There was no sign of Alden or the Southern belle, but I did meet Lady Sybilla’s maid, Adams, while she was carrying a large vase of flowers, walking slowly and carefully, the vase way too overloaded for someone with such gnarled hands.
“Here, let me help you,” I said, hurrying up to her. “What pretty flowers. The roses are gorgeous, but, oh, the carnations smell heavenly.”
Adams gracefully let me take the vase, inclining her head in a pretty good imitation of her mistress. “Her ladyship has always insisted on fresh flowers when they are in bloom.”
“She’s a wise woman to enjoy them. I never can seem to bring myself to buy them, since they last such a short time, but they are lovely to look at.”
“Are you on your way to organize her ladyship’s papers?” Adams asked as she paused next to the door leading to Lady Sybilla’s suite of rooms.
“Not just yet. I hope to put some time in on them tonight.”
She sniffed. “I will lock them away safely, then.”
“I didn’t think they were particularly valuable,” I protested, feeling guilty nonetheless. “From what I saw, they were just a bunch of household accounts going back a few centuries, and some notes of tenants, and cattle, and horses.”
“All of Lady Sybilla’s possessions are valuable,” she replied with a pinched expression. “Even if you do not value them. Thus I will lock them away until you can find the time to fulfill your promise to Lady Sybilla.”
The accusation in her tone was all too clear.
“I have a paying job that I have to do during the day,” I pointed out. “And I have every intention of doing what I said I’d do, which was sort through the papers and put them in some semblance of order, but it’s not going to be an instant thing. Please tell Lady Sybilla that I’ll do my best as quickly as I can.”
“Hrmph,” Adams sniffed again, her curled lip saying much about what she thought of people who did not put Lady Sybilla first in all things, and taking the vase without another word, she left me, closing the door firmly behind her.
“You’re welcome,” I told the door, and continued on to the back staircase that provided a shortcut to the wing with my bedroom. I banged loudly on the door a couple of times, then flung it open and stomped my feet until I felt like a deranged flamenco dancer.
“All right, all you mice. Just get the hell out of here long enough for me to grab some clothes and take a shower.”
I listened intently, but didn’t hear (or see) anything moving, so entered the room. There was another note that had obviously been slipped under the door. I wondered what I had to do to get the message across to Vandal that I wasn’t particularly interested in him.
Dear Mercy,
I’m sorry.
I stared at the bizarre note, and wondered what the hell Vandal was apologizing about. A thought occurred to me that so startled me, it had me rooted in the center of the room while my brain turned it over and over. What if it wasn’t Vandal sending me the notes? That meant it had to be Alden. But why would he send me notes?
“For that reason,” I said aloud, still mulling over the idea, “why would Vandal? No, I think it must be Alden. Which is oddly sweet of him. I think I’ll reply.”
I stomped my way over to my luggage, which I’d left closely zipped shut against mousey intruders, and dug through my duffel until I pulled out a small journal and a nibbed pen that I used whenever I felt overly introspective. I also gathered up clean clothes and my bath things, and entered the bathroom I shared with Fenice.
A mouse sat up in the bathtub, and gave me a startled look.
I screamed, slammed the door shut, and, grabbing my duffel bag, raced out of the room, the hairs on my arms standing on end in horror. I ran to Alden’s room and, without even knocking, flung open the door and ran inside.
Alden stood next to the bed, stark naked and wet, a towel in his hands as he dried off his chest, the surprised look on his face quickly fading away to something unreadable (damn him—I liked it much better when I could read his expressions).
“Sorry,” I said, panting a little despite the short distance between our rooms. “There was a mouse in the bathtub, Alden. A mouse. In the bathtub. It mocked me—it sneered and mocked and waved its mousey claws at me as if it was inviting me in so it could ravage me. You must have just had a shower. You look good naked.”
I slapped a hand over my mouth at the last sentence, not having intended on saying it out loud.
“I have had a shower, yes, and I’m sorry you were nearly ravaged by a wild mouse,” he said, much to my sorrow wrapping the towel around his waist. “I called an exterminator earlier today, but he won’t be out until tomorrow.”
“Well, I hope you don’t mind if I stay here until he demouses my room,” I said, setting my bag down on the hard wooden chair. “Or rather, I hope your girlfriend doesn’t mind.”
“My . . .” He stopped, a little frown pulling down his eyebrows. “I gather you are referring to Lisa. If so, I assure you that she is just an acquaintance. She was sent to . . . well . . .”
“I heard her cover story,” I said, holding up a hand to stop him. “It’s none of my business what you do even if we were about to hook up before your kitchen caught on fire.”
“Why don’t we agree to forget Lisa? She is my guest here, but nothing more than that,” he said, moving over to where I stood. A shiver ran down my back at both the heat in his eyes and the way he brushed a strand of hair off my cheek. “I’d much rather talk about you staying with me in this room, and how you suggest we set up the sleeping arrangements.”
I reached up and pulled his head down to mine, laying my lips on his in a way that let him know I reciprocated that shimmer of passion in his eyes. His mouth was as wonderful as I remembered, but this time, rather than this just being a kiss, Alden’s body got into the act. His hands were on my behind, pulling me tight against him, his legs as hard as steel where they pressed into mine. I melted against him, feeling all my soft, squishy bits making the differences between us obvious.
His lips parted from mine for a few seconds. “You taste spicy.”
“Cinnamon mints,” I murmured, nibbling on his lower lip. My body felt like it was filled with fire, making me restless and wanting, and missing something that I badly needed.
“I like it.” He hoisted me upward a little, angling his head to better kiss me. I slid my hands up his bare back, careful not to dig my fingers into him as I wanted, since I knew he must be feeling the effects of his fighting earlier. “Would it be inappropriate if I suggested we conduct those activities that were interrupted this morning?”
“Not inappropriate at all, although you have to let me take a shower first. It was hot standing out in the sun all day.”
“If you insist, although I don’t find you in the least bit objectionable.” He released me, giving my butt a friendly squeeze as he did so.
“Trust me, when you got to the part where the toddler with sticky grape lips decided to slobber on my knee, you’d object. Be back in a couple of minutes.” I was in the act of peeling off my pretty blue gauze dress before I even closed the door behind me, and took what had to be close to the world’s fastest shower.
When I stepped out of the shower to dry myself, I spotted a folded piece of paper on the floor.
You are beautiful.
I felt warm down to my toes, and not just because of the warm shower.
With nothing on but a towel, I opened the door to Alden’s bedroom, and struck a pose, the letter in my hand. “Thank you.”
He was lying on the bed, hands behind his head as he glared at the wall next to his bed. He shifted his gaze to me, the glare melting into a look that turned quickly to one of approval. “For what?”
I lifted the note. “I like your messages.”
His gaze shifted, and I couldn’t help but notice that his feet moved restlessl
y, a sure sign he was feeling embarrassed. “Ah. That. Yes. I thought . . . it seemed like a way to . . .”
“I know. And it’s cute. And fun. Do you mind if I do some, too?”
“No, but you don’t . . .” He waved a hand in the air. “You don’t have problems talking.”
“It’s still fun, though. So. Here we are. Both of us wearing towels, and alone. Together. In a room with a big bed.” I strolled forward, trying to appear worldly, as if it were nothing to be on the verge of having sex with a man I’d met the day before. “How do you want to do this?”
An indescribable look crossed his face. “I thought the traditional method would be appropriate.”
“Traditional?” I shook my head, puzzled about what he meant. “You have a tradition for this?”
“Well . . . yes.” Now he looked confused, too. “I don’t know what sorts of things you like, but I’m fairly orthodox. Why, are you looking for something a bit more flashy?”
“Right,” I said, sitting down on the foot of his bed. “I think we’re talking at cross-purposes. I asked how you want to do this because I’m feeling pretty uncomfortable since we just met, and although we have that spark, and I like how you kiss, and I want to do many things to your delicious body, it’s a little uncouth to run at the bed, and leap on you the way I’d like to.”
“Oh, that,” he said with a little laugh. “I thought you were inquiring how I wanted to have sex. I was a bit worried you were going to want something kinky.”
“Define kinky,” I said, looking up the length of his body. “Do you have any playtime handcuffs? Or scarves? Scarves would work, too.”
His eyes widened. “Are you talking bondage?”
“Mmm.” I got to my knees and crawled up his legs until I could sit on my heels next to his hip. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. And I’d very much like to try it.”
“Bondage?” he said, his voice rising on the word. “You wish to be my mistress?”
“Lover, I think, is the preferred term.” I spread my fingers across his stomach, sliding them upward toward his chest.
“Mercy.” His hand clamped down on my hand, stopping it from exploring all the territory it wanted to touch. I looked up to his face. There was an odd regretful glint to his eyes. “I’m not . . . that is, I don’t like . . . I’m not into . . . I don’t get into erotica.”
“Huh?” I asked, then made the obvious connection between his clear discomfort and his mention of the word “bondage.” “Oh, you don’t think I’m one of those women who read bondage books and wants to do that, do you? Because I’m not like that at all. OK, I will admit that the idea of tying your hands to the headboard—it looks very substantial, by the way; is it?—so I can molest you with abandon doesn’t mean I want to do more of that sort of thing. I think it’s a bit funny, to be honest. The bondage, that is, not tying you down so I can frolic upon your manly flesh.”
“Good. I don’t mind taking the dominant role, but I never found it enticing or even moderately titillating to control a woman. I prefer you to enjoy your experiences as you like, without reference to me.”
I laughed. He looked appalled for a few seconds until I clarified, “I can have fun on my own, but I’m sure to enjoy it more with reference to you than without.”
“Ah.” A little smile curled his lips. “I agree, together is definitely more enjoyable.”
“So you wouldn’t even let me use some scarves on your hands to tie you down?”
He looked at his hands, then peered upward at the headboard. “I hadn’t ever considered that. Perhaps another time?”
“Deal,” I said, leaning down to nip at his hip. “It’s actually kind of fun. I’ll let you tie me down, too, you know. And I’m totally with you on the dominating thing. I mean, I want to know what you like, and don’t like, and all that, but I don’t get off on people telling me when and where and how I can enjoy myself. We’re talking a lot, aren’t we?”
“We could be doing so much more,” he agreed.
“You make excellent points, sir,” I said, pulling the end of his towel where it was tucked inside. “So much so that I believe you should be rewarded with some oral sex.”
“That would be lovely,” he said, his eyes filled with hope as I pulled the towel from underneath him. “Although I never got to finish what we started this morning.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn later. Or rather, I will.” I contemplated his nether bits. “Be sure to tell me if I do something that you really like.”
“This!” he said, gasping when I grasped his testicles with one hand, while licking the full length of the underside of his penis. “I like this.”
He liked it even more when I got both hands into the action, and by the time I was experimenting with technique and patterns, he was babbling nonstop, his fingers clenching and releasing the sheet beneath him.
“Stop,” he said, panting, his hands on my shoulders. “You have to stop now, or it will be too late.”
“For? Oh. Gotcha.” I crawled up his body, kissing my way along his stomach, enjoying the taste and feel of him beneath me. There was something about him that made me feel like I was charged with static energy, almost as if we were two atomic particles electrically attracted to each other.
His belly was very sensitive, causing him to contract it when I worked my way over to his hip, giving him a tiny bite there. I wanted to keep touching him, tasting him, learning all the sensitive spots on his body as well as finding out what it was that drove him to the breaking point, but there was no sense in ending our fun prematurely.
“Is it my turn?” he asked, his hands going for my breasts.
“Not yet. I think we’ll save that for another time, because tormenting you . . . er . . . pleasuring you really got my motor running.”
“Tormenting is the correct term,” he said with a groan as I spread my hands across his chest, leaning down to lick a pert nipple where it sat surrounded by a light amount of chest hair.
“It’s really amazing how bodies can be so different,” I said, swirling my tongue around his other nipple. “You’re so hard. And no, not just your bald-headed giggle stick.”
His eyes popped open. “My what?”
“You know.” I gently bit his nipple. “Your baloney pony.”
He stared at me.
“Cucumber of love?” I asked, a little giggle slipping out as I said it.
“Do you feel better now?” he asked, one eyebrow rising. “Are there any more you feel you can’t hold back?”
I thought for a moment. “Fun gun, kosher pickle, and Darth Vader. OK, now I’m done.”
“Darth Vader?”
I laughed outright at the expression on his face, comforted by the fact that his lips were twitching despite his attempt to keep a straight face. He sighed a faux martyred sigh, and pulled me upright to kiss me the way I’d been wanting him to kiss me ever since I came out of the shower. “You really are the most unique woman I’ve ever met.”
“I hope that’s good,” I said, squirming a little when his fingers went wandering up my thighs.
“Very much so,” he mumbled, his mouth hot on my neck as he started nibbling there, making shivers go up my back.
“Do you happen to have any condoms?” I asked, arching my back when his hands slid up to my breasts, his fingers teasing them until they were two demanding little hussies who wanted his mouth that instant. “I have some, but they’re somewhere in my bag.”
“Nightstand,” he said, the word muffled since he was now kissing the valley between my hussies, his thumbs and tongue torturing me with exquisite pleasure. I squirmed around on him, wanting him to touch all of me, but at the same time knowing I wasn’t going to last a whole lot longer. I needed him suited up and ready to go, so I rolled off him, my breasts instantly singing a dirge of loss and abandonment, and dug around in his n
ightstand drawer until I found a package.
He was about to follow me, but I pushed him back, opening the package with a knowing waggle of my eyebrows. “Do you mind if I do this? I’m not very good at it, and I feel that I need practice.”
“Be my guest,” he said, waving a gracious hand at his crotch. “But be warned if you intend on trying anything fancy, like putting it on with your mouth or, god forbid, your breasts, I won’t last past a few seconds.”
“Duly noted . . . wait, my breasts? How do you put a condom on with your breasts?”
He just stared hopefully at me as I sat with my hand poised over his penis.
“I’ll Google it later,” I told him, taking pity on his now very aroused penis. I unrolled the condom onto him, making sure to touch him as much as possible in the process, and asking, “Was that enjoyable for you?”
“Very, but that’s because you cheated and did extra tormenting things with your fingers. Can I return to your breasts?”
I lay down and held my arms up. He was there instantly, his cheeks, ever so slightly stubbly, rubbing on my still-sensitized breasts. “You are so smooth,” he said, nuzzling the underside. “Like satin.”
“It’s what I was saying earlier about you being hard. You’re like steel with a very soft covering, whereas I’m soft and smooshy.”
“I like soft and smooshy. I like everything about you, especially your little belly,” he said, nibbling a serpentine path down to that spot. “But I especially like your legs. You have lovely legs. I wish to kiss them all over, but I’m afraid that is going to have to wait for another time, because your breasts have pushed me perilously close to my breaking point.”
I kissed his mouth as soon as it was in range, my legs moving along his when he settled himself for action, catching his moan of pleasure in my mouth when he slid into me. All my words left me then, leaving behind a body that was nothing but endless waves of ecstasy that started deep in my center, spreading out with every flex of his hips. I moved along with him, my body welcoming him with a thousand minuscule muscles, and just when his mouth moved to my earlobe, his breath as ragged and rough as mine, I let go of my control, and bit his shoulder, crying wordlessly when he thrust harder and faster until I went spiraling off into an orgasm that tightened all my muscles around him.