my mouth to his, kissing me roughly. Involuntarily, my body responds as it always does, my pulse quickening, cheeks flushing and a warm burn emanating from the apex of my thighs. Abruptly, his mouth leaves mine as an anguished moan escapes my lips. I’m torn. I am totally stressed yet my body is betraying me yet again. I have never before encountered a man who has this effect on me and I chastise myself for being so weak in his presence. Before I can utter a further protestation, he flicks the light switch and we are plunged into inky black darkness. This throws me and I feel utterly vulnerable yet my breath quickens with the thrill of expectancy. I hear his rapid breathing close to my ear. Turning my head to my right, my lips seek his but are left wanting. Reaching my hands in front of me, I feel for him but his breathing is quieter, more distant.

  “Stop playing games.” I turn my head listening for sounds, my remaining senses compensating for the loss of sight. I smell his delicious scent. He’s close. I hear the swish of fabric falling to the floor followed by the sound of a zipper being pulled. I taste the salty beads of perspiration forming on my top lip. I feel fingertips brushing against my outstretched left wrist, trailing down to my own fingertips
and then his touch is gone. “Sebastian. I don’t have time for this. Where are you?”

  Silence. Losing patience, I take a tentative step forward in the direction I believe the door to be. He grasps my left wrist, my hand is lifted up and my fingertips brush against a roughness I know to be his unshaven chin. He raises my fingers a little farther; the roughness replaced with the softness of his lips which part. I hear his breath catch as my index finger touches the warm wetness of his tongue. His lips close around my finger, his teeth gently pressing against the pad and nail.

  My own breath catches, I gasp as deft fingers tug the hem of my top, lifting it above my head, my finger slipping from his mouth, my arms automatically rising to allow the easy removal of the garment. I feel the gentle breeze against my cheek as my top floats past my head to the floor. His hot breath is on my neck sending a shiver down the length of my spine. He deftly unclasps my bra which drops away, freeing my aching nipples. I await the touch of his lips on my throbbing buds. Instead he unfastens my skirt, sliding it down over my hips so that it pools over my feet.

  “Sebastian, please.”

  “Shh.” His whispered rebuke blows warm on my stomach. My abdominal muscles clench as he swiftly tugs down my panties, which join the skirt at my feet. I am exposed, vulnerable, aroused. All thoughts of schedules are gone from my mind, replaced with illicit desires. Never has he been so sensual, so gentle in this room. He traces a finger lightly from my left thigh, upwards past my hip, my side, across to my left nipple. Circling my areola, he traces across my sternum and repeats the feather-light motion on my right nipple, forcing me to arch my back, thrusting my breasts forward. I truly believe he can make me climax this way, such is my desperate need. His finger continues its journey down my right hip, to my thigh and crosses to where I need it to be, on my clitoris. Biting my bottom lip, I will him to end my torment, knowing it will take only a moment more of his rubbing to tease from my body the release that I crave. As the first spasm builds, his finger stills.