Pleasure and Purpose (7 page)

"When he was a boy? But I thought... I thought he was a boy." At this, Edward let out a surprised chuckle. "Cillian is mine own age, Stillness, even if he occasionally throws a rather childish tantrum."

"Your pardon, sir; by the way you spoke of having to look after him, I thought—"

"No." A haunted look crossed his features. "He's not a lad. But apparently, he yet needs looking after."

This conversation was causing her patron distress, and so she moved to another topic with ease. "Have you finished your tea?"

"I have."

He watched her tidy up the tea and simplebread, and when she was finished, he gestured to her. "Come here."

She did, and Waited at his feet again, the back of one hand inside the palm of the other. She smiled as he looked at her, though he wasn't smiling at her. His hand reached out to touch the braid hanging over her shoulder.

"Fetch me the book on my desk."

She did without hesitating, without even thinking of why he'd asked her to do it. When she handed it to him, he didn't take it.

"Put it back."

Again, she did as he'd said, her obedience ingrained and the tasks he asked of her so simple as not to require thought. When she returned to him, she noted the gleam in his eyes. It flared brighter when she again Waited at his feet.

"Stillness," Edward said after a moment in which she sat silent at his feet. "Would you do anything I asked you? Without question?"

"Within reason. Though it's my goal that you need not ask, of course: that all you need be brought to you before you need it."

"How can you possibly expect to do that?" Her answer seemed to confound him, but she'd been asked it before and had a ready answer.

"Practice."

Edward shifted in his chair. Nessa tilted her head, watching him.

"I thought you understood this," she said when he didn't speak for some moments. "It was part of the contract."

"Aye, but seeing the evidence of it is vastly different than merely reading about it on a parchment."

Nessa smiled. "The Mothers-in-Service do their best to assign us to those we're best suited to help, you know. That I was assigned to you means they believed I was best suited for your needs. I'm your comfort, your grace. I'm what you need before you know you need it. I'm here for you."

His reaction wasn't unusual, but it moved her all the same when he let out a sigh and covered his eyes with his hand for a moment. Then he reached for her hand. His thumb traced an interlocking pattern of circles on her palm. "Have you ever been assigned a patron you despised?"

"Only one." She felt the shadows cross her expression at the answer, but could do no less than be truthful.

"But you served him, anyway?"

"Of course I did."

Her patron tugged her gently to sit next to him, though the chair was scarcely large enough for the two of them. "Did you succeed?"

"No. There was naught I could do to satisfy him, nor to bring him solace."

"Is that why you despised him?"

Shocked, she turned in the seat to look at him. "No! Of course not!"

"Is it because you despised him that you were unable to succeed, then?" The answer to this question didn't rise so readily to her tongue. Nessa thought on it for a silent moment before answering. "No. Even if I had cared for him, I wouldn't have been able to change who he was. An embittered, violent man who thought the tragedy of his past entitled him the use of his fists."

His thumb paused in its circling. "He hit you?"

"Yes."

"His abuse was ill-guided and purely selfish," he said, echoing what she had earlier told him.

"It was." Even now, the memory made her cheeks flush. Vander Decamden had blacked her eye and bloodied her nose before she'd ,' managed to fend him off with a kick to his groin. She'd left the day
•
after, with the Order's blessing.

"A man who would use his hand upon a woman—"

"No, sir," she interrupted gently. "A man who would use his fists upon a woman in anger is not the same as one who brings her pleasure with his touch," Edward looked at the hand he'd been stroking. His thumb pressed down, hard, leaving a red mark that quickly faded to white. "The difference is in the intent." She said nothing, letting him be the one to lead. She could only offer him what he must be willing to take. She studied him, noting the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the way his tongue slid along his lips as he thought. The gleam of firelight on his skin.

"You like . . . you enjoy . . ." he said hoarsely, hesitating, "being bound."

"Sometimes." Nessa leaned closer to whisper her answer, her own breath coming a bit faster at the thought.

His thumb had begun its pattern on her skin again, and when he looked at her, Nessa's breath caught at the look in his eyes.

"Fetch me that length of ribbon from my desk. The one I took from 'round the package delivered yesterday."

She handed him the slippery length of ribbon within moments. Edward ran the material between his fingers as though testing it for strength or in admiration of its construction, she couldn't tell. When at last he held it up, the smooth coils fell from his fingertips to curl in his palm.

"Hold out your wrists."

She did. Edward took the ribbon and bound them, loosely, tucking the ribbon's edge but not tying it. He ran a finger along the ribbon, then the skin of her hand and wrist.

"You may go about your business."

"Sir?" Nessa hesitated, uncertain what he expected of her. Edward smiled. "So long as that ribbon stays in its place, you shall be kept in my good graces. Should it fall, I will be displeased."

There were two reasons why this statement sent a thrill through her. The selfish one was that being so commanded called to that part inside her that craved the discipline of concentration. The unselfish one was because this meant he was, at last, allowing himself to take from her what she could give.

"If it pleases you."

"We'll see if it does or doesn't, won't we?"

Managing with bound wrists was no hardship, but keeping the ribbon round them was. He watched her carefully as she made and served tea and cleaned up after. As she mended a tear in his trouser hem and pressed a cravat. The ribbon grew looser and looser, allowing her greater range of motion, but never falling off.

"Stillness," Edward said at last. "Come fetch me this book." He pointed to a volume high on the shelf, higher even than his head.

"The green book?"

Aye.

This close, she could smell him, something spicy and masculine. A faint odor of herb clung to his clothes, and under it the scent of the soap he favored. The tea she'd made him added a hint of seductive warmth. She reached for the book, standing on her tiptoes to do so, knowing before she even tried there was no way she could reach. Her fingers brushed the edge of the shelf three lower than the one on which the volume he wanted sat. And the ribbon, at last, fell away.

"I set you a near impossible task, or so I meant it to be," Edward murmured. "And yet, not until I forced your hand did you fail at it."

She didn't bend to pick up the ribbon at her feet. "Did you so wish me to fail?" Edward reached to run a hand over her hair, catching the tie at the bottom of her braid and pulling it free. "Aye. I believe I did."

She stayed still as his fingers combed her hair free over her shoulders. "Why?" He put a hand beneath her chin, tilting her face to look into his. "Because then I could have reason to be displeased, and yet I have found that even in failing me you have pleased me. I'm quite discomfited."

Nessa smiled. "So your purpose was served, after all? You're distressed?"

"Immensely." He moved closer, lowering his mouth to hers but not kissing her. He took her hand and put it to his groin, against his heated hardness. His fingers made hers stroke up and down through his trousers. His lips brushed hers, and still, he didn't kiss her.

"Take off your gown," Edward said, voice rough. "I want to see you. The way his breath gasped in when she obeyed was one of the loveliest sounds she'd ever heard. He stroked himself while he watched her, and when she stood naked before him, he pushed his trousers down over his hips.

"Come here." He pulled her onto his lap, her knees pressing the back of the chair, his cock imprisoned between them. "Loosen my shirt."

She opened the buttons, exposing his bare skin. He pulled her closer to kiss her, and she sighed as her clit finally got the attention it had been craving. Edward gripped her hips, pulling her against him belly to belly. Her clitoris rubbed the base of his erection, and she shivered.

He helped her rock her hips more. Their kisses were slow, languorous, but not exactly gentle. His tongue slid inside her mouth, demanding she return the gesture, and his teeth grazed her jaw and throat every so often.

"Lift up."

He slid inside her. They both moaned. Nessa's head fell forward. Their mouths met, hungry for each other. His kisses inflamed her. The bites even more so. Edward's teeth found her throat again and he held the soft skin between them, torturing her with the anticipation of the sting.

He'd told her this wasn't making love, but it had become more than fucking. Their bodies moved in perfect tandem, her climax mounting.

"This feels good?" he asked.

"Aye, it does. . . ." Her words became a gasp when he circled more firmly on her clit. Then, he asked no more questions, and they moved together, each seeking the ecstasy of release. Hers came first, a burst of sparkling bliss radiating through her entire body. Her cunt fluttered, and the next moment she felt the pulse of his cock and heard his cry of joy as he climaxed.

Her head found a place on his shoulder as his arms went around her, holding her close to him. She listened to the sound of his breathing. He softened inside her, but they didn't move apart.

"You shall have to try harder, sir," she whispered after a time.

"How so?"

She smiled, nestled in his arms. "If you truly wish me to fail." Edward sighed and held her closer. "I know, Stillness. I know." Then they said no more on the matter,

"Is she a witch?"

Edward looked up from his book. "Who, Alaric? Your new conquest? She's a bit testy, or so I've heard, but a witch? I wouldn't go that far."

Alaric frowned and eased his long body into the empty spot on the sofa facing Edward.

"No, not Larissa, though
testy
as a description of her is being kind. No. Your Handmaiden."

Edward, knowing it was useless to do otherwise, set aside the text he'd been reading.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I'd say she's woven a spell over you." Alaric grinned. "The change is remarkable. The ladies are all atwitter. Even our dear Cillian took me aside to mention it to me. He wanted to know whether you'd been overindulging in herb and worm, for your smile was so ready and bright."

Edward shook his head. "I'll tell him it's no indulgence but his own recent calm behavior that's allowed me this good nature."

"He won't believe you." Alaric reached to the table in front of him and snagged a slice of joba melon. "And if you tell him that, he's likely to head back to his usual ways sooner than later."

"Good point." Edward watched his friend devour the juicy melon. "Do you make love to Larissa the way you eat that fruit? No wonder she's testy."

Alaric rolled his eyes. "Nobody makes love to Lady Larissa, old man. If you count yourself lucky to be allowed to her bed, Lady Larissa quite clearly makes love to you, not the other way 'round."

"She sounds perfect for you, Alaric." Edward knew the lady in question, though not well.

"She does all the work, you get all the benefit."

Alaric sucked his teeth free of the strands of melon before answering. "She rides me like a pony, crop and all."

Edward raised a brow. Further discussion on that matter became impossible as the library door banged open and Cillian burst through, followed closely by his latest lapdog, Persis Denviel. The two men carried jugs of worm and bowls of herb.

"Edward! Edward, my dear one!" Cillian had already been imbibing. His eyes were bright, the pupils dilated, and his pale cheeks flushed. He raised the jug. "And Alaric. Join us!"

"No, thank you." Edward shook his head. "I must ride home and I care not to need tying to my saddle to keep me aboard the horse."

Cillian made a face. "You needn't leave us, Edward. What have you at home that could replace the camaraderie and companionship of the palace?"

At that, Alaric let out a snort and sat up straight. Cillian's red-gold head swiveled toward the other man. Putting a hand on his hip, Cillian strode forward to peer more closely at Alaric.

"You know," he said, then glanced at Edward, "don't you? You know what's put such a smile on our dear Edward's handsome face. Don't you?"

Alaric smiled and bowed his head in deference to the man hovering over him. "It's not my place to say."

Cillian's mind was too sharp to be dulled by worm, and he cast a sharp-eyed gaze upon Edward. "A new lover?"

"Nothing like that."

Cillian moved forward, peering at him. His eyes traveled over Edward's body, his neatly tied cravat, the buttoned waistcoat and perfectly pressed trousers. The gleaming, polished boots. Edward shifted awkwardly under Cillian's bright, searching stare. Alaric had turned, as well. Persis had lit a bowl of herb and lost himself in the fragrant smoke.

"You're better put together. You've always been smartly turned out, Edward, but now"—Cillian leaned in to sniff him—"you smell taken care of. But not a lover? A wife? Have you gone and married some fortunate cunna, my dear Edward?"

"You know I wouldn't marry without informing you." Edward didn't like the bright madness in Cillian's eyes, the madness that said he wouldn't be satisfied until he had an answer.

Cillian reached out to stroke the ribbon clubbing back Edward's hair at the base of his neck. "You didn't do this yourself. You braid your hair haphazardly and tie it with frayed cord."

Alaric let out a chuckle. "He has you there, old man. You look positively tidy." Edward scowled at Alaric. "My lord, I have—"