Authors: Paisley Smith
Purr (9 page)
Chapter Eight
Giselle stared up at the underside of the canopy over her
bed.
Her
bed.
Her
home.
She breathed a sigh. The nightmare was over.
Stretching her arms up, she extended her toes as well,
giving in to the urge to kick her feet with joy. Home, at last!
Biting her lip, she thought back over her tenure at
Katzenhalle, of how she’d welcomed the komtesse’s punishments because they
allowed her to enjoy the illicit pleasures that followed.
There had been no penance before she’d lain with Arabella.
Only the sweet coming together of two women for the satisfaction of mutual
pleasure. Guilt had not riddled Giselle after that encounter. In fact, the only
guilt she suffered now was that she’d misled a woman who had only sought to
love her.
Memories flitted through her brain, of soft curves gleaming
in the milky darkness, of soft kisses and softer words. Giselle’s nipples
puckered against the fine linen of her night rail. Desire snaked downward and
pooled between her legs.
She wanted Arabella.
Without manipulation or the means behind some scheme, she
wanted Arabella. The realization stunned Giselle.
She’d been wrong to spurn her, to knowingly turn her back
when they’d shared those narrow beds in those mean inns. Surely Arabella had
guessed the meaning of Giselle’s blatant indifference.
Giselle’s lips parted. Guilt flared in her breast and she
flung back the covers and climbed out of the high bed, stepping into her
slippers as she got up. She had to right things between them. She had to let
her lover know her true feelings. Taking up the dimly lit lamp, she stole into
the hallway and down to the room where Arabella slept.
“Arabella, are you awake?” Giselle rapped softly on the
door. “Arabella?”
No answer came from within. Giselle turned the handle and
opened the door. Her light shone inside—on an empty bed.
* * * * *
The stable boy had not been too happy about being awakened,
but he’d sleepily saddled Arabella’s horse and had given her a lantern so that
she could see to ride in the pitch darkness, along with directions to the
nearest hamlet.
Arabella didn’t know what she’d do when she arrived. Perhaps
she could gain a position as a governess or nanny to earn money until she could
decide on a course of action. All she knew for certain was that she could no
longer stay under the same roof as Giselle. She blinked, trying to focus in the
night. Her eyeballs burned from crying and she knew they must be horribly
swollen. She sniffed, trying to will herself to stop weeping.
This was insane. She should have stayed the night, rested
well and then set about her journey after a proper goodbye. After all, Alphonse
had been so welcoming, and she a stranger to him.
The thought of facing Giselle in the morning had driven
Arabella away. She couldn’t stand the idea of being treated as a poor relation,
or worse, of standing idly by while Giselle received suitors. Arabella’s heart
wrenched and she doubled over in the saddle from the pain. She wiped her face
on her sleeve, chiding herself for falling in love, for not seeing that Giselle
did not return her affections.
With every step the horse took on the dirt road, the
darkness and silence absorbed Arabella. She plodded along several more minutes
before she heard the unmistakable pounding of hooves coming closer and closer.
Her pulse skittered. She debated getting off the road, hiding in the shelter of
the woods, but the rider was too close and coming on too fast.
Trembling, she reached for the knife she’d concealed in her
boot. And just as she curled her fingers around the hilt, the rider came into
view of her lantern, looking like a ghost swirling out of the mist.
Arabella’s lips parted in shock. “Giselle!”
Giselle’s horse plunged to a halt right against Arabella’s
mount. “Why did you leave?” Giselle asked breathlessly. “I went to your chamber
and found you gone.” Her eyes looked wild in the gloom.
Arabella tore her gaze away lest she burst into tears once
more. “I only thought not to trouble you or your father with my presence. I
don’t want to be a sore reminder of your imprisonment at Katzenhalle.”
Giselle dropped out of her saddle. She was dressed in her
night rail, a robe and her slippers.
Arabella slid down from her horse as well.
“A sore reminder?” Giselle asked.
“You don’t have to pretend with me any longer,” Arabella
said, trying to remain hard. “I know you only sought me as a traveling
companion. Nothing more.” It broke her heart to admit the words aloud.
Giselle stared. “That
was
true. At least that’s what
I told myself.”
Arabella squeezed her eyes shut against a torrent of fresh
tears. This was exactly the conversation she’d sought to avoid. “I’ll be on my
way,” she said and reached up to grip the saddle horn.
Giselle’s hand closed on Arabella’s wrist. “I said that it
was
true. Oh, Arabella, don’t go! I want you to stay.”
“I cannot.” Arabella resisted the urge to snatch her bare
wrist from Giselle’s burning touch.
Giselle stepped closer. She cupped Arabella’s cheek in her
soft palm. “Don’t leave. I couldn’t bear to be without you. I need you!”
Arabella searched her eyes.
Giselle continued. “I came to your room to…to lie with you.”
“Out of pity?”
“No!” Giselle wailed. “God help me, Arabella, I’m in love
with you.”
“I can’t stand by and watch—” Arabella stopped in
mid-sentence as Giselle’s words seeped in and took hold. “You what?”
“I love you,” Giselle said, her voice but a breathy whisper.
“Don’t leave.”
Arabella’s pulse pounded in her ears. What motive could she
have to utter such a declaration?
There was none.
“I accepted the komtesse’s punishments because I felt taking
pleasure in intimacy with another woman was wrong—but oh, I did take such
pleasure in it. Wicked pleasure. With
you
. When you and I lay together
in your room the night before your initiation, I knew decadence without prior
pain for the first time. And now I know this feeling inside me…” Giselle tapped
her chest. “My heart…it beats only for you.”
Acceptance inundated Arabella. “I love you too. I’ve always
loved you.”
Their foreheads touched and they remained in that position
for several seconds, letting the significance of this moment truly set in.
Giselle loved her. Arabella’s fingers toyed in the ruffles at the collar of her
lover’s gown. She tilted her chin and nipped at the soft lips so near her own.
Giselle’s mouth brushed hers again. And then they kissed. Thoroughly. Deeply.
Arabella’s heart soared toward the starry sky as she opened
her mouth and kissed her fill of her lover’s lips, taking her plunging tongue,
tasting her sweetness. Desire raged between Arabella’s legs. She’d never been
so wet with wanting in her life.
Their foreheads resting against each other’s once more,
Giselle ended their kiss. “Come home with me.”
“What about your father?” Arabella’s voice was husky with
need.
“He will not send me away again. Not for anything. Certainly
not for loving the woman who brought me back to his arms,” Giselle said. “We
will live out our days there together with no one the wiser. As lovers and
sweethearts.”
Arabella’s stomach clenched from the joy of imagining such
an existence. “Then we must make haste. I am dying of need.”
Dawn’s lavender hues lightened the sky as they mounted their
horses and raced back home. By the time they arrived, the stable boy was up. He
took their mounts and they rushed inside and up to Giselle’s room. Giselle
turned the key in the lock as Arabella hastily tore off her traveling dress.
Boots, skirts, petticoats, stockings, stays, all found their way into a pile on
the Oriental rug.
Giselle pulled her night rail off and the pair stood facing
each other. Arabella drank in the sight of her lover’s voluptuous breasts,
tapered waist and the soft tuft of dark curls at the vee of her lush thighs.
Giselle stepped closer and their bodies touched. Breasts to velvety breasts,
thatch to thatch. Their mouths fused. A sense of freedom brimmed in Arabella.
Here, they were free to love. There was no komtesse to mete out admonishments.
There were no constraints on time.
There was only this, the feel of her lover in her arms, of
kisses on her lips, of their bodies entwined. Together they climbed onto the
bed, facing each other in the semi-darkness. Simultaneously, they reached
between each other’s legs, burrowing fingers through slippery folds, delving
inside moist openings, thrusting, pleasuring.
Giselle found release first and Arabella followed quickly
behind. This one time had not sated either of them.
Arabella rolled Giselle onto her back before straddling her
so that her sex hovered over her lover’s face and vice versa. As Arabella
lowered her cunny, she buried her face between Giselle’s legs and dragged her
tongue through the dewy slit, sucking and nipping at the swollen bud crowning
the succulent folds. Giselle’s mouth worked its own magic and, once more, they
found synchronized release. Her lips suckling the sweet clitoris between them,
Arabella rode her lover’s talented mouth, grinding her hips, prolonging her
pleasure. Fingers dug into her flesh and held her impossibly closer.
There was nothing gentle or demure about this moment. For
days they had been ravenous for one another. Arabella submitted to the
relentless tongue probing and tasting. Her thighs quivered and she shook as
bliss ravaged and left her boneless, her mouth pressed to the musky flavor of
feminine flesh and sex, her head laid on the pillow of a soft thigh.
With heavy limbs, Arabella moved off, twisted and lay in
Giselle’s arms.
Giselle’s eyes shone in the darkness. “I have never known
this sort of feeling before. It was no wonder I didn’t recognize it.”
“Nor have I,” Arabella added as she traced lazy circles on
her lover’s belly. True, she’d felt desire. She’d lusted for a woman’s touch
long before she’d been placed at Katzenhalle. But what she knew with Giselle
reached far deeper.
Images of spending lazy days together and nights wrapped in
each other’s arms filled Arabella with joy.
Although life would never be as she knew it growing up on
her aunt and uncle’s estate, or even during her brief time at Katzenhalle, she
knew she’d found a lasting home here with Giselle.
“Arabella?”
“Hmm?”
“I want to taste you…again.”
About Paisley Smith
Paisley Smith is a full time freelance writer and can
usually be found in front of her computer writing, chatting, promoting or
plotting.
A true southern belle, Paisley enjoys all things feminine,
such as the perfect shade of lipstick, a pair of killer heels and a sexy,
confident woman.
Sneak a peek at Paisley’s site to see what she’s up to.
Paisley welcomes comments from readers. You can find her
website and email addresses on her
author bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.
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Also by
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Bitten in
the Big Easy
anthology
Charmed
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anthology
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
Purr
ISBN 9781419943379
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Purr Copyright © 2012 Paisley Smith
Edited by Kelli Collins
Cover design by Syneca
Photos: Artem Furman/Shutterstock.com
Electronic book publication October 2012
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