She should tell him. Kneel down and beg his forgiveness and tell him. Only, she couldn’t. Her bravery failed her. Nothing in this world was as important to her as Theo, and she couldn’t bear to throw it all away by being truthful.
The hours before his departure tortured her. He’d learned her mannerisms so well, if she put a foot wrong, spoke with the wrong inflection, made the wrong gesture, he’d know she was concealing something important. Yet she didn’t want him to leave.
As it was, they reached the front steps before she ended up crying. Beyond, the airship waited. Cold rain gusted across, swathing it in a curtain of gray. Theo’s men waited patiently with umbrellas over their heads.
Theo hugged her to him. “Claire. What’s wrong?”
She hugged him tighter, arms around him, her face buried against the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. Her white dress had thick lacy petticoats and a cantilevered bodice. Though her breasts stood up nicely, there was way too much cloth between her and Theo. She wanted to feel his skin. A tear trickled along her nose. At least the rain would disguise the moisture left on his shirt.
“Claire?” He patted her back. “I have to go.”
“I don’t want you to go,” she managed to whisper.
“I’ll bring you to me soon. Dankyo will stay here with you. Parliament will revoke that bill; then you can come. I know we have the votes. This will happen. All right?”
He gently pulled her arms away, then held her chin up and looked at her. “Tears?”
“Stupid of me.” She shook her head, trying to dislodge his fingers but not succeeding.
Damnation, she needed to give him a reason for her unhappiness. She clutched for another truth, not that one, and knew it had to be something that would distract him. Every second his gray eyes seemed to delve deeper into her thoughts, dissecting her, and eventually he’d hit bone. She let the sadness fill her.
Despite the others within earshot, she opened her heart to him, and she told him her fear, though not the reason why.
“I… You are everything to me, Theo. Without you, I feel I am nothing. I don’t want to leave you, or you to leave me. I’m afraid of what might happen.”
He frowned, then leaned in and said softly in her ear. “I’m not leaving you, Claire. I don’t ever want to leave you. But this is not the place to discuss such things. When you come to the capital?”
Ever? He doesn’t ever want to leave me? Oh, yes, oh yes. She nodded, sniffing. “Yes.”
“Good, my love.”
Ah, if there were two words she could listen to him say over and over, it was those—my love—even when he said them in Greek. She’d thought to distract him and ended up telling him she couldn’t live without him. Then why couldn’t she bring herself to say what she should have said long ago? That she was an assassin. Where was her courage?
She watched him stride away through the rain.
She could feel the words straining at the back of her throat to be said. I’m an assassin, and I may have been meant to kill you. Please don’t go without me.
How did she say something that might end her world? This was like knifing herself. She could see herself cut down in an instant once Theo and Dankyo understood everything. She’d betrayed them both, but especially Theo. Her Theo. And she’d bleed for it. He’d throw her away like a dirty rag.
Yet if she stayed silent, he would go off without her and without Dankyo. And who else could protect him if he truly was the assassination target? If he died… Oh, that would be worse than ending this little paradise she’d found. She loved him. She thought he loved her back, but the person he loved wasn’t real. He loved someone he trusted absolutely. Not her.
Theo was halfway to the airship. She quivered with indecision, felt the anguish and the words struggling inside her. She’d break in a moment. Shatter from the awful agony of wanting two impossible things at once. He took more steps, drew away. Now! Say it now! There’s time.
He was almost to the stairs leading up. When he went up those, it would be too late.
She choked. Took one shaky step, then picked up her flounced skirt and ran. Mud splattered her ankles.
In a few minutes, the airship would lift off and sink into the fog of rain and wind, dwindling to a red smudge. Her mind seethed with grief and self-condemnation and more sadness, the emotions feeding on one another like circling sharks. Run!
For a few fleeting seconds, she even hit sharp time. People blurred. Raindrops fell, wobbling before her eyes, drifting like snowflakes.
Theo turned, slowly. He saw her and stopped; his broad shoulders seemed to jerk as if she’d shocked him. She wove through the two men in her way and fell to her knees at Theo’s feet. The rain soaked her dress, stuck her hair to her neck and forehead, but she barely noticed.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped out. “I…”
“Claire—” Theo put out his hand, cupped her chin. He sighed, a half smile on his face. “Very well. You may come. I never thought this would upset you so much.” Someone else ran up. “You too, Dankyo. Arrange for some clothes for the both of you, please. Come with me.” He dragged her up and to his side, then turned to the metal steps that descended from the belly of the airship.
Behind her, Claire heard Dankyo snapping out orders. He must have been right behind her, all the way, as she ran.
“You can remain in the airship while parliament goes through the stages of revoking the Frankenstruct Euthanasia bill.”
Relief flooded her as they went up the steps together. She was safe again, and so was Theo. Everything was back under control. Perfectly safe. She didn’t need to reveal any more of herself. She’d panicked for no solid reason. For an assassin to panic, well, they’d have failed her at classes, that was certain, and all because of one man. Strange, and it made her feel so queer. Going to her knees on the wet grass had been overly dramatic.
That her hands still trembled, she dismissed as a sign of the cold rain affecting her.
At the top of the stairs a uniformed woman cleaned her muddy feet with a cloth.
When they were behind a timber door, in some sort of lounging room, Theo sat on a tan leather sofa and pulled her onto his lap. She snuggled in. Her head found that ever so right space beneath his chin at his shoulder. Bliss. The engines of the airship had settled into a regular rhythm, and the rain seemed a distant event, lightly tapping on the porthole glass as if asking politely to be allowed in. Warm, comfy, and she had her man again.
“Happy?” Theo asked, his fingers playing in her hair.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Thank the Lord for that,” he muttered. But she could hear the amusement beneath the exasperation. She reached up and held on to the hand on her head. “Disobedient woman. I wonder what is the best way to punish you. I don’t think I packed a whip.”
She froze. Oh, no.
Theo chuckled and tugged her hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”
That almost sounded worse.
Chapter Twenty
Later that evening, a manservant knocked at the door and wheeled in a light evening repast of soup and crusty bread rolls, and cinnamon-topped apple strudel with little mounds of cream. After he quietly set the food onto the low table before the couch, Theo dismissed him. The door snicked shut.
She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d become. She looked sideways at Theo. “Would you like me to serve?” It wasn’t a role that came easily to her; at the barracks you were either a soldier or kitchen staff, with no in-betweens.
“No.” He nudged her forward, and she climbed up from where she’d been nestled against him. “Turn.” He indicated with his hand, and she moved until her back was to him.
“What is it?” Then she felt his hands at her back where the dress laced up from bottom to neck.
“No talking. Stay silent unless I ask a question.” His voice had the steely backbone that made her shudder to a halt and her heartbeat thump louder. Her throat dried. She let herself be pulled until she stood be
tween his legs and pressed her neck back as she felt his fingers working there.
He growled. “Still.” And she froze again.
The tie at the neck loosened, then the bodice as he undid the dress, opening it all the way down to her bottom. He kissed the center of her back and gently slid the fabric down her back and arms, baring her upper breasts, then her nipples to the cool air until at last she was nude to the waist. She strove to keep her mouth closed despite the quickening of her breaths.
“Close your eyes,” he said, and he kissed along her spine. A tingling blaze centered on where his soft lips pressed on her skin.
In the darkness of her mind, the light touch of cloth and fingers magnified. He drew the dress and then the lace and wire-stiffened petticoat to the floor. She stood there naked, wondering what he intended. From somewhere a wisp of breeze riffled her pubic hair. Was this to be his punishment?
He smoothed his hands from her upper arms to her shoulders and down her back, stopping a moment or two at her waist to rest his heavy palms on her hips. His thumbs revolved in feather-soft circles before he brought them round onto her buttocks, caressing the shape of her ass over and over, fingers flicking across the split. She heard the hiss of skin on skin, felt his calluses. His thumbs slid along the crease between each globe and on down to her outer thighs, then her inner, so very close to where her labia swelled.
She bit her lip, holding back a soft moan as her vagina twitched. A line of moisture leaked out, and she felt her labia part.
He kept on feeling her thighs and buttocks, shaping his hand against her rather than massaging. Every so often his warm fingers wandered excruciatingly close to her mound.
“Are you wet, Claire?”
She sucked air through her nose. Just the question made her clench down there again.
“Answer me.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Turn,” he said.
She faced him, eyes still shut, but her breathing came faster. Her nipples puckered. Though his hands hadn’t done anything more intimate to her and only rested on her thighs, she was acutely aware of her nudity. A few inches away, he’d be looking at her with his mouth and tongue close to her breasts. He gripped tighter, kept her still. She imagined him probing through her slickness and quivered.
“Lovely.” The word was said so quietly she almost missed it. She let her eyelids open the teeniest crack.
“Claire.” She jammed her eyelids down, but he slid his hands up the front of her and tweaked each nipple, once.
“I’m going to shave you down there, dear.”
She swallowed. Eyes still shut. Mustn’t speak. What did he mean? Oh. Surely not…
“What do you think of that?” And yes, his fingers curled in her pubic hair and pulled.
“There, sir? That would be wicked! People could see my…”
“Who? Who could see? Unless you go about undressed, and that will only happen when I wish it to, in front of people of similar mind to myself.” He tugged again at her hair. “Those who would appreciate this scrumptious body.”
Her mouth was open. She shut it. “Sir, jokes.” She scowled. “As for going about in front of others—”
“Silence. Open your eyes.”
She did so. He regarded her steadily. “For that nasty expression”—his lips curved in a malicious smile—“I shall make certain to fulfill both of those options as soon as possible.”
She spluttered and went to speak.
“Say another word and I’ll gag you. Mmm, plus perhaps, you’d look good on a leash?”
Glaring…glaring would be bad. She blinked fast and held it in. How dare he threaten so? Yet, it made knees turn to water.
Oh, she adored him when he threatened and blackmailed.
Her pussy naked…and how did he mean the rest of her to be? Entirely naked before these others? Her imagination ran wild, and she saw herself paraded before a crowd, her lower body bared, a mask upon her face, and a leash around her neck. Heat swept through her.
Attentive, as always, he noticed, and little wrinkles framed the corners of his eyes. “Ahh. Perhaps you like my ideas after all?” She vigorously shook her head. “Don’t believe you.” He slapped her bottom. “Sit! Over there. Let’s eat.”
How was it that even when he suggested the most abominable things, she grew aroused? Her cunt dampened, even as she tried to think about something else—about anything else, except that embarrassing, exciting picture he’d conjured in her mind.
She knelt where he’d pointed, on the other side of the low timber table, and tried not to look cross or disgruntled. She was already in enough trouble.
With Theo sitting up on the sofa and her down on the floor, kneeling and naked, she felt exposed. Her breasts seemed swollen and heavy, and she was acutely aware of her sex between her legs. But apart from admiring her form at times, lingering on her breasts and making her blush with the attention, he stayed where he sat. Watching, smiling, like a big cat with something tasty trapped between its paws.
This was so…different. She’d slipped into this way of life so easily, and now she wondered how she’d ever lived before. True, he controlled her at times like this, but she thrived on it and adored him. She wanted so much to touch him, for him to touch her, and waiting like this under his scrutiny held her spellbound.
The soup and bread eaten, they started on the dessert. Theo placed a small mountain of cream in her bowl.
A dollop of cream fell from her spoon and, swiftly warmed by her body, trickled straight across her nipple.
When she went to grab a cloth napkin, stretching across the table, her breasts swaying, Theo said, deep and throaty, “Don’t touch.” His gaze seared her.
“Allow me.” He reached over, plucked the napkin from her hand. Her chest constricted. She lowered her hands to her thighs, waiting, taut as a violin string.
Careful not to miss a single speck, he wiped her breast clean. His eyes were gray as storm clouds. Her nipple puckered. Would he lick her there, his tongue swirling, soft and hot?
She sat primly back on her heels and resisted squirming.
“You are so, so enticing. Time to get to work on you, dear.”
She gulped. The room swayed, and it wasn’t from turbulence.
Grinning, Theo put down the napkin, interlaced his hands, and stretched his arms, palms out, knuckles cracking. “I imagine Dankyo will have only packed essential clothing.”
Relief settled. Thank the Lord, he won’t have brought the leather multibuckled coat.
“However, I can improvise. Your breasts are underdecorated.”
Her nipples stood out even more, and she had to resist the urge to cover them with her hands.
Her petticoat and dress lay over the sofa’s armrest. He picked up the petticoat, took hold of the laced edge, then proceeded to rip the lace from it. Such a waste of cloth. The designer had spiraled the lace up the petticoat in one uninterrupted piece. Soon, Theo had the sofa covered in shreds of cloth and had gathered up several yards of tattered lace. He rose.
She shifted back a little, in apprehension, as he approached. The weight of his hand on her head halted her. “No,” he said. “You’ll like this. I promise.”
She licked her lips as he stood over her, finding the middle of the lace, doubling it over, then finding the new halfway point. He trailed the lace across her, under her breasts, and quickly, efficiently, wove it around her back, to the front, crossing it between her breasts and returning. The lace tightened as he tied it. Being thin-edged, he tested how it pressed on her skin, slipping his fingers here, there, tracing a path under her breasts with those fingers and up to her nape.
She couldn’t help half-closing her eyes at the pleasure, and sighed as he bent and licked where his fingers had been playing at the soft nape hairs.
He drew her earlobe between his lips, tongued her there before exploring inside her ear, while both hands cupped the mounds of her breasts. She had lace circling them and pulling them higher. The smell
of him engulfed her—man and oiled steel and fine linen. If he wore cologne, it was the strangest scent, but it stirred her. Her nipples, her earlobe, and everywhere below her waist throbbed rhythmically.
She angled her neck, glancing down at his handiwork. “Mmm.” Her breasts felt cared for, adulated, and indeed decorated. A lace halter neck that accentuated without concealing at all.
“Hands behind your back and wrists together,” he whispered into her ear.
He sank his teeth in her earlobe. Ah! She jerked. Gently yet firmly he took both her wrists and drew them to the small of her back. She didn’t resist. She’d done this before, let him bind her. Though the lace was so close to being rope.
Soft cuffs clicked onto each wrist—leather—and before she could speak again, he’d somehow linked them together with the spare lace. She couldn’t separate her wrists, though she tried to. Theo’s hands rested atop her shoulders.
“You won’t get them loose. I can do what I like with you, dear heart. And I will.”
Panting, she sat with her hands fastened at her back, head bowed, feeling what this truly meant. Naked and tied again. She shuddered. Yes.
“Okay? Claire?”
She nodded.
“If anywhere hurts or goes numb, tell me. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” The words came easier each time she said them. She looked up, found herself entranced by this large, forceful, yet tender man. Then he picked her up, put her over his shoulder, and took her into his bedroom through an adjoining door.
Chapter Twenty-one
For an old airship, the Final Rebuttal had some extraordinary design features. Draped over Theo’s shoulder, naked, with her hands fastened behind her back and a bobbing upside down view of the room, Claire barely had time to look. Assassin training meant she could have still sketched the room in detail—though it might have come out upside down.
In the center of the bedroom, twin padded beams, joined in an X shape, with another strut sticking straight up from the middle, towered next to a pair of steel shutters in the floor. The shutters had been rolled back to reveal an oval bathtub-like window of armored glass. The green glass was cross-hatched with wire reinforcing. Clouds feathered past below, and condensed moisture dribbled across the large pane that formed the bottom. The air around this feature of the room was cooler. She shivered, though not entirely from the cold.
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