Chapter 31

Thirty-One

THE CONVERSATION

We were seated in black velvet wingback chairs in a void. No walls. No color.

Just black.

And she was wearing a spangled, black sheath, her legs crossed, her T-strap shoes with the arched heel were covered in jet beads, and a black beaded band was tied around her forehead.

Her platinum hair and the alabaster skin of her bare arm, therefore, shone stark against the abyss we were occupying, and she was examining me, like she needed to decide whether to deem me fit or not, for what I did not know.

“I wouldn’t let a little nothing like Rose be the end of me,” Dorothy Clifton informed me.

“I know. It was David,” I told her.

She made a scoffing noise. “I wouldn’t allow a man to be the end of me either.”

“Then what happened? Why were you up there? Did you fall?”

“I can hold my drink, girl. I did not fall.”

I was losing patience.

“Okay, then what happened?”

“Why do you care?” she demanded.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m not what’s important that’s happening in that house.”

“You were important,” I returned.

She rolled her eyes then again focused on me. “I know that.”

“So, tell me, what’s important in the house?”

“Him. You.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes, and I returned. “I know that.”

One side of her lips curled.

“I think I like you,” she decided.

When I said nothing, she went on.

“There’s more going on in that house.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Okay then, the flute. You don’t know about the flute.”

I was confused. “The flute? The one in the Music Room?”

She nodded. “Tell Ian about it.”

“No, you tell me about it.”

“It has to be Ian.”

Whatever.

I wasn’t playing this game anymore, not even in my dreams.

But while I had her…

“Why’d you do it?” I pressed. “To Virginia. To Rose. You’re a sister. Why did you sleep with both their husbands right here, in this house?”

“Virginia didn’t care I fucked David. Virginia herself had no interest in fucking David and so, when she could avoid it, she didn’t. And William didn’t care about Rose’s feelings.”

“He should have. She might not have been the love of his life. But she was his wife.”

“Tell that to him.” She made a mock-horrified face. “Oh no! You can’t! He’s dead. Like me.”

“Stop it and tell me,” I demanded.

She suddenly looked forlorn. “I was in love with him, you know.”

“Which one?”

Now, she made a face of distaste. “Well, not David.”

“William?”

Back to the forlorn when she shared, “It wasn’t true. What I said. He did care about Rose. It hurt him every day, knowing she’d wake up to such pain, having to live in that house with her husband and the woman he loved.”

“So if you loved him, why did you make things worse for him and Rose? For Virginia?”

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” she said softly.

“And David?”

“A grave mistake. I thought William would wish to let her go. Force her to divorce him. I could make him forget Virginia. I could make it so he could leave that house. He could see his patients, and I’d see to paying our bills. Divorce wasn’t done in our time, not often, but he would have taken care of her. That was the man he was. She would have been seen to. And she’d have had a far better chance at finding someone to make her happy. But his pesky scruples were always at the fore.”

“Not enough he didn’t fuck around on his wife.”

“Darling,” she drawled, sweeping a be-ringed hand down her body, the diamonds on her wrist twinkling in light that came from nowhere. “Not many men could say no to me.”

Ian would.

“Yes, he would,” she whispered, reading my thoughts. “But he’s not many men.”

“True,” I muttered.

“To answer your question, most men, not yours, though there’s an element to it with him as well, it’s inescapable for them, are ruled by a certain appendage, just one of them, the one they think is so important. And when they want to bury it into something someone else is enjoying, they do the most delightful things.”

“So it was all a game,” I remarked.

“I lost,” she said.

She sure did.

And I was sad about it because, even if the games she was playing were far from cool, she was kind of a kick.

She then looked beyond me, into nothing.

“Our time is done. She’s calling,” she told me.

I turned to peer where she was looking.

There was nothing.

I turned back to Dorothy.

She and her chair were gone.

I looked again the other way, and suddenly I was standing.

She was twisted to me, another woman, wearing a long, heavy cream dress with light-blue silk lining the wide, voluminous bell sleeves. It was edged at the hem with an embroidered ribbon of blue and gold. The close-fitting sleeves of her underdress were pale yellow. The belt hanging around her waist was a cord of light blue.

Her hair was unfettered, but blue ribbons had been woven through it around her crown and they trailed in the abundance of the golden-honey blonde hair tumbling to her waist at the back.

She held a hand to me, and her lovely face was filled with excitement.

“Come.” She rounded her hand impatiently. “Come! He’s arriving.”

She didn’t wait for me.

She started running, through the arched gate made of thick stone and connected to walls spanning the area.

I ran after her.

A group of horses rode over the moors.

Gaily, she turned back to me, laughing and still running.

“He’s arriving!” she cried.

A horse broke from the pack, kicked into a gallop, heading straight to her.

“Watch out!” I yelled.

I thought horse and rider would hit her, but with the chainmail of his armor clinking, the big, fair-haired warrior on its back just scooped her up and planted her in front of him.

The horse trundled to a stop and then started sniffing at the brush and heather as the two on its back went at it, full embrace, straight-up make-out session, mouths fused, hands roaming all over each other. He even cupped her breast over her dress and squeezed.

He broke the kiss and told her, “We’ve a guest.”

“She’s me,” the woman replied.

He peered down at me with a severe expression.

He looked back to his love.

“So she is,” he agreed.

She cupped his face in her hands. “You came back to me.”

“I always will.” He looked down at me. “I always will.” Then to her, his expression shifting to something infinitely loving, he said one last time, “I always will.”

She smiled at him.

Then she turned to me.

“Welcome home.”

* * *

I opened my eyes, feeling like I had the night before, content and sated.

The Dorothy thing I got.

But, whatever.

The second part, who knew?

It was a dream, but it wasn’t a bad dream or a weird dream.

It was kinda sweet.

So I snuggled back into Ian, who was now again spooning me, and I returned to sleep.

* * *

It was less me bouncing and a whole lot more of Ian fucking himself with my pussy as he pulled me up and down on his dick, and I stared down at him lying on his expensive, pristine, white sheets, looking hot and delicious.

With that vision a feast for my eyes, feeling him impale me, those were all I needed.

My head fell back as my climax threatened.

“No, you don’t,” he growled, pulling me off him.

I cried out in protest as he positioned me on my hands and knees, facing his sitting room. He got behind me and powered back in.

I instantly genuflected, but he twisted a hand in my hair and tugged, grunting, “Up, Daphne.”

I got back up to my hands, feeling my breasts swaying, my body rocking to the violence of his thrusts.

“Ian,” I warned.

“Don’t come.”

“Ian!” I exclaimed.

He spanked my ass and demanded, “Don’t fucking come, Daphne.”

The sting of that spank, his cock.

I couldn’t hack it.

“Oh God,” I moaned.

He let my hair go and grabbed my hips, slamming me back, the pads of his fingers digging in so hard, I knew they’d leave bruises, and I gave zero shits.

“Baby,” I begged.

“No,” he denied.

“Baby,” I whimpered.

He shoved his thumb up my ass and ordered, “Now.”

Splintering before him, I came apart and was surprised there was something left for him to keep fucking as I came, and he fucked my ass and cunt, and I kept coming.

Finally, pressing into me, he pushed me off my hands and knees to my belly, pulled out of my ass, planted both of his hands on my cheeks there, immobilizing me. He then fucked me even harder as I gasped and clenched, and took it happily before he gritted his release, buried deep but pushing like he could get deeper.

He collapsed on top of me.

When I had the capacity of speech, I noted, altogether breathlessly, “You’re a damned bossy lay.”

He nuzzled my neck. “Like you don’t love it.”

“Just observing.”

He chuckled, the noise slithering over my skin in a satisfying way, then I gasped as he abruptly not only pulled out of me, but me out of bed.

His hand in mine dragging me toward the bathroom, he said, “Shower.”

I smiled and replied.

“Okeydokey.”

“After we do that, I have to return something I’ve stolen.”

Now at that, I entered the bathroom grinning.