Though the conversation with Rebecca persisted for half an hour past what your hammering heart could handle, it did little to ease your concerns. Her arguments were logical, if a bit crass. Sicarius was ridiculous but generous. The long nights you spent waiting for him to finish his work told you he was capable of diligence. Repeated business from his clients showed that he followed through with promises. He was well respected amongst those below his station, a rarity for a wealthy man, and possessed an affable demeanor. As you already knew, there were far worse fates than marrying a charming clown.
So why were you so restless?
Staring at the attic ceiling for hours yielded few answers. As the sun crept over the edge of your curtains, you lifted the cord around your neck and looked at the ring. The lotus blossom was small enough to be unobtrusive for daily life but large enough to command attention. Its band was smooth and soft as if it begged to belong on bare skin. This piece was clearly crafted, not made. Still, the delicate details looked like something better fit for a fae princess than a maid.
“Do you expect the likes of the Hunts and the Eidens are going to look at your finger and forget you were bringing them their meals a few months ago?” As you pictured a dubious stare from Miss Hunt, you loosed a bitter snort. “Not likely.”
Then again, had Sicarius not called their attention to you, they may not have even noted your existence at all. That was simply how far a maid was below a mistress.
Knees tight to your chest, you buried your head in the mattress. As you laid there, stomach in knots, a single string of words clipped across your mind.
“I want a good woman, and the woman I want is you.”
Irritated tears burned your hot cheeks. A frustrated fist hit the lumpy linen stuffing. “Why did he have to say something like that!?” you demanded of the night air.
The dark before the dawn refused to answer your question.
“Exactly how many times are you going to polish the same thing?”
Red, tired eyes rolled to the footman in the doorway. It was about two in the afternoon, the day after the proposal. You sat at the long mahogany dining table, rubbing the rag up and down a hexagonal candlestick. The polish had long since spilled onto the green enamel rim. Its once glowing surface looked hazy and dull.
Reeves scratched his cheek. “Wow… You look terrible.”
“Your compassion is overwhelming, Mr. Reeves,” you rasped.
“Alex was worried when you missed lunch. We all were.”
“Thank you for informing me. I am sorry to have troubled you, and I will apologize to Cook and Alex at a later time,” you stated.
“Did you sleep?”
You stared at him through swollen lids.
“Right…” He tugged the lyre back chair out and took a seat beside you. “Why don’t you go back to bed and try to nap? I’ll go tell Sicarius that you are—”
Your chair screeched across the pale wooden floor. “I will be fine. Please, allow me to continue my work unimpeded.”
Reeves’s face contorted in a mixture of pity and pain. “What happened?”
You clenched your teeth tight.
“Do you need a doctor?”
“No!” you insisted, setting the candlestick on the tabletop. “No, I… I am physically well.” A shaking hand curled into your chest. “I am having difficulty with a decision. That is all.”
Reeves cocked his head. “Let me guess; logic isn’t lining up with your gut feelings?”
Your eyes widened. “Yes, that is exactly right.”
He crossed his arms and hummed. “That’s a tough problem.”
“What would you do?”
He tilted back in the chair. A long pause filled the quiet room. “Probably whatever I felt would make me happy,” he answered.
“And what if I do not know what would make me happy?”
The footman hunched over, grabbing his stomach as he sputtered.
“I really appreciate it when you laugh at my expense,” you grumbled.
Reeves grinned at you from under knitted brows. “Sorry, sorry. I’ve been rather envious of you this whole time for being so good at your job. Sometimes I swore you were another of Lyle’s machines. Seeing you like this—” He laughed again. “You seem so human.”
“I do have feelings, you know!”
“So follow them,” he taunted, wagging his finger. “Stop being a servant for five seconds and be a little self-serving.”
Your heart thudded in your chest. The words felt like a battering ram, smashing through the dark doubts in your mind. How long had it been since you did something for yourself? Not because it was the safest option. Not because it was the least likely to make trouble. Not because of any societal expectations or gratitude towards someone else. When did you last choose to really do what you wanted?
The heavy ring felt like ice against your skin. Your hand grasped it through the front of your dress.
Reeves sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life or anything, but whatever it is, you look miserable over it. If it’s going to be trouble no matter what, then you might as well pick whichever way is worth the challenge.”
Your fist clenched. Lifting your head, you gave the footman a tired smile. “I think I will try to get some rest, after all. Thank you, Garrick.”
Reeves’s stunned expression morphed into a cheerless chuckle. He pressed his cheek into the tabletop and closed his eyes.
“Did something I say upset you?”
He shook his head. “Just not handling the shock of you calling me by my first name well, I suppose. It’s like we’re becoming friends.”
For the first time since the marriage proposal, you laughed. “Have you had too much of Cook’s dandelion wine again?”
He winced. “Too much of something for sure.”
With a frown, you placed the back of your hand against his forehead. “You feel clammy. Do you want me to bring you an antacid?”
When Reeves lifted his face, his grin looked painful. “Nah, I need to suffer for my own actions.”
When you awoke around seven-thirty, the sky outside the attic window was a golden haze. Sleep had soothed the burning in your eyes, but your mind was still a fog. With a few pops, you stretched your neck and climbed out of bed. As your fingers finished tying the apron’s bow, your empty stomach loosed a low growl.
“Yes, I know,” you replied, patting the irritable organ. “We shall go see Alex about some food.” You gripped the whitewashed railing of the back stairs and descended the passage with caution. Until something was in your stomach, you did not trust your brain to keep you steady.
When you reached the kitchen, the smell of tomato curry filtered through the air. You rapped on the door and the voices inside quieted. Alex peeked through the crack. He scratched his arm and tugged the entrance wide open. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Three hours, perhaps.” Your stomach growled again. You rubbed the back of your neck. “Might I trouble you for a small snack?”
Alex cocked his head towards the stove and walked back into the kitchen. You trailed after the teenager, taking a seat on a tall wooden stool. Cook hummed along as he stirred the pot of simmering vegetables. You folded your hands in your lap, taking care not to touch their workspace. Alex retrieved a small earthen pot. He set it in front of you and handed you a wooden spoon. You lifted the lid. Fresh steam scented with carrots and parsley wafted to your nostrils.
“You made this just for me?” you asked.
“Wasn’t a big deal,” Alex muttered, crossing his arms. “Just didn’t want you throwing up my hard work ‘cause of your sour stomach.”
You took a bite of the rice porridge. The taste of celery, salt, onions, and something buttery made your mouth water. Warmth filled your belly, and not just from the food. You set your spoon down and smiled at the teen. “Alex?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
The undercook turned away, but not fast enough to hide his blush.
It was a good thing Alex fed you such a light meal. By the time you reached Sicarius’s office, the food in your stomach felt like lead. You slipped the ring from the cord around your neck and pushed it over your knuckle. Though your gut was still twisted in tight, the weight of the band was not unbearable like last night. Rethreading the knot, you tucked your key back into your collar. Then, with a deep breath, you knocked on the door.
“Enter.”
Sicarius was hunched over his wide desk, head in his palm. On his right was a heaping mound of papers stacked tall as his shoulder. Furious scribbling filled the room. When the door clicked shut, he looked up. Blue eyes flashed from your face to your left hand. His pupils dilated. He placed his pen in yet another bone china cup and rolled back his chair.
“Did you sleep?”
You shook your head. “Did you?”
The master’s long legs crossed the room in three slow strides. He stopped an arm’s reach away, running his fingers through his short hair. The circles under his eyes were dusty purple against pale skin. Sicarius’s seemingly endless smirk was weary in the orange light that filtered through the blinds.
You looked away, fingers fiddling with the smooth metal band. “I am sorry that I faltered in my assigned duties last night. I was overwhelmed.”
The soft touch of a large hand radiated up your skin, soothing raw nerves like a lullaby made of heat. His voice was low and calm as if he were whispering to a frightened animal. “There is nothing to forgive. I am the one who overwhelmed you.” An impish sparkle flashed in his eyes. “Let us be honest; anything you threw at me was the product of my own actions.”
A wry smile tugged at your cheeks.
Without breaking the intoxicating stare, he lifted your hand to his lips. Electricity fired down your flesh. “Since you are wearing my ring now, I assume your opinions have changed from last night?”
Worried eyes fell to your shoes. “Please understand, I do find the offer of marrying you enticing. It is just…” Your voice trailed off.
“You are still concerned about the social implications?”
“To be blunt, yes.”
His gaze flicked to the ring. “But you’re willing to talk this through?”
You nodded.
He squeezed your hand. “Then let us talk.”
Sicarius led you to the guest chair, placing you between its thick scroll arms. The smooth grey fabric felt rough under your sweaty palms. A close mimic of smoky wood and vanilla, Sicarius’s cologne reminded you of marshmallows over a summer bonfire.
“What do you propose?” he asked.
As you sank into the cushion, a tense discomfort ached down your shoulders. Though the silence dragged on, his face was as peaceful as a child playing with his favorite toy. Your hands balled into your skirt.
“I will marry you on the condition that the wedding stays secret from the noble circles.”
The hairs on your arm bristled. In an instant, the calm, genial expression on your companion was gone. His lips dropped into a hard frown. Phantom shadows below smooth cheekbones deepened until they looked like pools of night. The hand holding yours tightened its grip.
“I will not.”
Your stomach jumped at the ice in his voice.
A Gamoidian curse spilled from his lips. His brow knitted until deep wrinkles formed around his eyes. “I do not understand why you are so ashamed of yourself, but I want you. I want you to be my wife.”
You started to explain, but like a loose cart horse, he plowed right over you.
“You expect me to stay silent and pretend that I do not care for you just to please the gossip-mongers? Let them gossip. It would make me all the happier to hear ‘Mrs. Estrova’ again and again from their lips.”
A white-hot fire burned up your throat. The words waiting on your tongue tasted like bile. Your nails curled into your palm. In a bid to control your bite, a mental ten-count ticked away one number at a time. With each click of the clock hand, your temper swelled.
Sicarius’s fingers gripped his scalp. He snarled his next words. “Honestly, of all the things you could have asked—”
Out of patience, you snapped like a frozen twig. “Are you done?” you demanded.
Sicarius whipped his head around.
In the chair, back straight and hands folded, you glared at him. “I was under the impression that talking through a problem involved two people, not one. Is that not correct?”
Pale digits slipped from his hair. Blue eyes raked over your body from head to toe. Your stately aura of seething annoyance choked his rage to the floor. All the complaints on his lips died out.
“Let me be clear. I am not ashamed of myself.” Your face was as hard as marble and just as cold. “I am a respectable woman in a respectable profession, and I am excellent at what I do. That is why I have no interest in being a source of amusement for the nobility. You offered to train me to deal with them. I will accept on the condition that you do not subject me to their offensive behavior before I am prepared to counter it. Is that clear?”
A puff of air filled his cheeks. He brought his hand to his mouth as his eyes wrinkled in delight. All at once, a blast of laughter roared from his throat. He tossed his head back, gripping his aching stomach. “Stars above, you are a masterpiece.”
“Thank you.”
Sicarius laughed even harder. Body still shaking with glee, he took your hands in his, kneeling down before you. Pride and delight swirled in his expression. The low baritone that poured from his mouth may as well have been fae wine. “Come with me.”
A spike of raw heat shot through your core. Intoxicated by his words, you could barely breathe.
When Sicarius rose to his feet, he tugged you over. In one great heave, you were in his arms. He kicked the chair out from the desk. Even as he settled you across his lap, he never broke his gaze.
“Since I find pleasure in indulging you, I will agree to your conditions for now. However, know that this arrangement of ours will not last indefinitely. After all, I can not pretend I do not care when—”
A villainous smirk coiled onto his features. The airy tickle of his breath on your skin made your body throb. Seductive blue eyes drifted into a half-lidded stare. His low voice reverberated from his chest, leaving a tingling ache under your skin.
“—when you are mine.”
Unlike the slow indulgence of yesterday, Sicarius’s kiss was ravenous. His large hand cupped your cheek, lifting you up to his mouth. Soft lips devoured yours as hungry moans spilled from his body. Between your thighs, a restless itch sprung to life. You leaned into his chest as loose fists clutched his shirt.
Against your backside, something hard pressed into your skirt. The hand under your knees trailed down your leg. Short, sharp nails traced along the swell of your calf. A gentle lift of your hemline broke the trance. You jolted against him and pulled away.
“Wait! What if the others—”
“Hush now, it is not like we could keep it a secret from the staff anyway,” he whispered, nibbling at the shell of your ear. “Since you are preventing me from preempting my nuptials with my fiancée, I insist on taking this opportunity to ravish my maid.”
An excited tingle rippled down your body. Sicarius groaned as your shiver hit his pants. His hand climbed up your thigh, skimming over the fabric of your stockings before unhooking the garter straps. The toothy grin looked positively cannibalistic as he rolled across the high-cut blush-colored panties.
“Georgette does know what to do,” he murmured, toying with the lacey hem.
Before you could say a word, his fingers plunged below the edge. The pad of his pointer dragged the moist heat up and down your delicate flesh. When he clipped your clit, you gasped.
“My, you are sensitive,” he purred. “And so wet.”
Pressing his thumb to your swollen bud, he stroked his way lower and lower. Long fingers dipped between your folds until they found your core. Back and forth, he traced the edge of your entrance with languid, teasing strokes.
Your twitching hands clasped his shirt like a lifeline. Pants heaved from your chest as you buried yourself in his sweet scent.
“M-Master…” you murmured.
Sicarius’s body stiffened. A hiss filled the air. All at once, you found yourself heaved over the edge of his desk. Your tailbone hit the wood with a sharp thud that ricocheted up your spine. The master swept the papers onto the floor and rolled his hips into yours.
“I love it when you call me that,” he growled.
Pressing the hard bulge into your thigh, he ground his hand against you. Your nipples pebbled against your silken bra as each flick of the smooth fabric against your sensitive skin drove you mad. All at once, he curled his pointer into your body. Sicarius grabbed your chin and pulled it to his face. Another blistering kiss silenced the needy sounds spilling from your mouth. His tongue lapped at you with the same firm pace as a second digit slipped inside. You whined against his lips.
“Something on your mind?”
Your hand reached down grasping the edge of his dark twill trousers. “What about—” The words choked off as he stroked the front of your walls, sending a flutter through your heart.
“What about what?” he teased.
Heavy lids drifted low. You pressed your thigh to his hardened cock.
Sicarius took a rattling breath as you shifted against him. His free hand slid from your cheek to the soft curve of your neck. The palm of the other twisted into your clit, making your back arch.
“We’ll get there,” he hissed in your ear. “Don’t rush a good time.”
You moaned as his fingers resumed their steady pace. Waves of pleasure wracked your body. Each slide of your soaked cunt against his supple skin had you writhing in his grip. Your hips began to shake as pulses of electric heat coursed up your stomach. Weak kneed and wanton, it was all you could do to clasp the slippery wooden desktop with slick palms.
As your thighs tensed tight, a rough grind from his hand tilted you over the edge. Grey swirls engulfed your vision. Your body fell around his fingers. Sicarius pressed a kiss to your neck, pumping you through your orgasm until you were spent. Chest heaving, you collapsed cheek first into his shirt. He pulled out, wide hands cupping your backside.
“Worrying about her master’s pleasure before her own?” he mused, kneading your soft skin. “What a truly excellent maid I have.”
With one scoop, he lifted you off the desk. As if he was positioning a beloved doll, he guided you to your knees on the plush white rug. The seam of your panties was soaked and cold against blazing skin. Sicarius’s fingers drifted to his waistband. The clink of metal on metal was followed by the whisper of leather pulling through linen. His belt dropped to the floor. He leaned over and took your hand in his.
“Help your master undress,” he commanded, pressing your palm to his pants.
In a hazy fog, your fingers fiddled with the clasp at the top of his waistband. It clicked open. The zipper fell. He hooked his thumbs into his boxers, pulling them down his legs. Soft fabric pooled at his feet. The smell of musk and arousal was heady in the air. His thick cock twitched in front of your swollen lips.
“Go on, kitten,” he instructed.
“Then, you do not want—?” You looked down between your legs and nodded to the desk.
Sicarius shook his head. “Oh no, I very much want to.” He stroked your cheek. “Call me old-fashioned, but I would just rather wait until we’re married.”
“If you are concerned about my perceived virtue, I do not believe any rational person expects a widow to be a virgin on their wedding night,” you pointed out.
“It is not because you are a virgin that I am holding back,” he explained with a wink. “It is because you are not.”
You blinked at him. “I do not understand.”
The silver-haired man tsked and wagged his finger at you. “If I give you everything right away, then what incentive is there for you to marry me?” He crossed his arms and declared, “Say what you like, but I will not be taken advantage of. I want it all. That’s just the type of man I am.”
At his words, you burst into laughter. “How did I go from being ravished to being the rake?” you demanded.
Sicarius grinned. “For tonight, you’ll have to be content with the appetizer.” His thumb paused on your lips. The heat in his eyes seared you to the core. “After the ceremony is complete, I will feed you the main course.”
You sighed and looked up at him from under your lashes. “Master, I think you enjoy your teasing all too much.”
“Not as much as I’m going to enjoy taking you on our wedding night.” His thumb tugged at your lower jaw. “Now, why don’t we put that delicious-looking mouth of yours to better use?”
As Sicarius guided you forward, you complied with his enticing suggestion. Wrapping your hands around the base of him, you pushed your lips past the soft tip. The taste of salt slid over your tongue. You rounded your mouth, letting your cheeks sink around his cock. As you gazed up at him, he stroked your skin.
“Go on.”
Your hand squeezed his balls, letting them slip through your grip. Index finger and thumb ringing his shaft, your swollen lips plunged down. Keeping firm pressure, your hand rolled along his length. A moist tongue flicked across the notch of tissue below his head.
“Fumē!” The exotic expletive flew from Sicarius’s mouth. “Good,” he praised. “A little deeper now.”
Moist clicks filled the air as saliva spilled from your lips. He rolled across the roof of your mouth. You angled him down, centering him in the middle of your throat. Your tongue curled around him. He slid between the slick rolls of muscle that cupped his cock.
With each hushed gasp from your master, the ache between your legs returned. Sicarius sped up the pace. You splayed your fingers wide across the wing of his hip. Trimmed coils of salt-and-pepper hair scraped against your palms. The taste of him made your head spin. A tight grip on the base of your skull guided you back and forth, setting the pace at a short, bobbing pulse. Under your ministrations, the muscles of his hips pulled taut. He twitched in your mouth.
When you looked up, his eyes were dark with greedy hunger. He groaned, and his lids drifted shut. A shudder wracked his body. Sicarius’s soft head jolted against your throat, forcing raw tears from your eyes. With three quick thrusts, hot, salty cum spilled into your mouth. He clutched the back of your neck.
“Swallow,” he commanded.
With his swollen member filling your mouth, you choked down the load. As he watched your throat bob, a pleased smile split his cheeks.
“My good girl,” he murmured.
Your chest ached at the words. Letting him go, you licked your burning lips and sat back on your haunches.
Sicarius staggered back two steps to his chair, falling into the seat. He patted your cheek. Your thighs shifted against each other. He chuckled. “Does my maid need a little bit more?”
Unable to look away from his flushed face, you nodded.
He leaned back into the leather and coiled his finger into his palm. His hypnotic gaze called you to him like a fae song in the night.
“Come here.”