— У меня правильнописание хромает. Оно хорошее, но почему-то хромает...(с) Винни-Пух.
читать дальшеChapter 14- Dark Knight, Scarlet Lady by nicola71
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Thanks, as always, to my beta, Jean, who helped turn an afternoon's musings at the gym into something wonderful. To Roguefemme, who shares an admiration for London, and Subbie, who I always seem to make wait for things! And a special thanks to my readers who came along for the ride as I tried to fill out the character of a minor player who struck me from the moment I first read him on the page.
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In the days that followed, Penelope and London arrived at the point of speaking casually about security issues at Veritas, but avoiding any talk of their relationship. It was taking its toll on both of them, and Asher noticed. It was his hope that the two would naturally come to the conclusion that being together was preferable to suffering in silence. He remembered how difficult it was for him to be so close to Jean-Claude and not be with him. He thought that perhaps he was the most stubborn person he knew, vampire or otherwise, but Penelope and London were exceeding him by leaps and bounds. It was time to speak plainly with his servant. Asher was inches away from having everything he ever wanted. Jean-Claude in his life and in his bed, a woman who he loved and who loved him, power beyond anything he could have hoped for, and safety. maybe if he could secure London some happiness he could finally begin to forgive himself for his past mistakes, and in the process spoil Penelope with the love of two men. And if he also gained London as a friend and sometimes lover, then who was he to complain? After centuries of cold sheets, it felt good to have his bed warmed once again.
Asher came up behind Penelope as she sat in her overstuffed leather chair staring into the fire. She knew he was there, for he rarely shielded from her anymore, unless he was with Anita and Jean-Claude. Before he reached her she raised up her hand and he grasped it in his own. He knelt beside the chair and brought her fingers to the smooth side of his face. Penelope closed her eyes and sighed.
Although Asher was always eager to share Jean-Claude's bed, tonight he was strangely hesitant about leaving her alone. She didn’t have to be alone, and he felt it was time to speak the words.
“Bien aimèe,” he kissed the palm of her hand, “tell me what is wrong?”
Penelope was shielding her feelings. She didn’t want him to know how empty she felt when he left her for his other lovers' bed. She wasn’t jealous, it wasn’t that. She gladly shared Asher, and knew his heart leaped at the thought of finally being able to touch Jean-Claude as he wanted to now. Anita had finally accepted that just because the two men loved each other, and wanted to make love to one another, didn’t mean they loved her any less. Penelope knew that from the start, and she had never begrudged Asher’s time spent with Jean-Claude, or Anita.
Now that he was going back to sharing the Master of the City's bed from time to time, Asher made a new practice of leaving Jean-Claude’s suite a few hours before dawn in order to come back to Penelope with the other man’s scent still clinging to his skin. He would slip between the silk sheets and press his body against the back of her sleeping form, running his hand along her thigh and up the side of her body, cupping her breast and fondling her nipple until it was peaked and hard. He would kiss and lick the nape of her neck until she woke up moaning with desire, and then move his hand between her legs, using his deft fingers to bring her a first time while he sucked and nibbled at her skin. When she turned to take him into her arms, offering him her neck, or wrist, she drank in both men's scents as he drank in her vital fluid. In those early hours, once he was sated with her blood, he would make love to her gently, before collapsing on top of her, spent and smiling peacefully. Penelope would then curl herself around his body until he went cold, cover him with the silk sheets and kiss his forehead, sure in the knowledge that he would be awake before noon to quicken her once again.
She turned and looked into his hauntingly beautiful eyes. “Nothing, my love, nothing.”
Asher knew better. “Call him, bien aimèe. End his suffering. End yours.”
London
She looked away from him. “It is precisely his suffering that makes it inconceivable for me to call him. I do not want to trap him in some impossible situation. I will never be able to put him first.”
Penelope desperately wanted London. She wanted him the way a woman wants a man, and more. When she was near him she wanted to touch him, to strip his clothes off and lick and suck at his body until he screamed her name. She wanted him in her bed, because he was already in her heart. But he was not, nor would he ever be, first in her heart. The golden vampire kneeling at her feet already filled that place.
“He doesn’t need to be first, Penny, he just wants to be with you. Are you telling me you do not love him? Not even a little?” Asher already knew the answer, and although they were closer to each other than they had ever been, he still wanted her to admit it out loud.
Penelope took a deep breath. “I do. I do love him.”
“Then call to him. Bring him into you heart, and into your bed. Be happy.” Asher pulled her out of the chair until she was kneeling in front of him. “I have smelled your desire for our Dark Knight. I have heard your pulse quicken when he is near, and I have felt your body ache with longing for him. I know your thoughts because they are my thoughts. And try as you might, you cannot shield it from me all of the time. Desire fills you up and overflows into me. Overwhelms me. Drowns me.” He kissed her forehead, cheeks, and lips between each phrase. His own unneeded breaths came ragged with his passion, “How I love drowning in your lust, and desire.”
He kissed her gently at first, but his own desire was there too, and she opened her mouth and pulled him to her until his body was pressed up hard against hers. Her tongue flicked between his fangs, dancing dangerously between the two points. She wanted him to pin her to floor. She wanted to writhe under the weight of him and feel him come inside her, filling her with all of his power. She slid her hand from his chest to his groin, squeezing the growing hardness straining through his tight leather pants.
“Asher…”
“Non, non…” he pushed her away with reluctance and restraint, because he knew her thoughts, and they were not unlike his own. He held her face in his hands, holding her body from his. “Tonight our lives diverge. I to my other lovers' bed, and you to the arms of a man who loves you, almost as much as I do.”
Penelope knew it wasn’t a rejection. It was simply the truth.
“Call him, bien aimèe, call him to your body, and your bed. Je t'adore.”
With that, Asher kissed her lips once more and rose, leaving her on the floor in front of the fireplace. She watched him go, and felt his shields shut tight. He would not open to her again until closer to dawn, and he would not be returning to her for the day. For now, he was gone.
Penelope sat cross-legged on the large Oriental rug and thought for a moment. Her skin was cold now that Asher had left the room and even the warmth from the fire was not enough to chase away the chill. She wanted to be warm on the inside. Warm and in his arms. London’s arms. It was time to shelve her worry and fear and call out to him. To bring him home.
She stared into the fire and reached out with her magic, searching the Circus for London. She knew he was not working tonight. She searched and searched, and finally caught his presence. He was playing pool with the WickedTruth and Graham in the recreation room.
Penelope concentrated on contacting him. She could see him clearly enough. He was bent over the table, his body tense and focused, ebony eyes intent on the white ball he was about to strike. He was just about ready to make his shot, a shot that would win Graham and him the match. She actually heard this from Graham, who was miserable at shielding his thoughts. London however, was shut up tight like a vault. He was entirely closed off to her, so she had to hit his shields like an icy battering ram.
London was rocked off balance, fouling his shot. Graham screamed in frustration.
“What the fuck! London! Bastard! I had two-hundred riding on this match…what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Graham was pissed, and she saw Wicked doubled over in laughter. Truth stared back at her; she had inadvertently brushed him with her magic. He smiled, silently thanking her for helping them win Graham’s money. She sensed a bit of amusement in his thoughts as well, since he probably knew to whom she had intended to speak. She had learned that the Circus was not a place without its gossip.
Oh well, Penelope thought, Graham will have to get over it.
She reached into her Dark Knight’s mind, now open and off kilter.
“London, I… Please...”
“Stop. Do not say another word.” He looked up into her eyes and answered her with a shaky voice.
She saw him lay down his pool stick and walk out the door of the rec room. He walked slowly, at least to the door, but once out of it she felt him break into a run.
He was coming.
Penelope got up and took a quick look around her room, and then at herself in the mirror. Her heart was beating out of her chest with a wild tempo. She quickly threw some pillows and a blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace. She took her hair out of the barrette that held it and let it spill around her shoulders. The wool cardigan she wore was definitely not sexy so she stripped it off and stuffed it under the bed. She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her red silk blouse. No, too eager.
As she refastened one of the buttons, she swooned a bit. He was close. Quickly, she sprayed her perfume in the air and glided through it as she felt London just outside the door.
He had stopped right in front of it, hesitant to enter, as if maybe her call had been a dream or a hallucination. But suddenly she opened the door with a whoosh and sucked in her breath when she saw him.
London stood there, tall and handsome. He wore his signature color, black on black. Black pants, a black belt with a silver buckle, and a tight black T-shirt that clung to his muscular chest and arms like a second skin. He wasn’t bodybuilder muscled, but his body owned the sleek muscular look men have who are naturally athletic, but also spend at least three days a week in the gym.
The dark brown curls of his hair framed his face, falling gently around his ears. It would have been almost as pretty as Jean-Claude’s, if it had been a little longer. But London was not pretty. He was handsome, and rugged, and beautiful, but utterly masculine.
His lips quivered as if he was about to speak, but in one blindingly quick movement, he rushed forward cupping her face in his hands and kissed her. His lips and tongue devoured her, ate at her, and took her breath away. He kicked the door shut with his foot, and broke the kiss to survey the room.
He smiled when he spied the blanket and pillow on the floor in front of the fireplace.
Penelope didn’t think, she just nodded and tightened her grip on his body.
He picked her up and carried her to the fireplace, laying her down softly on the blanket. He leaned his body over hers with his hands on either side of her face. He bent low as if doing a push-up and kissed her again, this time a fleeting brush of velvety lips, and gazed down at her. His eyes were alive with onyx fire, and she let herself be rolled by what she saw there. There was no fear in her. She wanted to let him in all the way.
His mind swallowed her whole, caressing her in thick black velvet. She fell forward into his gaze and let him navigate her mind until he seemed to brush against her very soul. She was opened wide and he eased through every inch of space she had. They came out of it with a gasp, but connected in a way they had never been before with each other.
London spread her legs and knelt between her knees looking down at her. Slow down, he thought to himself. He was shocked that he was breathing so hard, especially when he didn’t have to, but each labored breath filled him with energy and power. I feel so good, he thought. He felt better than he ever had, even with the ardeur rushing over him, but that thought passed quickly. What he was feeling had nothing to do with vampire magic, of that he was sure. Or sorcery either. He had felt this way once before, a long, long time ago, before his first death.
The blood he had taken from someone else tonight coursed through him, filling every inch of his body and boiling beneath the surface of his skin. He felt alive, and invigorated, and afraid. He felt love.
Penelope reached for him, grabbing the top of his pants and began to pull him down on top of her. London resisted, and smiled. God, he thought, she was so beautiful, lying there wanting him. He slowly pulled his shirt out of his pants and took it over his head. His chest would have been perfect, if not for the scars from a battle that took place hundreds of years ago. Penelope had felt them once, but she had never seen him with his shirt off. She decided if he wouldn’t come to her, she would go to him. She sat up and ran her hands lightly over his skin. She bestowed feathery kisses along the muscled ripples of his stomach allowing the musky fragrance of his cologne to invade her senses and underneath that his own masculine scent.
London sat back on his knees so she could reach better. As she explored his chest, he unbuttoned, with shaky hands, her blouse.
One button, then two, three…and he pulled her shirt out of the top of her jeans revealing scarlet lace underneath. He stopped for a moment, one button shy, to run his fingers slowly down her creamy soft skin, and underneath the lacy edge of her bra.
The last button came undone and he let her blouse fall back off her shoulders to the floor. Her jeans dipped low on her hips revealing her belly button, but when she reached to undo them, he grabbed her hands.
“Let me, please…let me discover you.” London’s voice was a husky whisper, full of years of pent up lust and desire. As he said it, he bent in low and kissed the mounds of her breasts as they spilled out over the top of her bra. He took his time pressing his lips and nose into her softly scented skin. He reached around her back and undid the hooks, and with his thumbs under the straps, he peeled her bra away from her body and tossed it aside. He looked into her eyes the entire time in almost disbelief that what he had imagined for years was finally happening.
Penelope had let him roll her at first, and it had been wondrous, but now it was just the two of them with no magic. She knew that at some point their magic would join them, but not now. She didn’t want anything to interfere with his first caresses of her body. His hands moved to her waist, and he repositioned her so that she was again lying on the blanket. Ever the gentleman, he grabbed a pillow and put it under her head. Then went to work pleasuring her with his hands, his body, and his mouth.
He started at her lips, licking them and sucking the lower one into his mouth gently. He didn’t want to nick her with his fangs, although the smell of her desire and the promise of what her blood held were almost overwhelming. He had tasted her before, and he wanted her blood almost as much as he wanted her body. But there would be a time for blood later. Slow down! He reminded himself again. His lips traced a line from hers, down her neck, lingering over her pulsing artery, across her chest until he settled a long kiss between her breasts. Her nipples were hard and rosy pink. London licked one teasingly, and looked up at Penelope's face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open. Soft moans and cries, interspersed with ragged breaths were the only sounds she could manage.
He used his hand to mound her right breast and took as much of it into his mouth as he could without risk of piercing her flesh. His tongue flicked and licked her until she cried out loudly, and ran her fingers through the curls of his hair.
Nothing mattered to her at this moment except the man whose tongue had taken possession of her. There were no regrets. There was only increasing warmth deep inside of her, building and growing throughout her whole body. She moved her hips up to meet his, but he kept himself just out of reach. He seemed determined to make last the almost torturous ecstasy of the exploration of her body.
His hand sensuously slid down her trembling skin to the top of her jeans. He undid the button and unzipped them with ease, dipping his fingers low inside her lacy panties until he found her quivering. She spasmed underneath him suddenly, and he almost nicked her breast with his fangs. He sat up on his knees and pulled her jeans off, revealing matching scarlet panties. He took those too, slowly easing them down her legs with kisses, leaving her nude and lovely, the flames from the fire dancing across her luminescent skin.
He spread her legs gently and kissed her hips and down the insides of her thighs. His tongue lightly licked at her as he slid his fingers inside of her where she was more than ready to accept him. Centuries of honing his sexual prowess were now all focused on the woman beneath him. He wanted to immerse her in pleasure and her body told him he was succeeding. Penelope’s back arched off the floor and she grabbed the back of his head, pulling him deeper into her core. London licked and sucked at her, mindful of his fangs, while his fingers deftly worked at her with the experience of many lifetimes. He could feel her body climb higher and higher towards release, as he fought his longing to come with her. His own body was painfully hard and it had become increasingly difficult for him to push down the relentless waves of his own desire.
Penelope felt the familiar warmth now grow into an inferno whose flames were lapping at her from all angles. She writhed and cried her pleasure out, pulling roughly on his hair, and thrusting her hips up to meet the thrusting of his fingers. He pressed his mouth to her and let his fangs just grace her delicate skin. With that new sensation, her hands moved to his shoulders and she dug her fingers into his flesh as the orgasm rode down on her with a fury. She screamed his name, and raised her body off the floor in a bridge as she shuddered through the last waves and fell shaking to the floor.
London rested his head on her thigh and relished her shudders, knowing they were all for him. He kissed her lightly bringing another sharp cry from her. When her breathing finally slowed he rose to his feet. Penelope propped herself up on her elbows and watched him as he undid his belt and removed his pants.
“Oh, London!” She smiled when she saw that he had on red silk boxers.
“When I was a boy, a knight would wear the signature color of his lady. You will always be my Scarlet Lady, Penelope.”
The boxers disappeared, and Penelope really looked at him. He was beautiful. Not beautiful in the way of Asher or Jean-Claude, but beautiful in his own way. They were like statues, like gods of love made flesh, but London was like the knights and lords Penelope had spent years reading about alone in her room. He was Lancelot, he was Galahad, and he was Tristan, all rolled into one.
Her attention was drawn to his groin where he was long and erect, and ready to consummate over a century of longing and desire. His shaft emerged from a tuft of dark brown curls that matched those of his head. She looked up at him hungrily and laid back down on the floor, reaching her hands up to him.
“Lover, come to me…”
London carefully lay on top of her, pressing his hardness into her belly. They kissed, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him closer to her. His full weight on her body was exhilarating. Penelope realized that the weight of her lovers bearing down on her was one of the things she loved most.
He breathed and said, “Look into my eyes, Penelope.” They had bled to black, but not the empty black of a doll’s eyes. London’s eyes were the black of the ocean at midnight, reflecting thousands of stars afire. Onyx in flames, or rather, she suddenly thought, black diamonds.
Penelope knew her eyes were changing too. The gold flecks would be sparkling, and bleeding together with the dark brown fire of her own.
Their combined magic now rolled over them both, and Penelope felt the full force of London’s newly gained power. He had grown incredibly strong these last few months and now he bathed her in all that newfound potency. His power ran hot, unusual for a vampire, but then again London was of Belle’s line, and all passion was hot. So hot. Penelope met his heat with her own cool power, but instead of cooling his heat down, the two powers exploded into something else. When cold and warm weather fronts meet, powerful electrical storms form, and what came from their power meshing was like a bolt of blue lightening crashing around them in one gigantic surge.
They didn’t fight this strange new power, but instead they rode it. London guided himself between her legs and thrust inside of her as far as he could go. That had not been his intention, but the swell of power was so great he could not fight it. He wanted to be inside the warmth of her, to feel the pulse of her life and magic surround him. She cried out and reached for him as he filled her. London supported himself on his hands, forcing her body down with his hips, grinding into her. He changed the angle and found the spot that elicited almost unintelligible cries from her and she screamed as he stroked over and over it with the precision of a man who had known her body all his life.
Penelope's fingers alternated between caressing and griping his arms and chest. Her body tightened around his with every thrust and he thought for a moment he might come through the other side of her into the floor. His rhythm started to falter and in one swift motion he grabbed her and rolled them both so he was on his back and she on top. This new position gave Penelope the opportunity to ride him like she wanted to and do what she wanted with him.
She was so close to going over and she could feel her body communicate that to him with every movement. She wanted to come with him, to feel her body pulse and spasm around him while he pumped into her.
London, couldn’t speak. He simply nodded and put his hands on her hips, just for support, because Penelope was taking them where she wanted to go.
She used her body to bring him closer and closer to the edge of losing complete control. Every time she took him inside she squeezed around him until he cried out, slowing down to ease them back from the edge and then speeding up to bring them once again hurtling closer to it. She put her hands on his chest and dug her fingers in as she felt her orgasm ready to brim over her.
London couldn’t help himself. He thrust upward to meet her downward motion catching her by surprise and bringing them over the edge together in a scalding wave. Penelope screamed and writhed as he spilled his seed into her, finally collapsing on his chest, practically hyperventilating. Their hearts beat wildly and their bodies, soaked with sweat and fluid, heaved and shuddered against each other. London held her as tightly as he could, and when he felt his strength return, he rolled her over onto her back, and looked into her eyes.
“I love you.” He panted and stroked her face, laying gentle kisses on her cheeks and chin and neck.
“I love you too.” Penelope breathed, and brought his head down to rest on her chest, running her hand through the curls of his hair.
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Chapter 15- Questions and Answers by nicola71
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Sorry for the long hiatus, RL is taking a ginormous bite out of me...please forgive!
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Penelope sighed and snuggled into the curve of the smoothly muscled body lying next to her. London was playing with her hair, twisting it around his fingers and enjoying the intoxicating effects of her perfume.
"London?" Penelope stroked her hand over his stomach.
"Yes?" He replied quietly, content in the silence between them and the silky softness of her hair between his fingers.
"Will you answer a question I have longed to ask you?"
Penelope sat up and looked down at her knight. They had moved to her bed and had been laying together for some time in the tranquil afterglow. His dark curls were stark against the pale yellow silk sheets.
"I could not deny you anything you asked of me at this moment." It was the truth.
She put her hands on either side of his torso and straddled him. Slowly, she traced the lines of each of his deep battle scars, long since healed over, but rough and raised. Her hair fell forward in soft waves as she shyly looked through the silky strands into London's eyes, which were sparkling.
"How did you get these?" Penelope had wanted to ask about them since she first felt them. They were much different than Asher's scars. Where Asher's ran like liquid, London's were ragged and deep. But like Asher, the scars of the man underneath her made him no less beautiful.
London took her hand in his and lightly traced over the scars of his chest with her. The deepest were on his left side, but his nipples were both untouched and perfect in their pale pinkness. He teased her by circling around them each first before running her delicate fingers along the least of his scars.
"This one was given to me by my eldest brother while sparring in our stable yard. I was ten years old, and after it was determined that I would survive, he was whipped within an inch of his life by our father for giving it to me."
"Your brother?" Penelope could not hide her shock. Certainly she and Julianna had never played such games.
"He was attempting to teach me a very important lesson about the proper use of armor, which I obviously did not learn. He did not mean me harm. He was many years my senior, and I his clumsy shadow."
London's hand brought her to the next one, a more fearsome gouge near his shoulder.
"This was done by the jeweled hand of a Saracen in the desert outside of Jerusalem. I no longer remember the date, but his dagger was sharp, and had his aim been better I would not be telling you this story." He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, remembering. "He was an honorable man, I think, and took his death as such."
"You killed him?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Perhaps he does not want to share his history with me? Perhaps I ask too much? She wondered, not even really knowing if they had any boundaries left to cross with each other. But he answered her directly.
"My dagger had sliced through his kidney before his entered my body. The wound I dealt was a killing wound. But I will not offend you with the details." London was suddenly unsure if his casual telling of killing a man, when he himself was human, would taint her opinion of him. He had many kills as a vampire, but it was those who had met death by his human hands whose faces sometimes haunted his waking thoughts.
Penelope leaned over and lightly kissed his lips, "No, my darling. I have read my history. I know what the times were, and you could not possibly offend me. Please continue."
His hand moved hers until stopping on the largest scar which rested right over his heart. His eyes clouded over.
"This is the wound that killed me."
She looked down with concern, as if the wound were fresh and she could have stopped the bleeding. He tore his gaze from her face.
Penelope let her fingers carefully caress the raised ridges of the centuries old scar, then she bent down and ran her lips along it gently licking and kissing, and finally resting her cheek upon his chest, which trembled lightly.
"How did it happen? Will you tell me?"
London smoothed his hands down her pale arms, which goose bumped under his touch. He loved her so much, and did not wish to deny her curiosity, but the tale she had asked for was not one he cared to relive at this moment. This perfect moment. This moment he had convinced himself would never come.
"Perhaps I may save that particular story for another night?"
And with that he sat up, cradling her in his arms and kissed her, even as he knew she recognized his pathetic method of changing the subject.
Penelope lost her remaining questions in the velvet touch of his lips, and felt the urgency in his kiss. Urgency to keep his secrets and spend the little time that was left before dawn holding her. She thought about offering her wrist so that perhaps they could make love once more, but she knew as well as London that taking her body was not taking her blood. According to tradition her blood was not hers to give, although she knew that Asher would not stand on ceremony, and it was ultimately her choice to make. For now her blood belonged only to her master and no one else, until he saw fit otherwise.
London was of the same mind, although he felt an ache in his bones to take her once again. But there was no hurry. They had as long as fate would allow to freely enjoy each other. Instead he laid her down enfolded in the curve of his body once again, and bade her to sleep.
"Will you fall asleep in my arms? I want to feel you breathe softly as you drift into the sleep where I cannot follow you." He kissed the back of her neck and fought the desire to sink his fangs into her delicate flesh.
Penelope was tired, and contented, and comfortable. Human sleep was something most vampires missed a great deal. Vampires rarely dozed themselves unless they reached the level of power that Jean-Claude had attained, and certainly neither Asher nor London could ever hope to sleep and dream as their Master of the City. That level of power they believed was beyond them. But she could give them this small human thing. Penelope wanted to give them both everything they desired of her. Everything that was hers to give.
She felt her body relax and her mind release as London gently stroked her arm.
He buried his face in her silky hair and let himself be carried away once again by the mysterious spiciness of her scent, and his most ardent dreams fulfilled.
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The moonlight bounced through the ripples of the warm water, teasing her feet and wetting the edge of her gown. A sheer black this time, or was it midnight blue? She couldn't tell.
Asher was beckoning her into the water.
"But," she began to protest as her feet entered the pool, seemingly of their own volition.
"Come." He held his dripping hand out to her and in an instant she was in his arms and up to her chest in the water.
"I thought I would never feel fear in one of your dreams, yet I am afraid. I'm not much of a swimmer."
"It is excitement you feel, ma belle au bois dormant, excitement. The thrill of no solid ground underneath your feet."
Asher held her in his arms as the lake bed fell away and his strength kept them both above the surface. His hair was wet and slicked back, and his flawless skin glistened in the pale shimmer of the full moon. He raised her in his arms and kissed her, letting his tongue softly navigate her mouth and playfully nipped at her lip.
"Hello," he whispered.
"Hello back." Penelope tightened her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her fear had truly given way to excitement and the ultimate safety of her master's arms.
"Can you make love to me in this dream?"
"I know now that I can do anything I want. Anything that you want."
Asher swam them back to the edge and when Penelope found her footing once again, they walked to the blanket spread out underneath their willow tree. Night blooming flowers fragrantly decorated the surrounding ground, and the soft hooting of a distant owl could be heard echoing through the wispy branches of the forest.
"Our new friends are back," Asher motioned to the stag and doe who stood majestically on the other side of the lake, casually taking their evening drink. He had pushed both straps of her soaked gown down and was kissing her back, licking the beaded water from her skin.
"And an old friend has made his way here as well." The voice that came through the trees startled Penelope into a defensive position.
"Who is that?" she yelped, even as Asher's hands soothed her into calmness.
"A surprise, ma belle au bois dormant," he whispered against her cheek, kissing her softly.
Through the trees, streaked with silvery moonlight and in all his beauty, strode Jean-Claude, dressed as she remembered him from so many years ago. The exact costume he wore the first night he ever made love to her.
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Penelope bolted up in bed with a start, breathing heavily and clutching at the silk comforter that London had covered her with before he left for his own room. Asher's voice rushed over her and slowed her frantically beating heart.
Bien aimèe, we did not mean to startle you, only to show you what my new power level has allowed me to do. Relax, breathe.
His tone reassured her that it was no trick of her own mind, but that in fact Asher had acquired the power to bring others into her dreams. A rare gift indeed. Jean-Claude's appearance was unexpected. Unexpected and unnerving.
Penelope? The worry in Asher's voice was habit for he could feel her body as it calmed.
I'm here, my love, I'm here. You just...you quite surprised me. That is a very rare gift. A powerful gift.
She shielded quite a bit to hide just how unnerved she was. The ability to enter his servant's dreams and bring others with him was a mark of a very special master vampire. If the next step was was the ability to enter the dreams of those he had not bespelled, Asher would indeed have gained a valuable power. Had she helped bring this about? she thought. The implications were both intriguing and frightening to her.
A lovely surprise, I hope? Asher was still using his link with her to calm her beating heart.
Oh yes, yes. Lovely. Where are you? I want to see you. Touch you.
In my bath. I peeked in on you while you were sleeping. We have a very busy day today. The glassware and table linens are ready for us to inspect, and you must go shopping for your opening night attire. Jason has kindly offered to go with you, since it would be silly to waste the daylight waiting for me when we have so much work to accomplish tonight.
He paused.
I want to touch you as well. Shower. Dress. Come to me. I love you.
And he was gone.
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Penelope quickly showered and got ready for what was shaping up to be a very long day. Mostly she hurried because she was feeling rather lost. Today was the first day she had woken up alone in weeks, and she didn't like it. She felt the skin hunger prickle up and down the length of her body, and the longing to touch her master was near frantic. She practically ran to tackle him as he stood by his bed reading several papers which were scattered to the floor as she pounced.
Asher laughed his hearty laugh and wrestled her down, pinning her to the bed. What began as playful, though, soon took a serious turn as Asher urged her through their link to try and break free. To fight him, not as foreplay, but in defense.
"OUCH!" she yelped, as she struggled against the iron grip of his hands.
"Can you not fight your way out of my hold?" Asher was bearing down on her with all of his weight. His much taller frame and superior vampire strength easily overpowered even her better than human body. He released her with a sigh.
"Penelope, you should be able to fight me. Unfortunately I am not the strongest creature you may encounter, and I must know that you can defend yourself." He turned and swung his legs off the bed until he sat with his back to her.
Asher had been so immersed in his new fortunes that he had almost forgotten that part of the role of servant was to protect the master, and protect herself. Julianna was still learning how to handle a dagger and sword when she was killed, and Asher partly blamed himself for not teaching her sooner how to defend herself. Instead he spoiled her with jewelry and affection, clothes and sweets. He told himself that it was a different time, and back then ideas about women were askew. But Julianna had proven a capable student and surely would have been a deadly opponent, had she lived to perfect her craft.
"I could not bear it if you were hurt." He could not look at Penelope as he said the words that were constantly on the edges of his mind. His fear of losing her was always pressing in, threatening to smother him.
Penelope rose to her knees and pressed her body into Asher's back wrapping her arms around him. She leaned her head against the back of his shoulder and let his thoughts and fears run through her.
"It was not your fault. What happened to Juli. There was no defense against what attacked you. No amount of training would have been enough, my love."
"But if I had been vigilant. If I had not spoiled her. Spoiled her as I am spoiling you." He reached up and took her hands in his.
Can these soft and gentle hands kill?
"They have killed," she replied in an almost inaudible whisper.
Asher felt the truth in her words, and also her intense desire not to speak of it.
"But you have let your defenses grow soft. Do not argue, I feel it in your body. You are strong, but you must be prepared for extreme violence. St. Louis is no library."
Penelope whispered, "Do not fear. I will not fail you, master."
Asher whipped around, "Do not call me that. Are we not beyond such terms? And it is me failing you that I fear. I love you. I will not feel you die and live to go on without you. I will not go through that a second time."
She wondered why this fear of his was suddenly simmering on the surface once again.
"What has brought this on? You were not so worried about me last night when we parted. What has Jean-Claude said to you?"
Penelope did not need Asher's marks to know that she was a topic of pillow discussion between the two men last night.
Asher suppressed a desire to take her face in his hands and kiss her. He always seemed to solve their problems with sex lately. He didn't want to fight, nor did he want to talk about unpleasant things with her. The beginning of their relationship had been peppered with enough unpleasant conversations. Now he wanted to spoil and love her, take her in his arms, touch her, drown their shared years of loneliness with unsurpassed pleasures. Even now, when he had promised Jean-Claude that he would to talk with her seriously about the threat of Marmee Noir and the Council and of her untapped magic, all he could think about was stripping her clothes off and crawling between the chocolaty silk sheets of his bed with her. He felt safe there with her, not because of the safety she gave, but because of the safety he provided. He always felt an urgency to remain cocooned with her, in the cottage, in their bed, in her arms. Asher felt more secure as long as Penelope was with him. It was not so much that she could keep him physically safe, but more like there, in the space of their bodies, he could keep all the unpleasantness of the world from touching her. He thought that his protection would be enough. Jean-Claude thought otherwise and had spent the better part of the previous night convincing Asher of the same.
"Jean-Claude and I think you need to begin training with some of the guards. Perhaps even Anita. He also asked if you were making any progress with reproducing the charm against Marmee Noir. I told him that I would speak to you. Then we felt the boost of power that you sent when you were with London. It was amazing." He kissed her, "I haven't yet thanked you properly, but I will, you may count on it."
Penelope should have been pleased that Asher gained power from her being with London, and she was, but all she kept hearing was the disappointment in Jean-Claude's voice when he found out that she was unable to perform the task he had set before her. She thought, how can I tell him? How can I tell him that I am in fact useless to him?
"Asher, I will do anything you ask to make me a better servant. If you want me to train, I will train. I have the book knowledge already. How hard can it be to apply to the physical? I do know how to handle a sword quite well and shoot a gun."
"But your magic, can it be either offensive or defensive?"
Penelope did not want to lie, and knew she could not.
"At one time it was. But it was uncontrolled, and it..." resulted in the death of a good friend.
Asher felt yet another strong pang of regret surge through her, and decided not to press her.
You do not have to tell me about it now. But someday, will you?
Yes. Someday.
Penelope could not bear to even bring up the young woman's name. More than sixty years had passed since that night in the library. She had never even written about the details of that night to London. He knew a battle occurred, but he did not know what actually happened. And now only she and the Dragon knew the truth. For her former master was in a self induced coma, deep in a secluded cave. All the others who had been there were dead.
Asher smoothed her hair back into place. There were scores of painful memories that he was not ready to share with her, so he had no intention of forcing her to reveal the nature of the incident that had caused a dark pall to fall across her eyes. His only desire was to lift it.
"Tomorrow you will begin to put your book knowledge to practical use. However, this afternoon you must choose your ensemble for the opening night, just the dress, mind you, for I have already chosen what will go underneath it." Perhaps he was spoiling her, but he didn't care. She deserved to be spoiled.
"And then?" Penelope questioned with a wicked smile.
"And then tonight, we have glassware and linens to choose."
"And then?"
"And then, new staff to meet."
"And then?"
"And then my ensemble to put together."
"And then?"
Asher carefully laid Penelope back on the bed and pressed his body into hers, with passion this time.
"And then," he kissed her, and said with more than a touch of newly acquired humor, "I will put your body through my own very, very special workout."
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Thanks, as always, to my beta, Jean, who helped turn an afternoon's musings at the gym into something wonderful. To Roguefemme, who shares an admiration for London, and Subbie, who I always seem to make wait for things! And a special thanks to my readers who came along for the ride as I tried to fill out the character of a minor player who struck me from the moment I first read him on the page.
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In the days that followed, Penelope and London arrived at the point of speaking casually about security issues at Veritas, but avoiding any talk of their relationship. It was taking its toll on both of them, and Asher noticed. It was his hope that the two would naturally come to the conclusion that being together was preferable to suffering in silence. He remembered how difficult it was for him to be so close to Jean-Claude and not be with him. He thought that perhaps he was the most stubborn person he knew, vampire or otherwise, but Penelope and London were exceeding him by leaps and bounds. It was time to speak plainly with his servant. Asher was inches away from having everything he ever wanted. Jean-Claude in his life and in his bed, a woman who he loved and who loved him, power beyond anything he could have hoped for, and safety. maybe if he could secure London some happiness he could finally begin to forgive himself for his past mistakes, and in the process spoil Penelope with the love of two men. And if he also gained London as a friend and sometimes lover, then who was he to complain? After centuries of cold sheets, it felt good to have his bed warmed once again.
Asher came up behind Penelope as she sat in her overstuffed leather chair staring into the fire. She knew he was there, for he rarely shielded from her anymore, unless he was with Anita and Jean-Claude. Before he reached her she raised up her hand and he grasped it in his own. He knelt beside the chair and brought her fingers to the smooth side of his face. Penelope closed her eyes and sighed.
Although Asher was always eager to share Jean-Claude's bed, tonight he was strangely hesitant about leaving her alone. She didn’t have to be alone, and he felt it was time to speak the words.
“Bien aimèe,” he kissed the palm of her hand, “tell me what is wrong?”
Penelope was shielding her feelings. She didn’t want him to know how empty she felt when he left her for his other lovers' bed. She wasn’t jealous, it wasn’t that. She gladly shared Asher, and knew his heart leaped at the thought of finally being able to touch Jean-Claude as he wanted to now. Anita had finally accepted that just because the two men loved each other, and wanted to make love to one another, didn’t mean they loved her any less. Penelope knew that from the start, and she had never begrudged Asher’s time spent with Jean-Claude, or Anita.
Now that he was going back to sharing the Master of the City's bed from time to time, Asher made a new practice of leaving Jean-Claude’s suite a few hours before dawn in order to come back to Penelope with the other man’s scent still clinging to his skin. He would slip between the silk sheets and press his body against the back of her sleeping form, running his hand along her thigh and up the side of her body, cupping her breast and fondling her nipple until it was peaked and hard. He would kiss and lick the nape of her neck until she woke up moaning with desire, and then move his hand between her legs, using his deft fingers to bring her a first time while he sucked and nibbled at her skin. When she turned to take him into her arms, offering him her neck, or wrist, she drank in both men's scents as he drank in her vital fluid. In those early hours, once he was sated with her blood, he would make love to her gently, before collapsing on top of her, spent and smiling peacefully. Penelope would then curl herself around his body until he went cold, cover him with the silk sheets and kiss his forehead, sure in the knowledge that he would be awake before noon to quicken her once again.
She turned and looked into his hauntingly beautiful eyes. “Nothing, my love, nothing.”
Asher knew better. “Call him, bien aimèe. End his suffering. End yours.”
London
She looked away from him. “It is precisely his suffering that makes it inconceivable for me to call him. I do not want to trap him in some impossible situation. I will never be able to put him first.”
Penelope desperately wanted London. She wanted him the way a woman wants a man, and more. When she was near him she wanted to touch him, to strip his clothes off and lick and suck at his body until he screamed her name. She wanted him in her bed, because he was already in her heart. But he was not, nor would he ever be, first in her heart. The golden vampire kneeling at her feet already filled that place.
“He doesn’t need to be first, Penny, he just wants to be with you. Are you telling me you do not love him? Not even a little?” Asher already knew the answer, and although they were closer to each other than they had ever been, he still wanted her to admit it out loud.
Penelope took a deep breath. “I do. I do love him.”
“Then call to him. Bring him into you heart, and into your bed. Be happy.” Asher pulled her out of the chair until she was kneeling in front of him. “I have smelled your desire for our Dark Knight. I have heard your pulse quicken when he is near, and I have felt your body ache with longing for him. I know your thoughts because they are my thoughts. And try as you might, you cannot shield it from me all of the time. Desire fills you up and overflows into me. Overwhelms me. Drowns me.” He kissed her forehead, cheeks, and lips between each phrase. His own unneeded breaths came ragged with his passion, “How I love drowning in your lust, and desire.”
He kissed her gently at first, but his own desire was there too, and she opened her mouth and pulled him to her until his body was pressed up hard against hers. Her tongue flicked between his fangs, dancing dangerously between the two points. She wanted him to pin her to floor. She wanted to writhe under the weight of him and feel him come inside her, filling her with all of his power. She slid her hand from his chest to his groin, squeezing the growing hardness straining through his tight leather pants.
“Asher…”
“Non, non…” he pushed her away with reluctance and restraint, because he knew her thoughts, and they were not unlike his own. He held her face in his hands, holding her body from his. “Tonight our lives diverge. I to my other lovers' bed, and you to the arms of a man who loves you, almost as much as I do.”
Penelope knew it wasn’t a rejection. It was simply the truth.
“Call him, bien aimèe, call him to your body, and your bed. Je t'adore.”
With that, Asher kissed her lips once more and rose, leaving her on the floor in front of the fireplace. She watched him go, and felt his shields shut tight. He would not open to her again until closer to dawn, and he would not be returning to her for the day. For now, he was gone.
Penelope sat cross-legged on the large Oriental rug and thought for a moment. Her skin was cold now that Asher had left the room and even the warmth from the fire was not enough to chase away the chill. She wanted to be warm on the inside. Warm and in his arms. London’s arms. It was time to shelve her worry and fear and call out to him. To bring him home.
She stared into the fire and reached out with her magic, searching the Circus for London. She knew he was not working tonight. She searched and searched, and finally caught his presence. He was playing pool with the WickedTruth and Graham in the recreation room.
Penelope concentrated on contacting him. She could see him clearly enough. He was bent over the table, his body tense and focused, ebony eyes intent on the white ball he was about to strike. He was just about ready to make his shot, a shot that would win Graham and him the match. She actually heard this from Graham, who was miserable at shielding his thoughts. London however, was shut up tight like a vault. He was entirely closed off to her, so she had to hit his shields like an icy battering ram.
London was rocked off balance, fouling his shot. Graham screamed in frustration.
“What the fuck! London! Bastard! I had two-hundred riding on this match…what the fuck is wrong with you?”
Graham was pissed, and she saw Wicked doubled over in laughter. Truth stared back at her; she had inadvertently brushed him with her magic. He smiled, silently thanking her for helping them win Graham’s money. She sensed a bit of amusement in his thoughts as well, since he probably knew to whom she had intended to speak. She had learned that the Circus was not a place without its gossip.
Oh well, Penelope thought, Graham will have to get over it.
She reached into her Dark Knight’s mind, now open and off kilter.
“London, I… Please...”
“Stop. Do not say another word.” He looked up into her eyes and answered her with a shaky voice.
She saw him lay down his pool stick and walk out the door of the rec room. He walked slowly, at least to the door, but once out of it she felt him break into a run.
He was coming.
Penelope got up and took a quick look around her room, and then at herself in the mirror. Her heart was beating out of her chest with a wild tempo. She quickly threw some pillows and a blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace. She took her hair out of the barrette that held it and let it spill around her shoulders. The wool cardigan she wore was definitely not sexy so she stripped it off and stuffed it under the bed. She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her red silk blouse. No, too eager.
As she refastened one of the buttons, she swooned a bit. He was close. Quickly, she sprayed her perfume in the air and glided through it as she felt London just outside the door.
He had stopped right in front of it, hesitant to enter, as if maybe her call had been a dream or a hallucination. But suddenly she opened the door with a whoosh and sucked in her breath when she saw him.
London stood there, tall and handsome. He wore his signature color, black on black. Black pants, a black belt with a silver buckle, and a tight black T-shirt that clung to his muscular chest and arms like a second skin. He wasn’t bodybuilder muscled, but his body owned the sleek muscular look men have who are naturally athletic, but also spend at least three days a week in the gym.
The dark brown curls of his hair framed his face, falling gently around his ears. It would have been almost as pretty as Jean-Claude’s, if it had been a little longer. But London was not pretty. He was handsome, and rugged, and beautiful, but utterly masculine.
His lips quivered as if he was about to speak, but in one blindingly quick movement, he rushed forward cupping her face in his hands and kissed her. His lips and tongue devoured her, ate at her, and took her breath away. He kicked the door shut with his foot, and broke the kiss to survey the room.
He smiled when he spied the blanket and pillow on the floor in front of the fireplace.
Penelope didn’t think, she just nodded and tightened her grip on his body.
He picked her up and carried her to the fireplace, laying her down softly on the blanket. He leaned his body over hers with his hands on either side of her face. He bent low as if doing a push-up and kissed her again, this time a fleeting brush of velvety lips, and gazed down at her. His eyes were alive with onyx fire, and she let herself be rolled by what she saw there. There was no fear in her. She wanted to let him in all the way.
His mind swallowed her whole, caressing her in thick black velvet. She fell forward into his gaze and let him navigate her mind until he seemed to brush against her very soul. She was opened wide and he eased through every inch of space she had. They came out of it with a gasp, but connected in a way they had never been before with each other.
London spread her legs and knelt between her knees looking down at her. Slow down, he thought to himself. He was shocked that he was breathing so hard, especially when he didn’t have to, but each labored breath filled him with energy and power. I feel so good, he thought. He felt better than he ever had, even with the ardeur rushing over him, but that thought passed quickly. What he was feeling had nothing to do with vampire magic, of that he was sure. Or sorcery either. He had felt this way once before, a long, long time ago, before his first death.
The blood he had taken from someone else tonight coursed through him, filling every inch of his body and boiling beneath the surface of his skin. He felt alive, and invigorated, and afraid. He felt love.
Penelope reached for him, grabbing the top of his pants and began to pull him down on top of her. London resisted, and smiled. God, he thought, she was so beautiful, lying there wanting him. He slowly pulled his shirt out of his pants and took it over his head. His chest would have been perfect, if not for the scars from a battle that took place hundreds of years ago. Penelope had felt them once, but she had never seen him with his shirt off. She decided if he wouldn’t come to her, she would go to him. She sat up and ran her hands lightly over his skin. She bestowed feathery kisses along the muscled ripples of his stomach allowing the musky fragrance of his cologne to invade her senses and underneath that his own masculine scent.
London sat back on his knees so she could reach better. As she explored his chest, he unbuttoned, with shaky hands, her blouse.
One button, then two, three…and he pulled her shirt out of the top of her jeans revealing scarlet lace underneath. He stopped for a moment, one button shy, to run his fingers slowly down her creamy soft skin, and underneath the lacy edge of her bra.
The last button came undone and he let her blouse fall back off her shoulders to the floor. Her jeans dipped low on her hips revealing her belly button, but when she reached to undo them, he grabbed her hands.
“Let me, please…let me discover you.” London’s voice was a husky whisper, full of years of pent up lust and desire. As he said it, he bent in low and kissed the mounds of her breasts as they spilled out over the top of her bra. He took his time pressing his lips and nose into her softly scented skin. He reached around her back and undid the hooks, and with his thumbs under the straps, he peeled her bra away from her body and tossed it aside. He looked into her eyes the entire time in almost disbelief that what he had imagined for years was finally happening.
Penelope had let him roll her at first, and it had been wondrous, but now it was just the two of them with no magic. She knew that at some point their magic would join them, but not now. She didn’t want anything to interfere with his first caresses of her body. His hands moved to her waist, and he repositioned her so that she was again lying on the blanket. Ever the gentleman, he grabbed a pillow and put it under her head. Then went to work pleasuring her with his hands, his body, and his mouth.
He started at her lips, licking them and sucking the lower one into his mouth gently. He didn’t want to nick her with his fangs, although the smell of her desire and the promise of what her blood held were almost overwhelming. He had tasted her before, and he wanted her blood almost as much as he wanted her body. But there would be a time for blood later. Slow down! He reminded himself again. His lips traced a line from hers, down her neck, lingering over her pulsing artery, across her chest until he settled a long kiss between her breasts. Her nipples were hard and rosy pink. London licked one teasingly, and looked up at Penelope's face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open. Soft moans and cries, interspersed with ragged breaths were the only sounds she could manage.
He used his hand to mound her right breast and took as much of it into his mouth as he could without risk of piercing her flesh. His tongue flicked and licked her until she cried out loudly, and ran her fingers through the curls of his hair.
Nothing mattered to her at this moment except the man whose tongue had taken possession of her. There were no regrets. There was only increasing warmth deep inside of her, building and growing throughout her whole body. She moved her hips up to meet his, but he kept himself just out of reach. He seemed determined to make last the almost torturous ecstasy of the exploration of her body.
His hand sensuously slid down her trembling skin to the top of her jeans. He undid the button and unzipped them with ease, dipping his fingers low inside her lacy panties until he found her quivering. She spasmed underneath him suddenly, and he almost nicked her breast with his fangs. He sat up on his knees and pulled her jeans off, revealing matching scarlet panties. He took those too, slowly easing them down her legs with kisses, leaving her nude and lovely, the flames from the fire dancing across her luminescent skin.
He spread her legs gently and kissed her hips and down the insides of her thighs. His tongue lightly licked at her as he slid his fingers inside of her where she was more than ready to accept him. Centuries of honing his sexual prowess were now all focused on the woman beneath him. He wanted to immerse her in pleasure and her body told him he was succeeding. Penelope’s back arched off the floor and she grabbed the back of his head, pulling him deeper into her core. London licked and sucked at her, mindful of his fangs, while his fingers deftly worked at her with the experience of many lifetimes. He could feel her body climb higher and higher towards release, as he fought his longing to come with her. His own body was painfully hard and it had become increasingly difficult for him to push down the relentless waves of his own desire.
Penelope felt the familiar warmth now grow into an inferno whose flames were lapping at her from all angles. She writhed and cried her pleasure out, pulling roughly on his hair, and thrusting her hips up to meet the thrusting of his fingers. He pressed his mouth to her and let his fangs just grace her delicate skin. With that new sensation, her hands moved to his shoulders and she dug her fingers into his flesh as the orgasm rode down on her with a fury. She screamed his name, and raised her body off the floor in a bridge as she shuddered through the last waves and fell shaking to the floor.
London rested his head on her thigh and relished her shudders, knowing they were all for him. He kissed her lightly bringing another sharp cry from her. When her breathing finally slowed he rose to his feet. Penelope propped herself up on her elbows and watched him as he undid his belt and removed his pants.
“Oh, London!” She smiled when she saw that he had on red silk boxers.
“When I was a boy, a knight would wear the signature color of his lady. You will always be my Scarlet Lady, Penelope.”
The boxers disappeared, and Penelope really looked at him. He was beautiful. Not beautiful in the way of Asher or Jean-Claude, but beautiful in his own way. They were like statues, like gods of love made flesh, but London was like the knights and lords Penelope had spent years reading about alone in her room. He was Lancelot, he was Galahad, and he was Tristan, all rolled into one.
Her attention was drawn to his groin where he was long and erect, and ready to consummate over a century of longing and desire. His shaft emerged from a tuft of dark brown curls that matched those of his head. She looked up at him hungrily and laid back down on the floor, reaching her hands up to him.
“Lover, come to me…”
London carefully lay on top of her, pressing his hardness into her belly. They kissed, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him closer to her. His full weight on her body was exhilarating. Penelope realized that the weight of her lovers bearing down on her was one of the things she loved most.
He breathed and said, “Look into my eyes, Penelope.” They had bled to black, but not the empty black of a doll’s eyes. London’s eyes were the black of the ocean at midnight, reflecting thousands of stars afire. Onyx in flames, or rather, she suddenly thought, black diamonds.
Penelope knew her eyes were changing too. The gold flecks would be sparkling, and bleeding together with the dark brown fire of her own.
Their combined magic now rolled over them both, and Penelope felt the full force of London’s newly gained power. He had grown incredibly strong these last few months and now he bathed her in all that newfound potency. His power ran hot, unusual for a vampire, but then again London was of Belle’s line, and all passion was hot. So hot. Penelope met his heat with her own cool power, but instead of cooling his heat down, the two powers exploded into something else. When cold and warm weather fronts meet, powerful electrical storms form, and what came from their power meshing was like a bolt of blue lightening crashing around them in one gigantic surge.
They didn’t fight this strange new power, but instead they rode it. London guided himself between her legs and thrust inside of her as far as he could go. That had not been his intention, but the swell of power was so great he could not fight it. He wanted to be inside the warmth of her, to feel the pulse of her life and magic surround him. She cried out and reached for him as he filled her. London supported himself on his hands, forcing her body down with his hips, grinding into her. He changed the angle and found the spot that elicited almost unintelligible cries from her and she screamed as he stroked over and over it with the precision of a man who had known her body all his life.
Penelope's fingers alternated between caressing and griping his arms and chest. Her body tightened around his with every thrust and he thought for a moment he might come through the other side of her into the floor. His rhythm started to falter and in one swift motion he grabbed her and rolled them both so he was on his back and she on top. This new position gave Penelope the opportunity to ride him like she wanted to and do what she wanted with him.
She was so close to going over and she could feel her body communicate that to him with every movement. She wanted to come with him, to feel her body pulse and spasm around him while he pumped into her.
London, couldn’t speak. He simply nodded and put his hands on her hips, just for support, because Penelope was taking them where she wanted to go.
She used her body to bring him closer and closer to the edge of losing complete control. Every time she took him inside she squeezed around him until he cried out, slowing down to ease them back from the edge and then speeding up to bring them once again hurtling closer to it. She put her hands on his chest and dug her fingers in as she felt her orgasm ready to brim over her.
London couldn’t help himself. He thrust upward to meet her downward motion catching her by surprise and bringing them over the edge together in a scalding wave. Penelope screamed and writhed as he spilled his seed into her, finally collapsing on his chest, practically hyperventilating. Their hearts beat wildly and their bodies, soaked with sweat and fluid, heaved and shuddered against each other. London held her as tightly as he could, and when he felt his strength return, he rolled her over onto her back, and looked into her eyes.
“I love you.” He panted and stroked her face, laying gentle kisses on her cheeks and chin and neck.
“I love you too.” Penelope breathed, and brought his head down to rest on her chest, running her hand through the curls of his hair.
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Chapter 15- Questions and Answers by nicola71
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Sorry for the long hiatus, RL is taking a ginormous bite out of me...please forgive!
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Penelope sighed and snuggled into the curve of the smoothly muscled body lying next to her. London was playing with her hair, twisting it around his fingers and enjoying the intoxicating effects of her perfume.
"London?" Penelope stroked her hand over his stomach.
"Yes?" He replied quietly, content in the silence between them and the silky softness of her hair between his fingers.
"Will you answer a question I have longed to ask you?"
Penelope sat up and looked down at her knight. They had moved to her bed and had been laying together for some time in the tranquil afterglow. His dark curls were stark against the pale yellow silk sheets.
"I could not deny you anything you asked of me at this moment." It was the truth.
She put her hands on either side of his torso and straddled him. Slowly, she traced the lines of each of his deep battle scars, long since healed over, but rough and raised. Her hair fell forward in soft waves as she shyly looked through the silky strands into London's eyes, which were sparkling.
"How did you get these?" Penelope had wanted to ask about them since she first felt them. They were much different than Asher's scars. Where Asher's ran like liquid, London's were ragged and deep. But like Asher, the scars of the man underneath her made him no less beautiful.
London took her hand in his and lightly traced over the scars of his chest with her. The deepest were on his left side, but his nipples were both untouched and perfect in their pale pinkness. He teased her by circling around them each first before running her delicate fingers along the least of his scars.
"This one was given to me by my eldest brother while sparring in our stable yard. I was ten years old, and after it was determined that I would survive, he was whipped within an inch of his life by our father for giving it to me."
"Your brother?" Penelope could not hide her shock. Certainly she and Julianna had never played such games.
"He was attempting to teach me a very important lesson about the proper use of armor, which I obviously did not learn. He did not mean me harm. He was many years my senior, and I his clumsy shadow."
London's hand brought her to the next one, a more fearsome gouge near his shoulder.
"This was done by the jeweled hand of a Saracen in the desert outside of Jerusalem. I no longer remember the date, but his dagger was sharp, and had his aim been better I would not be telling you this story." He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, remembering. "He was an honorable man, I think, and took his death as such."
"You killed him?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Perhaps he does not want to share his history with me? Perhaps I ask too much? She wondered, not even really knowing if they had any boundaries left to cross with each other. But he answered her directly.
"My dagger had sliced through his kidney before his entered my body. The wound I dealt was a killing wound. But I will not offend you with the details." London was suddenly unsure if his casual telling of killing a man, when he himself was human, would taint her opinion of him. He had many kills as a vampire, but it was those who had met death by his human hands whose faces sometimes haunted his waking thoughts.
Penelope leaned over and lightly kissed his lips, "No, my darling. I have read my history. I know what the times were, and you could not possibly offend me. Please continue."
His hand moved hers until stopping on the largest scar which rested right over his heart. His eyes clouded over.
"This is the wound that killed me."
She looked down with concern, as if the wound were fresh and she could have stopped the bleeding. He tore his gaze from her face.
Penelope let her fingers carefully caress the raised ridges of the centuries old scar, then she bent down and ran her lips along it gently licking and kissing, and finally resting her cheek upon his chest, which trembled lightly.
"How did it happen? Will you tell me?"
London smoothed his hands down her pale arms, which goose bumped under his touch. He loved her so much, and did not wish to deny her curiosity, but the tale she had asked for was not one he cared to relive at this moment. This perfect moment. This moment he had convinced himself would never come.
"Perhaps I may save that particular story for another night?"
And with that he sat up, cradling her in his arms and kissed her, even as he knew she recognized his pathetic method of changing the subject.
Penelope lost her remaining questions in the velvet touch of his lips, and felt the urgency in his kiss. Urgency to keep his secrets and spend the little time that was left before dawn holding her. She thought about offering her wrist so that perhaps they could make love once more, but she knew as well as London that taking her body was not taking her blood. According to tradition her blood was not hers to give, although she knew that Asher would not stand on ceremony, and it was ultimately her choice to make. For now her blood belonged only to her master and no one else, until he saw fit otherwise.
London was of the same mind, although he felt an ache in his bones to take her once again. But there was no hurry. They had as long as fate would allow to freely enjoy each other. Instead he laid her down enfolded in the curve of his body once again, and bade her to sleep.
"Will you fall asleep in my arms? I want to feel you breathe softly as you drift into the sleep where I cannot follow you." He kissed the back of her neck and fought the desire to sink his fangs into her delicate flesh.
Penelope was tired, and contented, and comfortable. Human sleep was something most vampires missed a great deal. Vampires rarely dozed themselves unless they reached the level of power that Jean-Claude had attained, and certainly neither Asher nor London could ever hope to sleep and dream as their Master of the City. That level of power they believed was beyond them. But she could give them this small human thing. Penelope wanted to give them both everything they desired of her. Everything that was hers to give.
She felt her body relax and her mind release as London gently stroked her arm.
He buried his face in her silky hair and let himself be carried away once again by the mysterious spiciness of her scent, and his most ardent dreams fulfilled.
***************************************************************************
The moonlight bounced through the ripples of the warm water, teasing her feet and wetting the edge of her gown. A sheer black this time, or was it midnight blue? She couldn't tell.
Asher was beckoning her into the water.
"But," she began to protest as her feet entered the pool, seemingly of their own volition.
"Come." He held his dripping hand out to her and in an instant she was in his arms and up to her chest in the water.
"I thought I would never feel fear in one of your dreams, yet I am afraid. I'm not much of a swimmer."
"It is excitement you feel, ma belle au bois dormant, excitement. The thrill of no solid ground underneath your feet."
Asher held her in his arms as the lake bed fell away and his strength kept them both above the surface. His hair was wet and slicked back, and his flawless skin glistened in the pale shimmer of the full moon. He raised her in his arms and kissed her, letting his tongue softly navigate her mouth and playfully nipped at her lip.
"Hello," he whispered.
"Hello back." Penelope tightened her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her fear had truly given way to excitement and the ultimate safety of her master's arms.
"Can you make love to me in this dream?"
"I know now that I can do anything I want. Anything that you want."
Asher swam them back to the edge and when Penelope found her footing once again, they walked to the blanket spread out underneath their willow tree. Night blooming flowers fragrantly decorated the surrounding ground, and the soft hooting of a distant owl could be heard echoing through the wispy branches of the forest.
"Our new friends are back," Asher motioned to the stag and doe who stood majestically on the other side of the lake, casually taking their evening drink. He had pushed both straps of her soaked gown down and was kissing her back, licking the beaded water from her skin.
"And an old friend has made his way here as well." The voice that came through the trees startled Penelope into a defensive position.
"Who is that?" she yelped, even as Asher's hands soothed her into calmness.
"A surprise, ma belle au bois dormant," he whispered against her cheek, kissing her softly.
Through the trees, streaked with silvery moonlight and in all his beauty, strode Jean-Claude, dressed as she remembered him from so many years ago. The exact costume he wore the first night he ever made love to her.
***************************************************
Penelope bolted up in bed with a start, breathing heavily and clutching at the silk comforter that London had covered her with before he left for his own room. Asher's voice rushed over her and slowed her frantically beating heart.
Bien aimèe, we did not mean to startle you, only to show you what my new power level has allowed me to do. Relax, breathe.
His tone reassured her that it was no trick of her own mind, but that in fact Asher had acquired the power to bring others into her dreams. A rare gift indeed. Jean-Claude's appearance was unexpected. Unexpected and unnerving.
Penelope? The worry in Asher's voice was habit for he could feel her body as it calmed.
I'm here, my love, I'm here. You just...you quite surprised me. That is a very rare gift. A powerful gift.
She shielded quite a bit to hide just how unnerved she was. The ability to enter his servant's dreams and bring others with him was a mark of a very special master vampire. If the next step was was the ability to enter the dreams of those he had not bespelled, Asher would indeed have gained a valuable power. Had she helped bring this about? she thought. The implications were both intriguing and frightening to her.
A lovely surprise, I hope? Asher was still using his link with her to calm her beating heart.
Oh yes, yes. Lovely. Where are you? I want to see you. Touch you.
In my bath. I peeked in on you while you were sleeping. We have a very busy day today. The glassware and table linens are ready for us to inspect, and you must go shopping for your opening night attire. Jason has kindly offered to go with you, since it would be silly to waste the daylight waiting for me when we have so much work to accomplish tonight.
He paused.
I want to touch you as well. Shower. Dress. Come to me. I love you.
And he was gone.
***********************************************************
Penelope quickly showered and got ready for what was shaping up to be a very long day. Mostly she hurried because she was feeling rather lost. Today was the first day she had woken up alone in weeks, and she didn't like it. She felt the skin hunger prickle up and down the length of her body, and the longing to touch her master was near frantic. She practically ran to tackle him as he stood by his bed reading several papers which were scattered to the floor as she pounced.
Asher laughed his hearty laugh and wrestled her down, pinning her to the bed. What began as playful, though, soon took a serious turn as Asher urged her through their link to try and break free. To fight him, not as foreplay, but in defense.
"OUCH!" she yelped, as she struggled against the iron grip of his hands.
"Can you not fight your way out of my hold?" Asher was bearing down on her with all of his weight. His much taller frame and superior vampire strength easily overpowered even her better than human body. He released her with a sigh.
"Penelope, you should be able to fight me. Unfortunately I am not the strongest creature you may encounter, and I must know that you can defend yourself." He turned and swung his legs off the bed until he sat with his back to her.
Asher had been so immersed in his new fortunes that he had almost forgotten that part of the role of servant was to protect the master, and protect herself. Julianna was still learning how to handle a dagger and sword when she was killed, and Asher partly blamed himself for not teaching her sooner how to defend herself. Instead he spoiled her with jewelry and affection, clothes and sweets. He told himself that it was a different time, and back then ideas about women were askew. But Julianna had proven a capable student and surely would have been a deadly opponent, had she lived to perfect her craft.
"I could not bear it if you were hurt." He could not look at Penelope as he said the words that were constantly on the edges of his mind. His fear of losing her was always pressing in, threatening to smother him.
Penelope rose to her knees and pressed her body into Asher's back wrapping her arms around him. She leaned her head against the back of his shoulder and let his thoughts and fears run through her.
"It was not your fault. What happened to Juli. There was no defense against what attacked you. No amount of training would have been enough, my love."
"But if I had been vigilant. If I had not spoiled her. Spoiled her as I am spoiling you." He reached up and took her hands in his.
Can these soft and gentle hands kill?
"They have killed," she replied in an almost inaudible whisper.
Asher felt the truth in her words, and also her intense desire not to speak of it.
"But you have let your defenses grow soft. Do not argue, I feel it in your body. You are strong, but you must be prepared for extreme violence. St. Louis is no library."
Penelope whispered, "Do not fear. I will not fail you, master."
Asher whipped around, "Do not call me that. Are we not beyond such terms? And it is me failing you that I fear. I love you. I will not feel you die and live to go on without you. I will not go through that a second time."
She wondered why this fear of his was suddenly simmering on the surface once again.
"What has brought this on? You were not so worried about me last night when we parted. What has Jean-Claude said to you?"
Penelope did not need Asher's marks to know that she was a topic of pillow discussion between the two men last night.
Asher suppressed a desire to take her face in his hands and kiss her. He always seemed to solve their problems with sex lately. He didn't want to fight, nor did he want to talk about unpleasant things with her. The beginning of their relationship had been peppered with enough unpleasant conversations. Now he wanted to spoil and love her, take her in his arms, touch her, drown their shared years of loneliness with unsurpassed pleasures. Even now, when he had promised Jean-Claude that he would to talk with her seriously about the threat of Marmee Noir and the Council and of her untapped magic, all he could think about was stripping her clothes off and crawling between the chocolaty silk sheets of his bed with her. He felt safe there with her, not because of the safety she gave, but because of the safety he provided. He always felt an urgency to remain cocooned with her, in the cottage, in their bed, in her arms. Asher felt more secure as long as Penelope was with him. It was not so much that she could keep him physically safe, but more like there, in the space of their bodies, he could keep all the unpleasantness of the world from touching her. He thought that his protection would be enough. Jean-Claude thought otherwise and had spent the better part of the previous night convincing Asher of the same.
"Jean-Claude and I think you need to begin training with some of the guards. Perhaps even Anita. He also asked if you were making any progress with reproducing the charm against Marmee Noir. I told him that I would speak to you. Then we felt the boost of power that you sent when you were with London. It was amazing." He kissed her, "I haven't yet thanked you properly, but I will, you may count on it."
Penelope should have been pleased that Asher gained power from her being with London, and she was, but all she kept hearing was the disappointment in Jean-Claude's voice when he found out that she was unable to perform the task he had set before her. She thought, how can I tell him? How can I tell him that I am in fact useless to him?
"Asher, I will do anything you ask to make me a better servant. If you want me to train, I will train. I have the book knowledge already. How hard can it be to apply to the physical? I do know how to handle a sword quite well and shoot a gun."
"But your magic, can it be either offensive or defensive?"
Penelope did not want to lie, and knew she could not.
"At one time it was. But it was uncontrolled, and it..." resulted in the death of a good friend.
Asher felt yet another strong pang of regret surge through her, and decided not to press her.
You do not have to tell me about it now. But someday, will you?
Yes. Someday.
Penelope could not bear to even bring up the young woman's name. More than sixty years had passed since that night in the library. She had never even written about the details of that night to London. He knew a battle occurred, but he did not know what actually happened. And now only she and the Dragon knew the truth. For her former master was in a self induced coma, deep in a secluded cave. All the others who had been there were dead.
Asher smoothed her hair back into place. There were scores of painful memories that he was not ready to share with her, so he had no intention of forcing her to reveal the nature of the incident that had caused a dark pall to fall across her eyes. His only desire was to lift it.
"Tomorrow you will begin to put your book knowledge to practical use. However, this afternoon you must choose your ensemble for the opening night, just the dress, mind you, for I have already chosen what will go underneath it." Perhaps he was spoiling her, but he didn't care. She deserved to be spoiled.
"And then?" Penelope questioned with a wicked smile.
"And then tonight, we have glassware and linens to choose."
"And then?"
"And then, new staff to meet."
"And then?"
"And then my ensemble to put together."
"And then?"
Asher carefully laid Penelope back on the bed and pressed his body into hers, with passion this time.
"And then," he kissed her, and said with more than a touch of newly acquired humor, "I will put your body through my own very, very special workout."