by A. C. James
When he looked at me there was a need in his eyes like I’d never seen before. As if something haunted him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. I nibbled on his lower lip before stroking his tongue with mine. He groaned into my mouth. I could feel his erection pressing my hip even through his jeans.
My hands worked the zipper and released him from his pants. I wrapped my hand around his cock, sliding my hand up and down its length. He swelled, growing thicker, and longer as I worked his shaft. Arie caught my wrist, stilling my movements. I smiled. He needed this as much as I did.
The head of his cock poised above the slick entrance of my body and he pushed inexorably into me. I moaned as I shifted to accommodate his width, spreading my sensitive folds that molded around him. He began to move slowly and rhythmically. I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper. Arie linked his hands with mine, taking my mouth as he moved languidly in and out with relentless precision.
Katarina…
The surge of telepathy hit me like a whisper that filled the dungeon with longing. My eyes fluttered open and I looked up at him. Arie’s eyes were closed—lost in my body as he made love to someone else—completely unaware of the telepathic thought transference. Victoria had told me the story once. He’d loved her but in the end Katarina’s madness had turned that love to hate. And no one would ever fill the gap left in Arie’s heart.
I wrapped my legs around him tighter, matching the rhythm of every stroke. I wanted to give him the same solace that he gave to me—each of us pushing away thoughts of someone else. He drove the message of loneliness and emptiness into me with every rock-hard inch. Arie used my body to drive away the aching hollowness with every thrust. He finished me with tenderness and I came, crying out with relief, my body vibrating beneath him. His pace quickened for several hammering strokes. Then he climaxed with a grunt, spilling into me.
We sprawled across the mattress, sweaty and boneless and utterly replete. Arie slid out of me, readjusting himself in his jeans. He stroked the side of my face with the backs of his fingers. The darkness in his eyes and the haunted desperation had dissolved. And the Arie that I knew, the one that I could depend on, who’d always been there for me since the day I first set foot in the Hellfire Club had returned.
I smiled. “You’re going to have to help me back into my corset.”
“I’ve never been good with those damned things. I was always better at taking them off. I’ll send Victoria up to help you.”
I blushed at the thought of Victoria’s cool fingers brushing against my skin as she laced me up.
“Thank you,” I said.
Arie looked down at me for a moment. He looked impossibly young and boyish, carefree almost. I didn’t mention the telepathy. It would only ruin that perfect moment when he looked spent, complete, and his skin glowed luminously.
“Why don’t you take the night off?”
“But Tessa— ”
“Don’t worry about Tessa. I’ll handle her and I’ll have Victoria cover for you. You need a night off considering the situation with your family.”
I wouldn’t argue with that logic. “I appreciate it.”
Arie grasped my hand and planted a kiss on the back of it before striding out of the dungeon.
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Reading Advisory
I respect my readers enough to know that those who have survived sexual or domestic abuse and some readers may find certain elements of the following story difficult to digest. This next story is a different tone than the previous ones you have read. It’s a story about strength and survival. However, if you prefer to continue reading lighter material you may skip ahead to Chained.
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Burned
[Victoria]
Nord, 1763
My pale blond hair fanned out across the linen mattress filled with wool but I could still feel the stiff straw beneath me from the palliasse despite the bolster. Light from the lantern sent shadows dancing across the walls of the small bedroom. Henri leaned forward, sealing his mouth over mine. I sighed as his tongue dipped inside. His kiss was confident, skilled, and turned me on so much that it made my toes curl.
“Je veux que tu Victoire,” Henri said.
You want me yet here we are. How long are we going to keep doing this—hiding in secret?
“Sur votre estomac.” “On your stomach.” He urged me to roll over, his favorite way of taking me.
“Je ne peux pas,” I said. “I cannot.”
He looked down at me, confusion marring his fine features.
I looked away. “Pas avec votre femme dans l’autre pièce.” “Not with your wife in the other room.”
“J’ai besoin de toi ... Je veux que vous.” “I need you… I want you.” Henri brushed his thumb across my bottom lip.
The hungry, pleading way that Henri looked at me made me forget everything, even my own name. Distantly, I registered his hands sliding up my legs and him yanking down the woolen waistcoat from under my dress. I sighed but I didn’t stop him as he kicked it to the floor. Our relationship had become so impossible that I tried hard not to think about it. Resisting him took an impossible amount of energy, making me feel weak.
Henri, a Huguenot in secret, was married to a Catholic and here I was fucking a married man. Admittedly, it wasn’t one of my prouder moments. I never meant to fall in love with Henri when I came here to help take care of his daughter. It didn’t matter whether his wife was able to consciously register what went on or not. The doctor didn’t really know what ailed her. I cared for both her and their daughter. Spooning his wife vegetable broth and changing her soiled bedding gave me little comfort to justify my actions.
I felt the raging heat of his heart against my chest, proof that he wasn’t just a romantic notion that I’d conjured by my overly active imagination. I never thought I would have this with anyone. The children in the village all giggled and called me fantôme. But I knew what they saw and how my albino white skin and hyacinth colored eyes must frighten them. He deepened the kiss, cupping the curve of my buttocks and I threw my leg over his hip.
Henri slid his hand down my thigh while he nibbled on my earlobe. His mouth trailed hot kisses along my neck. And his lips brushed delicate caresses across my collarbone. I gasped as I ran my fingers through his hair. God, I wanted this man. The things he could do to me. My treacherous body responded to every look, every touch wantonly whether I agreed with our affair or not.
His hand drifted up my inner thigh. I bit my lower lip in anticipation of his practiced touch. Henri massaged rhythmic circles over my clit with his thumb. If he continued with his slow, steady strokes I would come. He inserted a finger into me and then another. I moaned low and guttural as his fingers slid in and out. My swollen clit throbbed along with my raging heartbeat. He took my mouth and I kissed him back as if I could eat him alive.
“Sur votre estomac.” “On your stomach,” he said with a growl.
I was vaguely aware of movement, and then I was on my stomach—the side of my face pressed against the mattress and the pillow thrown to the floor. The fabric of my dress brushed the back of my thighs as he hitched it higher. His tongue traced the shell of my ear. Henri kissed the back of my neck, blowing on my earlobe. Unexpectedly, he smacked my ass and I groaned. Henri laughed.
He pulled my hips higher, so that I was almost kneeling on the mattress and he urged me to spread my knees wide. His skillful fingers plunged inside of me and I moaned. Over and over his fingers kept up their ruthless pace. I felt my tender muscles clench around his fingers. My muscles shuddered as I came. The orgasm rolled through me as I rode his fingers that were deep inside.
Henri never gave me time to recover. I heard the shuffling of fabric as he lower
ed his pants. Then he was inside of me, filling me with the thick column of flesh that possessed me, both body and soul. This is what I’d needed since breakfast when he came up behind me whispering dirty words in my ear. I was soaked with my own arousal, desperate for his touch—desperate for him. I gasped, convulsing ecstatically around his thick length as he rode in and out of me.
“Je t’aime Victoire,” he whispered against my ear.
I lost my mind, carried away by words proclaiming his love. I died a little bit each time he told me that. I’d take what I could get even if the only time I heard him say “I love you,” was with his cock buried inside of me. I never said it back because I didn’t know if he really meant it. With a shift of his hips, he rammed deep into me, shoving me up the bed. My head missed smacking into the oak headboard just barely but I didn’t think I would even care at this point if it did. I rocked my hips back into him as I took what I craved from his steely erection.
“Venu pour moi.” “Come for me.”
I moaned. The cadence of his raspy voice and the relentless surging of his hips almost drove me over the edge. Henri knew my body so well, knew all its secrets and erogenous zones. He was the only man who could ever give me a deep vaginal orgasm just from his cock inside of me, rubbing over the tight bundle of nerves in just the right spot. His hips still drove into me with a rhythm that slowly stole my sanity. My neck arched as I met his thrusts that were driving me wild.
“Venu pour moi.”
On command, the orgasm struck me like lightning and wave after wave of pulsing heat rolled through me. I cried out in an inarticulate sound followed by his name as I fell apart beneath him. I murmured it over and over as he drove his cock into me, prolonging my orgasm. Henri pounded deep and hard, driving strenuously toward his own climax. He came with a grunt as he emptied into me and fell on top of me—completely spent from our afternoon of ecstasy.
Neither of us moved when the door opened on the other side of the room.
“Bâtard!”
Henri rolled off of me and I scrambled to pull down my dress.
His wife’s brother entered the bedroom with Henri’s daughter on his heel, a smug look on her face. And I knew that she had told her uncle about us.
“You bed that whore when you’re married to my sister.” Gustav screamed.
My heart hammered against my chest as panic set in. This would not be good. I looked to Henri who was pulling up his pants. I tried to calm my breathing. His daughter looked at me triumphantly with her hands on her hips. I’d never seen a ten-year-old look so haughty. How long has she known? I felt like I was going to be sick. I looked over at Henri, pleading with my eyes for him to do something.
Henri looked at me with a coldness that made me shiver.
“Sorcière!” “Witch!”
The room spun and I sank to the floor, clutching my woolen waistcoat that had been discarded there. “Non, s’il vous plaît. Je vous en supplie.” “No, please. I beg you.”
Gustav looked down at me, disgust altering his mouth. “Put those on.” He gestured to my waistcoat before he strode out of the room, motioning for Henri to follow. His daughter snickered on her way out. I knew then what it meant to hate.
Never had I felt more hopeless and alone than at that moment, sitting on the floor holding my unmentionables. I knew what was coming. I felt powerless and I didn’t know how to stop it. I could hear their hushed voices talking in the other room but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Claustrophobia set in and I felt like a caged animal as my eyes darted around the room looking for an escape. The bedroom had no windows and the only way out would be through the door that Henri, his brother in-law, and his daughter had departed through. I’d never get past them.
I put my woolen waistcoat back on and rocked on the edge of the bed crying softly. There were footsteps and I heard the front door slam but there were other footsteps moving about. Someone remained in the house. If his daughter were the only one left I would be able to overpower her easily and escape. Quietly, I made my way to the bedroom door and tried to look through the crack but I didn’t see anyone. Stillness filled the house and it frightened me more than their hushed whispers. Moments ticked by and I could hear the rush of blood in my head as my pulse quickened.
I knew what I had to do.
Slowly, I opened the bedroom door. I cringed when it squeaked. Treading, softly as a shadow I made my way through the empty kitchen. When I reached the parlor I saw Henri’s daughter standing by the window, staring off into the distance. I gulped. Despite her vindictiveness I didn’t want to hurt her. If I could just make it to the front door while she watched out the window, I could get away. This is it. This is my only chance if I’m going to escape. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, surging me into action as I made a run for it.
I ran across the parlor and made it to the front door. I wrapped my hand around the knob when I felt someone grab me around the waist from behind. My futile struggles accomplished nothing as Henri dragged me back into the bedroom, shoving me into the bed.
“Henri, s’il vous plaît. Laissez-moi partir.” I hated to hear the high pitched whine in my voice as I begged him to let me go.
“I cannot. Don’t you see it’s too late? Gustav will return soon but I want you one last time.”
I gasped. “Non!”
Henri pushed me down into the bed. I lay facedown sobbing into the mattress with my legs planted firmly on the floor as he stood beside the bed. He was strong… too strong for me to fight off. I struggled but couldn’t stop him from wrenching down my waistcoat. His cock missed its mark as I thrashed and it jabbed angrily at my thigh. Henri kicked my legs apart and thrust inside of me.
“Non. Non. Non!”
He pushed down on the back of my neck to still my struggles. Finally, I stopped thrashing. It was too late. He was inside of me. The man I’d fallen for was a monster. I knew he could be aggressive but I never imagined that he could do something like this. Tears slid down my cheeks onto the mattress. A part of me died as he hammered away at me. I felt hot wetness spurting inside of me. Then it was over.
I heard the bedroom door close as Henri left and then I heard something scrape against the door, barring it shut. Now I was trapped but part of me had resigned myself to whatever came next. I only prayed it would be quick. A hanging would snap my neck and it would be a swift death. If they did it right. And then no one could betray me or hurt me ever again. Pulling up my waistcoat, I sunk to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest.
The lantern flickered from the table in the corner. I didn’t know how much time had passed but it was starting to get cold. Footsteps stopped just outside the door. I heard scraping as someone removed whatever had been barring the door. Gustav and Henri entered, Gustav carrying a long length of rope.
“Stand up,” said Gustav.
On shaky legs, I rose and stood before him but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes. Gustav bound my wrists together in front of me and escorted me out of the house. The sun rode low in the sky, dashed in hues of purple and pink. They marched me through town. I could hear whispers from the townsfolk standing on the sidelines but I couldn’t discern their faces through the blur of my tears.
When we reached the square my jaw dropped at the sight of the stake and the pile of wood stacked on three sides. Gustav pushed me forward. Then he shoved me against the stake and I could feel its rigid length against my spine as it towered over me.
Gustav gave another long cord of rope to Henri. “You must burn the witch.”
Henri took the rope.
He barely looked at me as he wrapped its length around me and the post three times—around my chest, my waist, and my upper thighs—before tying it off. The villagers had gathered to watch the grotesque display. I spotted his daughter in the crowd with a sober expression on he
r face. All I could do now was pray that I would become mercifully unconscious as the fire consumed me. The silence of the crowd congregated around the stake felt unnerving.
Gustav gave Henri a torch. My eyes met with Henri’s before he torched the mound of wood in several spots and then dropped the torch into the woodpile. The crowd shifted uneasily waiting for the wood to catch fire. A young girl buried her face in her mother’s skirt, unable to watch me burn. I felt grateful for that. Soon the wood began to hiss and pop as it smoldered.
Self-preservation kicked in and I thought about screaming that Henri was a Huguenot. Many had fled to avoid persecution but I doubted that anyone would listen to the words of a witch. I would still burn no matter what I shrieked and I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. When I cried out it would only be from pain. That I couldn’t avoid but I wouldn’t give the crowd anything else.
Although, I found it ironic that I had avoided the worst of the burnings only to burn now for adultery. My albino skin and eerie eyes had made me a target. I wanted to laugh hysterically that they burned me for being a witch. They had no idea how true that really was. But what good is the Sight if I couldn’t foresee this? Oh, but I did. If I could be honest with myself, I knew deep down in my gut that no good could ever come from sleeping with a married man.
But I did it anyway. And this was the punishment for my immorality.
Flames began to lick at the bottom of my skirt. My feet were burning. The smell of my burning flesh wafted through the air. I felt dizzy. A strange animalistic sound that I didn’t recognize emerged from my throat as I cried out. Darkness began to descend on me. I welcomed its oblivion with relief.
