Something Unexpected Read online

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  Freya's Bower

  www.freyasbower.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Miranda Heart

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Something Unexpected

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

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  Something Unexpected

  by Miranda Heart

  Freya's Bower.com ©2006

  Culver City, CA

  Something Unexpected

  Copyright © 2006

  by Miranda Heart

  Cover design by Brenda F. Porter. © 2006

  Cover illustration © 2006 Freya's Bower. All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1-934069-41-8

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Warning:

  This book contains graphic sexual material and is not meant to be read by any person under the age of 18.

  If you are interested in purchasing more works of this nature, please stop by www.freyasbower.com.

  Freya's Bower.com

  P.O. Box 4897

  Culver City, CA 90231-4897

  Printed in The United States of America

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 1

  Fall 1763

  "Spread your thighs for me, my sweet." The softly spoken, yet not-so-real words drifted through her imagination. She spread her thighs wide, as if truly obeying an order. Just the thought made her tingle with excitement. Her fingertips cascaded down the length of her abdomen, to the swollen and aching nether lips. She stifled a moan of ecstasy as she cupped her own mound and reached for her breast. The nub felt hard and jutted against her palm when she massaged the soft flesh.

  She gasped when her fingers splayed her lips apart, and with her middle finger, she worked the thick liquid until her fingertip moved easily back and forth along the inner flesh. Her clit jumped instantly. He was always in her thoughts. With her eyes closed, she could envision it was him who increased her desire by gently rolling and pinching the thick flesh of her nipple until her stomach muscles clenched with each jolt of pleasure. Her eyes opened wide in fascination, her breath came in short gasps before her fingers settled into a short rhythmic motion.

  Closing her eyes, Beatrice imagined her tormentor staring down into her face; his eyes flickered from her expression to the circular movements of her hips and fingers. She pressed down harder, her lips clamped shut to block out her whimpers. Perspiration beaded her forehead, her orgasm looming closer with each stroke. She followed the wet line to the opening of her vagina and slowly slid her finger into the warmth. Finally giving in to a moan, her slit contracted around her finger as her palm pressed down firmly on her clit. Her finger slid back and forth with the building contractions. Her back arched, and on instinct, her fingers contracted around her nipple. Just at the height of her pain, fluid spilled over her fingers.

  She slowed her movements and gently released her now aching nipple. With heavy lids, she opened her eyes against the darkness of the bedroom. Slowly, her breathing and heartbeat returned to normal. She stared up into the darkness of her room, confused, despite what her body told her.

  Sated, Beatrice rolled over onto her side and drew her pillow in close to her body. Something she had not experienced in a few years was now coming back again. Pain equaling pleasure, and yet, she knew of no one else who had the same fantasies. In the past, her imagination conjured images of being tied in a dungeon, waiting for her master to return home so that he might torture her and sexually use her body until they were both sated and loved.

  No, these were feelings she was unable to share with anyone else. She sighed and closed her eyes. I will think more on this another time. The image of Donatein invaded her dreams, leaving her hot and restless throughout the night.

  * * * *

  Two weeks later

  The ballroom was much too crowded. People stood almost touching one another while they chatted amongst themselves. Their incessant voices made Beatrice's head throb. The smells of body odor and strong colognes filled the stuffy room. She lifted her fan to her face, attempting to breathe more of the scent of her wine than of the painted men and women around her.

  Powdered wigs and brightly colored gowns surrounded her everywhere. Someone bumped into her, and she almost spilled her wine on her gown. “Sorry, Mademoiselle,” she heard the patron behind her answer.

  Frustrated, she moved forward enough to make way for several people attempting to pass around her. Her eyes caught hold of her mother, tittering about something to another woman. Probably discussing my upcoming nuptials. She grinned, although it was difficult to stomach the idea of being married to such a softly spoken, easy-to-manipulate man. Her plans for this evening were anything but marriage-minded.

  She rolled her eyes even now at the thought and turned her attention to Renald, who danced slowly to the reel that unfolded before her eyes. The look he gave the brunette across from him should have irritated her. It was the same look she held for Donatein. Yet, she felt nothing. She even admired him being blatant and open about his desire for another woman. After all, she held high hopes for a liaison of her own.

  Not that there was anything truly wrong with the man. Renald was never rude or demanding. As a matter of fact, he treated her with a complete lack of emotion at the few encounters they shared.

  He was not unattractive by any means. His black hair brushed his shoulders in an airy sweep, and straight white teeth proved he was well-bred. He never wore the customary wigs, yet still, he seemed to be invited everywhere. He was not overly tall, which was nice, considering her short height. There was something about the way he carried himself and remained private from everyone. Those dark, penetrating eyes of his never explained a thing about him. In truth, her fiancé was a complete mystery.

  He was nothing like Donatein, a professed Libertine. The Marquis demanded wanton pleasure from women, without so much as a care to their name. It was hard to turn down a night like this with a man as daring and handsome as he.

  Her sister, Camille, explained what she heard through a group of questionable ladies. Her descriptions foretold of his secret inner workings and made Beatrice's thighs clench in need even now. He kept sex slaves, and he was demanding, almost brutish in his treatment. Her own need for such treatments grew even more profound over the past several weeks.

  Her gaze long since wavered from Renald, even before the dance ended. Instead, she focused her attention on the group of six young men playing their lyres and flutes to perfection. All the slow tunes they continued to play made her eyes heavy with tiredness, and boredom began to sink in.

  With a sigh, she turned her attention towards Donatein, who stood speaking with another gentleman. The friend's back was turned so she could not tell who it might be, but they were sp
eaking excitedly about something.

  Her first meeting with him had been at an intimate dance. Just close friends of the family. When his eyes met hers, he lit a fire inside of her she never knew existed. Then, later in the evening, he held her in his strong embrace. She could still feel his power, and sexual charge that had her trembling in his arms whilst they danced. That was when this obsession to have him began.

  It set into motion the plan she had every intention of carrying out tonight. Her sister had made it clear he was not a reasonable man. She said, “He only enjoys giving pain. Stay away from him. He's strange.” Even her body shuddered as she made the statement.

  Beatrice grinned to herself, remembering Camille's words. That was exactly the sort of man she needed. No commitment, and no sex—well, maybe no sex.

  Donatein's broad shoulders relaxed, fingers just barely holding his glass. Her fingertips stroked the stem of her wine glass, and she thought of his lean body beneath her palms. A sigh escaped her as she drank in the sight of him. The war did many things to a man. For her father, it made him quiet, but grateful for his family. For Donatein, it brought out a side of him she needed.

  She'd planned a night alone with Donatein, so Beatrice hoped he would be willing to show her what she craved. She watched him with his burgundy puffed-sleeved coat and powdered wig; a stern line of disapproval marred his fair face. The conversation between the two men grew quiet, and she took this opportunity to make her move.

  With careful discretion, she planned her every move this evening. A pleasant smile, a come-for-me look. Even now, her eyes felt heavy just thinking of him, and the hunger she felt tightened her womb. One corner of her mouth lifted. He has no idea what I have in store for him tonight. There would be no way he could resist her invitation.

  Her cheeks flushed in anticipation. With new resolve, she practically felt herself floating through the throng of guests. Beatrice could not help the smile that touched her lips when she heard the deep baritone of his laugh. He is infectious. She craved him like men craved their drink or gambling addictions. A wanton who needs to feel the harsh hands of a man. She bit back a giggle.

  One more glance around the warm and crowded room assured her that her mother was nowhere to be found. Just a few feet away now, she tried to catch bits of their conversation. Before she could even make out a few sentences, he stopped speaking and cast his eyes in her direction. She tried to visibly shrink against the other guests, but found herself rooted to the spot. Nervous flutters in her belly reminded her she was nothing more than a virgin this night, and she might not be as exciting to him as he was to her. One corner of his thin, red lips lifted. He raised his glass in her direction and drank deeply. As if he already toasts our union.

  Her cheeks warmed again, and she raised her own glass to her lips. The sweet wine coursed smoothly down her throat. She tried to follow her instinct, but quickly lost her bravery. In a fluid motion, she turned on her heel and practically ran the several steps across the room.

  A popular tune filled the suddenly too-stuffy hall, and she ducked among arms raising held hands. A few glares came from those who did not wish to be interrupted, and she could have sworn she heard a woman utter a curse in her direction, but none of this deterred her from her path. Once at the veranda doors, she opened them just enough to slip out, and immediately closed them behind her.

  * * * *

  Renald watched Beatrice turn. A sexual radiance glowed about her, and he clenched his glass more tightly. When her lithe body swayed out of view, he turned narrowed eyes back to Donatein. “Just information,” he said slowly.

  Donatein grinned, his gaze never leaving the French doors.

  Renald took a deep breath, waiting, but his cohort only kept staring.

  "So, tell me, do you still have Annabelle?” Donatein finally asked.

  At the mention of his former sex slave, a new idea formed. “No, I sent her back to her husband. But maybe you should take her for yourself. I am getting married—thought it was time to at least try it for a while.” He spoke quietly and shifted a little more towards Donatein's direction. “Remember,” he said through gritted teeth, “I only want information."

  Donatein gave a lazy smile. “I will definitely be taking on Annabelle. Her ass would look magnificent sticking up high in the air.” He shrugged, stepping away from Renald. “I will make sure you have all the information you need."

  A protectiveness filled Renald's chest that he had never felt before. He turned to acknowledge another guest.

  * * * *

  The cool night air chilled Beatrice's heated flesh. She gulped the rest of her wine down and carefully placed it against the balustrade. The act left her light-headed, but her steps were bold as she crossed the stone landing. She deeply inhaled the many perfumed scents from the garden below.

  "What was I thinking?” she whispered into the moonlight. She pulled her silk kerchief from her bosom and dabbed her damp chest and forehead. “I am just a maiden. He is far above me in skill."

  A soft chuckle from behind her brought a gasp from her throat. She quickly tucked her kerchief back between her breasts.

  "Skill on your part has very little to do with anything."

  She turned at his words; there he stood, her fantasies finally a reality. She had him alone. Her eyes darted about the expanse of the veranda. Large white pillars, widely spaced, offered some small cover in the night. Wickedly, her mind churned, mapping out areas where they might hide to kiss and touch one another.

  His chilled finger rested beneath her chin. She raised her head to meet his dark eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, and the harsh intensity of his gaze made her wonder about the decision she made.

  Then, a glint of amusement flickered past his intense stare. She gave what she hoped would be an inviting smile.

  "When you give a gentleman an invitation, it is not right to run away,” he said, his tone stern.

  "That may be so, Monsieur. I must have come to my senses too late. I apologize for misleading you,” she said in a husky breath, taking a small step back. Her elbow bumped the rail where her glass sat. Beatrice gasped, but refused to turn to look. Inwardly, she cringed when she heard the glass shatter against the stones below. Her heart came to a standstill, her breath held—any moment, they would come through the door to question the noise.

  He ignored the sound. His gaze held hers, defying her words. Her nipples pricked as he stepped closer, shrouding her small world so that he was the only object in her sight. Unable to take another step back, she held her breath.

  "Are you such a maiden that you do not understand what an offer like that does to a man?” His tone rose out of nowhere, yet there was not a hint of aggravation on his calm, relaxed features. The heady scent of sweet wine invaded her, weakening her defenses.

  "I must have lost my senses, Monsieur,” Beatrice said.

  He leaned forward. His head paused at her neck, his warm breath tingling the delicate flesh, melting her shyness. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes instinctively fluttered closed. Her knees faltered. She forced the joints to lock in place. Inhaling deeply, she attempted to ignore the goosebumps that prickled her heated flesh. Every ounce of strength she possessed went into keeping her weak body steady.

  "That is not fear I smell on you, Mademoiselle.” He raised her hair from her neck, the cool air caressing her heated skin like a breath.

  "I just thought that...” She paused, not sure she wanted to share her desires with him. Her insides already ached, and her stomach quivered. Now, so close to getting what she wanted, uneasiness bubbled to the surface.

  "Yes?” he pressed with a long, deep drawl.

  She cleared her throat and swallowed hard. “I have heard you are adventurous in, the, uh, boudoir."

  Donatein chuckled again, and the tip of his tongue grazed her neck. “I love your virginity."

  She gasped and ducked to move away from him, but like an animal on the hunt, he followed her, those deep, hungry eyes never
leaving hers. Beatrice tried to quell the rush of blood to her head; her hands snaked out and met with a pillar behind her.

  Like a starved wolf, he was upon her again, his hands on either side of her head, his lean body pressed seductively against hers. “I am quite adventurous in the boudoir, Mademoiselle.” She trembled when his gaze traveled over the length of flesh not pressed against him. She struggled for breaths against the tight bodice of her gown. When she saw his eyes lower, she arched her back, suddenly relieved he found her attractive, her body appealing. She smiled inwardly, knowing her fears were soothed. This man wanted her as much as she wanted him. This was a game, and she needed to play the part well.

  "Please—what if someone sees us?"

  A wicked grin splayed across his delectable lips just before he threw back his head and laughed. Beatrice's eyes widened at the manic behavior before her. His head came down just as abruptly, all sign of humor gone now.

  "Does it truly matter? Exhibitionism would have to be one of my favorites.” His eyes holding none of the humor from seconds before, he leaned forward to brush his soft lips across hers. “You came to me looking for adventure."

  His tongue flicked out to taste her lips. With his body pressed so hard against hers, she was trapped, unable to free herself. Her mind argued what her body already knew. But you really do not want to free yourself, do you? This was what you wanted, begged for. Even kept yourself up late at night pleasuring yourself with these notions. Her cheeks flushed at her thoughts.

  "Adventure, yes. Forced to marry or take the switch because I have been caught in a compromising position, no,” she answered sarcastically. His lips still so close to hers, she could easily smell the wine and cheese from the festivities. Only a door separated their secret liaison from the guests, particularly her mother and fiancé. Even the smallest whimper could give her away. Knowing this seemed to only heighten her senses, made her body burn for more.

  Donatein's fingers tugged at her bodice until her breasts fell free of their confines. In fright and excitement, she gasped, but did not reach to cover herself, reveling in the fear and shame.