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Lydia and Elizabeth stood on the street corner as they hungrily eyed the redcoats who were swarming their village like flies to a corpse. After last night’s fiasco, Lydia was no longer allowed to patrol the town without at least one of her sisters, which totally sucked because neither Jane nor Elizabeth were as slutty as she. Lydia hoped Elizabeth didn’t plan on ruining all of her fun today.
Though Lydia’s stomach was full of the blood of two sick elderly people and a stable boy, her desire was still not sated. She pulled down her tight bodice to expose generous amounts of cleavage, hoping her brass invitation would draw in soldiers. Luckily, it was a fairly cloudy day, so Lydia didn’t need to worry about sun exposure, lest she combust and die, or heaven forbid—sparkle! It wasn’t long before Lydia’s plaything, Denny, happened by, along with another fine looking officer.
“Denny,” Lydia squealed, “over here.”
When Denny spotted Lydia and Elizabeth, all the color drained from his face and he looked as if he’d turn and run.
Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and fixed him with her red, demonic gaze. Denny’s shoulders fell and he sulked across the cobblestone road toward the sisters. Much to Lydia’s satisfaction, his sexy friend followed alongside him.
“Oh, hello, Miss Lydia,” Denny said through a shaky voice as he dropped his gaze to Lydia’s feet.
Lydia pointed to the ground and screamed. “On all fours when you address me!”
“Y-yes, Miss Lydia.” Denny immediately fell to the ground.
Lydia leaned over and nudged Elizabeth. “Told you I’ve got him wrapped around my finger.” She kicked Denny once in the chin for good measure. “Who’s your friend?”
“M-miss Lydia and Miss Elizabeth,” Denny cried as he spit out a wad of blood and tooth, “I’d like to introduce you to my friend, George Wickham.”
Mr. Wickham was a fine specimen to behold—hair as black as a raven’s wing, eyes the color of midnight, high chiseled cheekbones and full lips set above a square jawline. But what was most striking about Mr. Wickham was the prodigious bulge beneath the front of his form-fitting breeches, leaving Lydia to wonder if he’d just taken a huge backwards shit, or if he truly was hung like a horse.
He bowed ever so slightly and planted a delicate kiss on each of their hands. “A pleasure to meet you both.”
When he rose, Lydia could not mistake the mischievous gleam in his glowing red eyes.
Could Wickham be a vampire? Oh, what wicked fun they could have together!
“Aren’t you a sexy piece of man meat?” she cooed.
“Look, Lydia,” Elizabeth growled into her sister’s ear. “There’s Mr. Bingley and his douchewad friend.”
Lydia snarled at the two men on horseback riding through the street. They stopped only to tip their hats at Lydia and her sister. But they completely ignored Lydia’s other companions.
“Oh, how rude!” Lydia hissed. She was so angry, she kicked Denny between the legs. He fell to his side and clutched his groin like a dirty dog.
Elizabeth gaped at Mr. Wickham. “Did he just give you the cold shoulder?”
George Wickham heaved a resonant sigh as he turned baleful eyes upon Elizabeth and Lydia. “So you noticed. Yes, Mr. Darcy’s animosity for me is quite tragic, really. He’s the reason I was forced to join the regiment.”
“Look.” Lydia held out a silencing palm. “I’m going to be blunt here and tell you that I’m really not interested in your pathetic backstory.”
“Oh, pray tell me what interests you?” George Wickham folded his arms across his massive chest and then he did something remarkable. He licked his eyebrows.
Lydia gaped at Mr. Wickham for a long moment before turning to her sister. “Did you just see that?” She pointed at Wickham’s mouth. “That. That interests me.”
“Me, too,” Elizabeth purred.
“Get lost, Denny.” Lydia kicked Denny’s prone form.
He rolled over and fell face-first into the gutter.
Lydia turned to George Wickham and laced one arm through his. She smiled serenely up at him while smoothing a hand across his chest. “Let’s see if we can put that tongue of yours to better use,” she cooed.
“Oooh, can I watch?” Elizabeth laced her hand through Wickham’s other arm.
Together, the trio walked into a shadowed alleyway.
The next scene has been edited for content because even though PJ Jones writes trash, she doesn’t write smut!