Brace yourselves - you're in for a treat.
I'm still recovering!
He bends and kisses my hand
"How perfect to be invited to talk to you, and drown in your beautiful eyes and watch your perfect mouth. I imagine what you could do…" his voice trails off and his eyes twinkle.
He coughs theatrically.
"Sadly I digress. You dear lady have been kind enough to open our story and release me into your care for a short time before I need step back through the pages to my lady, so perchance I need to make haste?
Oh lordy now he's bowing. And then sits on the chaise I've borrowed on purpose. Do you know how form enhancing those pantaloons he had on are? And his cravat is untied and…and…calm calm…
"You seem somewhat heated, my dear. Perhaps I best fan you? I have been told I am an expert in er fanning."
Flames perhaps but I need coolth. I decline. My god if I could bottle that smile I'd make a fortune. Before I can speak, he gives me a glass of wine and continues to talk.
"So what makes me tick? That sadly makes me sound like a Grandfather clock. To my knowledge I am no father as yet, nor a grandfather or a timepiece. I am…what I am. A mere man who worships at the feet of his lady."
Man maybe, not much mere about it.
"My lovely Deborah, was whom I was waiting for, even though I didn't know it. Strong, brave, beautiful and oh so determined. Everything I ever need and desire or will ever do so. Oh we have our arguments. She is French—allegedly—and as befitting a Frenchwoman, excitable, and articulate. Oh to say nothing of volatile and a superb lover.
You see I could not find a lady who was strong enough to stand up to me and let us grow together. Always I had struggled to be myself, to let my Dominant side show and be accepted. Many years ago I travelled on behalf of the crown and my country. What I saw on my journeying reassured me that although that which I craved was not of the norm it was neither perverted or depraved."
He looks thoughtful. I feel for him. I reckon life was hard enough in 1818 without having 'not of the norm' tendencies—whatever they are.
"The first time I saw Deb, she was tied, and knives were being thrown at her. My cock told me it was I who should do those things, not her partner. Me. Then I was with luck or coercion, able to participate in wax play."
He was silent for so long, I got worried. Then he smiled, and I tell ya, it was like the sun came out.
"Some people, especially in my time, may say I or we are perverted. That is rubbish. No two people are the same. What I think is wrong, someone else thinks is fine. That is the way of the world. As long as my proclivities harm no one, why should I be decried? Ah well, as I have Deborah who is with me and for me, and me for her, I am lucky indeed. Who knows, by the time this world has progressed to your time people may openly enjoy the art of robe bondage, knife throwing, fire play or wax? But for us now? We enjoy in private. I can't imagine life without my enjoyments or Deb. Although until she finds out her history, we will never be free."
Sniff…he passes me the finest lawn handkerchief I have ever seen. I blow my nose and wonder what to do with it.
"Keep it and each time you use it, remember how lucky you are. To love openly, to be with your lover and not wonder…"
Oh lord he had that haunted look again. Before I can do anything, he sort of shakes himself.
"I remember, you asked about Luc. Well, Luc? He has his own story to tell, and I believe Deb said she's seen him in a huddle with Raven…"
The eBook makes a funny noise and he jumps up from the chaise, and kisses my hand once more.
"My time is up. Thank you dear Doris for this."
Before I can answer he's gone. I look at my hand, where I'm crushing the only thing to show he's been here. A very fine lawn Hankie.
Deborah may not know the full truth of her childhood, but she knows she needs to find her soul.
During one of her performances at Silk Street, she attracts the attention of Oliver, Lord Craster. Known for his extreme tastes, he sensed a kindred soul in Deborah.
Persuading her that their needs mesh proves a challenge, even to a man of his experience. Will Oliver be the man she needs to unlock her secrets? Or will his dominance scare her too much to even try?
Are the nightmares simply too strong?
And a wee excerpt…
His body was warm, the beat of his heart fast under her hand. She splayed her fingers and came in contact with his nipple. To her surprise it hardened under her touch, and he groaned.
"Minx, see what you do to me? To answer your question, yes on occasion I will gladly cede power to you. We will have a partnership, my dear, one we set the parameters for. We set." He emphasized the word we. "I have no interest in what others do. If we couple, everything we do will be as we decide." He held her close and she fancied his cock throbbed against her. It was hard, long, and nudged her quim. Even through their clothes she felt the power leashed within.
His hand made a lazy circle on her back as they stood together. Deborah let herself be held in the moment. The tug on her pantaloons, that dropped them to her knees, followed by a sharp tap to her naked buttocks, caught her unawares and made her jump. A second tap stung, and a third brought a pain that radiated outwards in ripples over her tingling skin.
"Now you feel the bite of my touch on your arse?"
She glared at him. "Why did you do that?"
"Go with the sting, embrace it, let it fill you, and then…"
Another spank, harder than before took her by surprise and broke into her terror-filled mind. The pain began, and stopped suddenly, to be replaced by such sweet pleasure that she gasped. Her body was an inferno of arousal. Her juices gushed and coated her quim. She felt the telltale tingle as with delicious deliberation that evidence of her excitement crept down the inside of her thigh. In a split second her negative thoughts had dissipated and a warm welcoming glow filled her.
"Now, you see why I say sweet punishment?"
Deborah gulped. Could she admit to something so decadent?
"Deborah." His voice held a warning and she realized a hint of uncertainty. So he was vulnerable? It gave her courage. "Yes, I see it."
Oliver took a step back. He stared at her for so long, she began to squirm. His gaze was predatory, like the lion she has seen in the royal menagerie about to pounce on its chosen prey. Deborah was in no doubt how he felt. If he had been that animal his tail would be twitching and his claws unsheathed. It made her itch to do anything he asked.
"Are you ready to take this further?"
Oliver took her hair in his hand and tugged. It was no gentle caress; it stung her scalp and forced her head up so she looked him in the eyes. Her hair fell from its confines to spill over her shoulders and down her back. "I think I need to set the first ground rule, Deborah. We talk. Both of us. No nodding, shrugging, or thinking either of us are mind readers. I am not. Are you?"
Deborah started to shake her head and stopped, warned not only by the look in his eye, but by the hold he had on her hair. To complete the gesture would hurt.
“No, I'm not. You're right, I'm sorry. Look." She hated the desperation she could hear in her voice. "I'm not sure I'm the right person for you. I have…" She hesitated; she had no idea how to explain her life. "I have things about me that are not pleasant, things I wish had never happened. But they have and they shaped me. Now I'm someone with darkness within. Until I can climb over that, find what I must, I can't commit to anything." She swallowed as a lump filled her throat. The look of compassion and understanding on his face was her undoing. Almost without knowing what she did, she panicked, grabbed the pantaloons with one hand and dragged them upwards. His eyes narrowed but he said nothing.
"Oliver, I can't stay. You want more than I can give. Find someone to submit to you, to do as you want, when you want. It can't be me. I'm sorry." Tears ran down her face, making her cheeks damp. With a muttered curse she swiped at them.
"I never took you for a coward," Oliver said and released his hold on her tresses. His tone was level, almost disinterested. He could have been discussing the price of candles. "You stand on stage, letting Dalmain hurl his knives at you, ignoring the fear I saw in your eyes. You throw flames, let a stranger trace cobwebs of wax over you and show no fear. But this? The chance to explore your inner self, you turn away from. Why? Why when you risk your life each time a knife comes toward you will you not open up to this?"
He let go of her and began to pace around the room. She felt his gaze on her, steady and unwavering. It sent hard, stabbing darts of fear down her spine. He would not let her go easily, and she could not stay and risk everything she had fought for.
Abruptly, he stopped walking and spun round to face her, one hand flung out in a demanding gesture. "I feel the connection, as I believe you do. Damn, Deborah, we are right for each other. For so long I have waited, knowing one day I would find the one. Everything up until now has been but a rehearsal for our partnership, and you are not willing to chance even one time to discover our needs and pleasures. You would throw away all what might be without explanation. What have you to lose?"
Not my soul, that has gone.
It was unthinkable to wonder if he was right. "I don't risk my life, Oliver. In that you are very wrong. For each knife that comes toward me, do you not think I wonder if this time, I will leave it too late to catch it? Wonder if Luc blinks at the wrong moment and his aim will not be true? Think what might happen if I close my eyes and do nothing? You see, My Lord." She inverted his title with capitals deliberately, as she decided it would likely be the first and only time she allowed him the courtesy of being her Dom. "I do not risk my life … I cheat my death, and one day my time will run out."
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