Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Winged Dove
T he night had grown cold and no matter how heavy the sheets were, Scarlett found herself curled up for warmth. When she awoke, she thought it was morning before realizing the candlelight that bathed her chambers in a sheen of orange too dim to be the sun. And when she moved, the cold mattress made her wince and pull back.
It was ritualistic, it seemed. Every hour, the wax melted a little more and the frigid breeze eased through her suite. But it was only when she finally found a bit of peace that it had been disrupted again. It came like a shadow falling over the partition of her four-poster bed with long, beautiful fingers carefully threading them to one side.
Scarlett sat upright with a gasp, the sheets falling off her like rivulets of water.
Years of paranoia painted her grief with panic. Now, she was staring at the partition, at the way it moved of its own volition. There was no wind, for the doors and the windows were closed. And there was no one else in her room. At least that she could see.
She looked from one painted corner to the other, shadows moving and melding to their own accord.
It was only when she pulled her knees into her chest that it struck.
A set of hands wrenched her by the ankles. Just the shock of it had stilled Scarlett’s scream, that is until she was on her back with Josephine hovering over her.
“Not even a sound?” the Second Heir asked with a tilt of the head. “You really are full of surprises, Little Dove.”
“As if I would’ve given you all that power.” In place of her ire, Scarlett found herself trembling under the woman’s form, her voice muted by desire.
Josephine smiled, tongue trailing over the tips of her sharp teeth. “But you’ll give me something, won’t you?”
With every ounce of strength, Scarlett pushed herself up. It wasn’t enough to overpower Josephine, but she had yielded, allowing the Darling to ease her back against the plush mattress, the cold sheets warming with each passing second. Straddling her hips, Scarlett carefully set a hand against Josephine’s neck. Unsure at first and then, squeezing just there at the base. “I’m sick of men coming to take what they’re due.”
The black of Josephine’s hair haloed out behind her. “You think me as terrible as them?”
“No,” Scarlett whispered, her fingers easing down the trail of Josephine’s unbuttoned dress shirt, feeling the soft of her brown flesh down to the naval. “If you were, you would’ve already taken more than just my dignity.”
The muscles in Josephine’s core tightened as she sat up. With ease, she slung her arm around Scarlett’s waist and turned, pressing her into the sheets around them. It was almost terrifying when the Second Heir took Scarlett’s hand and brought it to her lips, kissing along her fingers with adoration. “I will take only what you ask me to.”
Heat blossomed across Scarlett’s cheeks. “My lips then?”
Josephine peered into those blue eyes for only a moment before leaning forward, close enough that their noses brushed, and kissed her. It was soft with a touch of yearning, deepened only when Scarlett wrapped her arms around Josephine’s neck, felt the tension there in her shoulders when hands went guiding along the valleys of her back.
Lust flared to life in the cover of darkness. Scarlett had done this a thousand times with men who bathed her in gold jewels and promised her riches. But this? This was passion.
It was passion in the way Josephine had taken Scarlett’s face in her hands. Those long, jeweled fingers eased down the soft canvas of the Darling’s flesh. But it was also passion in the way Scarlett wrapped her legs around Josephine’s waist, drunk off the touch of whiskey on her tongue. It was the only reason she gripped her shirt and tore it off her shoulders.
“I’m not surprised by much, Little Dove,” Josephine said, “but I’m yet to figure you out.”
Scarlett sat up, arms slung low around her form. “Oh, but I’m not yours to figure out.”
“You’re not?” Josephine asked, feeling the woman’s tongue trail between her breasts. “You have the Silver Tyrant in your bed.”
“She came here of her own volition,” Scarlett whispered, peppering kisses along the Heir’s collarbone.
Josephine grasped Scarlett by the back of her hair. She wound those long, thick tresses around her hand, using it as a leash to hold her at bay. The Darling let out a breathy sigh, melting at the center. “Perhaps I did, seeing what I could claim should you let me.”
Scarlett took Josephine’s free hand and set it against her chest. The full of her breasts swelled under that soft nightgown, and while she spread her thighs only slightly, Josephine looked at her—curiously intrigued. “You can claim whatever else I give you. But this is my bed,” the Darling murmured, “and you’re my guest.”
Twice now, Josephine smiled. And how beautifully she obeyed.
With the fluidity and grace Scarlett could only dream of, Josephine’s lips trailed along Scarlett’s hand, down her wrist, tightening only when she pinned her to the sheets. A breathy exhalation lingered, a brief moment of doubt—something no Singh would ever allow to be seen. No one but her.
That molded into something else as she trailed her lips down Scarlett’s long neck. Josephine’s hand took hold of that pesky nightgown and pulled the fabric down over her chest.
Scarlett squirmed impatiently, for the Second Heir had taken her time pressing kisses to her chest, her thumb stroking over the hardened bud of her nipples. Just the softest lap of her tongue, the way her sharp teeth brushed her flesh, had Scarlett arching her back with a moan.
Just like that… she thought.
Josephine pulled her hand between Scarlett’s legs. “Like what? Like this?” She slipped her fingers under Scarlett’s panties with seamless ease. Practiced, confident—like she’d done it a thousand times.
Scarlett tried closing her thighs. “Careful.”
”Oh, I’m always careful, Little Dove.” Josephine ripped the lace with a mere shift of her fingers. Scarlett gasped at the feel of cold air against her wet pussy. And then when Josephine dragged open mouthed kisses down her body, lapping at the softness between her legs.
Scarlett let out a startled moan, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle her pleasure. “Don’t hide,” Josephine carefully guided Scarlett’s hand from her mouth and situated it between her legs. Two fingers pressed against her clit, and it took the Darling some time–through a spark of lust that made her vision hazy–to understand that they were her own. “I have a feeling you haven’t been taken care of before,” Josephine whispered, her hand over Scarlett’s. “Let’s change that.”
Scarlett propped herself up on her elbow, her legs parting inches wider, a wordless invitation. No matter how much she wanted to quip back, Josephine’s beauty and confidence left her stunned into silence. She seemed to be embraced by the shadows and the flickering orange light from the nearby sconces, the same ones that bent to her will.
At least like this, she could watch the way Josephine’s soft lips pressed along the inside of her thighs. Made her wait until her tongue found its way back to the heat emanating between her legs. No matter how much Scarlett wanted to anticipate the touch, she couldn’t. Not when she was touching herself, fingers moving in a slow, calculating manner.
Josephine parted only slightly, her warm breath still hot on Scarlett’s center. Two long fingers sheathed her, drawing a strangled cry from Scarlett’s mouth. A third had her top teeth burrowing into her bottom lip, struggling to keep composure. But every little nerve in her body screamed on alert. From the way she stroked herself to Josephine’s rhythmic pulse–a slow, agonizing pump of the fingers–to her tongue lapping the warmth seeping from her cunt.
Scarlett drove her hips down against Josephine’s mouth and her fingers. It earned a soft bout of laughter that made their sinful dance nothing short of innocent. The Heir pulled back, licking her lips as she did. She pressed her hand into the plush sheets beside Scarlett, trapping her with that brilliant, hovering presence.
Scarlett couldn’t look away even if she wanted. She was entranced by the Second Heir’s mysterious aura, that too with the feeling of Josephine’s pace quickening. “How are you where I needed you most?” Scarlett whispered, her lashes fluttering.
Josephine’s brow quirked. “Do you mean figuratively or literally?” She spread her fingers, prompting Scarlett to tilt her head back until the touch of the sheets caressed her.
She turned away, a wave of blush touching the hollows of her cheeks, dropping across her chest, spreading through her core. “You know what I mean.”
“Perhaps. I’m just shocked you’ve strained against that little collar my brother donned on you. What did he say? That they were jewels bathed in the ancient waters of our people?”
“Blessed by monks,” Scarlett sighed in bliss. “For seven–”
“–days and seven nights, guarded in a temple on the top of a mountain path where the desert met snow and the spirits came to bless an offering meant for the bosom of a good, dutiful girl.” While there was no humor in Josephine’s words, it had blossomed against her features in mockery and a tinge of anger. “A girl that forsook her freedom for love, not knowing she could have both.”
“You made that up,” Scarlett accused, her eyes flashing. With daring boldness a Darling could never have, she moved her hand to clutch Josephine by the hair, yanking her up from between her so their frames were close. “You lie through your teeth.”
“That would be my brother, Little Dove,” Josephine said, hands roving down the sides of Scarlett’s nearly naked body, her gown immodest. With fingers stopping at her hips, she added, “But if you want to make me your villain for a night, I don’t mind.” Scarlett’s grip tightened around her hair, cutting off Josephine’s words with a strangled grunt. She rolled them until she was straddling her again. “So long as you finish–”
Scarlett rolled her hips, and that small, simple gesture had thrown Josephine’s head against the mattress, a growl of pleasure rumbling in her throat.
Her right hand moved from Scarlett’s hip and eased under her gown for only a moment before the Darling pushed it away. “You said you wanted me taken care of.”
“I did,” Josephine leveled.
“Then let me use you the way I intended.”
Scarlett’s assertiveness drew a breathy chuckle from the Second Heir’s mouth. It was a riveting feeling, being on top, pinning Josephine against her bed knowing she could’ve easily taken the upper hand as all men had.
But Josephine Singh wasn’t a man. With her hips steadily rolling out her pleasure, fucking her without doing so, Scarlett didn’t even think she was a woman. Maybe a dead god, what with that inquisitive way she looked at her through half-lidded eyes, the flare of her lashes, the muffled moans on her tongue.
Scarlett’s hand left Josephine’s neck, quickly burrowing under her gown and rubbing hard against her clit. She tilted her head back, nearly losing herself if not for Josephine’s hands on her hips, rooting them together with an unbroken vice.
The Second Heir met her thrust for thrust, their clothes askew, their hair disheveled, until the very moment Scarlett cried out her orgasm with a knotted brow.
Her body shook against Josephine’s, carefully riding out the tension before the candlelight flickered and she remembered where she was. In the Willow Estate with flares of magic dancing along the fingertips of her lover. Atop the Second Heir who looked at her as if she’d never seen another woman. Leaning down to catch Josephine’s mouth with hers, soft as if to give thanks.
“You’re a beautiful thing, Little Dove,” she whispered. “I wonder what you’ll be like when you wake up.”
It was almost immediate. That earth-shattering revelation that pulled Scarlett up with a gasp, hand pressed to her chest, feeling the flutter of her heart. She was still situated in the Willow Estate. Her suite hadn’t changed, for there were still sconces burning along the wall. The side tables were shrouded by her transparent veil, but Scarlett could make out the book she’d pulled from the shelf before bed, Pride and Prejudice , hanging off the edge.
The sheets were warm, and so was she. That is until she pulled them back and realized she was practically soaked by her own desires, one roused by terrible dreams of Josephine Singh.
One where she wanted her more than she wanted anything else.