Nicholas: The Lords of Satyr (12 page)

But every so often, she found her gaze straying to the mysterious vases and their carnal decoration.

A
t dinner Jane’s husband was a courteous but distant host. He asked to her comfort and how her day had passed. In return, she inquired about the estate and its history.

“My ancestors located the vineyard on this hillside and walled the grounds for defense reasons,” he told her. “The wall encircles two thousand acres of forest, fruit and olive groves, and, of course, the vineyards.” He raised a glass of wine to his lips in subtle challenge.

If his mention of the vineyards was verbal bait, she didn’t take it. She’d determined that her best course was to simply ignore his profession for the present.

“And your brothers? How distant are their estates?”

“Each is a half hour’s journey along the exterior wall on horseback. We’ll invite them to visit in the coming weeks. Once we’re receiving.”

After their honeymoon ended, he meant.

Though she observed him closely, there was nothing in his bearing to suggest he felt any physical discomfort from last night’s mutual occupation. Or had he, too, practiced before a mirror until any stiffness left him? The notion had her smiling secretly into her napkin.

His easy, distant manner made it difficult to relate him to the man who had lain with her the night before. Was that why no one spoke openly of what went on in the marriage bed? Maybe the intimacies were blocked out of one’s mind in the daytime in order that one might function in ordinary activities.

“Once you’ve settled in, the household will be given over to your care to whatever extent you wish,” he informed her. “You may consult me or Signore Faunus with any questions. He’s been my family’s trusted servant for many years and will serve as liaison between you and the other staff.”

“I do have one question,” said Jane. “The staff—why are they are sent away at night?”

As though to delay his reply, Nick blotted his lips with a starched, monogrammed napkin, obviously laundered and pressed by servants. With so little time on the estate, she couldn’t help wondering when they found the hours to maintain such perfection.

“A personal preference. You will grow used to it in time.”

“It seems strange.”

He swirled his glass, and his twin blue mirrors glinted at her over the sanguine wine.

“Strange isn’t always a bad thing though, is it?”

At his words, Jane’s thoughts spun in a direction she imagined he didn’t expect. “I suppose not.”

He nodded and returned to his food.

She surveyed him from below her lashes. Did he mean what he said? Was he accepting of that which was truly strange? A glimmer of hope flickered to life within her, refusing to be squashed. Perhaps, just perhaps, she and Emma would find true acceptance here on this land. In this family.

But she must go carefully. She would never consider revealing anything of herself until she knew far, far more of him.

Getting into her bed that night, knowing the enigmatic stranger who was her husband would likely come to her again, was one of the more disturbing things Jane had ever done. Did she want him to come to her, or didn’t she? She attempted to analyze her feelings on the matter and failed.

She’d only just begun to slip under the coverlet when the door adjoining her husband’s bedchamber opened. She scrambled to cover herself as he approached.

He appeared unfazed by her haste. His gaze shifted to her nightstand, and he abruptly detoured to her dressing table. She heard the clinking scrape of porcelain. Then he returned to her bedside.

Wordlessly he set the pot of cream he’d retrieved onto the nightstand. His intentions toward her couldn’t have been stated more clearly.

As he had the night before, he removed his dressing gown and tossed it over the end of her bed. How easily he revealed his nakedness. How did one become so cavalier as to shed every trace of modesty without a bit of concern? She couldn’t imagine.

Though she had cataloged his bodily features the previous night, she now had her wits better gathered to take in the whole picture. He truly was a splendid male creature, she realized, with more than his share of animal grace. Every part of him was well formed, with hard muscle and bone underlying sculpted valleys, hills, and plains.

Without preamble, he joined her on the mattress, folded back the coverlet, and began sliding her gown upward.

She shifted more fully onto her back, preparing to fulfill her role.

It wouldn’t be so shattering this time, she told herself. His body was more familiar, and now she knew what to expect from the act. Her aunt had promised it was always worst the first time.

If only he would attempt some sort of reassurance. A few kind words would make everything somehow easier.

As before, he bared her to the waist and perfunctorily parted her knees. His hand lingered, absently caressing a vulnerable spot just behind the bend of her leg. A shiver of awareness prickled over her.

He spoke, his dark voice ripping the silken silence. “I had planned to allow you a solitary night to ameliorate the effects of our joining last evening. But I find myself in need of you. Are you recovered enough to have me again?”

It was obviously a rhetorical question, since he was already moving across her body, settling his brawny thighs between her softer ones.

“Yes, of course,” she murmured.

With brisk efficiency, he scooped cream from the waiting pot, spread it over his cock, then smeared the excess through her tender folds. He rubbed the entrance to her passage with a creamy thumb, testing her readiness to receive him.

“Sore?” he inquired, studying her expression.

She flushed, wishing he hadn’t spoken of it. “A little. Are you?”

“I?” he questioned in surprise.

“Yes. Are you sore as well?” she asked. “I would suppose so, based on the mechanics of the matter.”

He chuckled. “No, I’m not sore, but then, I’m more accustomed—that is—” He shot her a queer look. “Back to my original concern, are you too uncomfortable to mate with me?”

Mate? she echoed silently. An unusual, earthy word. Why was he asking? Would he let her deny him if she claimed to be too sore from last night’s masculine assault? No doubt his concern was a farce, she thought in annoyance.

“You may proceed,” she assured him in carefully modulated tones. “I won’t resist.”

His brow quirked. “Grazie.” His tone was vaguely sardonic, and she wondered if he’d read her thoughts. Unfair, when she couldn’t seem to read his.

Palming his shaft, he guided it to her opening. Softness gave way to hardness as it pressed into her, attempting to encase itself in the passage it had enjoyed the previous night.

Grudgingly, her chafed slit opened. But his engorged tip didn’t slip inside with ease.

She flinched.

He stared down at her. “Sometimes the soreness can enhance the pleasure. But you must let me know if it becomes too much.”

Pleasure? she wondered. Did he mean he would experience more pleasure if she were sore? Or—

She gasped as, having finally pierced her, he filled her with a long, sure stroke. Her newly sensitized tissues tingled in shocked awareness as she accepted him. Before her body could adjust to the nature of his invasion, the now familiar rhythmic advance and withdrawal began.

She lay under him, hands flat at her sides as he moved on her with intense concentration. Her nether lips dutifully bowed inward with each thrust and pursed outward with each withdrawal.

As had happened the previous night, his steady movements gradually grew more robust in their purpose. The sharp discomfort dwindled, but she assiduously guarded against any unwarranted stirrings of her senses. If she lost her grip on her emotions, no telling what odd behavior might spring forth.

Grasping her thighs, he angled her more to his liking and then tunneled deeper. It took all her concentration to prevent herself from adjusting her position in a way she sensed would bring him into more satisfying contact.

He drove toward his release, seeming to forget her as his lust took control. The contrast between his straining masculine domination and her tense pliancy was stark. Yet he appeared to accept her placid submission as what was expected of her, either unaware of or unconcerned about her feelings in the matter.

Hard fingers seized her hips, and he heaved into her once, twice, a third time, as if he were intent on nailing her to the feather mattress. He uttered a guttural sound against her neck as a series of fierce seminal eruptions jetted hot, milky fluid inside her to mingle with the cream from her jar.

Soon afterward he pulled away and calmly bade her good night before returning to his solitary chamber.

She drew the covers to her chin and stared balefully at his door.

God! The ache. The agony of wanting. Deep in the pit he’d plundered within her, she hummed with it, throbbed with it.

His taking had caused this—this stirring in her. She longed to go after him, to rail at him, to beg. For something. Anything that would relieve her.

A hand crept low, between her legs. His seed was slick. Or was that the cream from her jar?

A finger touched tender flesh, pressed. Her clit pulsed softly.
Mmm.

Her eyes darted to his door. What if he heard?

The finger rubbed a gentle, slippery circle on the hard nub it had found.

She contracted the muscles of her slit, once, twice.
Mmm.

The finger circled faster. She watched his door, wary. What if he caught her? What if—

Mmm.

The finger found her slit and dipped inside.

Ahh!

Her channel spasmed on it suddenly, gripping, releasing, gripping, releasing—like a nursing mouth. When the convulsions seized her clit as well, she rolled to her stomach, burying a moan in her pillow.

The strange sensation pumped at her for long moments and then ebbed and died away.

Eventually she slept, at peace.

O
ver the following days, Jane learned more of the inner workings of the estate and marveled at the complexities involved in its operation. The rules were few but strictly observed.

When her husband secreted himself behind closed doors in his study, the library, or any room, the staff was forbidden to disturb him. Only when the door stood slightly ajar was it permissible to knock and request admittance. The upstairs areas were off limits to the staff after the evening meal, and all were to be off the property by nightfall.

Any questions she put forth regarding such matters were deflected, and the system which had at first seemed unusual soon came to seem normal.

She took her place in the household hierarchy, making few changes and glad to leave its reins in the capable hands of Signore Faunus. The servants welcomed her once they realized she wouldn’t prove overly demanding.

This appeared to please Nick. It was as though she’d managed to correctly fit into some sort of niche he expected a wife to fill. And she imagined he was more pleased by that thought rather than any great desire to see his already well-functioning household running more smoothly.

He ventured forth into the vineyard daily, where she presumed he consulted with his brothers on occasion. But the business of the vineyard was kept from her for the time being, as were his siblings.

Aside from household duties, she spent her hours in his library and garden, searching for clues regarding what might be the best brew of herbs for a curative.

Each night after dinner, an ethereal quiet fell over her new home. All the servants departed, leaving Nick and her utterly alone except for the unobtrusive Signore Faunus, who rarely showed himself.

Yet chores got done overnight as though by magic. It was very odd, but any inquiries to the servants on the matter were met with either blank stares or agitation.

Meanwhile, her new husband visited her in much the same way each night, sojourning briefly in her bed and body and then subsequently returning to his own bedchamber for sleep. His swift coupling proved a blessing since it kept him from discovering any hint of her abnormalities.

Or of the relief she found on her own, once he’d gone. She worried this ability was part of her strangeness and daily vowed to cease such behavior.

Her failure to keep such promises was his fault, she’d determined. Before he came to her bed each night, she was resolute that she wouldn’t touch herself
there
again. But each time, his taking weakened her will. Her hand often found its way between her legs the very moment the door between their chambers closed behind him.

Nick seemed able to place the routine of his days and nights into separate compartments. His behavior toward her was politely remote during the sunlight hours, making it difficult to equate him with the man who visited her in such a carnal way each night.

However, she was grateful for his example, which she soon copied. In their daily interactions, this arrangement eased any embarrassment she might have felt. It became easy to simply pretend the nights had never happened.

When her monthly courses came a week and a half after their marriage, she informed him with reluctance. Though their time together had been brief, she was concerned he might react badly. He’d underscored the importance of a timely production of heirs. And he’d been working diligently in her bed, unaware that the brew of herbs she swallowed each morning thwarted his purpose.

Surprisingly, he showed no disappointment at her announcement. Still, the delivery of her news resulted in an abrupt change in their routine.

For the first time since their wedding, he didn’t visit her bed.

Nick trod the path from office to home, sure of his way even in the pitch of night. His eyes went to his wife’s window and saw it was dark. He wouldn’t visit her. A woman’s blood brought out the animal in him, and he wouldn’t reveal himself in that way to her. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

He’d felt no despair when Jane had informed him of her monthly flux. He was fully aware he hadn’t impregnated her. But he planned to, twelve nights from now—in the next Calling. He would have to bespell her in order to ensure her participation. No matter.

He’d never taken a flesh-and-blood woman in the Calling and was intensely curious to experience the spilling of fertile seed in his wife. Because Jane’s body was Faerie, her womb should easily accept his childseed, whereas that of a full-blood Human female would have more difficulty.

Upstairs now, he padded down the hall. His nostrils flared as he caught the humid scent of his wife’s blood mixed with her inner fluids and her natural, beguiling scent. His testicles bunched and drew up. Within his trousers, his strangled prick thickened and rose, anticipating. He forced himself to pass her door and continue on to his own, if only to prove to himself that he could.

Once in his bedchamber, he bespelled the hallway door as well as the one adjoining his wife’s room, bolting them. Crossing the room, he touched a mirrored panel. It tilted, revealing itself to be a hinged door. Slipping beyond it, he found himself in a familiar chamber. The mirror repositioned itself behind him, sealing him inside. He lit no candles. He wouldn’t need them.

He tore at the fastenings of his trousers and focused his mind on a point beside the bedpost, summoning. A swirling mist materialized under his stare, where before there had been only emptiness. The myriad of colors coalesced into a female Shimmerskin—one who closely resembled his wife.

Sensing what he wanted, she pressed her breasts to the wall and grabbed two metal rings she found bolted high above her. He lowered his trousers, pressed his cock to her slit, and slammed into her from behind. She was soft, warm, necessary. Disposable. She would feel nothing, demand nothing, and cease to exist when he was done. Fucking her would be as uncomplicated as masturbation. And over as quickly.

His body achieved satisfaction a half a dozen times in the space of an hour. Their couplings were lusty and varied, in contrast to those of late with his bride.

When his mind told her she was no longer needed, the Shimmerskin dematerialized, fading back into the rarified air from which she’d come. Afterward, he returned to his chamber and slept soundly, satiated.

The following morning he bade Jane farewell and traveled to Florence, where he spent an afternoon at Umberto House with his longtime favorites, Anna and Bella. They were the crown jewels of the pleasure house that employed dozens of talented whores.

He’d selected them carefully a year or so ago after making discreet inquiries. Tales of their greediness in a man’s bed had led him to believe he would never have to hold back for fear of causing them distress. He’d been right in his choice and now regularly enjoyed their unquestioning compliance with his sexual whims.

Upon his arrival at their establishment, they’d evinced no surprise that he’d chosen to visit them even after he’d wed. Certainly he felt no qualms about it. Such was accepted behavior for men of his stature in society.

They lost no time ushering him into their quarters and professed to have missed his attentions greatly. Within the first hour of his arrival, he repeatedly relieved himself in every orifice available to him in both of their pliant bodies. As usual, their interplay involved the use of dildos and other curiosities they employed to enhance a customer’s enjoyment.

An assortment of such devices now lay haphazardly on various surfaces of the room, tossed there in the throes of earlier activity.

Nick stood from the chaise longue upon which he had most recently fucked Bella while sucking at her companion’s slit. As both had screamed with their release, he’d found his yet again.

Pulling a neatly folded square from the stack of linens they supplied for clientele use, he wiped all evidence of them from his face and cock. Then he poured himself another drink.

“Your wife cannot please you as we can,” Anna taunted from the chaise longue.

Idly he observed that her slack cunt still pulsed with the most recent orgasm his tongue had provided, while Bella’s well-used slit leaked cream his penis had just deposited. The women sprawled seminaked, their breathing still labored from orgasms his body had coaxed from them while his mind and heart had remained disengaged.

He pulled on a robe, feeling mild disgust for both himself and them. He was unaccustomed to experiencing such an emotion after sex, and it momentarily shook him. Surely he wasn’t feeling guilty!

“’Tis true,” agreed Bella. Her lisping voice had once attracted him, but he suddenly found it repellent.

He disliked hearing these women speak of his wife. Jane wouldn’t and couldn’t be expected to perform as they did.

The jewels of his family ring glinted as Nick lowered the glass of wine from his lips. “She will please me when she bears my children. That’s all the pleasure I require of her.”

In the natural order of things, Jane’s belly would swell with his child after the next Calling. During the time of her confinement, he would seek carnal gratification with other females such as these.

Once an appropriate interval had passed following the first child’s birthing, he would resume conjugal visits to his wife. His father had explained that Human wives desired an ultimate release from such duties. But he would never give Jane one, since regular mating would lend her the protection of Satyr Will.

Bella roused herself and came to kneel at his feet. Her eyes flirted as she parted his satin dressing gown. Her eyeteeth were slightly prominent, lending her a reptilian look.

Licking her lips, she attempted to stroke his satiated penis back to life. Her pointed tongue flicked the long ridge at the underside, lingering at the sensitive spot where it joined the crown. When his arousal instantaneously burgeoned, she smiled at up him through her lashes.

“You’re always so flatteringly ready, Lord Satyr.”

He could have told her not to be flattered. A hundred others like her could induce the same reaction in him. He felt no special affection for her, he realized, and it was that lack that had tainted today’s interlude. Strange that this had never bothered him before.

It was likely time to move on to new pastures.

When her mouth engulfed his length, Nick wove his fingers in her hair to lightly hold her. Dispassionately he watched her thin lips repeatedly engulf and disgorge his cock.

She arced her neck, making his voyage from lips to throat a straighter path. Her neck muscles relaxed, and she exhaled, breathing through her nose and enabling him to drill deeper. The head of his penis dipped well into her throat, quivering at the exquisite stimulation.

Most Human women would choke at such treatment, but Bella was known for her ability to take all a man could offer. He held nothing back, knowing from prior experience that she could handle even his substantial dimensions. She swallowed rhythmically, massaging his tip, cajoling until he sluiced. She held him deep then until the last of his cum made its way down her throat.

Nick pulled free of her, his eyes void of emotion. Her flicking tongue gave his tip a last lick in farewell. He caressed her cheek in brief thanks, picked up his drink, and sat.

Moving behind his chair, she draped her arms over its back, massaging his shoulders and reaching to drag her fingernails in swirls over the stiff nubs of his nipples.

“Not too rough, Bella,” Anna reminded in a teasing voice. “The signore might find your scratches difficult to explain to his new wife.”

Their amused giggles faded quickly when Nick didn’t join in.

He wanted to leave but forced himself to remain, as was his custom. Over the next few hours, he soberly drained his glass as the two women slowly and exquisitely drained his prick again and again. The clock struck midnight when Anna again knelt and smiled up at him with her cat eyes. Pushing his cock high against his belly, she took his balls in her mouth, rolling and massaging them with her rough tongue. He could almost hear her purr.

Dependable as ever, his shaft began to harden.

His head fell back against the chair, and he wondered how his new wife occupied her time that evening.

With Nick away in town, ostensibly on business, Jane spent much of the day in his library poring over yet another book in search of herbal curatives. Many of the supposed cures struck her as worse than the maladies they were said to ease!

One case study had snagged her interest, for it described a woman afflicted with many of her symptoms. The passage claimed a concoction including moly had cured supernatural occurrences in the body of this woman, withering winglike appendages that had grown at her shoulder blades.

The cure was convoluted, involving the use of numerous herbs including varieties of thyme, sage, oregano, mint, dill, and moly—all of which were said to ward off evil.

When she tired of such studies, she finished off the evening writing to her aunt in the salon. Nick had suggested that they might begin receiving visitors, and she was anxious to have Emma with her.

Darkness had fallen by the time she sealed her letter. She set it in the tray Signore Faunus had informed her was designated for outgoing mail.

The house was eerily silent as she took the stairs. It was disquieting to know only she and Nick’s estate manager now occupied the grounds. But her husband had assured her other servants could easily be summoned from their quarters should the need arise.

On the way to her bedchamber, she all but ran into a maid she didn’t recognize.

“Who are you?” she gasped, straightening away.

“One of the night staff here at the castello, signora,” the girl replied. Her dronelike voice held little inflection, and there was an unearthly calm about her.

Jane clutched the book she’d borrowed from Nick’s library closer to her chest as a chill shimmied her spine. “I understood all the staff departed at dusk.”

“We come when the others go,” the girl replied in a monotone.

We?
“You’re some sort of night servant then?”

The maid nodded distantly.