Bride Ball

by Brenna Lyons

  She pulled her mask on, held her cloak tight around her body and bolted into the gardens. The cool, night air teased at her uncovered skin and the satin cups of the bustier caressed her, bringing her nipples to hard points.

  “Oh, yes. Like that,” a male voice panted out.

  Amber paused, waiting for some sign of what direction it had come from, hoping not to stumble over someone’s sexual play. A series of moans from her right sent her forward and to the left. Luckily, there wasn’t another couple that direction, and she made the patio without incident.

  At least that far... She almost turned back at the patio.

  The women gathered there were in the most outrageous outfits she’d ever seen. One was in sheer lace that revealed her entire body. Another was in a weave of leather straps that left her augmented breasts bare and would bare her probably-shaven mound with a single buckle. Still another wore a short skirt with no panties beneath, a fact that was impossible to miss when she leaned forward; she did that often.

  Amber tried not to stare at the half-nude women with their padded or surgically-enhanced breasts. In their quest for a choice position, it seemed no expense had been spared.

  The talk was even more disconcerting. Some named which nobles had already sampled their wares that evening and boasted of expected offers. Some talked about the prince, postulating on who he might choose. By the last of it, Amber wanted nothing more than to escape into the depths of the ball, and she did so, pushing her hood and cloak to her back to bare her modest outfit.

  Slipping into the ballroom was akin to slipping into the depths of the unholy underworld. Everywhere, couples and more gyrated against each other in what she presumed was dancing. Others were engaged in heated kisses or blatant touching.

  She picked a route toward a seemingly sedate round of conversing lords and ladies, only to find herself passing peek windows into a walled area that contained a veritable orgy of sex partners that obviously enjoyed their audience. From the reactions of those at the windows, they enjoyed watching nearly as much as those inside enjoyed being watched.

  Her face burning, Amber bolted for the punch bowl, passing by two soldiers who seemed to be stationed at the table. It was spiked, of course, and there was no sign of an alternative, so she sipped at it.

  The conversation she’d sought proved even more blatant than what she’d heard on the patio. Amber made for a deserted stretch of wall, nearly hopping in place, staring at her drink for lack of anywhere safer to paste her gaze.

  Why did Nana insist on this?

  A few nobles wandered her way, invariably older men...and drunken. The younger wanted something more impressive, more engaging. She turned them down politely, and they left with nods and offers to seek them out later.

  Amber groaned. How was she supposed to find a noble when she choked at the sight of them?

  A familiar laugh caught her attention, and she looked toward the head of the room, coughing on a mouthful of punch. Marquita and Kambry were performing a sex show for a well-dressed, masked gentleman that she assumed was the prince. They turned in unison and draped themselves over him, stroking his body and whispering in his ear. He kissed Kambry and then Marquita, tangling his hands in their hair.

  She looked away, taking a deeper drink of the punch. They were shameless, and perhaps a drink would calm her nerves, so she could last another hour of this and satisfy Nana’s insistence that she try.

  Tears stung at her eyes. She’d be better off marrying some land-owner’s foreman than attempting this. She shouldn’t have come. She didn’t belong—

  “Care for a dance or a moment of conversation?” a rich, male timbre inquired.

  Amber turned to dismiss him...and the words stuck in her throat. He was young, and he was beautiful. He was dressed simply, in loose, tied trousers of suede. His bare chest was tanned and ridged in muscles. His lips were full and dark, and though a brown, suede mask that matched his trousers concealed most of his face, his deep blue eyes and the fluff of blonde hair drew her eyes.

  Her heart pounded in excitement. A younger man... Oh, but Nana was right about that.

  “Pardon?” she managed.

  “A dance or a bit of conversation?”

  * * * *

  Edward had all but given up. The women of the southern reaches were even worse than the north and east. He knew his willing stand-in, his cousin Darren, was getting his fill of both promises and payments on them.

  He was a stone’s throw from admitting defeat and moving on to another idea. It had been folly to try this. Edward had been hoping a family in dire straits would force a daughter out, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen. The type of woman he wanted to meet would never come to this travesty.

  What caught his attention first was an uncertain thing. Perhaps it was her wild-eyed look at the voyeurs’ row, how she bolted for the punchbowl, her breasts bouncing in the bodice of the modest bustier.

  Yes, that caught his attention. Without a doubt, it had. Her breasts had bounced as implants never would.

  She’d shaken her head in misery at her first taste of the punch, and she’d sipped at it afterward, wandering from one group of revelers to another, choosing red-faced solitude, in the end.

  Edward vowed to approach her before she had a second cup...if he approached her. He wanted her honest reactions, not ones fueled by Elmstead’s finest stores.

  She seemed discomfited, avoiding eye contact, turning away the nobles who approached her, even those Edward knew to be among the wealthiest here. She made no move toward Darren, believing—as all save Darren, Elmstead, Edward’s parents, and the royal guards would—that his cousin was the prince.

  Edward was halfway across the floor to her, when she looked toward Darren. He paused, gauging her expressions...and started moving again a moment later.

  She was clearly disgusted. Her crimson cheeks went pale, and she winced. She looked away, raised the cup to her lips with a shaking hand, and drank deeply. Still, she didn’t look back to Darren or try to approach him.

  It was the moment of truth. “Care for a dance or a moment of conversation?” he offered.

  She turned to him in apparent misery and went still, her color returning in a rush, her eyes scaling his body, from bottom to top. She stopped at his face, her breathing ragged.

  His heart stuttered at the sight of her tear-heavy lashes. She was so decidedly out of her element, it tore at his heart. Edward wanted to smooth the riot of dark ringlets, kiss away the tears, hold her in a place far from this insanity.

  “P-pardon?” she whispered.

  “A dance or a bit of conversation?” he offered again.

  She looked toward the groping throng and swallowed hard. “Conversation, thank you.”

  It was matter-of-fact, sensible, completely endearing. “Very well.” He fished for an opening that would be non-threatening and nonsexual. “It’s a lovely outfit,” he offered. “I’ve not seen its like in many years.”

  She smiled weakly. “My grandmother’s,” she admitted, “but I’d rather wear it than...” Her eyes locked on something behind him, widened, and shifted away.

  “It is all a bit much,” he agreed. “I believe Bride Balls were much more civilized in your grandmother’s day.”

  “Were they ever civilized?” She clapped a hand over her mouth, shooting a look of panic at Edward.

  He laughed until he felt his ribs would surely fracture and tears welled in his eyes. “Perhaps not,” he conceded.

  Her hand retreated slowly. “You’re not insulted, then?”

  “Why should I be?” he asked, perplexed by her assumption.

  “I thought...” She waved her hand as if at a loss for words.

  “Thought?” he prompted her.

  “You were looking for a mistress, like the rest. I mean...why else would you be here?”

  Why else, indeed? Edward hadn’t considered what the type of woman he wanted would think of him being here. “I think a man with a wife he loves has n
o use for mistresses. That is what I really want. As for the rest... No. This is not my idea of how to find that wife.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “My father,” he answered in half-truth. With such a finite timeline to find a bride, extreme measures had to be taken.

  “Oh.” That one word conveyed a wealth of disgust.

  Edward forced his voice to remain neutral. “Meaning what?”

  She sighed. “Only that he is of the old leanings, I suppose? Some women are worthy to marry. Others are only worthy to be mistresses, unless they bear sons for you.”

  Her heartfelt assessment stunned him. She couldn’t be a scorned mistress. She was too young, too uneducated in the games of society.

  Edward realized she was waiting for a response. “Actually, not. My father would allow me any woman I wish as wife. He simply...” He looked around at the decadence of the Bride Ball. “foolishly, I think, believes this is the way to find one.”

  She nodded, glancing around the room as he just had, sighing. Her gaze returned to his face. “I must agree.”

  He smiled. “And why are you here?” He didn’t doubt the answer would be of the type he’d been searching for.

  She laughed lightly, her color high and dark eyes glittering. “My grandmother is very like your father. Try as I might to encounter some mishap, there was no escaping coming here.”

  “Then we are both cursed,” he quipped.

  “I am afraid so.”

  His heart was light, his head spinning. “Would you care for that dance now?”

  Her smile disappeared, and she peeked around his shoulder like a stag caught in torchlight.

  “A simple dance,” he offered. “Not what they are doing.” Edward didn’t have to look at the dancers to know what she feared.

  “I don’t know how to dance.”

  “Would you like to learn?”

  She blushed, nodded, and offered her hand. She let him lead her to the edge of the dance floor.

  He wrapped his hands around her waist, guiding her movements gently, a swaying motion that fired his cock to aching readiness. She gasped, searching out his eyes.

  The tension left her body, and she went fluid in his hands, a warm wave teasing him with the promise of more. Her arms circled his neck, and her hands tangled in the back of his hair.

  The spectacle around them ceased to exist. There was only the raven-haired temptress in his arms, her eyes sliding shut, her lips parting slightly.

  It was too much. Edward leaned his head toward her, tilting it to one side, letting her breath warm his mouth. If it wouldn’t spook her, he’d kiss her, long and hard.

  “I want to kiss you,” he whispered, seeking her agreement.

  Her face closed on his, her lips brushing across his, sending sweet sparks down his body to settle in his groin.

  “More.” How he managed to form the word was a mystery to Edward, but he did it.

  She nodded, kissing sweetly at his lower lip, then his upper.

  Edward moved one hand to her face, playing his thumb between her soft lips. She licked at it, tasted it in seemingly innocent mimic of oral sex.

  “Wider,” he urged her.

  Her lips parted further, far enough for Edward to ease his thumb out and tease his tongue inside. She gave a demure little shiver at the contact, her scent teasing at his nose.

  By the Goddess, she was driving him mad, and she’d done nothing more than allow Edward the most basic of liberties.

  Allow. That was the difference, as he’d known it would be. He could wager on going no further with confidence. There was a sense of anticipation with this woman, the thrill of acceptance.

  “I want to lick every finger-width of your body,” he whispered.

  She gasped, but she didn’t draw away.

  “We can stop whenever you wish.”

  Her eyes opened, and she looked at the far end of the room, shaking her head, retreating slightly, real fear making her shake.

  Edward followed her line of sight, his jaw tightening at the view he had of the voyeurs’ row. “It’s horrid,” he voiced, though he’d stood both sides of such walls, in his younger days.

  She shifted abruptly, her head turning back to him. He looked down at her, noting her confusion in a rush of happiness.

  He spoke, before she could find the words to question him. “One treats a consort that way...perhaps a mistress. I seek a wife or nothing at all.”

  “Is there so much a difference?” she asked.

  “I believe so.”

  She seemed confused by that.

  “I have rooms upstairs,” he offered. “Just the two of us, and I will stop...any time you wish it.”

  She seemed to ponder it, as if the safety of the kingdom itself depended on it. Edward held his breath, aware that his heart was pounding hard at his ribs.

  “And you wish to...”

  “Lick you. Kiss you.” Perhaps more than that, depending on your responses. The fact that there was no guarantee he’d bed her was both an agony and exciting.

  “And...if I say ‘no’ to more?” She wasn’t teasing him. She honestly wanted to know his mind.

  I may fall in love, that quickly. “I would ask permission to see you again, but I would escort you safely here...or wherever you wished to go.”

  She kissed at his lower lip again. “Yes.”

  Chapter Four

  Amber gasped at the moan emerging from deep in his throat. Was he really so affected? She couldn’t believe that a man like this was pursuing her, considering the other wares for rent or sale that night. And...a wife or nothing?

  He turned, wrapping an arm around her waist, guiding her silently from the ballroom and into nearly-deserted corridors. She tried not to watch the couples they passed, though it was hard not to contemplate what might happen next between herself and the noble escorting her to his rooms.

  One woman stroked her hand up and down a man’s member, and Amber wondered if her escort was so large. A glance at his soft trousers hinted that he was, which sent a rumble of delight through her thighs and womb.

  A man suckled at his topless partner’s nipples, and Amber’s head swirled. Would he do that to her? What would it feel like? If he meant to lick her all over, would he do it on his own or would she have to ask him to do it? Could she do something so wanton?

  Another woman suckled at a man’s cock, on her knees before him, his hand tangled in her hair.

  His whispered entreaty to the Goddess brought Amber’s eyes up. She knew that voice.

  She knew the face as well. Lord Elmstead’s eyes opened, then locked on Amber. A smile curved his lips up, and she looked away, mortified to be sighted going to a nobleman’s rooms in the lord’s house less than a month after refusing the lord himself.

  Warm breath fanned her neck a moment before a soft tongue bathed her exposed throat. Amber’s knees went weak, and she stumbled, grasping at his body for balance.

  A moment later—or what felt like a moment, they stood, his arm supporting her against his chest. The firm meat of his buttock was under her hand. Amber pulled back, fisting her hand against her squirming stomach. Good Goddess, he would think her a wanton like the rest.

  “Are you well?” he asked.

  “Yes.” But she trembled and could not say why she did. “I—I tripped,” she lied. In truth, Amber had no idea what had befallen her. It had been akin to a faint, but she was certain it was altogether different than that.

  “I startled you,” he decided. “I will take care not to do so again.”

  A low chuckle came from Lord Elmstead’s direction, deepening what she was certain was already a crimson blush.

  He didn’t look around at his host, though his jaw tightened slightly. “Can you walk now? Or should I—”

  “No!” Amber calmed herself. “I am capable, thank you.” And Elmstead would have no reason to laugh at her naivety again.

  She allowed her gaze to trail to his arms, wondering at what being carried by
him would feel like. Amber had a vague memory of what she believed was her father carrying her mother to their bedchamber. The thought of her escort doing the same was sexually arousing.

  As if I am not already aroused?

  He turned, holding her flush to his body. Amber’s knees quaked lightly, and his hand slid just under the lower edge of her Nana’s bustier. The shock of his fingers on her flesh was electric, though she’d never thought the soft meat of her abdomen an erogenous zone.

  They stopped, and her escort opened a door, guiding her inside a dimly-lit room that was almost too warm, even in the chill spring night. Or perhaps it was she that was hot.

  The door closed, and an irrational fear gripped her. What was she doing? Was she mad? She didn’t know this man.

  As if he could hear the pounding of her heart, he turned to her, stroking his fingertips up the line of her jaw until he cupped her face. “Calm,” he soothed her. “Say the word, and I will see you home this instant.”

  Home. Not to the ballroom? Amber wondered at that. Did he think her ill? Or, was there some other reason for it? She dared not ask.

  All the same, her heart rate slowed, and her breathing smoothed. Even when she didn’t ask for assurances from him, he gave them. She knew that about him. She trusted that he meant every word he spoke to her. “No. No, that won’t be necessary.”

  Her voice was calm in comparison to her rioting senses. Everything around her was him: his body, the cadence of his breathing, his eyes softly assessing, his scent enticing her to taste.

  His lips closed to within millimeters of hers, until the radiant heat of his face and breath seeped into her mouth. She let her eyes slide shut, wanting to focus on that one sensation and nothing more. What had Nana called this? It was something about sharing the very air that sustained the lovers.

  He nuzzled her lips wider, tilting his face to one side to fit his lips to hers. His tongue caressed at hers, sending a pleasant shock through her. He did it again...and again.

  Amber found herself pressed to his body, with no memory of closing the distance between them, her cloak pooled around her ankles. Her hands tangled in the back of his hair, and her tongue thrust against his. It was a hard kiss but not brutal, not forceful.