FicWad

CHAPTER NINE


Con stood, held out his hand to me. “I have a surprise for you.”


I rose. He wrapped a light dressing gown around me, tied the sash, led me downstairs. I smelled my bath salts before I saw the very large tub mid salon. Many lamps lit the room. Glancing in toward the kitchen, I asked, “Where is the woman you hired?”


“Gone for the day.” He removed the garment and helped me in.


I sighed at the coolness of the water. It proved very soothing to the more sensitive portions of me. I leaned back in the slanted tub, dipping once to wet my loose hair. He had brought down my things as I slept. However for the moment, I wished to simply luxuriate. I relaxed, watching him watch me from his seat in a nearby chair. The intensity of his regard piqued my interest. “Surely a man of your experience has seen many ladies at their bath.”


“I have received invitations,” he answered.


I lifted and lowered my legs, feet sliding up and down the copper tub’s smooth floor. He tracked the rubbing of my thighs with burning black eyes. “What makes you desire playing spectator to mine?”


“You fascinate me.”


“Truly?” When he nodded, I probed, “Why?”


“You are a paradox.”


I waited for an explanation, then prodded him. “I do not understand what you mean.”


“A virgin who sought to paint a nude male study, moving freely among the more illicit portions of society, and who shaves her body,” he replied, “that alone is enough. Yet, your talent with a brush and your freeness mark you. I recognize unique upbringing.”


Feeling thin-skinned for no reason I could name, or wished to examine, I remarked, “Depilatory not blade keeps me smooth. And, I am no longer virgin. Thus ends that.”


“You remain the same person,” he debated. “If anything, my time with you has intensified the interest.”


For some reason, he made me catty and quick to claw. Realizing this, I reined in myself and simply enjoyed the soak. Later, pleased to wash away slumber, I made used of my scented soap, washing myself and my hair. Con quickly moved to help me rinse and step from the water. He assisted me with squeezing most of the wetness from my hair with a thick drying cloth, and patting me dry with several others. I could see his erection straining at his breeches as he smoothed my lotion over me, then went to the kitchen to wash his hands.


I returned upstairs, lit a few lamps. Dressing in a light, white nightrail with thin straps embroidered with tiny vivid poppies, I wandered out onto the verandah. This section of town resisted the revelry of fallen darkness. In the distance I detected the sounds of a city. Here, the breeze rustling trees and the murmur of a respectable residential district prevailed. I turned when I heard him approach.


To my surprise, he bore a large platter laden with food. Though I had given no thought to it previous, my stomach growled. I stared as he placed it upon the table: olives, cheeses, sliced meats, pickled vegetables, small pastries that appeared savory, a chunked variety of breads, sectioned oranges, seeded grapes. A knife lie along the platter’s edge.


“You must be hungry,” he said, standing straight. “Would you prefer wine or water?”


“Wine.”


“I shall fetch it.”


I fell upon the bounty like a locust, eating faster than I would have believed myself capable. Each flavor seemed sharper, more pronounced perhaps by lingering effect of the hashish.


Con returned with a bottle of wine and two stemmed goblets in one large hand, a pitcher of condensation beaded water in the other. “I thought you could use some hydration.”


He seemed to always know what I needed and it boiled my temper. Rather than reply, I waited for him to set down the wine and drinking vessels before quickly pouring myself a libation. I swallowed it foolishly. Con did not speak. Nonetheless, I felt the weight of his regard. Settling myself in a chair, I selected a chunk of bread, bit of cheese and olive to sample together.


“I admire your appetites,” he told me from his seat.


I wanted a fight. “It must have made fucking me easier.” As soon as the words emerged, I disliked myself for them.


Those potent jet eyes pierced me. “I consider myself your lover, Ivy.”


I drank more wine and consumed some orange. My reaction to him vexed me as much as he did. “I consider you a scratch for an itch.”


“Please do not do this.”


I knew exactly what he meant. Acid anger rising, I replied, “Actually, I believe I shall depart on the morrow for my family’s island.” I popped a piece of orange in my mouth and met his gaze.


All smooth masculine calm, he responded, “It will prove my privilege to accompany you.”


Set in my hatefulness now, I selected my words with acrid care. “Nay. You and I have finished.”

“Ivy, please.”


I stood. Set upon my course of action, I laughed. “Bugger off, Con.”


He rose. “I will not.”

He strode toward me and my rage proved volcanic. I snatched up the knife from the tray and stabbed his chest, then his shoulder. He roared.


I stepped back. He grasped the handle of the blade and jerked it clear. Glaring at me, he bore me backward to the bed. “I did nothing to deserve that.”


“Too bad.”



CHAPTER TEN


Even in my rage I had the mindfulness to stick the short blade in a place of his chest with naught save muscle beneath. On his shoulder, I knew I had stabbed near the bone. The only reason I found success doubtless came from the sheer surprise of my hand speed, and for him, unforeseeable intent.


I felt the bed at the backs of my legs. Eying his now hemorrhaging wounds, I smirked, “You won’t be having me now. Those wounds require stitching.”


His tone, glacial and low, gave me an eerie sensation. “They shall wait.”


This took me aback. I had expected him to leave, thusly freeing me from his influence. “Impossible. You must close them.” My tutelage with Walks Softly taught me to assess. While I had avoided organs and vessels, I knew the bleeding could prove damaging if left unchecked.


Con shoved me backward. I pushed off the floor, lifted my feet and landed mid bed.


He caught my legs so swiftly, I could not even see. One minute I stood upright, then I bounced upon my back. He restrained me with ruthless efficiency and used the knife I stabbed him with to cut the nightrail from me.


“You Scottish bastard!”


His mouth covered mine. He sucked my tongue into his mouth and caressed it with his own. I strained and fought until my breath failed me. Then, he seemed to have mercy and moved on to attempt licking and sucking my nipples and breasts into equal submission.


Stark sensation racked me.

He gazed up at me as he gently played with one nipple. “I have you, Ivy. I could abuse you at my leisure.”


I spat in his face. “Do your worst.”


He wiped my spittle away. “If I find you dry and unwilling, I shall release you and walk away. Do I find wet welcome, be assured my worst will do nicely. You rammed something in me. I believe it fair to reciprocate.”


He flipped me, shoved pillows beneath my pelvis. I trembled, wanting him, angry at my own welcome. His cock thrust into me, his way eased by abundant slickness. I cried out and quivered. Biting my lip, I stifled further response. His one arm managed to restrain me and I could not help liking it.


Con alternated shoving his cock in my quim and holding deep to reach around and ruthlessly rub my body’s trigger. His blood flowed down his body to spatter the bed and me. Finally, I climaxed and twisted in his grasp.


A bit afraid for him I said, “We must close your wounds.”


He jerked me upright, bent me over a chair, gripped my hips, fingers digging in a bit, and hammered at me. My arousal escalated. Floating on a cloud of sexual overload, I orgasmed a second time.


His climax erupted upon my back. “Ivy, I would die to have you.”


I shoved back and heard him fall upon the bed. Turning, I saw his eyes close. Shuddering and weak, I struggled to haul him a bit farther onto the bed. I dressed, fetched my kit and set about suturing his wounds.


Con slept.


I changed the linens, mopped up the considerable amount of blood and lamented my violence. It went against my nature and the aftermath left a bitter taste in my mouth.


Why did he provoke me so?


An ugly voice whispered things I did not wish to hear. Mayhaps you want him too much? Perhaps you begin to fall in love with him.


Nay to all. I knew little about the man save knowledge gained in carnal pursuits.


I tended my needs and joined Con in slumber.


#


The following morrow, I woke before him and I dressed. From my luggage I took a bag of coins. Leaving all else, I draped my head in a mantilla, I slipped through the streets, dodging any potential problems. Some distance away, I hired a carriage. During the ride back to Aunt Jasmine’s I failed to formulate a plan save hiding myself away.


Upon my arrival, I told her what happened and she consulted her head of security. Not twenty minutes later, as she and I sat in her lovely conservatory, I heard the first sounds of scuffle. We sat down our cups and saucers, rising as one and followed the increasing noise. Guards ran past us, apparently dispatched or summoned to answer duty’s call. One shouted, albeit politely, for us to stay put. Glancing at one another, we continued.


In the main receiving hall, Con fought a steady stream of men. Ominous red blooms of blood spread over his white shirt. As he took men down, he relieved them of their pistols, shoving them into his belt until he bristled. Finally, he whipped up two, pointing them at the oncoming column of men we encountered.


“Thus far,” he said coldly, “I have spared lives. Now I grow tired and shall begin shooting.”


Jasmine’s men halted. The one in charge, I assumed, spoke. “We are sworn to lay down our lives in our lady’s defense.”


“Then my conscience shall remain clear,” Con replied in that awful, glacial tone. “You can end this, Ivy.”


Unwilling to bend, I returned, “So can you. Cease and depart.”


“Nothing will keep me from you. Do they die or drink wine and make love to their women this night?”

Anger boiled in me. “That is unfair.”


“Thus too is sneaking away from a wounded man.”


Thwarted, I looked to my aunt. Very quietly, she whispered, “Do you want him? If not, I shall order them to fight to the last.”


“Do not.” Bitter in defeat, I addressed Con. “By guilt alone have you won. I hope hollow victory sits ill on your palate. For the granting of it offends mine.”


He lowered the pistols, but did not put them back in his belt. “I have something to wash away the taste.”


I hated it, yet knew I would do additional violence.


Aunt Jasmine gave the order for them to stand down. I turned and walked, going to my apartment without caring if he followed.



CHAPTER ELEVEN


He closed and locked the door behind him, only putting aside the pistols then. He removed the rest until only two remained. I walked up to him while his hands remained busy and slapped him across the face. Con took it and continued on to the bedroom, placing the final two beside the bed.


Walking through to join him, I asked, “Who do you think you are hunting me down and cracking heads? Again??”


“I told you before not to run from me.” He removed his shirt, peeling the blood-wet portions from his stained skin.


“You have broken stitches and burst the wounds performing your madman’s rampage.”


“If you provide the materials, I can repair the damage myself.”


“If yours was the clumsy hand that sewed the rest I see in scar form, then in truth, it would serve you right.” I kept a second kit here full time. Fetching it, I then returned to the bathing chamber for the basin of water and drying cloths. I watched him seat himself in a chair and await me. The Scot git had known I would see to him.


I had to clean his chest, arm and shoulder before I could see properly. He sat, stoic and enduring as I then examined him.


“You know what your problem is, Con,” I began as I threaded my needle, “you are accustomed to giving orders. I know not what trade you ply. However, I would wager much you answer to yourself alone.”


“Your problem, Ivy,” he returned, “is that I scare you. I would wager much, the men in your ecliptic treat you like the fragile princess. And, that the ones you meet remain too awed or incompetent to truly assert themselves.”


I liked not his insight. I laid my needle and thread aside, used my very small sheers to cut some of the old stitching and then pulled them clear. “If it makes you feel better about your Atilla the Hun behavior, continue you to think thusly.”


To my surprise he caught my hands and kissed the back of each, before gazing into my eyes. “I want to think of we two in harmony, pet. I have a compulsion to see you smile and hear you scream in pleasure.”


My belly fluttered and contracted. “You’ve a compulsion to conquer.” I concentrated on clearing busted thread, cleaning his wounds and using my Uncle Walks Softly’s antiseptic powder. Con neither flinched, nor made a sound. When their cleanliness satisfied me, I again sutured his wounds.


All the while I labored under the weight of his heavy regard. Finishing, I washed my hands and tools, before returning all to their proper place. I walked back to him, intending to deliver further rebuke.


“Make love with me,” he tempted. “Not because you feel you must honor our exchange before all, nor to scratch an itch. But because we want each other.”


“Con, you are not fit.” Further activity might see me repeating the exercise I had just completed.


“If I lie there and you ride me, all shall be well.”


I shuddered. “Nay.”


“I hear the ‘aye’ in that, Ivy.”


My resistance failed. “We must take especial care.”


Con rose and began to remove my gown amid much kissing and reassurance. “I shall become caution’s very soul.”


I helped him strip me, my blood heating and my pride melting. “Forgive me for hurting you.”


He groaned as he bared my body. “I already have.”


I liquefied inside, becoming aggressive. I assisted him divesting himself of raiment. “Touch me.” His fingers played with my quim as we kissed and I felt too weak-kneed to stand. “I need you now.”


He tugged me behind him to my studio. The chaise remained there. “I shall recline as promised. Light the lamps and candles before you join me.”


My hands shook and I fumbled a bit. All the same, I saw the task complete and went to him. For a moment I stood, realizing he had assumed the pose I had painted him in, and waited for me to climb atop him. As soon as I leaned down and swept my open lips up the considerable length of his erection, Con growled.


I moved to straddle his narrow hips and slowly impaled myself upon him. He gripped my hips, murmuring in a thickened accent. “Aye, Ivy. My bonny pet.”


Beyond the ability to take exception to something I secretly liked, I experimented. I rocked my hips back and forth, side to side. Everything felt too delicious. I bounced and swiveled upon him like mad and soon peaked. He held me down hard upon his huge erection as I screamed and shook, then made a sound of surrender. Thrust a few times and moved me off him to shoot semen over his chest and shoulders.


I laved my tongue over him, lapping up his sweet, creamy climax until his skin became as clean as it had after my earlier washing.


CHAPTER TWELVE

I laid awake to watch him sleep. In repose some of the intimidating hardness in his face melted away. Only a sheet across his groin covered him and his loose

hair looked like liquid silk pooling on the pillow. I gently touched his muscle-ridge belly. He tensed slightly, reacting defensively even in sleep. Then gooseflesh spread over his dark skin as he recognized my touch. Surely some barbaric god had fashioned him exclusively for war and sex. I withdrew my hand. My stomach fluttered.


His eyes opened and he turned his head to gaze at me.


I felt caught, subtly anxious on a primitive female level. “I did not mean to wake you.”


“I sensed your desire.” He reached over and brought my hand to his face. I stared, enrapt as he rubbed my fingers over his lips, then slipped them one at a time inward to trace them with his tongue. I shuddered. The stimulation to my hands undid me.


“Con.” I moved over to kiss him.


He cupped my face in his big hands. “Accept me as your lover. Let me hear it from your sweet lips.”


How could I not? “You are my lover.” I kissed him, assuming control. He opened for me, letting me do as I pleased and rumbling in clear male appreciation. I did not stop with his mouth. I tasted him all over, seeking out erogenous zones, discovering he liked having his ears played with, his belly nibbled, and his feet touched. Every last bit of him proved beautiful and a delight to my senses.


Finally, I rode him again. This time, I turned facing away and the newness of the sensation threatened to make me climax at once. I rubbed my trigger as he’d taught me, massaged his heavy ballocks with my other hand.


“Aye,” he groaned, his erection bucking fiercely inside me. “You are an angel of pleasure.”


I rode him harder and faster. Perspiration broke out upon me. He held my hips, urging me. My climax began low in my pelvis and spread from there all the way to my hands and feet. I heard the sounds I made as if from a very long way removed. Then a violent wave of orgasm struck me, stealing my breath and for a moment, tunneling my vision. Con moved me off him and I heard him peak.


#


The following morrow, we breakfasted on the balcony. He offered me choicer bits from his fingers. I let him feed me, all the while ignoring an innate voice warning against it.


“Tell me about your family,” he said, cutting a slice of ham. Aunt Jasmine’s cook prepared the most diverse and scrumptious food.


I chewed a bite of pastry stuffed with egg and cheese. Swallowing, I replied, “Loving, extremely close-knit and a severe shock to polite society.”


“I envision your father portly and prosperous, doting upon you and bending to your every whim.”


I smiled. “He does indulge me.” Picturing Papa’s fearsome physique and preference for more practical comforts, I added, “I believe his appearance might surprise you.”


He hesitated, goblet of juice halfway to his lips. “Your mother? A matron tending the home fires, with a sweet disposition and submissive manner?”


I laughed. “Nay. She is,” I sought the words, “more active and aggressive than most women.”


Con drank his juice, set the goblet upon the table. “Siblings?”


I helped myself to some chunked fruit from a serving dish. “Two older brothers, Jacque and Luc, and my twin, Roth.”


Con studied me closely, gaze intent. “Your voice changes when you speak of him.”


“He is the other half of me.” The moment I spoke it aloud, I expected some strange jealous reaction.


His eyes became quite intense. He reached across the small table to touch my hand. “Count your abundant blessings, Ivy. Love them and tell them you do every chance.”


Something inside me twisted. “I do.” Seeking diversion, I turned the tide. “Tell me about your family.”


He placed his utensils along the plate’s edge and leaned back. Almost without emotion, he answered. “I have little left. My younger brother died in infancy. Six years passed, my sire succumbed to a wound sustained in a fall from a ship’s rigging, and my mother expired due to grief barely a year later.”


Sympathy cut my heart. “I am so sorry. Forgive my bringing up a painful matter.”


“No need for an apology,” he responded. “My mother has family here in Madrid. But they did not approve of her match and my welcome is dutiful at best.”


“So you live alone?” An awful thought struck me. “Surely you have no wife?”


He smiled just a little at that. “Nay, pet.”


I plucked up a piece of apple and tossed it at him. “Do not you mock me.”


He swatted it away and smiled fully, flashing those long, too attractive dimples. “Never.”


#


That night, I had him back on the chaise that I might put the final touches on the painting. The memory those nights of suppressed longing, combined with the experience of seeing his body displayed had wetness running down my thighs. I worked naked, enjoying torturing him as he did me. His black eyes devoured me. Once in a while, he would grip his phallus and lazily work it.


“You distract me, “ I complained, sounding breathless and aroused.


“I am thinking about how your quim tastes, the sweetness and satiny slickness.”


“Con, please.” My hand shook. I paused to compose myself.


“I love the flavors of your body.”


I attempted to place a highlight in the depths of his hair on canvas and could not still the erratic tremble in my hand. “Cease speaking to me.”


“I love watching you work. I cannot help becoming aroused and wanting you.”


It required a great deal of force to control myself enough to finish. Afterward, I did no more than wash my hands free of paint before falling upon him in a tempest of lust.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN


We slept on the chaise, me draped atop him. Occasionally I would rouse just a bit to his stroking my back or hair, then drift off happy and sated. In the morning, I woke on my back, bottom at the chaise’s end, with Con sitting on the floor, his chest and shoulders between my spread thighs. Instinctively, I reached to cover myself.


Black eyes hot, he looked up at me. “Please, let me.”


Unable to refuse him, I let him explore me quite thoroughly with his eyes and fingers in the warm morning light. I knew the moisture poured from me.


“You are so passionate and responsive, Ivy,” he murmured, fingers pressing into me, “how is it you had not taken lovers?”


Too stimulated to lie, I confessed, “I knew nothing of lust until you. You awakened me.”


“Do not say such just because you know I wish to hear it.”


It seemed arousal a conduit to anger. “You Scottish git! Think you I could formulate a false response with your fingers in me!”


He fluttered them strongly, lowered his head and drew upon that epicenter of sensation. A bolt of orgasmic lightning ripped through me and I then could not have told him my name.


#


We took our morning meal out of doors on the balcony. I remained in stays and a dressing gown, he naught save breeches. We had leaned close, faces a hand’s span separated, smiling over something witty Con said, when I heard my cousin call, “Ivy, may I come up?”


He sounded upset. Leaning back a bit, I answered, “Of course.”


In a trice he stood at the apex of the stairs. He bowed slightly to me, then faced my lover. “Sir, you do me insult coming into my home, injuring my men, upsetting my mother and putting my cousin in a difficult position.”


“No insult,” Con replied coolly. “I will gladly compensate you for the men, and pay for the temporary replacements that might prove necessary. As for your mother, I offer sincere apologies to you and planned to do the same to her this day. Your cousin,” he continued, tone becoming territorial, “is a woman fully grown and more than capable of making her decisions. My business with her is our business alone.”


I saw the change in my cousin. Rising, I whispered, “Diego, please.”


He turned to me. “Ivy, I love you. I would never wish to cause you grief or worry. But, if he harms you in any way,” his gaze riveted on Con, “I shall make it my mission to chain him in my hold.”


“And what?” Con asked, “sail about, whipping and starving me?”


Diego smiled. I saw no humor in it. “Nothing so humane. I will take you to her sire.”


Con leaned back, at ease, yet with an air of leashed violence. “Pardon me, while your threat does nothing.”


Spooked, I replied, “Con, do not, I beg you.”


Now my cousin laughed with cold mirth. “Believe you me, you wish to avoid that at all costs.”


My lover did his version of a smirk, lifting one corner of his lips ever so slightly. “You have failed to deliver the threat you rushed up here to issue.”


My cousin replied, “She is the child of El Pantera.”


I closed my eyes. As I stood there, I heard my cousin descend. With grand reluctance, I met my lover’s stare. “I am the daughter of James and Lili Garrett.”


“Little wonder you found humor in my assumptions yester morrow. Your twin, is he Rothington Garrett?”


“Aye.”


“Well, pet, ‘tis a good thing I plan to be good to you.”


#


That afternoon, I asked Con to pose for a second study.


“Naked?”


I smiled. “Nay, I want you out of doors in breeches.”


“Anytime, I shall oblige you.”


We went out into the garden, he carrying and arranging everything. “We must record the time and placement,” he said, “so your light shall not go off.”


My heart flipped over in my chest. He understood my craft. It had made an impression upon him that generated consideration. Even though he did not do it himself, he had adapted my concerns as his.


I worried for myself.


#


That night, my Scot insisted upon bathing me. I allowed it, my mind churning in an attempt to decide if I possessed any means to protect myself from him.


He seemed to savor the experience, seated upon a stool beside the tub, and that made it worse. His black eyes reflected my rather panicked expression. He squeezed out a sponge filled with warm, scented water over my back as I sat hugging my knees. “What devils you? I see your conflict.”


“You frighten me, just as you said.”


He put aside the sponge, dried his hands and cupped my jaw in them. “I desire your happiness. Why would that frighten you?”


I wanted to hide. Yet, here I sat, naked and emotionally exposed. “I enjoy my freedom. My life pleases me. Change scares me.”


“Ivy, I would give you only delight.”


To my consternation, I erupted into hysterical weeping. He plucked me up, dried my body and smoothed me with my lotion, then carried me to bed.


“Don’t look at me,” I wailed, miserable.


“I will, Ivy. No matter what. I shall take all your problems as my own.”


I wept buckets. Then, dozed. I woke abruptly, to stare into Con’s rather forbidding face. Too raw to save face, I asked, “Why did my carrying on not send you hence?”


“Because I have expected it, and wished for it.”


Weakly, I replied, “You Scottish git.”