in the priest and his sonorous Latin chant, but because Queen Mary burned men and women for not paying sufficient attention in church. A few short years later, Thomas knelt beside his mother in a different church. This time the priest spoke the liturgy in English, and his mother added her own in fervent whispers, praying that the new, virgin queen not turn to the stake to settle matters of religious dissent.
Pain throbbed hard in Thomas’s temples. He had forgotten or missed something important. But it was like steering into a fog. He could see nothing clearly.
God’s legs, Thomas Lynne, you were sent here because you have self-control and Her Fae Majesty can trust you. One walk in the daylight with Lady Jane and you’re dizzy as a schoolboy with his first whore.
No, not whore. Jane was no whore, and it struck Thomas in that moment he would have killed any man who made such a comparison.
Thomas felt the blood drain from his cheeks. He turned to look at Fiora. He needed to look at her. He had to be reminded of the fate waiting for him if he permitted his imperfect, mortal heart to fasten onto an imperfect, mortal woman, even one so alluring as Jane DeWitte.
“Tell me how you miss it,” Thomas said, ashamed to hear the tremor in his voice.
“Every day, every moment,” Fiora answered instantly. “When the queen’s regard is withdrawn . . . it becomes winter in your heart and you know it will never be summer again. When I feel the ache and have to creep along on legs that refuse to straighten, but still remember how very beautiful I was when I danced for Her Majesty . . . A dozen times I have almost ended this sham of a life. Only the thought that I might still find a way to return to our queen’s favor has kept me alive.” A tear crept down Fiora’s sunken cheek and she dashed it away. “There. Look at these.” She held up her damp fingertips. “Tears. When did we ever see tears in the Fae realms? Truly, I am become an old woman.” She stood, brushing out her skirts. “I’ll go write that invitation I promised Lady Jane. We’ll bring her here for a so very civilized afternoon at home, and you can tie the knot that much tighter.”
Thomas nodded, for he found he did not trust his voice. Fiora hobbled to the door, but paused on the threshold.
“I cannot die out here, Thomas,” Her voice trembled. “It is too cold. I will do anything to prove I am still Her Majesty’s true servant.”
With that, she left him, presumably to go to the library and take up her pen. Thomas remained where he was, alone now with the untouched food and his troubled thoughts.
Fiora didn’t understand. The point was not to bind Lady Jane, but to lead her to want to be bound. She must come freely or not at all.
Thomas pictured Jane crouched naked before him, bowing her head to his cock. The joyful, unabashed play of her mouth had caught him completely off guard, especially as he suspected she had never performed this act before. She’d made him lose control and he had fucked her wildly, caring for nothing except to hear her scream and find his release in the depths of her heat and her pleasure. She would have to be punished for that. The thought made his cock twitch, and Thomas smiled. Yes, he would bind her, punish and pleasure her, and she would beg for it. She could scream his name and demand his touch.
That was what he wanted from her, that passion, that pure, physical joy. Their walk together in the late April sunshine, the banter and conversation, the way she’d brought herself closer to him when they spoke of friendship, and the sudden yearning that had flooded him with that small tightening of her hand on his arm . . . these were nothing but sentimental echoes of a world he had willingly cast off. For all that, it might be best if he stayed away from her tonight. Yes. That would work well with the plan. He had set before Jane a feast of pleasure. A night without would increase her craving for it.
It would also
Pain throbbed hard in Thomas’s temples. He had forgotten or missed something important. But it was like steering into a fog. He could see nothing clearly.
God’s legs, Thomas Lynne, you were sent here because you have self-control and Her Fae Majesty can trust you. One walk in the daylight with Lady Jane and you’re dizzy as a schoolboy with his first whore.
No, not whore. Jane was no whore, and it struck Thomas in that moment he would have killed any man who made such a comparison.
Thomas felt the blood drain from his cheeks. He turned to look at Fiora. He needed to look at her. He had to be reminded of the fate waiting for him if he permitted his imperfect, mortal heart to fasten onto an imperfect, mortal woman, even one so alluring as Jane DeWitte.
“Tell me how you miss it,” Thomas said, ashamed to hear the tremor in his voice.
“Every day, every moment,” Fiora answered instantly. “When the queen’s regard is withdrawn . . . it becomes winter in your heart and you know it will never be summer again. When I feel the ache and have to creep along on legs that refuse to straighten, but still remember how very beautiful I was when I danced for Her Majesty . . . A dozen times I have almost ended this sham of a life. Only the thought that I might still find a way to return to our queen’s favor has kept me alive.” A tear crept down Fiora’s sunken cheek and she dashed it away. “There. Look at these.” She held up her damp fingertips. “Tears. When did we ever see tears in the Fae realms? Truly, I am become an old woman.” She stood, brushing out her skirts. “I’ll go write that invitation I promised Lady Jane. We’ll bring her here for a so very civilized afternoon at home, and you can tie the knot that much tighter.”
Thomas nodded, for he found he did not trust his voice. Fiora hobbled to the door, but paused on the threshold.
“I cannot die out here, Thomas,” Her voice trembled. “It is too cold. I will do anything to prove I am still Her Majesty’s true servant.”
With that, she left him, presumably to go to the library and take up her pen. Thomas remained where he was, alone now with the untouched food and his troubled thoughts.
Fiora didn’t understand. The point was not to bind Lady Jane, but to lead her to want to be bound. She must come freely or not at all.
Thomas pictured Jane crouched naked before him, bowing her head to his cock. The joyful, unabashed play of her mouth had caught him completely off guard, especially as he suspected she had never performed this act before. She’d made him lose control and he had fucked her wildly, caring for nothing except to hear her scream and find his release in the depths of her heat and her pleasure. She would have to be punished for that. The thought made his cock twitch, and Thomas smiled. Yes, he would bind her, punish and pleasure her, and she would beg for it. She could scream his name and demand his touch.
That was what he wanted from her, that passion, that pure, physical joy. Their walk together in the late April sunshine, the banter and conversation, the way she’d brought herself closer to him when they spoke of friendship, and the sudden yearning that had flooded him with that small tightening of her hand on his arm . . . these were nothing but sentimental echoes of a world he had willingly cast off. For all that, it might be best if he stayed away from her tonight. Yes. That would work well with the plan. He had set before Jane a feast of pleasure. A night without would increase her craving for it.
It would also
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