Sweet Desire (Tales of Dystopian Decadence Book 2)

Sweet Desire ~ Tales of Dystopian Decadence, Book Two

By Finley Blake

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and not to be construed as real.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Published by Wicked Hearts Publishing

Copyright 2016 Finley Blake

Cover Art by Nicole Thomas

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Edition

Explicit content:
This book contains scenes of light BDSM

Other Books in the Series

Tales of Dystopian Decadence, Book 1: Dark Needs

Tales of Dystopian Decadence, Book 2: Sweet Desire

Tales of Dystopian Decadence, Book 3: Wicked Surrender (coming September 9)

Other Books by the Author

Geared for Lust: A Trio of Sensual Vignettes

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Sweet Desire

~Tales of Dystopian Decadence, Book Two~

By Finley Blake

Chapter 1

I blinked, trying to determine if the endless tundra of shimmering white were an icy illusion. Maybe I was actually still asleep in my bed back at St. Eden’s. This could be a dream.

But the shiver that gripped my body told me that was nothing more than wishful thinking. The crystalline snow that stretched for miles on all sides was very real.

Tucking a wayward blonde curl behind my ear with my gloved fingers, I turned to the principal, who sat in the front seat of our motorcarriage. “Mr. Breckinridge, sir…” I faltered, as usual when I tried to speak against something or question someone, and sighed. When the headmistress told me to pack warm and dress in layers, I hadn’t realized this was because she was sending me to the north. The very distant north. Raising my eyes back to the scene before me, I tried to figure out exactly where we were. British Columbia? Yukon Territory? Perhaps even within the Arctic Circle.

“It doesn’t matter where we are, because fucking tundra,” my twin sister would have said. A sister I didn’t know if I would ever see again, if the expanse of snow before me was an indication. After an airship flight over the northernmost border of the Regime States and into Canada, I was well aware we had flown far from Los Angeles. The school I had attended for years, St. Eden’s, was far behind me. Too far. Far behind us after our interminable drive across the snow-covered desolation.

I blinked once more, this time to stop the tears that burned at the corners of my eyes. There was nothing I could do now as I sat in the motorcarriage, its engine puffing out a steady cloud of steam that rose in swirling white wreaths in the frigid air. As always, I kept my mouth shut rather than argue or question my circumstances. I could only wonder if this was some kind of test of my obedience. And so I remained silent, stoic, waiting to be told what was expected of me. After all, everyone knew me – Violet Morningside – as, above all things, submissive. It was Adette, a friend at the school, who had dubbed me “the sweetest little submissive at St. Eden’s,” and the nickname had stuck all three years I was there.

Mr. Breckinridge turned and gave me a lopsided smile, his dark brows drawing down over his sable eyes. “This is where your assigned patron lives, Miss Violet, in Alaska.”

“The forsaken land,” I whispered. “Why would anyone live here?”

“Your new patron lives in exile, so I’m sure you can imagine his need for companionship is acute.” The furrow between the principal’s brows deepened and I tried to make myself as small as possible in the backseat of the motorcarriage. If he was this concerned about my fate, that did not bode well for me.

And, perhaps worse than being sent to Alaska, the headmistress had matched me with an exile? Banishment was a rare punishment. The Regime preferred to assassinate threats to its power or at least corral them in internment camps. Apparently it was true that they dropped a few lucky ones here – in the middle of Alaska – in what they considered a show of mercy. But I had a feeling exile was a worse fate than immediate execution. The hope of survival, with a slim chance at it, seemed crueler than a swift death. Who not only survived this sort of test, but also ranked high enough to merit a match with a courtesan out of St. Eden’s School for Young Ladies? Despite my shock, my curiosity was piqued.

I smoothed my plaid dress over my knees, ran my gloved hands down along my white knit tights, and tried rephrasing my question. “What did he do for the Regime to leave him here?”

“I imagine you will find out soon enough.” A smirk tugged at the corner of Mr. Breckinridge’s mouth. It as an expression I knew well, an expression that told me he had answers, but he wasn’t about to share them.

I rolled my eyes toward the window, seeking something – anything – that might break up the sameness of the landscape. Not even a tree. “And why was I the one sent here to serve him? Have I displeased the headmistress?”

“The headmistress selects the most appropriate match for each patron’s needs, as you very well know.”

I compressed my lips in a thin line. “No shit, Sherlock,” my sister would have drawled with a shake of her head. It seemed Mr. Breckinridge was not inclined to explain why the headmistress had sent a well-trained submissive southern belle like me to live in the middle of a frozen wasteland. I also doubted he would tell me where this exiled patron had acquired the funds or influence to secure such a match. Especially with “the sweetest little submissive at St. Eden’s.”

Now I was even more curious than before.

That’s probably why she sent me, though
, I thought.
Because I’m a pushover who won’t raise a fuss about being stuck here, in the middle of a frozen nowhere with a nobody the Regime would sooner forget than waste a bullet on.

Pushover or not, my training had only emphasized my inborn nature to submit. Receive orders. Comply. Do not ask questions. Repeat. The difference between being the good girl in school and the good girl with a patron was the expectation that the patron would cherish and appreciate the submissive for everything she did for him.

Azure, however, would have summed up the situation with plenty of crass words inserted for emphasis. There was nothing obedient about her. How I missed my sister! Who would make me laugh, not to mention cringe, as she so often did? Without her in my life, surely an assignment to the forsaken land would be as devoid of joy as Alaska was of sun in the winter.

Furthermore, what about…
everything
? Society, balls, a comfortable apartment, or even the home of my patron himself – a person I’d always dreamed would be one of the wealthy plantation owners back in Georgia, perhaps not far from my childhood home. Or maybe a businessman who lived in a fashionable metropolis. But not…

This time I couldn’t stop the words – Azure’s words – from escaping my lips.

“Fucking tundra.”

Mr. Breckinridge raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t scold me. I imagine he echoed my sentiments. The principal was, after all, accustomed to a more luxurious life. Delivering me to this assignment had taken him far away from all of that. Of course, it was his job to protect his girls, and he did it well. If that meant delivering one of us to the Alaskan wastes then, by gods, he was going to do it to the best of his ability.

At least his removal from that life was temporary. Mine was indefinite.

Here I was, the daughter of a once highly regarded scientist and a well-bred southern courtesan, now told she had to live in the middle of nowhere. I may as well be an exile myself. The tears threatened to spill from my blue eyes again, but I blinked them away and clasped my hands at my waist as if that could somehow stop the fluttering in my belly.

As I pondered these unpleasant thoughts, we drew to a rather slippery halt in front of…

“A log cabin?” I asked, my eyes wide. “First the forsaken land and now this? You can’t be serious, Mr. B.” At that, I pressed my lips together. Most of the students referred to Mr. Breckinridge as Mr. B behind his back. It wasn’t insulting and he was probably well aware of it, but we were still careful to say his full name to his face.

“What is prompting these outbursts?” This time when the principal furrowed his brow, he also shook his head at me, as if he were scolding a child. “This behavior is very unlike you, Miss Morningside. In fact, I think you are the one student I have never had to chastise in all my years running the school. What has come over you?”

“Um, maybe what’s prompting these outbursts is the fact that they’re both accurate assessments of the situation, sir. Here we are – in the forsaken land in front of a log cabin.” That, and maybe a bit of my sister’s sarcasm had rubbed off on me. We were twins, after all. Fraternal twins, but we had still shared the same womb, the same upbringing, and nearly every moment of our lives together until entering St. Eden’s.

At the school, we had been divided into two separate classes – the submissives and the specials. I was a submissive and I was happiest that way, learning to kneel, serve, and please a man. Azure’s placement in the special class meant she did not have the will to submit, but she had other talents worth cultivating in a courtesan. Men didn’t always want an acquiescent beauty on their arm, after all. Sometimes they wanted an alpha female, a brat, even a Domme. And our headmistress had the knowledge and means to train her girls to fulfill any of these roles, so long as their character suited them to it. The submissive might appear to be the easiest role, but right now I wasn’t so sure. Was a submissive really just a dutiful doormat?

I held my hands up to indicate the area. “It’s plain as day, Mr. Breckinridge. There’s snow, a log cabin, and nothing else. So will you please tell me why I, of all people, am here? I should be on the arm of one of the school’s finest patrons, sipping champagne. Not freezing to death in Alaska. Why, why are you doing this to me?” My reaction was verging on hysteria, but I was tired of him talking to me in circles.

Mr. Breckinridge look as implacable as ever when he responded, “I told you – because the headmistress assigned you here. It’s as simple as that. You are here under her authority.”

“Fucking authority,” Azure would say if she could hear Mr. B now. Everything was “fucking” something to her. She might even be fucking some
one
at this very moment, and having a wonderful time of it.

But I wasn’t Azure, so despite my feverish little rant, my normal personality got the better of me. I folded my hands in my lap, bowed my head, and nodded.

Why choose me to serve an exile, though? There were no people here – no society or parties, none of the things I excelled at navigating. I had always believed my task would be to play the adoring courtesan, to flatter political, social, or business associates, and then come home at the end of the evening to give my patron whatever he wanted in the bedroom. I might have been from the south, but I wasn’t some ignorant rustic. My lineage was a high class one and I grew up thinking I deserved the best of the best. This must be a mistake, a mix-up. Surely they had meant to send someone stronger or less concerned with social standing and the finer things in life, like my sister.

Not that I wished this fate on Azure,
but why me
?

As the same questions droned on and on in my head, I clenched my hands so hard, I could feel my nails bite through the gloves and into my palms.

Both fear and curiosity burned within me as the principal stepped out of the motorcarriage, opened the back door, and offered me his hand. I accepted Mr. Breckinridge’s assistance and rose to my feet, my eyes downcast. The better to see my boots sink a few inches down into the hard, crunchy snow. We walked the few steps to the front door and the principal knocked, his fist thudding against the wood. At least the house itself looked and sounded solid enough. As a wave of cold air hit me, I wrapped my arms around myself. The chill bit through my tights, my flared white pea coat, my knit hat and gloves…

Please let it be warm inside
, I thought.

In another moment the door opened and I looked into a pair of eyes icier than the expanse of land around me. Had I ever seen eyes so pale blue in my entire life? I took a breath, blinked, and looked at his face.

He was handsome, blond, and –

“She’ll do,” he said, and turned away from us.

And an asshole.

As the man walked back into the house, leaving the front door wide open, I slid my gaze to Mr. Breckinridge. Once again, an Azure “Fuck-insert-thing-to-dislike-here” retort came to mind, but I swallowed it, along with my pride. “He doesn’t exactly seem thrilled to see me,” I whispered.

“You know she has her reasons,” the principal responded under his breath. “Try not to worry.” As the driver set my bags just inside the door, the principal patted the blonde curls around my shoulders.

“But, Mr. Bre–”

“Trust her. That’s all you can do. You will be well taken care of here. Don’t worry about anything, Violet.”

That was easier said than done. Still, I blinked back my tears, squared my shoulders, and nodded. There was a reason the headmistress sent her most compliant and accomplished student to this frozen wasteland.

Fists clenched at my sides, I stepped into the cabin. A blast of heat chased the chill from my body, but not from my heart. When I looked back, I saw the driver shutting the cabin door behind me. Thick wood obscured blinding white and, in that moment, it felt like it had all been a strange dream. Then, as my eyes adjusted to the interior, panic closed my throat. I wanted to run back to the motorcarriage and beg Mr. Breckinridge to bring me back to the school. I was, as Azure would say, a delicate fucking flower. I didn’t belong here!

“Are you going to stand there all day?”

Shaking myself out of my reverie, I turned to face the man I assumed was the exile – he was certainly too impertinent to be a butler or valet – and said, “That depends on whether or not you are going to introduce yourself.” I folded my hands at my waist and my eyes met his. The sassiness in my demeanor was fleeting, however, as I recalled my training and dropped my gaze to the floor. A submissive did not demand anything of her dominant.