The Lady Submits (7 page)

He could always make them submit, in some way.

“Why listen to Paolo Ramora, after they way he treated you?
Did you want to go with him?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t…I don’t particularly like him. No.”

“Then why follow him?”

“Because I need his help.”

Cesare walked slowly around, studying her from every angle.
If she were lying…well, this wouldn’t even have to be a lie, would it, if she
were part of the plot. She would have needed help. He darted towards her,
stopping inches away. She closed her eyes, and sighed, and Cesare looked down
to find her nipples poking through her thin dress.

It was incredible. Everything he felt for her — the
way he felt his need for her in his very blood, the way she focused him into a
fine, single, clear edge, the way her smell brought him back to himself, the
way she was simultaneously maddening and calming — it was all reflected
back to him, in her. She felt it too. He was sure of it.

But the body and heart
need not be one
, he reminded himself.

“Why do you need his help?” he said, his voice hoarse.

“My father,” and here he saw her swallow, had to remind
himself again that it might all be a ruse, that he could not simply take her in
his arms, “my father is in trouble. He has been arrested.”

“Why? What has he done?”

Cesare saw a tendril of her copper hair fall across her face
as she nodded forward, in grief or deception, he no longer cared, and without
thinking he reached out to tuck it back behind her ear.

She leaned into his touch.

He nearly took her right there.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

He forced himself away from her and stalked back to his
chair, falling into it with something akin to relief. She still hadn’t moved.
She had remembered his order. That she might be so complimentary to
his own
extreme tastes made it all the worse. His mind
buzzed with an animal awareness that she was his, and he, hers. No matter what
had come before, no matter what women he had known, there would be no others
for him, after her. Even the memories of his many conquests were obliterated
when he thought of her. He never expected to feel this way, and felt grateful
for the chance to feel it now, even once. He would even accept her hatred, as
he expected he would have to do.

But he had to know.
For both their sakes.

“No one is arrested without cause in J’Amel,” he said
slowly.

“It’s something to do with the Vintner’s Guild,” she blurted
out. She sounded angry; she was not one to cry easily, then. “The soldiers came
after his still, asking about his vintages. And that’s why I came here with
Paolo, his father is the Guild’s banker, and I thought he might know, maybe he
would help if I agreed…”

One of Cesare’s skills as an interrogator
was
knowing
when to stay silent. He did so now, but Lucia seemed unable to
finish that thought.

“My father is not good with figures and records, and
with…paperwork,” she continued at last, the anger draining away, leaving only
sadness. “Taxes, and import duties, and…I help him, with things like that. It’s
possible…”

“Yes?”

“It’s possible that I made a mistake,” she said quietly.
Cesare watched the horror of that possibility play out on her face, as though
it were occurring to her for the first time. If she were innocent, he was a
monster, to do this to her. To the woman he inexplicably knew owned his damaged
heart.

If she were not…well, they were both doomed, in that case.

Of course she could
never care for you
, a voice inside his head sneered, a voice he remembered
well.
Of course she would rather see you
dead. How could she care for a monster like you?

Even if she were innocent — the voice inside his head
laughed — even if she were innocent, he’d still have to prove it, or
watch her hang with her father.

“Why am I here?” she asked him directly, and there was that
flash of steel again. Of intelligence, and resistance. And yet he was certain
he’d felt the desire to yield in her. The beast in him had delighted at her
quick obedience; had
felt
the thrill
run up her spine. The two traits, opposed and yet twinned, putting her at war
with herself: that, he understood. He wished to tell her that he understood. He
wished to
show
her.

And suddenly he thought he saw the way in.

“What did you think of the Severille festivities?” he asked.

She jolted. Her eyes flew wide open, and her hands clutched
at her skirt, bunching the fabric in her small hands. The scent of sex —
of her — grew heavier, and the blush crept up her neck.

He felt an answering growl rise in his throat.

“You liked them.” It was a statement. She nodded. He
rose
, every fiber tense and ready. Her chest fluttered with
every step he took towards her.

“Lucia,” he said, reaching out a hand to trace the line of
her jaw, down her neck, to that delicious hollow at its base, “Lucia, you are
intelligent. You know that you are my captive.”

She had closed her eyes at his touch. Again she bit her lip,
her brow furrowing. “Yes.”

“You are mine to do with as I will.”

He felt her pulse beat a mad rhythm in that beautiful,
smooth neck, and the heat come off her in waves, and he all but lost himself.

“If I were a different sort of prince,” he continued, “we
both know how this would end. But that is not all I want, Lucia. I want more
than just your body, and I will make you an offer for it.”

His finger danced lightly upon her skin, down into the warm
valley between her breasts, slick with sweat. He could smell her pussy now, hot
and hungry. Every second in which he did not rip her dress to shreds and plunge
into her was an effort. Every effort coiled the spring tighter.

He pushed aside the material of her dress and popped her
breast out, his mouth watering at the sight of her pink, pebbled nipple. Her
knees dipped slightly.

“Submit to me for Bacchanal,” he whispered, his fingers
playing with her so casually, “submit to me
completely
,
and I will help you.”

You
can find the rest of The Wolf’s Captive here

License Notes
and Disclaimer

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment, and may
not be resold. If you liked it so much that you want to share with a friend,
well, go ahead and do that. You can find more of the author’s work at all the
major retailers.

All characters and situations described in this work are
fictional and entirely the product of the author’s overactive imagination. Any
similarity to persons living or dead is entirely accidental, and really quite
incredible, considering.

Copyright 2012 Chloe Cox, all rights
reserved, and all that.
Enjoy!