Cursed Ever After (3 page)

    Arie planted a chaste kiss on my on the top of my head and stroked my hair. “That’s not true—you have me and you have Victoria. Daveena will be back. She won’t be able to stay away.”

    I was surprised Arie even remembered her name. Daveena had only been to the club once or twice.

    I laughed. “I hope you’re right.”

   
Do I really want her to come back? She makes such a mess of it when she’s here.

    Arie had a soft side that rarely anyone saw. He could always calm me down with his logic when I was running hot on emotion. I swiped at my tear stained cheeks and he brushed a stray strand of silver hair away from my face. Our eyes locked, he leaned in to kiss my forehead, but I angled my face upward and met his lips with mine. He paused before returning my kiss and gradually the kiss deepened as he explored my mouth with his tongue.

    He planted tender kisses on my cheeks, on my chin, and trailed light kisses down my neck, stopping at the edge of my corset. His knuckles brushed across the line of my jaw.

    Arie searched my eyes. “Luna, do you want this?”

    “Make love to me Arie. I need you to.”

    “Turn around.”

    I felt Arie tugging and pulling as his fingers worked deftly to undo the long set of laces on my corset. It was my customary attire for waitressing in the bar on the second floor of the Hellfire Club. Tessa enjoyed modern twists on fashions from centuries long forgotten. After unlacing the black corset, Arie lowered it and it dropped to the ground. He pulled my purple blouse over my head from behind and tossed it aside.

    When I turned in his arms he cradled my face with both his hands. He kissed me with a gentleness that I wouldn’t have thought possible for him. I melted into his embrace as his hand fell to my back, pulling me toward him. He pressed me back into the bed, his eyes darkened as he looked down at me.

    “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

    I could feel warmth fill my cheeks. I’d never been good with compliments.

    He lowered his mouth to my nipple, teasing it with his teeth and his tongue. I could feel my nipple harden in response. Arie moved to my other breast, giving it equal attention until both nipples were rigid. I urged his head lower by pressing my hands firmly on his shoulders.

    Arie laughed; a rich and dark sound.

    Leisurely, his hand slid up the back of my leg—from my calf, to the soft spot on the back of my knee, to the back of my thigh. I licked my dry lips anticipating the feel of his hands and his tongue working me like dark faerie magic. He raised my skirt and it bunched around my hips, before he pulled off my lacy black underwear. They lay discarded and forgotten on the floor.

    His tongue traced my inner thigh and stopped teasingly when he reached the wetness between my legs. Then his tongue traced down my other thigh, before he started working his way back up. Arie blew hot breath on my cleft. I closed my eyes. Unsolicited images of Victoria between my thighs danced behind my closed lids. His tongue did slow, savoring licks over my swollen clit.

    I groaned as I wove my fingers through his dark curls. He rimmed my trembling slit, teasing me as he swirled his tongue. Then his tongue speared into me just as I desired of his cock. I fisted my hands into the sheets and whimpered, my body responding to the expert flicks of his tongue. My body quaked and shuddered as I came from his tireless licking. I lay panting in a boneless puddle that melted across the sheets of Tessa’s bed. He trailed soft kisses up my belly to my breasts.

    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 lowered 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.