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Y/N- Your Name
Y/N/N- Your Nick Name
Y/H/C- Your Hair Color
Y/E/C- Your Eye Color
Y/B/F- Your Best Friend
A/N- Happy reading! Make sure to leave comments and vote!
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The East tower. A fanciful structure the kind architecture that you would want to get lost in. The kind with a canted end and Gothic buttresses and corner turrets. She was located in the far north-east corner right below the darkened stained glass mural. A siren at that.
Below it she was bathing in a claw foot tub, the water so hot, you could cook a vegetable in it. The steam created a hallow around her.
The room sat in a state of elegant disarray. Worn leather armchairs, ancient oil lamps, a letter sorting table sat in her personal study the only letter on its surface was her latest kill order.
Medieval corbels sat upon the walls, and gargoyles say upon them.
The only sound present is the crackling of an army of candles, and the soft sound of her humming. She held a book in her right hand, while the other just floated on the water. Her hair was tied loosely in a bun. Little strands of hair framed her jaw.
The hairs on her arms stood up at attention from the burning of eyes on her back. She slowly and calmly distributed the bubbles in the water to cover the whole of her body.
"Watching me as I bathe now, are we?" Her firm yet glamorous accebt bounced off of the cold stone walls. The steam from the bath created such a halo around her she resembled and angel that was up to the most mysterious and dangerous acts.
An antique golden-framed table held her dagger, a bar of soup on a China stand, matches and a letter.
He had yet to respond so she did if for him, "Did you come to finish what you had started? Or simple to ask me what it is I'm reading?" The question hung in the air once again. "I see, your playing a game with me, fine. I'll play."
Her hand had disappeared under the soapy surface of the water, a gesture that did not go un-noticed by the intruder.
"Are you familiar with The Ecstacy of St. Teresa? By Bernini. He carved unto stone a woman both at the height of pleasure and life. Her last breath, quite literally la petite mort. Or what about The Sleepers, by Gustave Courbet? Do you have a recollection of said painting?" Her voice was calm and collected, she often paused between sentences tourchering him with the silk song that excited her jaws.
"Yet another man portraying what ecstacy must look like when two women lay together, how agile and perfect they look, framed perfectly for the onlooker, as if they were at the mercy of the perspective of a man." He stepped closer to woman he so desired. The bubbles had begun to sink back into the steaming liquid she sat in, giving him and ever-so slight picture of her breasts. "Klimt studied female masterbation for years before painting Danaë and even then he portrayed her locked away figure at the height of orgasm, being entered by zeus." He hand had found its way toward her stomach. His eye line met the water, the bubbles layed just at a point that made him want more.
"You assume I needed you for my own pleasure at the ball, how nieve of you." She groaned as her pointer finger fingers found her clit. The bath water that could only be described as silky, Coated her delicate skin, leaving behind a shine. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her doe like skin. To feel his fingertips against her curvy features. But he stayed silent and hidden in the shadows, allowing her to talk to him. "Or us that what you came for?" She put emphasis on the third word, reiterating her previous sentence.
"To here my little moans and groans and the movement if the water as touch myself." If he wasn't so infatuated with her and confident in himself, he would have blushed.
"What do you think I came for. For I very well know it is a danger for me to step foot in your castle, let alone bed chambers. But I have very little fear for my well being." She stopped her movements at the sound of his voice.
"Talking now, are we?" She back handed.
"I thought it only fair, your giving me quite a show, after all." His deep British accent echoed off of the stone walls.
"I think you should leave,"
"I have to disagree with you." He countered.
"This game we play is starting to get old, is it not?"
"What game?"
"The- I'm supposed to kill you, but that is what makes our encounters hot- game."
"I don't know I was rather enjoying the game, as you put it."
"I'm tired, I'm going to retreat to my bed chambers, if you don't mind." Her hands gripped the edges of the tub, before she pushed herself to stand. Not bothering to conceal herself from then behind her,
"Mind if I follow you there?" He questioned.
"Actually I would." She answered. She continued to walk toward her bed whilst drying her skin with a towel.
"I don't believe you do." He grabbed her waist spinning her to look at him. He yanked the towel from her hand throwing it behind his figure. He kissed her with a harsh and needy manor. It was a kiss that one reads about in novels, it was similar to the calligraphy laid down by Jane austen.
Words that were never meant to be spoken were poured into this singular kiss. As he pulled away her bottom lip was caught by his teeth. He looked down at her through heavy eyelashes while her eyes were wide and wanting.
Her hands left her sides and pushed open the buttons of his tails. His tie hit the floor as quickly as he had pushed her onto her bed.
The black and blue feathered comforter was rough on her skin, the bed had a mesh canopy that hung from all four bed posts. He had quickly stripped away his button down revealing his bare chest and a perfectly formed v running down into his trousers. She moved to kneel on the edge of the bed, pulling him toward her by his belt buckle. She slowly stripped him of his belt first, then he kicked off his shoes. She then allowed herself to yank down his dress pants and trousers.
His member sprung free. He pushed her onto her back and pinned her to the bed.
"Do you see what you do to me?" He growled, his hair fell out of its neatly brushed hair do.
"Hmm, show me." She ordered through a whine.
He gripped her thighs spreading them apart roughly. He quickly entered her which caused her back to arch, she pressed her stomach against his abs.
Her left arm gripped at the silk that enveloped her bare skin. While her other hand tangled into his hair. Something she always seemed to be fascinated by. She loved the noises he made when she would tug at his golden blonde locks.
Her tired muscles clenched and cramped in an oddly pleasurable way. He thrusted into her with an agonizingly slow pace, making her feel every inch of the pleasure he aloted for her.
Before she could cum, he swiftly grabbed her by her waist flinging her ontop of him. He slammed her back down on to himself, a lengthy groan could be heard from the female. Their moans and groans bounced off of the cool stone walls, creating a piercing echo.
Sweat formed on his brow while he pounded relentlessly into the girls petite frame.
She rocked her hips slowly, using the speet to torture her partner, but it only brought her closer to her release.
She bent down, holding her long hair behind her ear with one hand, and kissed him while continuing the ever so agonizingly slow pace. He but down on her lip, rather hardly, and that sent the young duchess into a fit-full orgasm., with him not far behind. After her shirt recovery period she crawled off of him, beginning to search for her robe.
"Leaving so soon?" He pondered, he still hadn't moved a muscle.
"No." She paused. "But you are."
"But my dear," he attempted to interject.
"Cut the flattery. You know very well that in less than an hours time my staff will awake. So please, make your exit swiftly." She always spoke with an air about her that made her apear so cold and distant. He did as she said, he gathered his clothes, slipping them on slowly, as he was awaiting a change of heart.
"You mustn't run from this forever." He said with his hand on the door handle.
"Im an assassin heiress with extremely rich dead parents. I can do whatever I please." And with that the man was gone. He slipped out just before her butler had the chance to patrol the Gallerie, what luck they thought in unison. But lyck was something they no longer had an abundance of, because that next morning, Thomas would find a letter upon a silver tray. It being from none-other-than Mrs. Mayble Crawley, the mother of Anna crawley, with an invite for tea.
How could he say no to such a eligible young Bachelorette? That's right. He just wasn't enclined to say no.