Sevin: Lords of Satyr (19 page)

Hands in his pockets, he studied her now with his hard eyes.

She went to him and smiled flirtatiously, pressing her body against him. “
Buona sera,
signor. Your message to me indicated that we have a deal?” Her hand brushed his cock lightly. He wasn’t hard yet, but she knew how to change that. She gave him a few practiced strokes. When she felt him lengthen in his trousers, she stopped.

“I take care of your needs,” she purred. “And in return, you’ll take care of that little bit of business I mentioned?”

He nodded, then pushed her away. “Yes, yes. We have a deal. Now wash that fey stink off, and we’ll get started in earnest on your part of the bargain.”

She paused, angling her head. “You brought another bottle of the same scent? I’ve run out and can’t go back to the salon smelling like a human.”

“I brought more for you to douse yourself with when you go, don’t worry on that score.” In fact, he hadn’t, but she wouldn’t be needing it anyway.

Ella rolled her eyes, but began removing her clothing and washing herself at the basin. “Most clients like that ‘stink,’ as you call it, you know. In fact, Lord Sevin is planning to start a club in which humans like you can wallow up to their balls in ‘fey stink.’ Or in the scent of an assortment of other ElseWorld creatures, if they’re willing.”

The signor took in that information with great interest, though she didn’t realize it. Stupid girl probably planned to sell the news, but that wasn’t going to happen. It was his news now.

“That a fact?” was all he said.

She nodded. “Bet you won’t be dipping your cock inside the snatches of any true ElseWorld creatures though, will you?” she teased.

He smirked. “You might be surprised.”

“I would be, after all your talk against them.”

Although she tried to be coy at her bath, he only watched her dispassionately. This sort of flirtation didn’t sufficiently move him. He needed more from a woman. Ella had been a pleasant enough companion over the past few weeks. She’d gladly repaid him for the fey tincture he supplied to her, with sex—and more importantly, with information. He’d culled her out to work for him because of her employment in the
Salone di Passione
and because she listened well, both to his instruction and to gossip.

He hadn’t heard that the Satyr were planning a club in which humans and ElseWorld savages would mingle. However, such news would buy him favors in the Italian ministry. And he’d gotten the information for free this time. It put him in a good mood.

He leaned against the wall opposite the end of the four-poster bed and watched her dry her skin. Poor little chit thought Sevin Satyr was going to wed her. Fool. But far be it from him to disabuse her of that little fantasy in her last hours.

“You always look so refined. It’s what I love about you,” she said, gazing at him as she smoothed a cloth over her light olive skin. Her flattery was often a pretense, but he could tell this was genuine. She coveted refinement and emulated it well. But she was trash. Gypsy trash. Always would be.

When she finished her toweling, she put on her shift again. It was a wisp of a thing, translucent red, with velvet bows and lots of lace. It barely covered her ass cheeks and she wore nothing beneath it. It was an expensive whore’s garment worn by an expensive whore.

Going to the end of the bed, she bent to stroke one of the straps of leather he’d placed there, knowing he liked to see her do it. Knowing he liked to see her bare ass when she did it.

Standing at the foot of the bed, she placed her hands flat on its mattress before her and arched her slender back. Head and ass up, just as he enjoyed. His breath came faster, and his eyes sharpened on her, waiting.

Reaching around with a graceful hand, she slowly tugged up the hem of her gauzy shift. Spreading her legs slightly, she tilted her ass higher still. Her fingers came over her bottom, finding her feminine folds. She forked them wide, opening her slick, pink nakedness. Inviting him to look. Inviting him in.

She looked at him over her shoulder, eyes glittering. “See anything you like?”

He straightened slowly and went to her, watching her stroke herself for a long moment. Lightly, he ran a hand over the dimpled rump on display, rubbed his thumb over the pruney moue between her cheeks. He was going to miss this ass of hers.

“Have you fucked him?” he asked idly, pulling the tails of his shirt from his trousers. “Your Satyr lord?”

She frowned.

He laughed, and slapped her ass, moving away to study the selection of leathers he’d carefully displayed on the mattress beside her. “Not yet, eh? You think you’re going to get him by playing fast and loose with other men like me?”

She straightened from the bed, pretending to be annoyed. “Why do you talk to me like that?” she asked. “Do you speak to your wife in such a charming way?”

He shrugged. “She’s dead. We don’t speak at all.”

“Well, some men like their women to take other men. Some even like to watch. Experience isn’t a bad thing,” she said, pouting prettily and refusing to take his insults to heart.

He pretended to mull his choices, then selected the leather he’d intended all along, knowing she’d hate it. Twenty inches long, with a buckle on the end, it had a fat, stuffed ball in the center of its length about the size of a small apple. He took it to her and saw her try to hide her distaste.

“Open wide,” he crooned, with a small smile. “Can’t have you screaming your delight out to the world when we’re fucking.”

Ella put a hand on his shirtfront, catching his eye. He was twice her age, with a mean streak. But she didn’t mind. “You swear you’ll get rid of her—the Patrizzi woman. Take her out of Lord Sevin’s orbit for good?”

Smiling down on her, he said truthfully, “I will. This very night, as it happens.”

“What are you going to do with her?”

He shook his head. “
Tut, tut
. That information isn’t part of our deal. Just know you’ll never see her again. Nor will anyone else.”

She smiled, pleased. “Good.”

He pressed the ball to her smiling lips, and after a brief hesitation, she opened for him. He stuffed it in her, then turned her, enjoying the way she protested when he yanked the buckled strap tight around her head, fastening it at the back of her neck. Then he turned her again to face him. Her eyes gazed docilely up at him as he checked the fit of the ball in her gaping mouth, making sure her screams would not be heard. They wouldn’t be screams of passion, pretended or otherwise, this time around, though.

Although his excitement began to rise, he still kept his sex in his trousers, enjoying the pain of his strangled erection. He brought another, shorter strap and she obediently held out her hands, watching as he wrapped it around her wrists and buckled it tight as well. Stringing a long cord through that, he tied it off at the headboard, leaving her just enough lead string to put up a good struggle but not give him too much trouble.

Picking up the flogger, he showed it to her, wanting her to acknowledge his power. Once she had, he bent her forward again, arranging her just so, her forearms bent together on the mattress, the shift slightly lifted over her bottom. He was fully erect now, his cock ready to cram itself inside her. Not yet, not yet.

He went behind her and kicked her legs wide.

Whap! Whap, whap, whap!

She jerked under each stroke of the flogger. Her ass quickly turned a charming shade of pink for him. Now and then he let her rest as he carefully tested her cunt with the smooth tip of the flogger’s wooden handle, going a little deeper each time. Then he struck her again and again, watching her ass go red and welted. She struggled, but he pressed her down with the flat of his hand at her back.

“Don’t. It’s not marking you,” he lied. “You know I’m careful not to damage the merchandise.” She calmed at his assurances, but he sensed her wariness now.

Signaling the next phase of things, he pressed the flogger’s handle inside her again, so far this time that it tested her depth and made her wriggle with discomfort. When he pulled it out, it glistened with her natural feminine gloss. So beautiful. He laid it on the bed, next to her.

Excitement gripped him then, unbearable in its intensity. Shoving his trousers to his knees, he took his cock and pressed its tip just inside her. Head back, he rocked himself shallowly, groaning with pleasure. He waited until she relaxed and grew supple and unsuspecting. Then he drove into her full length and with more roughness than in their past trysts. She bucked under him in annoyance or perhaps pain, like some filly trying to shake off her rider.

In the past, she had always admonished him to make sure he didn’t mark her. She hadn’t yet realized what was in store. He loved the crisp, sharp moment when they did.

He held her ass with both hands, hammering himself into her. “Little whore, do you really think Lord Satyr will want you, even with Alexa Patrizzi out of the way?” he asked breathlessly. “He’s many things, but he’s also quality. And I imagine he knows quality when he fucks it.”

His prey fought now, writhing and twisting in anger. But the leather ball in her mouth did its work, rendering her unable to screech at him. A half-dozen strokes and he felt himself nearing completion. Not yet, not yet. The timing must be just right.

He drove his fingers up her nape into her hair, yanking her head high and bringing her spine to his chest. Her face angled back toward his. She was flushed and her eyes shot angry sparks at him.

His thighs quivered and his balls jerked and twitched as he spoke in her ear, his words low, cruel, and horrifying in their simple truth. “You’re going to die now,” he said softly. “With me inside you. What do you think of that?”

Her eyes bulged and he heard her muted scream even around the gag. With a snap of her neck under his hands, he felt himself shoot off inside her. Long moments later, he fell to the bed with her and sighed, replete.

All had gone perfectly.

Unfortunately, there was no time to linger, so he dismounted and went to wash. Returning minutes later, he stood over her broken, lifeless body and stared at her dispassionately as he buttoned his trousers and his shirt. He took the gag and leathers from her, carefully washed them as well, and then packed them away. Then he restored his appearance, adding the wig, mustache, and top hat he’d used to disguise himself when he’d paid for the room an hour ago.

Hastily, he left the room behind and slipped out the back entrance. He’d reserved it for two nights under an assumed name. The
polizia
would never connect him—the esteemed Signor Armanno Tivoli—to this crime. Still, he was always careful to create an alibi. Just as he had last night when he murdered his own son. One could never be too careful.

As soon as possible, he would return home, change his clothing, and attend another function later tonight, making sure to be noticed. But first, he had another very important stop to make. Promises must be kept, after all.

Outside the salon, Alexa lucked into a carriage for hire and returned home, hoping to pack her bags and slip away as quickly as possible. She avoided her own bedchamber, not wanting to view the macabre sight she’d left there this morning. Therefore, instead of her own belongings, she stuffed her bags full of her mother’s dresses and shoes. Fortunately, they were of a similar size.

Betrayal dogged her every step. In spite of Eva’s encouragements, she should have known better than to trust Lord Sevin. Now she would suffer heartbreak on top of everything else.

More than an hour had passed since she’d left the salon. It was possible that he would come here after her. He was used to getting what he wanted, and didn’t like to be thwarted. Still, he’d likely dally a bit with his harlot first. She ground her teeth. She almost wished she could stay here and fight with him when he arrived, for she was mightily angry.

But, no, she couldn’t bear to stay in this house with Laslo lying upstairs. She lugged her bags downstairs, one at a time. She would wait at the ticket office until morning and then travel back to England. She had enough pocket money to last at least a year if she found lodgings in a London suburb. The Roman newspapers found their way north from time to time, and she’d watch for news of Laslo’s death to see how the wind blew.

If she learned she’d been accused in his death, she would have to travel farther afield, perhaps to America, where she’d find employment under a false name. She was fluent in the English language, and was good enough with figures that some accounting firm might hire her on, she thought optimistically.

She dropped her bags at the foot of the stairs. She should go now. But her curiosity had been aroused by the book in Sevin’s office, and there was one last thing she longed to do. It would only take a few minutes. Dashing to her mother’s library, she dug through the books she had boxed up for sale. Finding the one she sought, she sat cross-legged upon the carpet with it on her lap.

This tome had been one of her favorite books as a girl, filled as it was with what her childish eye had imagined to be illustrations of fairy tale scenes and objects. Skimming through it, she found what she was looking for. A fountain. If only she had time to venture into the catacombs and compare this drawing to the actuality. It certainly looked the same to her untrained eye. Why was that fountain important enough to be in this book?

She peered at the text, wishing she had better light. According to the caption, the fountain in this illustration was located in Portone. She’d never heard of such a town in Italy. Maybe it was a village in the hill country, or—

“What’s that you’ve got there?”

Alexa started violently at the sound of a man’s voice, closing the book with a snap. Signor Tivoli stood in the library doorway. She’d been so intent on her reading, and his approach had been so soundless, that she hadn’t heard him come.

“And why the luggage at the bottom of the stairs?” he continued. “Going somewhere?”

Pushing the book off her lap, she stood. Why was he wearing a wig and a false mustache and beard?

“You’re trespassing, signor,” she announced. “Please leave.”