Nicholas: The Lords of Satyr (7 page)

Taking her survey of his person as an invitation, Nick moved closer. Grasping her upper arms, he drew her against him.

She allowed the embrace and even mustered the courage to rest her palms on his chest. Taut muscle and bone underlay his waistcoat, and below that a steady heartbeat.

Without warning, the coat under her fingers faded into translucence to reveal sculpted planes of male flesh that bunched and flexed as he moved in undisguised passion. She fisted her hands and forced the vision away.

Her gaze roved higher.

Dark spiky lashes framed the remarkable blue eyes that studied her in turn. A flush of good health angled along his cheekbones. The haughty line of his aristocratic nose and straight brow proclaimed his good breeding. He exuded confidence from his very pores.

His will seemed to reach out to her, tickling her mind, pushing her into acceptance of him.

Again she wondered why so beautiful and wealthy a man was so determined to have her.

He moved his hands along her upper arms to cup her shoulders, idly brushing thumbs over the hollow above her collarbones. Fingers slipped around to cradle her skull and tease tendrils of her hair along the shallow groove at the back of her neck.

She shivered. But it wasn’t due to the same fear Signore Nesta had engendered. This man’s touch was unsettling but not at all distasteful.

For so many years she’d avoided human touch and had become unused to it. Even holding hands with Emma was something in which she rarely indulged. The risk of melding was too great. Yet she wasn’t melding with him now. Was the ability dissipating, or was she developing sufficient skill to rein it in when she chose?

His head ducked close, and his voice rumbled at her ear. “Come, what’s your answer, Jane?”

Her mind raced. If she worked at it and held her emotions distant, perhaps she
could
stop herself from melding with him by choice.

“I’m not at all certain this course you have set is wise. But if you’re determined upon it, then, yes,” she heard herself say. “I say yes.”

Before she could reconsider, he took her arm and led her back to the desk. When he pushed the stack of papers aside to display the last one, she briskly signed her name to the contract.

Blue mirrors smiled into pools of limpid green. “You do me an honor, signorina.”

I
zabel lost no time in informing her dearest friends of her niece’s lofty engagement. Fortuitously, the monthly meeting of their society had been scheduled for the following afternoon.

As always, the five women gathered at the Cova family home, where Izabel and her stepbrother had grown up. Unoccupied and without servants in attendance, the house and gardens had assumed a neglected air but not yet fallen into true disrepair.

After their parents died, she’d kept the abandoned lodgings especially for the purpose of hosting her friends at these events. It was a far cry from the perfection of Rome’s seven hills where their ancestral predecessors had once gathered. Centuries ago, those hills had rung with the frenzied cries of the original maenads, the Sisters of Bacchant. They and their followers had enjoyed the freedom to worship the god of the grape and to practice their rites uninhibited by lawmakers of the day.

How things had changed! It was now prudent that they—the last remaining descendants of the Sisters of Bacchant—perform their rituals in secret. This secluded garden and grotto provided adequate shelter and privacy from the life teeming outside the gates. One must make do.

The other four members of her society stared in surprise after Izabel imparted the news of Jane’s impending nuptials.

“But what of my son?” demanded Signora Nesta, a frown creasing her forehead. “You know I wanted your Jane for him.”

Signora Bich patted the other woman’s hand consolingly. “She’s right, Izabel. You had struck a bargain.”

Izabel sipped her wine, a luxury she openly permitted herself to enjoy to excess only in this setting, among these particular friends.

“Satyr won’t keep my niece forever,” she explained. “If all goes according to plan, your son will have her in good time. Though by then, she will be slightly used.”

Signora Natoli chortled at this, and all eyes fell to the quiver of her massive bosom. Encased in satin, the orbs were hidden from view for the moment. But that situation was certain to change within the hour. Izabel ran her tongue along her lower lip, catching a droplet of tangy wine.

“What can you be planning, Izzy? Do tell us,” Signora Ricco encouraged.

“Through Jane’s marriage, I intend that we will gain access to the inner recesses of the Satyr compound,” Izabel informed them.

A stunned silence prevailed for a moment.

“For the purposes of our Society?” ventured Signora Natoli. “In order that we might meet there?”

“Naturally,” said Izabel.

“Even wed to your niece, Lord Satyr is unlikely to be influenced into allowing us access to his estate,” scoffed Signora Nesta. “He won’t turn his back on centuries of exclusionary practices.”

“She’s right, Izzy. It’s common knowledge that only vineyard workers, servants, and those with specific business are allowed on Satyr land,” said Signora Bich.

“If influence fails, there are other means,” Izabel pointed out.

Signora Natoli giggled. She was as usual the most quickly affected by the wine and was well on her way to giddiness. “Oh, dear. I fear Jane’s husband may meet with an unfortunate end.”

“Risky,” said Signora Nesta, her gaze speculative.

“However, it can be done,” said Izabel. “And once he’s disposed of, control of his estate will fall to Jane.”

“What of his two brothers?” asked Signora Bich.

Izabel waved her glass in a careless gesture. “If they interfere, they can be dispatched.”

“And if your niece manages to bear her husband’s offspring before he’s done away with?” Signora Bich persisted. “Judging by the look of him and tales that circulate, Satyr is quite capable of mounting her with regularity.”

“Why, that is part and parcel of my very plan,” said Izabel. “Only imagine the sons they might produce if the strangeness in Jane’s blood is mixed with that which we suspect the Satyr possess. With him gone, we’ll school her offspring to our viewpoint. And in time, when her sons are of an age to produce life-giving seed, we will mate them with my younger niece.”

“And with ourselves, I’ll warrant!” added Signora Natoli. Her cheeks and the upper swells of her breasts were beginning to flush with the wine.

“Salud!” toasted Signora Ricco. “Maenad blood mixed with that of the Satyr. We’ll sire a dynasty!”

“But why don’t we simply undertake to mate with the three lords immediately ourselves?” asked Signora Bich. She stirred a finger in her wine and then licked it. “I for one wouldn’t mind bearing a Satyr offspring, if I can first enjoy the begetting.”

“The Satyr are too careful,” said Signora Nesta. “Though it’s said they sow their seed far and wide, no children have come of it. Men built such as those surely cannot be sterile.”

The others nodded.

“But if there is a child, will your niece give it over into our care?” asked Signora Bich.

Izabel glared at her. Signora Bich could be such a stickler for annoying details that were quite easily dealt with. “When the time is right, we shall initiate her into our society with a set of the ancient rings. They’ll lead her into seeing our way of thinking on the matter. If Nesta still wants her after her she is ringed, he may have her.”

“But if she’s truly inhuman, the rings’ powers may not affect her,” argued Signora Bich.

Izabel rolled her eyes in exasperation. “In that event, we’ll arrange to have her judged an unfit parent based on her various abnormalities. But these are trifling matters, and we have much time ahead to consider them. On to the next order of business.”

Signora Natoli clasped her hands in delight. “Ah, yes! Our good works.”

Five heads turned toward the nearby grotto.

Through the dappled shadows, a pair of dark eyes met theirs, the terror in them heightening.

Izabel stood and moved closer to admire their captive. The others trailed in her wake. “I see we have procured the necessary ornament for our festivities.”

The young man lay at a slight incline, securely lashed to a stone slab. Other than the handkerchief stuffed in his mouth, he was naked.

Signora Bich nodded. “We rescued him from a difficult life on the waterfront.”

“He ate hungrily,” added Signora Nesta.

Izabel’s eyes narrowed on the fellow’s shrunken shaft. It was slack with fear but had definite potential. “A fine rescue.”

The other ladies marked the direction of her gaze and tittered.

Izabel stroked the captive’s stubbly jaw, her expression kind. His eyes bulged, and a shudder rippled over him.

“Will you take wine?” she asked. It was a rhetorical question. The gag always made them thirst.

His head bobbed. Behind her, the splash of liquid reached her ears. The ceremonial goblet was handed to her.

“I’ll remove the cloth from your mouth so you may drink,” she told him. “But you must promise to keep silent.”

Again, he nodded. She removed the gag slowly, making sure he was as good as his word.

When she handed the cup to him, he drank thirstily. They watched to ensure he swallowed a sufficient quantity.

“Enough,” said Izabel, pulling the cup away before he’d finished. The aphrodisiac properties of the drugged wine affected people differently. If he were too impaired, his performance would disappoint them.

She brushed the hair from his eyes. They were a lovely brown, the color of a hazelnut.

“What’s your name, signore?” she inquired.

His lower lip trembled.

“Come now, don’t be frightened,” she coaxed.

“Carlo,” he croaked.

“So strong.” She smoothed the backs of her fingers along his ribs and lower over his belly. His muscles jerked in repudiation. “And so beautiful.”

“Please, signora, release me. Please.” His voice rose in distress.

“Soon.”

He twisted to escape the gag, but the ladies held him. When it was replaced, they left him again.

Gold chalices inscribed with ancient symbols were brought out and filled with aged wine poured from a decorative urn. Together, the Sisters swayed in the soft sunlight, chanting their ancient runes.

Ties and hooks opened under the caress of feminine fingers. Silk and linen clung and rasped and then slid away. Sighs of relief sounded as flesh, creased and marked from binding corsets, found freedom. With the easing of physical restraints came the further easing of moral ones.

Izabel searched out Signora Natoli and watched as another peeled the fabric from her friend’s monumental breasts. Signora Natoli’s eyes found hers and then darted away. She was always so charmingly bashful when first revealed.

Soon all five women stood naked in the deepening afternoon shadows, save for similar jewelry worn in a place so peculiar that it would have shocked society to know of it. Identical rings of silver lanced their nipples, ten loops winking in the waning light and firmly set into the tenderest of olive skin.

When each daughter had come of age, their own mothers had initiated them. Decades earlier in a solemn ceremony, the silver had been driven into their flesh, forever marking each as maenad. The exquisite pain of the piercing was still fresh in Izabel’s memory. It was said to rival that of childbirth.

A hand grazed Izabel’s breast. Fingers came between her legs from behind and squirmed their way inside her cunt. A thumb poked for the opening between her bottom cheeks, stuffing itself deep. She arched at the intrusions, knowing she mustn’t cry out and risk being overheard by passersby beyond the garden.

Signora Natoli’s breasts bobbed within easy reach of her lips. Izabel stifled the urge to moan by plugging her mouth with a brown nipple. She sucked in cold silver and supple flesh. Signora Natoli’s head fell back, and she sighed.

Another of her companions, she cared not which, nudged Izabel’s legs apart. A tongue teased between her thighs, lapping at her clit. She welcomed the touch of a woman’s mouth there, so discernibly different from that of a man.

Feminine voices murmured comforting sounds as they attended to her. Lips and fingers worshiped her for long minutes, and her lust spiraled.

When sudden, sharp need twisted, she pulled away from her caretakers before it could overwhelm her. Turning, she stumbled toward the grotto.

She found him in the shadows, bound and gagged as they’d left him. His eyes had begun to glaze with the effects of the tainted wine. Good.

Behind her, the others’ attentions moved on to Signora Nesta. Her turn with him would come next.

Izabel straddled him where he lay on the slab. With fingers made clumsy from wine, she spread her frilled labia over his cock. He was thick now, hard from seeing their nakedness. She smiled into his eyes, riding him, slowly slicking him with her ooze.

Under her, he bucked awkwardly.

She cupped his cheeks, kissed him.

“Have you ever fornicated?” she whispered.

He nodded, flushing.

“Naturally. But there is no doubt much that remains to be learned. My friends and I have schooled many in the ways of pleasing a lady in coitus. There are few more valuable skills for a man to have.”

Lifting his head, she directed his eyes to their undulating genitals. When she had his attention, she stopped moving her hips and raised herself slightly. With two fingers, she parted her pubic hair and showed him her moist, gaping gash.

“Would you like to come into me here?” she queried softly.

His head bowed in quick assent, his eyes shining with drugged lust.

“Very well, then. I will begin your education. But first you must promise to remain an obedient, quiet student. Can you do that?”

She looked into his eyes, glimpsed the wanting, and pulled the gag from his mouth.

“Si. Grazie,” he said. His voice was calm now and wine-slurred.

Quickly she released the bindings on his torso and legs, leaving his wrists and ankles loosely hobbled.

She led him a few feet away by means of a lead string. Her pussy was swollen now and aching for him.

Tugging, she pulled him to the lush grass. “Come,” she told him. “Lie with me.”

He lay on his back, and she linked the lead string between his wrists to a stake that held them raised over his head. They would slacken his bonds later and toy with him in other ways.

Weapons were at the ready if he attempted to flee. But the aphrodisiac usually sent any thoughts of escape from a captive’s mind.

His staff bobbed high and vulnerable against his furred belly. She grasped it in her fist, running her thumb over the moisture at his cock slit. He didn’t resist. He needed her now, needed the relief she could provide.

“If only women were blessed with such fine organs, men wouldn’t be necessary at all,” she heard Signora Nesta murmur. The others laughed quietly, a distance away.

Izabel enjoyed the way he whimpered as she slid the ring over the tip of his cock and downward. It lodged in place at his root, ensuring he would remain engorged throughout the night.

Eager now, she squatted over him, her knees sinking into dewy earth on either side of his hips. His penis twitched in her grasp as she led it to an angle that suited her.

“Please.” His was a desperate whisper.

“I know,” she crooned.

The puffy slit between her thighs stretched as she sank over him. Her sisters had prepared her well, and he came into her easily. How nicely he filled her! She wiggled her hips, forcing him as deep as possible, letting him take her weight.

Her eyes fell closed in rapture at the sacred moment of the first taking. Delicious.

Already, she teetered on the edge of orgasm. She humped him hard a dozen times or more, coming quickly.

After she’d fucked him, she lingered, watching Signora Nesta spread her dimpled haunches over him. Izabel’s fingers found the slickness within herself and drew it over her clit. It pulsed with remembered pleasure.

Turning away, she found the wine. Nearby, two mouths suckled the teets of a woman, who lay sighing in ecstasy upon the grass. Signora Natoli’s bosom was always much in demand.

Izabel sipped, observing, and then went to kneel between Signora Natoli’s legs. Tipping her glass, she dribbled its sparkling chill over her friend’s thatch, causing her to gasp in surprise.

Signora Natoli’s dark eyes were on her now, and Izabel tossed her goblet aside. With her thumbs, she widened the woman’s cinnamon slit and then pressed her mouth to it, sucking at her sweet wine.