Or Else Let Her Be Mine And Mine Alone

Bourgogne

He carefully put the bottle on a small table. 'This is Bourgogne. One of the best things to drink in the world.' He came closer, putting his hands at both of her sides. 'Do you know what it is for, my sweet?'

'No,' she said, eyes stuck to the floor.

'It is supposed to make a woman feel pleasured while making love.' He took advantage of her averted gaze to behold her youthful face. Then he noticed a delightful gaffe- a bit of sugar was remaining on her lips. He leaned down to correct it, taking hold of her waist as he took delight in those soft, sweet lips of hers.

'I think we should send someone to bring the cups first,' she said right after he stopped.

He stared blankly. She wanted him to bring the cups. She wanted to drink the wine. His heart bounced and commended the part of him that had come up with the idea to restrain himself that day and tell her the wretched tale of Maximilian.

'And can you send for some olive oil too?'

'For what?'

Her cheeks turned the color of Bourgogne. 'For...what we are about to do.'

He was stoked.

--

He locked the door and poured the wine. Despite having a somewhat full appetite, Esmeralda had to appreciate the drink. It was fruity and delicate, tasting of cherry and vanilla.

'Isn't it nice?'

She nodded. 'It is.' He kept his cup on the counter and rested his arms on his chair. 'Undress.'

She looked hesitantly. 'Claude, don't you think that if we continue like this, I might get impregnated?'

His forehead wrinkled; he had indeed not thought about that.

'We can...arrange a midwife. That is something I will see to. You need not worry. Now, undress yourself. Or I will,' he added for good measure.

'But wouldn't that be a sin?'

'Esmeralda,' he warned. 'It doesn't take much time to bring a whip from the dungeons.'

She sighed and removed her over gown. He watched keenly as she fumbled with the lacing around her wrists. Such loiter was not going to be tolerated. He moved close to her and did the deed himself, unlacing the garment.

The gown fell on the floor, revealing her in her underdress. A drunkenness caused by far more than the wine took over him. Now he understood how Odysseus must have felt in front of Circe. God was cruel, and it was shameful of him to be so helpless in front of her beauty. But did he care?

She herself took off the chemise. The following sight made him inhale deeply. Eyes lingering, his hands reached out for the half-dunk wine cup, tilting it slightly. The red drink trickled down her beautiful, bare skin.

'Oh, Esmeralda...' he sank to his knees. She probably winced, but it didn't matter. He pressed his cheek against her leg. 'Nunc scio quid sit Amor.'

'Is that Greek too?' she frowned.

'No, it is Latin. From Virgil: "now I know what love is".'

Her fingers reluctantly brushed the back of his neck. A shiver passed through his body. He lifted his face up to look at her in disbelief.

'Moan for me,' he rasped.

'Oh Claude!' she cried, shutting her eyes.

It was overpowering. His tongue touched the inside of her thighs. It felt sinful. He cared no more.

--

She kept the small bowl of olive oil on the nightstand. What she had done was wrong, that she knew. The man that she had imagined of being intimate with would belong to someone else tomorrow. Just the notion that thoughts of the kind were agreeable to her body was wrong.

For all that, at least it hadn't been painful.

Frollo slipped in beside her, gratified. She studied him as he took off his rings with care, as if to show respect. He saw her doing it. 'Do you like them?'

'Why do you wear so many?'

He smiled to himself, as if talking to a child. 'You see, this one has Christian engravings,' he shifted nearer to show off his hand. 'This one has a diamond to protect me from the plague, this is my signet of course, and this bears a sapphire to protect me from witchcraft.'

'A priest suggested me to wear an emerald as well, but there's no need for it. I have it in front of me.'

Without warning, he turned and rested his head in her lap. Taking some of her raven hair, he ran his fingers through it. Once upon a time he used to pray to the devil for such a mundane act.

'My siren. You are so beautiful. I want you to...I...,' he shut his eyes and appreciated her smooth locks in his calloused hand. 'I want you to keep your hair just for me.'

'You mean wearing a veil?'

'I? Yes,' he opened his eyelids and saw her look away from him. 'I do.'

'But it's so hot.'

'It will protect your head from the Sun.'

She fidgeted. 'Well, I'm inside most times.'

'If you are accompanying me to the captain's wedding dinner, you shall cover your hair,' he rationalized. 'It is the sign of a moral woman, and I want to present you as someone moral. You must behave like a dutiful Christian in front of the aristocrats.'

She huffed. 'What is the need for you to take me anyway? I'm not your wife. You can just go yourself.'

He smiled, clasping her hand in his. 'Watching you see your captain is sweeter.'

She did not answer, but he knew that she knew. Her "savior" had abandoned her and gone to marry a snob, while she was in his power, incapable of doing anything. She had enjoyed their bout today, and soon she would enjoy him as well. The banquet was going to be wondrous.