Heat Season – Day 19 of 91
“Can I open them now?”
Georgette’s reply was muffled by the pins in her mouth. “No.”
As the rain outside drummed on the windows, you clenched your eyes shut and listened to the tapping noise. The Kestanian’s nimble fingers tugged at the buttons of your dress, pinching and pulling her creation into submission. She had been alternating between humming and grumbling for fifteen minutes. As a rumble of low thunder shook the glass panes, a cold thimble grazed the edge of your spine. You jolted.
“Do not move, or you will bleed,” the seamstress warned.
Goose pimples erupted across your skin. You tried not to squirm.
A gust of hard wind rattled the window again. Georgette sighed. “This weather is beastly.”
“That is what we mere mortals get for planning an outdoor ceremony,” you replied. “Still, they say rain on a wedding day nourishes future happiness.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“My last marriage was sunny, and my husband was dead in less than two years.”
Georgette patted your shoulder. “Perhaps a storm is best then.”
The gentle tug of thread on fabric tickled across your back. You bit your lip to contain the giggle. Her cool, slender hand laid itself on your shoulder. A quiet snip was followed by a coo of excitement. Georgette brushed the hem of the dress straight before turning you around to face the looking glass.
“Now, you may look.”
When your mirror image swam into focus, your breath hitched in your chest. Before you sat an ethereal parody of yourself, polished and primped to perfection. Her luxurious ivory gown was a long, tailored piece with a fitted bodice made of scalloped bobbin lace. The seashell-like trim extended over your collar bone and melted into tapered translucent sleeves as thin as butterfly wings. Shaking hands lifted the draped crepe skirt. Gossamer waves of delicate chiffon looked like they were woven by fae hands. As it slipped from your fingers, you wondered if clouds felt as soft to the touch.
“Oh Georgette,” you murmured, turning to face her. “How did you finish this in so little time?”
She fixed you with a coy grin. “Because I am the best,” she declared with a huff. “Even with his silly pockets.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Pockets?” As you trailed down the side seam to the top curve of your hip, a silky cavity trapped your fingertips. “Pockets in a wedding dress?”
“He called four days ago and demanded I add them.” Georgette shrugged and threw up her hands. “I do not question; I just fulfill the request.”
Your heart squeezed as a small smile crept onto your lips. “That may have been my fault.”
“Your fault?”
Before you could answer, the door to the parlor opened. Wearing his ink black swallowtail tuxedo, Sicarius strolled into the room. A sweet gardenia, fresh from the garden, bloomed on his lapel. It matched his white vest, bow tie, and pocket corner with perfect accuracy. The impish grin on his face reached all the way up to his brows. You stiffened. Georgette flew to her feet.
“Mr. Estrova!” She rushed to the entrance, setting herself between you and your fiancé. “It is bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”
Sicarius wagged a finger at the frazzled tailor. “Ellsworth tells me I don’t need luck.” He took her by the shoulders and escorted her to the doorway. “Georgette, you look a bit drained from all your hard work. Go get something to drink.”
She bit her tongue, looking back and forth between the two of you. With a tentative hum, she forced a smile. “Yes, of course. I will have some coffee.”
As the door shut, Sicarius turned to you with a beaming smile and reached into his short coat. He made his way to your stool. “I have a present for you.”
From his pocket, Sicarius extracted a dainty, double-chained platinum choker necklace. A fire blue marquise cut sapphire hung from the central loop. Before you could say a word, he latched it behind your head. Despite its feather-light construction, the cold metal ring lay heavy against your throat latch. As you touched it, he pressed a kiss to your temple. In the mirror, pale eyes met yours.
A shudder rippled down your body. “You did not need to buy me anything,” you insisted.
He flicked the glowing stone, knocking it against your collar bone. “I enjoy the way it looks on you.”
You frowned and raised your hands to the clasp. “Understand that I only require a comfortable life, not a kept life. While I would not marry a man with no prospects, I do not require excessive enticements to secure my affections.”
Sicarius took your wrists in his hands. Resting his chin on your head, he smirked at your reflection. “What if I find pleasure in bribing you?”
“Then know that bribery alone will not keep me.”
He lowered his lips to your neck, tenderly pressing against the slender chain. As sharp teeth nipped at your flesh, you squirmed in his grip. His hot breath flared against your skin. Your thighs clenched as quivering pleasure pooled in your gut.
“Y-you need not put that much effort in at this late hour,” you continued, adjusting a stray strand of hair in the mirror. “The ceremony will be done by midafternoon.”
As the edges of his smooth jawline brushed against yours, your cheeks burned hot. “I feel you are misunderstanding my intentions,” he murmured.
Lightning flashed outside the window. You swallowed to steady your voice. “What intentions?”
Watching a grown man pout was simultaneously the most precious and most obnoxious thing you had ever seen. The way his nose wrinkled reminded you of an impetuous child. Still, there was a certain charm in the boyish sparkle of his blue eyes and the crinkle in his brow. His fingers drummed on your wrists, never releasing their hold.
“What if the entire point was keeping you happy?”
Stars above! Was steam pouring from your ears?
You coughed. “T-then I suppose I could forgive you.”
“Could you indeed?” Sicarius chuckled and wrapped his arms under your chest. With a gentle squeeze, he murmured in your ear. “How magnanimous of you, Mrs. Estrova.”
His words made your heart spasm. Giddiness fluttered through your body. How long had it been since you felt this way? It seemed like ages ago. Now, bathed in the tender affections you had long denied yourself of, you wondered how you lived without it.
You leaned your head back onto his shoulder. “I liked the pockets very much.”
His fangs grinned against your flesh. “Only the best for my wife.”
Two fingers touched the chains around your neck. “Is this the only reason you came?”
He patted your head. “I came to tell you that I reached my good friends Silus Hurst and Frank Pulzar of The City Press and The Coriland Times. They have agreed to ‘miss’ a certain entry in the Marriage Registrar for a few months.”
Your stomach sank. “How much did the agreement cost?”
“A case of fifty-year-old single malt to the former and one of my places on the Lustras waiting list to the latter’s wife.” He tapped your nose with a wink. “Reeves was able to make a far more equitable deal with the local gossip rags. Two kegs to each office, and suddenly they all went blind. It was rather astonishing.”
You shuddered. “I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble.”
Sicarius shrugged. “It’s only money.”
Beastly guilt clawed its way through your gut. “Still, I—”
The warm pad of a long index finger pressed against your lips. You looked up only to find that roguish smirk right before your eyes. As Sicarius kissed your forehead, a tender ache squeezed your chest. Despite yourself, when he pulled away, you leaned forward. With a chuckle, he rose to his feet and flashed you a haughty grin.
“The ceremony will be done in half an hour,” he teased. “Have a little patience.”
Walking to the cleric for the second time in your life was simultaneously better and worse than the first. During the first wedding, your fumbling legs and weak will barely managed to carry you onto the platform. Had Piotr’s hand not reached out, you would have tumbled from the temple’s stage. This time, the temporary platform below the great golden tree was easier to climb. You were moving towards a secure future, not running from a cruel predator. Armed with the poise of a woman long grown, you approached your fate with rational certainty.
Sicarius was a ludicrous pervert, but he listened to your feelings and your words. The worries about your “poor widow” status were pointless. Any lack of connections or dowry was irrelevant in the face of his prodigious fortune. Concerns about him changing his mind were foolhardy. Your reputation could never be worse, and he demanded to marry you all the same. Sicarius truly liked you for who you were. No woman could ask for more than that. No woman could want more than that.
This was for the best.
As you placed your foot on the first step, another crash of thunder rolled across the roofline. You looked back at the large windows behind you. Murky grey clouds billowed across the sky, covering the manor in a thick carpet of shade. Above you, the curling boughs of the great golden tree were dull in the din. The delicate twigs of its terminal branches looked like hawthorn spines.
Sicarius Estrova’s massive hand swallowed yours. “Are you afraid of storms?”
“Of course not,” you insisted. “I am not some dainty sugar cube that will melt in the rain.”
A saucy grin coiled across his face. His thumb stroked your hand. “Which is exactly why I want you,” he murmured.
The sallow husk of a cleric before you looked like he had been resurrected from the crypt to execute the ceremony. Wrinkled, flat lips billowed with each stilted, cracking breath. The smell of cedar and dust lay heavy upon his ornate, yellowed wool robes. Every word was halting and painfully slow.
“Dearly beloved,” he wheezed. “Under the sight of the gods above, we gather as one to unite as one a bond for all time. This bond, set forth in the highest of our traditions, is untarnished by the passage of time and unyielding in the face of disco—”
As the cleric coughed hard enough to turn blue, Sicarius slapped the man across the back. The gagging splatter from his mouth matched well with the dark deluge outside. You clenched your teeth to avoid laughing in the poor man’s face.
“Thank you, mah boy,” the priest stated, patting your fiancé’s broad shoulder. In a monotonous drone, he continued, “Now, as I was saying, matrimony is a reverent and”—cough, cough, gasp, cough— “joyous occasion.”
If the officiant lasted through his speech, it would be a joyous occasion indeed.
“It is not to be entered into lightly or used as an excuse for flummoxation.”
“Your Holiness,” Sicarius whispered. “I think you mean ‘fornication.’”
The cleric waved his hand. “Calm yourself, child. You can get to that tonight.”
You cringed into your dress. Stars, did he really say that in front of your parents? Now you would hear that on repeat for at least the next four family dinners.
As you looked across the room, the audience reactions were mixed. Georgette kept a polite smile on heart-shaped lips while her husband buried his head in her wig to hide the chuckles. Your mother hid her laughter in a handkerchief while your father simply bit his tongue. Rebecca’s outburst was barely contained by her husband’s hand clamped over her mouth.
“Do you have the rings?”
Sicarius removed two smooth sapphire and platinum bands from his pocket. On yours, five baguette-cut blue stones were accented by round, golden gem inlays. His was much the same, but the sapphires were double layered for a wider piece. It still seemed small in his grip. He held it out to you. As another flash of lightning engulfed the hall, blue eyes seemed to blaze in the dark. Your hand froze, fingers hovering above the ring.
“Ma’am?”
You jolted upright. “Y-yes?”
The old man’s eyes narrowed. With an irritated frown, he tapped the certificate before you. “Is this your name?”
You nodded.
He jerked his head towards the silver-haired hellion who was laughing at your expense. “Do you want to be married to this Scarious Estoma fellow?”
Sicarius sounded like he might choke on his own throat. With little else to do, you nodded again.
The officiant sighed. “Then pick up the ring and try to pay attention.”
“Yes, sir…” you mumbled, face burning with embarrassment. Shaking fingers plucked the ring from the pale palm.
“Now then.” The cleric coughed to clear his throat. “Do you take this man to be your lawful husband, to have and to hold in sickness and in health, forsaking all others until death do you part?”
“Sir?”
“What now?”
You pointed to the script: “You left out the ‘for richer and for poorer’ part?”
With a roll of his eyes, the cleric jabbed his thumb at the ostentatious tree behind him. An odd howling noise was slipping around Lee’s fingers. As Rebecca heaved with laughter, her husband stifled the sound with his sleeve.
An uneasy smile creaked onto your cheeks. “Right… Um… Yes.” You shuffled your shoulders back. “Yes, I do,” you declared.
“Good.” The cleric snorted before turning to the man beside you. “And you Mr.—”
“Sicarius Estrova.”
“Sicorous Estroka,” the cleric bellowed with a grand wave of his hands.
“Close enough,” Sicarius muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
Your cheeks puffed, but you managed to hold in the snort.
“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold in sickness and in health, forsaking all others until death do you part?”
A magnetic grin danced across Sicarius’s face. “I do.”
“Good. I pronounce you man and wife.” The Holy Text snapped shut. The cleric rubbed his hands together. “Put on your rings, sign the paper, and let’s have a drink.”
Late that evening, after your parents had long retired to bed, you finally got to ask the question that weighed on your mind since the ceremony.
“Major Payne?” you groaned. “What possessed you to take a recommendation for a cleric from Major Payne?”
Sicarius smirked, flipping off the parlor light. “The Major said that this cleric was the most entertaining officiant to ever grace a wedding.” Your husband nodded to the gear cart that rolled slowly up the stairs. Reeves had one hand braced on the sleeping cleric’s shoulder. Loud, boorish snoring zipped through the hall, echoing off the high ceilings. Georgette trailed behind, lifting the long robe off the treads. Sicarius snickered into his hand. “You must admit, the Major was correct. It was well worth pulling the man out of retirement for that show.”
The midnight chime played. You noticed the usually dark halls of the estate were lit by electric sconces. Bathed in the warm amber of flickering bulbs, the Fae Tree’s coiling branches seemed to glow as if they were lined with fireflies.
“Why did you never light the lamps before?” you asked.
“I hoped that you would cling to me in the dark.”
You sneered at him. “As I have said before, I am not scared of the dark.”
“I said it was a hope, not an accomplishment,” he pointed out, extending his arm. “Would you indulge me now?”
You wrapped your hands around his biceps and leaned into his shoulder.
Sicarius’s grin could have lit the entire manor.
Reeves and Georgette departed to the far west wing, towing the drunken clergyman to his quarters. After pausing to laugh at the elderly man’s expense, Sicarius guided you down the long hall to the bedroom. The unyielding downpour pattered against the window sills. Quiet peace was only shattered by one terrifying statement:
“Your parents are quite entertaining.”
Clutching at Sicarius’s sleeve, you forced him to halt. “What did they say?” you demanded.
When he pressed a finger to his lips, your heart skipped. “I am sworn to secrecy,” he replied, patting your arm.
“Scoundrel,” you muttered.
Sicarius brought his lips to yours for a deep, wanton assault on your senses. His tongue dove into your mouth, feeding you a heady blend of passion and possession. As a large hand groped the edge of your hips, you moaned into the kiss. All at once, the world tilted and reeled. Strong arms hoisted you to his chest.
Eyes bulging, you clutched his lapel. “Sicarius! Put me down!”
“I will not.”
The door to the bedroom banged open. He shut it with his foot before setting you on the mattress. Behind you, a cold gust shuddered the glass panes. You jumped as fiery lips nibbled their way down your ear. He leaned his thigh between your legs, pressing the fluff of your skirt firm against your core. You groaned, tugging at his coat.
Sicarius slid behind you, plucking the buttons of your gown one by one. As soon as the bodice sprung free, you shuffled out of your sleeves. Hungry eyes watched the display with eager excitement. He hoisted your skirt to your waist, helping you slide out of your silken shell. The expensive dress became a pile of filmy fabric on the floor.
Sicarius’s mouth blazed down the column of your throat as he pushed you backwards onto the bed. When you giggled and shoved at his chest, he growled and clamped your wrists beside your head. A hard bulge ground against your thigh.
“You have no idea how long I have waited for this,” he grumbled against your skin.
“Then hurry up,” you taunted with a coy grin.
He sneered at you. “A maid telling her master what to do? I think not.”
Sicarius’s lips cupped the peak of your breast. You writhed in his hold as he began to suckle on the sensitive skin. Tingling heat coursed from your gut to your brain. Your vision blurred at the edges.
“Stay there,” he murmured against your chest.
The tailcoat was gone in seconds, followed shortly by the bowtie and patent leather shoes. As you lay panting against the sheets, he shucked his vest with ease. Sapphire cufflinks clattered against the nightstand. When his fingers reached the fasteners of his shirt, ice blue eyes stared into your soul. A warm hand cupped your cheek. Thunder rumbled outside.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
One by one, he loosened each button, exposing his pale skin to the humid air. Rolling waves of graceful muscles slipped into view. Seeing the scar by his heart made yours burn. He followed your gaze. With a half-cocked smile, he guided your hand to his chest.
Your fingers traced the puckered skin. “What happened?”
He pressed his flesh into your palm. “A dispute with my half-brother,” he explained.
“You have a brother?”
Sicarius moved your hand to his pants. “I will tell you the story some other time.” The bulge behind the fabric twitched. “Right now, I am rather preoccupied with the thought of enjoying my wife.”
With cheeks ablaze, you unhooked the latch of his trousers. Eager fingers dragged the zipper to its base before diving under the smooth fabric of his underwear. His hard cock sprung free with one sweeping tug. Your nails trailed down his firm backside. When he shivered, your grin grew.
“That was rather naughty,” he purred, taking your wrists in his hands.
You shrugged and stared at him through half-lidded eyes. “You started it.”
“That I did.”
Sicarius captured your lips, climbing onto the bed. His full length pressed against your thigh, leaving a sticky trail of arousal on your skin. He scooped under your arms and hoisted you back onto the feather pillow. His hand groped down the edge of your body, dragging your lacey undergarments over your ankles. As he dropped to his elbows, the mattress creaked beneath you. Slow, tantalizing kisses peppered your neck.
“I want you,” he moaned into your throat.
A large hand gripped his slick hard-on, pumping it a few times while the other slid between your thighs. As his thumb rubbed tight circles over your clit, you clawed at his broad back. Strangled whimpers sputtered from your lips. Sharp teeth pricked at the soft flesh below your collarbone.
When the first finger slipped inside, your body arched into his hands. Each thrust of the thick digit sent pleasure pumping through your veins. Sicarius’s cock pressed against your stomach, hot and pulsing with need. He smirked at you with flushed cheeks and a feverish grin. Your heart lurched. As he stroked the front of your soft walls, toe-curling tingles fluttered across your skin. A second finger joined the first, driving what remaining sense you had clear out of your mind. Twisting into the blankets, your entire body burned with raw need. Any attempts at drawing breath quickly devolved into airy pants.
“Not yet, kitten.”
When Sicarius pulled out of your body, you whined and smacked his back. “Villain,” you snarled.
The fiend above you laughed in your face, lining himself up with your entrance. “Sweetheart, you have no idea.”
The stretch of his cock filling you sent sparks across your eyes. Your arms clamped down on his broad shoulders. With each stroke, trembling muscles cried out for oxygen. It was impossible. Breathing seemed as foreign to your sex-addled brain as singing was to a turnip. Sicarius’s steady rhythm lulled you into desperate surrender. Thrust by thrust, your hands loosed until they flopped on the pillow.
Inside your burning skin, coiling bliss snaked its way up prickling nerves. The rough scrape of coarse hairs on your sensitive clit made you mewl into his pectorals. Every driving pulse sent you higher and higher into ecstasy. When his length slid across one particular spot, you gasped.
Sicarius chuckled into your collar bone. “Oh?”
The head of his arousal prodded the front of walls. Your cunt clenched around him. Unbridled ecstasy swelled in your chest as he pounded you into the sheets. Sounds blurred into a soft ringing. As muddy delirium overtook rational thought, euphoric vibrations shook your body. All at once, the tension shattered, leaving you trembling in his arms.
“Such a good little kitten, taking my cock so well.” His thumb swept the sweat from your brow. “Look at you. Just begging for your master to come inside.”
As your hazy gaze rolled to his, greedy eyes drank in your blissed out expression. His arms wrapped tight around your shoulders, crushing you to his chest. Sicarius rutted into your limp body at a brutal pace. Before you could catch your breath, he shuddered and groaned into your neck. Three short pulses filled your sore sex with his seed.
The driving rain outside the window swelled with a strong gust of wind. After a few slow pants, your husband slipped out and rolled onto his back. Long arms groped across the bed, pulling you into his chest. Bristled hairs scratched at your cheek. A powerful, racing heart pounded in your ear. He cackled, squeezing you tight. As a bolt of lightning split the dark sky shadows, his blue eyes flashed black.
“Finally, you’re mine.”