RemissionChapter Seven
“Ma’amselle, are you ready?” Marie looked at Ramadevi worriedly. She had been reading and re-reading the same short note for the past quarter-hour and Angelus was waiting for her to join him in the breakfast room. Angelus was not known for his patience. Ramadevi cast her a quick glance and Marie shrank back. “I don’t mean to be insolent, Ma’amselle.”
Ramadevi smiled. “I don’t think you’re insolent, Marie,” she declared in her sweet contralto. Rising from her vanity bench, she carelessly tossed the pale blue note card casually on her dressing table. “I could read that all day and still not really understand it.” She laughed softly, her wonderful dark eyes sparkling. “That would be a waste of time!”
Marie smiled. She enjoyed employment as Ramadevi’s maid. The foreign lady was rarely irritable with her lack of formal training. She felt so bad for Ramadevi, though, forced to live in sin with her shameless guardian. Angelus de Lourdes was a frightening man to begin with, Marie thought, along with most of the servants in his employ.
Ugly gossip floated around about Angelus. It was rumored he had killed a young man who wanted to court Ramadevi. Some of the servants claimed he had bribed court officials to obtain wardship of the girl and some even believed he had murdered her mother. Marie shuddered at the thought. Surely he would not go that far, but his intentions towards his ward were not decent. If he wanted to bed Ramadevi, he should at least marry her, Marie thought indignantly, instead of just pleasing himself and ruining Ramadevi’s eligibility to marry someone else.
“Marie, you did a lovely job!” Ramadevi exclaimed cheerfully, pulling the servant out of her thoughts. “I don’t even see the grass stains anymore!” The young girl smiled happily at her mistress’s warm praise and moved forward to help her dress.
Marie nimbly tightened and fastened the laces in Ramadevi’s corset until Ramadevi was a smooth hourglass shape; although she had a fine enough figure without lingerie. She lifted the gown over Ramadevi’s head and buttoned the silk-covered buttons behind her, fastened her sash, then knelt to lace up her dark green velvet slippers.
“You look so beautiful, Ma’amselle,” Marie breathed in awe. “So belle sauvage.”
Ramadevi met the maid’s eyes in her full-length looking-glass and giggled. “You always say that, Marie! You’ve seen me in this dress almost every day for three weeks!” She turned her head from side to side, carefully fingering and arranging the loose curls and tendrils about her face while Marie arranged her long skirt. Ramadevi sighed. “Sometimes I think Gerard will *never* finish painting!”
Marie shrugged and lightly smoothed the psyche knot of tousled curls pinned high at the back of Ramadevi’s head. “Well, if you must wear one gown every day for two weeks, it ought to be one you are perfectly beautiful in,” she replied reasonably.
Ramadevi grinned at her maid and looked at herself carefully in the mirror. The gown was lovely, a snow-white muslin embroidered all over with a pattern of rosettes and leafy vines in white silk thread. The silk gleamed on the muslin, a subtle and elegant change of texture. The high-waisted sash was a narrow dark green velvet ribbon that matched her slippers. With its short puffed sleeves and low neckline, she should have been wearing long , over-the-elbow-length kidskin gloves, but Angelus forbade it. He wanted her bracelets to show in the portrait.
“I own dozens of gowns,” Angelus remarked sardonically. From the corner of her eye Ramadevi saw Marie stiffen and make a nervous little jump. “Therefore, it’s only fair I have a perfectly beautiful woman to put in them.”
Marie bobbed an awkward curtsey and kept her eyes downcast. “Good afternoon, Monsieur,” she murmured.
Ramadevi turned away from her mirror to face Angelus. He stood just inside their room–*his* room, she corrected herself silently. Her heartbeat quickened pleasantly at the sight of him resplendent in a short black wool frock-coat trimmed with brass buttons, dark burgundy waistcoat trimmed with thick black ribbon over his immaculate white shirt and cravat; and dark burgundy slim trousers tucked neatly into black Hessian boots. *He is so beautiful–NO HE IS NOT! He is a monster! He is *Rakshasa!* He is holding me prisoner!*
Angelus gave her a slow smile, a spreading of thin lips that promised a lifetime of patience. *He knows what I’m thinking.* “Are you nearly ready, my dear?” His dark eyes swept over her figure, taking in all of her. Ramadevi felt a tightening in her stomach and licked her lips.
“Marie, please bring me my ear-rings,” she commanded quietly. “I’ll be ready in a moment, Angelus, do you want to go back and wai–”
“You may go,” Angelus dismissed the maid shortly. “I'll help you with your ear-rings, precious.”
Marie muttered a brief affirmation and left hurriedly. Angelus kept his smile in place as the youngster made as wide a path around him as she could. He approached Ramadevi and motioned her to sit back at her vanity.
“Which ear-rings?” he asked, opening a large carved wooden jewelry-chest.
“The pearl ones,” she replied.
“Yes, pearls are right with your dress,” he agreed. “Where did they come from?” He lifted the pearl drops set in gold from the box. “I didn’t give them to you.” A hard note of anger crept into his tone. She’s lived with me for years, and had an English governess, she knows it’s improper to accept jewelry from a man!
“Ligeia and Charles sent them.” She answered him like he should already have known that.
“Ah.” Angelus felt like a fool. Bending over her, he fastened one ear-ring in her pierced lobe. “They’re pretty,” he remarked cooly as he fastened the other one.
“Thank you.”“Pearls do suit you, white suits you.” Angelus drew her gently up from her chair to stand before him. His gaze ran down her admiringly, covetously. The contrast of the white jewels and clothing made her clear skin glow like rich honey covered in cream. Her breasts, plumped up by her corset into smoothly rounded pillows, begged for kisses and petting.
“Is that why you buy so many white clothes for me?” Ramadevi’s large dark eyes looked up at him curiously. Angelus shrugged and didn’t answer. She swallowed and licked her lips.
“You’re a little pale, Egypt,” he said softly. “Come.” He held out a hand to her.
“What–” Ramadevi began as he took her hand and led her to the sitting-area of their–no!–his bedroom. “I thought we had to–”
Angelus sat on the sofa and, before Ramadevi could say anything more, he swept her over his lap. She gave a startled cry.
“Angelus! What are you doing!” She attempted to sit up and he pressed her back, face down. “No!” she gasped when he drew her gown up and gently wadded the fabric on her back. She began to kick ineffectually with her strong legs.
“Shhhh, Egypt! Calm yourself!” Angelus whispered laughingly as he bent close to her. His lips touched her ear. “Our bedroom door is open, people can hear you! Someone might come in if you make a lot of noise.” He placed one large hand flat on her backside. “As I said, you look a little pale. I’m going to put some roses in your cheeks.” He ran his hand lightly in a circular motion over her bottom and Ramadevi shuddered as his touch went through the thin silk of her pantaletts.
Ramadevi struggled to control her breathing as he lightly touched and caressed her bottom. There was something eerily pleasant about it, the soft petting and rubbing, his fingers tracing her roundness and curves. Sometimes his whole hand covered her, gently pressing, squeezing, stroking her. Other times he used just a finger or several fingers to touch her.
Angelus gently slipped his fingers into the waistband of her pantaletts. “Lift your hips,” he ordered quietly.
“No! Angelus, Gerard is waiting for us to–” She wriggled protestingly on his hard-muscled thighs.
His grip on her pantalettes tightened and he tugged.
“Lift your hips, or I’ll rip these off you and spank you harder.”
Biting her lip, she did as he commanded. Angelus unfastened the waist tape and the silk pants slipped off her bottom, down her thighs, swished over her calves and ankles.
Ramadevi was gulping, holding her breath, struggling to breathe normally. She couldn’t stop her body’s repeated bouts of trembling. He had said he was going to spank her. She was held over his lap, naked from the waist down, his fingers softly tracing the cleft between her rear cheeks. She bit her lip against the idea of asking him not to do this to her. It would make no difference–he would still do it–and besides–besides–
Angelus chuckled softly into her hair and whispered teasingly, “You like this, don’t you, Egypt?”
His first slap came down on her right cheek, high, just below the small of her back, as his ward made a soft moan of denial. Gently, he rubbed the spot he had slapped. He slapped her other cheek, in a different spot, and soothingly rubbed her again.
She moaned softly with each slap he gave her, wriggling and squirming on his lap. Angelus smiled as her ass began to blush under his ministrations. He spanked her harder, more often, stroked her less. Ramadevi squirmed, mewled piteously, wriggled charmingly until his cock thickened and lengthened under her body.
But she did not fight his touch, or try to get up.
“My good little girl.” He traced her rear cleft again, gently slipped his fingers into it. He touched the rosy pink opening within the cleft and she made an appealing little squeak. “Shhhhhh! Doesn’t it feel good?” His fingertip eased slowly into the muscular tightness. He did not force his way further but softly stroked and circled the sensitive ring of muscles until she writhed, raised her hips to this new sensation of being opened and touched.
Angelus smiled approvingly when the fragrant moisture from her feminine core made itself known. “There, my darling,” he crooned, slowly withdrawing from her passionate body. He rose to his feet, gently helping her to stand with him, lifting her skirts so they fell back around her neatly. He smiled at her and softly kissed her face. “Yes, I like your color now.” He kissed her mouth, a light brush of his lips. “Roses and sweetness everywhere.”
Ramadevi could only gaze at him silently. His grin was cocky and sure. Did he know her better than she knew herself? Did he know such love-play could give her pleasure? She stared at him as he went to the washbasin and poured some water out of the huge porcelain pitcher to wash his hands. Her bottom tingled and burned slightly–not painful, but deliciously uncomfortable, warm, every nerve ending alive with sensation.
Ramadevi had been taught that men and women could enjoy cruelty in lovemaking but she could not imagine Angelus teaching her to enjoy it. He was confusing her with his inconsistency. He was a monster but he was more than just a monster. And how she felt about him at different times was confusing. She had thought she would hate his hand spanking her defenseless bottom but instead it had felt good, stimulating, intimate. The harder slaps at the end had pressed her body into his and she had felt his hard arousal through the fabric of their clothes. When he had gently rubbed the curve of her bottom after smacking it rather hard, she had felt only sweet pleasure awakening under her skin.
And, just when she felt ready to give herself up to him completely, he stopped.
Shrugging at her own thoughts, Ramadevi bent to pick up her pantaletts.
“Don’t!” he said sharply, without turning his head away from the washstand.
“But–”
“I said don’t put them on!” he snapped. He dried his hands on the towel and tossed it over the small brass rack under the top of the washstand. “I want you naked under your clothes, ready for me.” He crossed the room in a heartbeat and yanked her into his arms. He kissed her mouth with furious urgency until her arms curled over his shoulders and she kissed him back with equal fervor.
He patted her tender bottom, then slipped his arm around her waist.
“Come along,” Angelus chuckled, his dark eyes smiling with uncharacteristic warmth. “Gerard must be fuming by now that the best light to work with is gone for the day.”
She had to laugh then, and Angelus laughed with her.
***
“You’re very serious today, Monsieur,” Ramadevi remarked politely from her position behind Angelus.Gerard did not look at her as he concentrated on carefully blending the dark brown and burgundy paint that would depict Angelus’s hair. Ramadevi raised her eyebrows curiously. Gerard was usually very cheerful.
“Is something wrong, Monsieur?” she asked. “The portrait is going well, is it not?”
“Yes, Mademoiselle,” he answered briefly, unsmiling. “It is coming along beautifully and I should be finished soon.”
“Have you spoken with Madame Charrier?” Ramadevi was puzzled at the artist’s distance towards her. Their relationship had become very friendly over the month and she enjoyed his company. In the last week or so he had been growing quiet, distant almost to the point of rudeness. He no longer sought her out during the day to go out walking, or to take a picnic lunch to the park.
Gerard glanced at Ramadevi. She was looking radiant, glowing, her cheeks flushed and rosy, her large dark eyes sparkling. There was an easy relaxed quality to her as she stood beside her guardian. A lady in a gown like that should look stiff and dignified, far away from the world. Instead, Ramadevi looked more real than anything in the world Gerard had ever seen.
She looks like she just enjoyed passionate lovemaking with the man she loves... Gerard felt his heart breaking. Angelus sat, still and perfect as usual. The artist had never liked painting him much. There was a lack of animation to his features when Angelus was sitting, an emptiness to his expression.
Today, from time to time, Gerard thought he saw a glint of malicious amusement in Angelus’s dark eyes. He worked carefully to convey that flash of spirit into the portrait.
“No, Mademoiselle,” he replied cooly. “When the painting is complete, I am leaving Paris.”
“But Madame was hoping specially to employ you! Her daughter is being presented this year and she wanted a portrait–” Ramadevi broke off her rushed words as Angelus’s large cool hand gently petted her braceleted hands clasped on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry you’re leaving,” Angelus said boredly.
Gerard gave his patron a slight nod and continued to work.
“I don’t understand! Gerard, the Charriers are a well-connected family. It could lead to more commissions for you!”
Gerard glanced again at the pink-cheeked beauty in angelic white. Her concern was very open on her sensitive face. He had told her he hoped this portrait would lead to other opportunities, she knew about his dreams of being remembered for his work.
“I have decided to go home,” he told her calmly. “Paris does not agree with me.”
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“I don’t understand it!” Rama declared. “He has the potential to make a great name for himself, why is he leaving?” She speared a piece of chicken with her fork and raised it to her lips.
Angelus shrugged and sipped his wine. She really has no clue. His lips tilted into a smirk over the goblet.
“Angelus, you must stop him!” she declared impetuously.
Angelus nearly choked on his wine. For a moment he only gazed upon her in baffled silence.
“His gift shouldn’t be wasted! You know he has the potential to be a great artist!” Rama pouted and tossed her napkin alongside her plate.
That’s true enough. Angelus thought. He had hired Gerard because he was talented but still relatively unknown. He did not like the idea of their portrait being painted by a more fashionable artist. Why go through all the trouble of having an original work done by someone who has done original work for everybody else in town? Somehow that took away from the originality. In a way, Gerard’s idea of leaving was the best thing that could have happened.
“I had no idea you were aware of my eye for fine things, Egypt,” he answered her.
“Of course I’ve noticed!”
He almost laughed at her gentle indignation. “Tell me about what you’ve noticed,” he said in a silky voice.
“Everything you choose is–selective,” she replied. “Your wardrobe, furnishings, your library. The art you’ve already bought. It isn’t always the most costly but it is always attentive to details. To quality,” she added awkwardly.
“Yes, Egypt.” It was true enough, he didn’t like to pay for fashion, he preferred to invest in quality. Some of the decor in his house was too old to be in fashion, yet it was still elegant and in good taste. When he brought new art or objects in, he chose carefully to create a pleasing balance. His home was timeless, a reflection of his own life perhaps.
It was nice to know Ramadevi noticed something like this about him.
“Talk to him, Angelus! Artists are moody creatures, maybe he doesn’t believe in his potential.”
“I’ll think about it, Egypt, but he is a man. He can make up his own mind.” He drained the last trace of wine from his goblet, set it gently on the table.
Rama nearly gasped in frustration. How could Angelus be so obtuse as to ignore Gerard’s decision? Did he not understand the young man was essentially giving up his career? She watched him drink his wine, his long elegant fingers gracefully curling over the cut-crystal goblet, his throat working softly as he swallowed. The goblet made a soft chink as its base struck the polished cherrywood surface of the dining table when Angelus put it down.
“Paris can change a man, Egypt.” Angelus rose from his place at the head of the table. “Perhaps he’s discovered things–seen things–that trouble his provincial sensibilities,” he told her cryptically. “There are things more important than making a name for oneself.”
He rested the full weight of his gaze upon her. Ramadevi met his eyes evenly as Angelus glided towards her. The flickering candlelight shadows danced around them both, lending a softness to their elegant surroundings. He offered his hand, a gentleman’s courtly gesture, to aid her in rising from her chair. When she stood he did not release her, merely studied her face curiously. She looked back at him blankly, wondering what his dark eyes searched for in hers.
Her hand tightened on his when he bent his head to kiss her cheek. “Take a nap while I am out,” he ordered softly. “I want you well rested when I come back. I hate listening to sleepy people read.”
****
Angelus strode through Le Maintenon Boulevard. He wasn’t hungry for the pretty, sweet-spoken, and obliging whores in a fashionable Parisian brothel tonight. Thirst was upon him in force. He was certain to find trouble in the filthy slums of Paris, he wanted to find it, embrace it, torture and kill it. He wanted to find the worst kind of trouble that would help him forget the softness of Ramadevi’s flesh, the silky texture of her jetty ringlets, the delicious thudding of her heartbeat. The crack of his palm and fingers on her smooth firm ass blending with her soft moans as he petted her. The pleasant aroma of her wetness and the wonderful pressure on his cock as her body squirmed on his lap.
He could forget that he couldn’t bring himself to force her thighs apart and rip her body open with his own. He could forget that he didn’t want to. He could be what he was, a dangerous, evil, ruthless monster.
Angelus, I want you...
Yes! That was what he wanted to hear her say! Low and needy with that soft trace of shame–No, I don’t want her shame! I want her to want it the way I want it!
What kind of demon had he become, waiting on a lady’s pleasure? So what if her willingly yielded blood was a thousand times sweeter than what he had forced her to give him in the past? It was all his, she was all his. She belonged to him, it was his right to take what he wanted. The Devil take her! He would go home and make her–
“It’s a fine evening, M’sieu.”
The young woman had a clear soft voice that rankled Angelus’s already irate nerves because it wasn’t Ramadevi’s warm contralto. She was slim and slight from hunger and tuberculosis, her unhealthy pallor only accented by a heavy application of rouge on her thin cheeks. Her greasy, stringy hair was probably ash-blond when it was clean and her eyes were crystal blue. She smelled of body odor–her own and other men–masked with cheap cologne water. She wore only a tattered thin white evening gown that might have been fine a decade ago and it was plain she wore nothing under it in the chilly autumn evening.
“I have a room, M’sieu, it’s nearby.” She flashed a brittle smile at his supposed interest. Angelus caught the faintest whiff of cheap wine and consumptive blood on her breath.
She was nothing like his Lion. He kept Ramadevi well-fed and beautifully dressed. He kept her separate from as many humans as possible to help avoid disease (NO! I keep her away from them because she is MINE! I don’t want her life taken up with a bunch of stupid humans!) Angelus felt a wave of revulsion. This girl was Ramadevi’s age yet she looked ten years older and would likely die in a few months. Were there no humans to guard her and keep her safe, to keep her from offering herself to strangers, to monsters? To him? Humanity disgusted him with its hypocrisy.
He was hungry enough. He might as well devour her before the consumption did. He grasped her cold little hand.
“We needn’t wait for your room, cherie.”
The streetwalker gave only the briefest cry as Angelus’s arm encircled her waist in a grip of frozen iron, lifting her slightly. He rushed her through a cobblestone alley between two buildings towards the back of a string of small closed shops. She did not complain when he thrust her against the rough brick wall separating the shops from the residences beyond the boulevard. He was not the first man who preferred to use her quickly in an alley, nor even the first gentleman. But it was a disappointment. If he had come to her room she could have charged him more, and there would be water for her to wash with before she sought another customer.
She tried to relax as he casually ran one hand over her flat chest. Her nipples were stiff and erect from the chilly air. She glanced up at him and stifled a gasp. The gentleman was sinfully handsome. Fine skin, shiny hair, eyes the color of rich dark cocoa. But there was a coldness to those dark eyes, a latent cruelty in his hard mouth. He was a large man, meaty and broad-shouldered. She hoped he wouldn’t hurt her.
Angelus was disappointed in her lack of curves. Her body was childishly undeveloped and he could feel her ribs through the thin fabric of her gown. He grasped a handful of the streetwalker’s skirt and began urging it up. Her legs at least were slim and pretty. She shivered as the cloudy pale moonlight revealed her milky thighs.
She smelled terrible! Angelus nearly gagged on the stench of unwashed flesh and the whore’s fluids mixed with the seed of other men on her dark blond pubic hair and her inner thighs. Her gown was also stained with it. He had grown used to his Rama, always freshly bathed and groomed, her long legs waxed to a satin smooth finish, her abundant hair perfumed with a rosewater rinse. That silly maid of hers even freshened her dresses with rosewater.
By everything holy and unholy why was he in this filthy alley with this diseased girl? Everything he wanted was at home.
“M’sieu?” The girl made an effort to caress him through his trousers. He was completely limp and soft which surprised her, for he had seemed so eager. She rubbed him encouragingly, began working the button fly of his trousers. She turned her face up to him, intending to say something wicked and obscene, to help excite him.
She stared at the hideous distortion of the handsome gentleman’s facial features. Hard bony ridges accented his pronounced brow and his eyes glowed like golden flames. His nose looked deformed and abnormally wrinkled. And his teeth–
The prostitute started to scream but his huge hand sealed over her lips and harsh pointed talons tore her cheek. Tears spilled down her face and mixed into the blood from the scratches.
“Yes!” Angelus hissed in harsh amusement. Blood and tears, fear and suffering. That was his true food, that was the reason to exist in this world! He grinned maliciously as the frightened filthy young girl thrashed and struggled against his casual hold. His other arm surrounded her scrawny hips and pulled her body roughly against his.
“Now, now, cherie,” Angelus chastised her softly, his harsh tone rife with mock concern. “I don’t want much more from you than any man wants. Just a little more of your time, a little more of your life.” His hand on her mouth forced her head to one side, baring her grimy neck. She whined, struggling helplessly.
His fangs tore into her and Angelus closed his eyes for a moment at the familiar joy of slaughter. The prostitute shrieked against his palm, a bit of breath and moisture on his skin. Her heart pounded wildly and she kicked out, punched him as he drew hard, painfully, at her torn throat.
Angelus gulped down the sick-sweet fluid of the girl’s blood. He swallowed and gulped again. The fists striking his chest and arms grew weaker.
Please, Angelus! I need you so much!
The cloudy moonlight darkened further and Angelus tore himself away from the girl with a growl. She crumpled down like a wilting flower in the mud and began to cry, her body curling into a fetal position. She wrapped her arms around her knees, snuggling herself on the cold dark ground as the sky erupted into a steady downpour. In mere seconds her hair and her dress were saturated.
Angelus glared at the weeping prostitute, his demonic features retreating back into his human face. He glanced around the alley way. In the inky shadows of the buildings beyond him something stirred.
The clouds dawdled in the dusky sky, sending shadows playing over the world’s textures. Mossy brick, moldy splintering wood and debris. Broken glass and garbage. Two eyes, dark gold, large and round, stared at him intently, unblinkingly, from a feline head with a thick-boned squarish muzzle and black curling whiskers. The big cat’s body was fearfully and wonderfully made: the heavy bones and massive rippling muscles were covered in thick plush fur of dark gold shaded with black tipping. Huge paws. Fierce claws. Its fangs were at least six inches long.
Please Angelus! I need you so much!
Angelus swallowed and marveled at the creature’s fierce predatory beauty. My Lion? he wondered. So damn beautiful!
The lingering clouds moved forward and uncovered the moon.
The far alley was deserted, completely empty.
Angelus turned his attention back to the quietly weeping prostitute a few feet away. He had not drank enough to kill her, yet he was no longer hungry. It occurred to him that he ought to kill her for pure amusement’s sake if not for food, but he felt vaguely repelled by the thought of touching her again. Her blood was food, it had none of the spicy richness of Ramadevi.
Hot rage surged in his gut. The old dreams and visions he had shared with Ramadevi among her worshipers... Were they all true? Were those primitive Egyptian farmers right about her? Was she a goddess? She was more than merely human, that he had already known, but her power, her strength...Was it greater than his?
Quietly, purposefully, Angelus walked towards the streetwalker. She whimpered and inched as far into the brick wall as she could get. Her breathing was labored and liquid with her illness. She cowered down, too frightened to cry out or plead with him, averting her eyes.
Dry thick warmth shrouded her as the demon draped his heavy woolen coat over her thin shivering form. His footsteps moved rapidly away from her, the soles of his fine Hessian boots tapping on the cobblestone alley, then fading away in the streets. The streetwalker climbed wearily to her feet and huddled into the warm comfort of the coat. It hung on her awkwardly, weighted on one side in the front. She fished in the heavier pocket and found his purse heavy with coin.
Wheezing softly, she shuffled away through the wet streets towards her drafty little garret room in the boulevard.
****
“More hot water?”“Yes, please.”
Marie emptied the large bucket of steaming water into the deep porcelain tub and Ramadevi sighed as the pleasant warmth seeped into her lukewarm bath. Marie frowned disapprovingly. Everyone in the civilized world knew that bathing was risky to one’s health. Especially in the cooler months. Ramadevi bathed daily no matter what. Although Marie had yet to see Ramadevi show signs of even minor illness, the simple country girl expected it daily.
Alain had told Marie that Ramadevi had only been ill once, a nearly fatal anemic fever right after her mother’s death and Angelus brought her to live in his house. The creepy old steward warned her that Angelus had actually dismissed past staff for complaining about bathing his young ward.
Marie gathered a painted porcelain bowl containing sweet-scented soap and a large sea sponge. “Shall I wash your back?” she asked.
Ramadevi trailed her fingers in the warm water and sighed contentedly. “No, thank you Marie.” She sighed again. “I’d just like to rest for a while.”
“Ma’amselle! The last time you ‘rested a while’ you fell asleep and nearly drowned.” Marie rolled a large velvet towel into a plush cushion for Ramadevi to rest her head on.
“I just took a nap, Marie!” she giggled.
“Not a good one. You had nightmares!” The maid placed the rolled towel behind her mistress’s neck and held it until Ramadevi lay back against the edge of the tub.
“I don’t remember.”
“You called for Monsieur De Lourdes in your sleep. You sounded frightened for him.” Marie dragged the sturdy, handsomely carved chair from Ramadevi’s elegant writing-table and placed it alongside the tub. “You oughtn’t worry about him, Ma’amselle, he can certainly take care of himself.”
Ramadevi silently watched the maid stack two large towels, the soap, and her sponge on the seat of the chair, then fold her dressing-gown over the back of it. The young woman smiled quirkily at the irony. Her innocent servant chose to act as if Angelus and Ramadevi were not on the most intimate terms and a dressing gown was still required for modesty’s sake.
“Thank you, Marie, I will call you when I need you.”
Marie sighed loudly and made a brief curtsey. “For pity’s sake don’t fall asleep in the tub, Ma’amselle,” she said as she trailed away into the shadows beyond the flickering candlelight, then exited Angelus’s large room.
Ramadevi sighed and let herself completely relax in the soothing water. For a moment, a brief picture flashed in her mind’s eye, perhaps a remnant of the nightmares Marie was talking about. Angelus was feeding from a frail-looking girl in an alley. He is a vampire; that is how he feeds. Her practical reminder to herself did not stop her from wanting to cry.
She wanted a monster, her body’s urge was for a monster. When he hungered, her body ached to feed him. Each sinful caress he gave her made her want more and more. Her body burned for him in mad, wild lust.
She wanted Angelus’s touch upon her, all over her body. Ramadevi lifted one hand and lightly traced the side of her throat. A delightful shiver rushed through her at the thought of Angelus’s fingers and lips, even his fangs. It no longer hurt when he took her blood. The few fading scars on her throat were from some of his very first feedings, when she was still just a girl. His later feedings did not scar at all.
Her nipples hardened as she imagined Angelus’s mouth and fangs grazing her smooth skin, sucking on her warm flesh. She cupped her own breast and softly traced the nipple with her fingertips. It felt like a raspberry as she squeezed and touched it. Gooseflesh broke out over her skin and she imagined Angelus touching her like this, watching her body react to him.
************* **************** *******************
She was touching herself. Angelus watched, curious and silent, from the doorway. He had never seen Ramadevi explore her own body before. A soft moan from her lips enveloped him, made his crotch ache and feel heavy. Her hand glided over her moistened skin, from her throat to her breast and she gently held and stroked herself. She held her breasts, cupped the voluptuous mounds in her hands and lifted them slightly. Her fingertips swirled over her hard nipples and she sighed from her own touch.
Slowly, she lifted one long leg out of the water. Angelus watched the sensually curved and shapely limb as Ramadevi lifted her head and looked up at it. Her hand moved over her skin, tracing the ticklish arch of her foot, her delicate ankle, her calf. She groaned and shivered slightly when her fingertips touched the back of her knee and traced the crease of sensitive skin. A light smile touched her full lips. Her wonderful dark eyes had gone even darker with passion.
If he had been a mortal man Angelus would have been holding his breath. The candlelight sent a playful glow over her, a beautiful touch to the erotic tableau. It highlighted her facial features and the exquisite details of her lush woman’s body.
This was why the thought of another woman did nothing to him, Angelus thought resentfully as he watched Ramadevi’s fingers move sensually over her rounded kneecap and trail over her silky-smooth thigh. His cock pushed, impatient, against the fly of his pants and his hard-muscled thighs itched from standing still. Sweet Mother of Christ if she didn’t give him something soon it would kill him!
************ ****************************************** ******************
Rama touched herself between her legs. She lightly fingered the lush curls, softened from her bath-water, and twined the hair in her fingers. She traced the shape of her mont and loins and bit her lip at the little surges of pleasure that went through her. Shyly, she touched her own nether lips. She was slightly wet on the inside, aroused by her own explorations.
She felt extremely hot and excited. It had been a long time since she had touched her own body. Sharda had encouraged her to touch and caress herself when she was a young girl. “It is only through experiencing and learning pleasure that we learn how to give it,” the Royal Courtesan had explained. But she had stopped after Angelus brought her into his household. Here, in the tub in his bedroom, it seemed so provocative to do this, to touch her body as Angelus had touched it. Nervous tension wracked her spine as she imagined her dark vampire lover watching her. Would he enjoy it? Sharda had told her many men were roused by such a tableau. Or would he be angry, jealous perhaps?
Gently, she opened her hot outer folds. Angelus had done it like this, touched her with tender care, called her a beautiful flower...Somehow that memory made her more wet. Beautiful blooming petals, then the softer petals inside and...the delicate bud... Whatever else he was, the vampire was a seductive lover when he chose to be. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. How he looked at her, touched her, spoke to her. He made her feel like she was the only woman in the world.
******************** *********************** *******************
She was the only woman in the world. Angelus watched her beautiful head roll to the side. Candlelight gleamed on the silver hair fork binding her thick hair into a large knot at the top of her head. It was an Asian design, shaped like a dragon. Another gift from Charles and Ligeia, no doubt. Angelus felt another surge of jealousy. He would give Ramadevi something new and beautiful to wear, he decided. Something exotic and interesting. Something that would make the treasure chest of dress stuffs and trinkets from his friends look like cast-off dresses for childrens’ dress-up play.
He couldn’t believe she was actually caressing her own private lips and womanly folds. Occasionally Angelus had paid a whore to do this–it was always an erotic sight, to watch a beautiful woman touch herself–but he had never seen a woman do it of her own choice, for her own pleasure. Darla had refused him, told him scornfully that it was a whore’s trick and she hadn’t worked as a whore since her mortal days.
Rama’s upswept black ringlets danced on the scarlet velvet towel folded into a pillow behind her head. Her soft moans blended melodiously with the lapping splashes in the tub as she began to move. Her eyes closed and she bit her lip. Angelus wanted to tell her not to be quiet, not to stop. He wanted to hear her while it happened.
The tension in his trousers grew as Ramadevi began to squeeze and fondle her breast while she stroked herself. He watched, intrigued, as she pinched her nipple hard, stretching it until it stood erect on her breast, then flicked it roughly with her fingers.
“Oooohhh!” she sighed at the roughness. She sucked her finger to wet it, and circled her nipple lovingly.
Her breath was coming faster and faster. Angelus bit his lip. Who did she want, he wondered, who did she see in her mind that helped rouse her? It couldn’t be him, Angelus. He already knew, no matter how often he seduced her into pleasure, she wanted to be free of him. Hot jealousy burned into his entrails and bloody sweat broke onto his brow. She wanted Gerard, perhaps, the artist was good-looking and charming in his way. Or did she want Charles de Moncrieff? Or some other? He would kill the man she wanted enough to satisfy herself through fantasy since she could not have him in reality.
“Oh!–Oh!–Mmmnnnhhh!” She mewled like a kitten and the water waved and whispered around her body, splashed against the sides of the tub. “Angelus!” she moaned deeply softly as she went over the edge, quivering in the hot water.
His mind reeled and he didn’t think. He was stunned, something that hardly ever happened to him anymore. Angelus! She said his name! His name! She wanted him!
He was beside her in a second and he lifted her, still quaking and panting, soaking wet, out of the tub to hold her against his body. He dumped the soap and towels off the desk chair and sat, drawing the moaning Ramadevi onto his lap. He wrapped an arm around her, reaching her left breast, and began squeezing and pinching her large nipple.
“Open your legs,” he coaxed softly. His fingers parted her wet curls and slowly opened her nether lips when she obeyed him. “Come again,” he ordered.
“Mmh!” she moaned softly. “I can’t, it’s too–”
He pinched her nipple too hard and she groaned.
“Ride against my fingers, make yourself come in my lap,” Angelus commanded steadily. “Do it, Egypt, and don’t turn away from me when you come.” She hesitated, then did as he ordered. “Yeeeeessssssss, that’s my good girl.” He watched her body moving , her beautiful breasts heaving and swaying as her hips rocked back and forth, grinding against his teasing fingers. “You feel like you’re made of wet hot silk here.” He squeezed her feminine lips. “It feels so good to touch you, Egypt.” He squeezed her breast like it was an apple he tested for ripeness. “Yes! Do it faster, do it harder. You’re going to take my cock inside you, Egypt. No! Don’t try and run off or I’ll spank you well past a rosy blush. Don’t cry, Rama, you want my cock, I know you do.”
Tears filled her eyes as he whispered softly in her ear of the ways he would use his cock in her mouth, in her yoni, in the tiny rosette of her behind...His creative descriptions were gutter coarse but indisputably erotic and her labia thickened and swelled and wept from her excitement as the beautiful monster kissed the tears on her face. His lips on her skin were too much after his provocative words and she climaxed against his fingers in a shivering mini-orgasm, then a harder one that made her crumple, limp as a rag-doll, in Angelus’s powerful arms.
“Mmmmmnnnn...Angelus,” she moaned in her soft, husky voice.
His arms and hands were strong and sure on her body, she felt secure, protected. His sex was rampantly erect and hard against her naked thigh. Ramadevi realized he was wet, his soaked clothes clinging to him, and water droplets gleamed like diamonds on his rich dark hair.
“You’re beautiful when you come,” he whispered thickly against her ear.
Was there a man–a real man, a human–as passionately obsessed with her as Angelus was? Could anyone make her feel things like he did? Her aching desires to feed him when he hungered, her body’s lust for his flesh, the terrible emptiness she felt when they were too long separated. She had loved her father, and her uncles. She had loved her brother and still missed him terribly. But what she felt with Angelus was far more complex and frightening. He was a Rakshasa. Their marriage was unholy. But it did not stop her perverse human nature from wanting him, needing him.
Wanting to please him with her body.
Her trembling lips brushed his and he raised his eyebrows, surprised she would kiss him without being told to. “I want to show you something,” Ramadevi heard herself say. “I want to show you auparishtaka.”
Angelus gazed down into her lovely dark eyes. His body clenched inwardly on the exotic word she mentioned in her sexy foreign accent. Auparishtaka. Her sweet little body was so deliciously warm and alive, her lips curved in a soft smile. Ramadevi turned her whole body until she sat astride him, facing him. He marveled at her, a beautiful lady completely unashamed, uninhibited by such an intimate posture.
“I need to undress you, please,” she whispered.
Angelus thought his cock would tear through his trousers. He allowed her to unfasten his waistcoat, button by button, then his shirt underneath. Ramadevi spread the cloth wide to admire his torso. Slowly, she traced Angelus’s muscular torso with her fingertips. His skin was cool and pallid, an exquisite sculpture of male beauty. Angelus was much larger than most of the men in her own country. His chest was dense and strong, his belly trim and tapered. Ah, Rakshasa, why did you use brute force to take me when you could have won me with your beauty? Even if it is a sin.
“You wouldn’t come to me,” he said suddenly, impulsively. Angelus caught her delicate hands in his, rubbed little circles in her palms with his thumbs. “I wanted to keep you,” he explained to her questioning eyes. “I wanted to take care of you. Your mother wouldn’t let me. I asked her.”
“Is that why you killed her?” Ramadevi asked in a small voice.
“It was the only way.” Why am I telling her this?
And Ramadevi knew that was the best apology her monstrous lover would ever offer her. He had killed Sati for the right to own her when Sati refused to let him keep her. Sati never even told me he wanted me. And how like Sati that was! Ramadevi squelched an inappropriate desire to laugh. Ramadevi, the Little Goddess, the Beautiful One... Sati would have been scandalized at the thought of her charge under the “protection” of a common merchant’s son, much less the demon he had evolved into. I wouldn’t have chosen him, anyway. He frightened me. But now...Would I choose him on my own?
“She was not really my mother,” Ramadevi whispered.
“I know. I wondered when you’d tell me.” Angelus didn’t tell her that he felt a delicious lurch in his dead heart when she confessed she wasn’t the servant’s child. “D’you still hate me?” he asked. His dark eyes pierced into hers, hunting and searching–for what?
Ramadevi shrugged. “A good slave would say no. I can tell you I don’t think you are worse than any man who kills for what he wants.” She slid gracefully off his lap and knelt before him. Angelus watched as she gripped his boot and worked it loose, drew it off his foot, then reached to remove the other. She settled the fine Russian leather boots to the side of the chair.
Angelus gazed musingly as Ramadevi lowered her head to his foot and kissed his instep, a brief warm touch that skittered up his leg and thigh into his vitals. He admired her at his feet, her wonderful bottom raised by her submissive posture. Do you forgive me, little princess? Is it so long ago it no longer hurts enough for you to hate me? I don’t care if you forgive me or not.
“Stand,” she entreated softly. “I need to undress you.”
Angelus rose to his feet. Slowly, Ramadevi eased his vest and shirt off, dropping it on the chair. “What happened to your coat?” she asked curiously.
Angelus shrugged. “I left it in a tavern when I was out.”
He took a deep unneeded breath when Ramadevi gently ran her hands in soft, flowing caresses over his bared chest and abdomen, his strong shoulders. She traced his sternum with her warm pink tongue, kissed one pale nipple, licked it as it hardened and rose to her touch. He sighed, reveled in the feel of her soft hair against his chest and his arm. Slowly, oh so slowly, her mouth traveled to his other nipple and she gave it the same treatment. She reached behind him, gently traced his spine and allowed her fingers to dip into the band of his trousers.
Ramadevi traced the shape of his trouser band and marveled at his beauty. His body was as lovely as any god’s, she thought. He was as close to perfection as a man could hope to be.
If he was a live man, and he was a raj or nobleman...If my father had accepted British friendship, I could have married him and loved him all my days...We would have had strong healthy children. With a man like him, I might not even care if I never saw my home again...And he was dead before I was even born. This is the only way we can be together...
Angelus felt a sudden sadness in himself and frowned. Rama’s hot little fingers were working his trouser fly buttons and she gently nuzzled her sweet face against his chest. He’d never had less cause to feel sad. Even when he had been alive. If I’d kept that piddling mortal shell, I’d never have her. I would never even have MET her. My change is the only reason we can be together...
He was glad, actually glad he had made the change. That was very odd. Angelus had never given the matter that much thought. When he had climbed out of Liam’s grave it was too late to complain if he’d been unhappy. And since then, he’d been too busy amusing himself and amusing Darla. He’d never been angry about his transition from human to demon, but he could never actually remember being happy about it. That disturbed him.
“So,” he began in a rougher tone. “What is oparishka?”
Ramadevi slid his slim trousers down his lean hips and thighs. His cock stood rampant in a cloud of dark coppery curls only a shade or two lighter than her own. He lifted each leg obligingly and allowed her to take his trousers off completely. She was not surprised by his lack of drawers. How strange, she thought, she would have been more surprised if he’d been wearing undergarments.
“Auparishtaka,” she corrected gently as she rose on her knees. “Superior coition.” She caressed his belly with one hand and softly nuzzled her face into his thigh. She turned her face back up to look at him. “I have only studied it.” A note of apology entered her sweet voice. “You must tell me if it’s pleasing or not. Tell me how best to please you. There are several steps,” she explained.
Angelus managed to keep his eyes hard and dispassionate but–SWEET CHRIST IN HEAVEN!–she lowered her head to his crotch and lightly kissed the very tip of his cock. He bit his lip as she clasped his member loosely in her fingers, gently pressing on him, then releasing her grip. Her lips moved over the tip of him tenderly, adoringly. She let go, softly rubbed her cheek against his rigid shaft, kissed his pubic bone. To his shock, he felt her lightly stroke his cock with her eyelashes, just the softest, teasing sensation.
Angelus had often heard disparaging remarks from the British about the India peoples and their slavish devotion to indecent sexuality. Some English corespondents even claimed that the Indians had made sex an act of religious devotion. Dirty bastards, Angelus thought with a detached bit of humor. They probably found out the same way I’m finding out.
It did look like worship when she lifted her huge dark eyes to his from time to time as she gripped and massaged his buttocks with one hand while she gently held his cock and softly nibbled him along its sides from base to tip. The candlelight played over her body and Angelus could smell her arousal, so thick it must be dripping onto her inner thighs. It excited her to do it to him?
“Will you be more comfortable in bed?” she asked softly, politely. She continued to caress him with her fingers.
He shook his head. He wanted to watch her on her knees before him, feel her wandering hand on his ass.
Now she was kissing him, wet sucking little kisses on the tip of him, closing her lips on him, bathing him with her tongue. Angelus moaned softly at the wet heat of her mouth on him. Slowly, Ramadevi moved lower, allowing his cock to penetrate almost to her throat. She stroked his scrotum, held and massaged the tightened sac, then released his cock to softly kiss him there as well.
Holding him gently in her hand, her lips parted and she gently lapped his length thoroughly, hungrily, as if his cock was leaking fresh honey.
“Egypt.” Angelus hesitated. He was close to a cataclysmic orgasm, he struggled to hold back his pleasure for just–just–a little–while–longer! It felt so damn good! God! She took him in her mouth again and squeezed and suckled like he was a piece of fresh fruit.
“Rama!” he groaned. It was time to stop her. She had never done this, she had told him so. She would not be able to handle it when he came. It didn’t matter what she knew or thought she knew. “Rama–” he tried again, his rough voice taut with poor control.
Her free hand stroked him gently, from his thigh, over his hip, to his lean abdominal muscles. She sucked, hard and insistent, squeezing him with her lips and fingers.
“Uunnnhh! Rama!” He roared, his fingers tearing into her hair, yanking away the silver hair fork as he came hard, hot, into her mouth. He felt his demonic features rising and lifting his hands from her carefully, not wanting to tear her hair and scalp.
Ramadevi worked her lips and throat furiously. She swallowed his lukewarm seed and shook her head slightly, sending her dark ringlets dancing against his thighs and legs. She felt breathless and dizzy, and excited by him. She had felt him struggling not to climax, struggling to hold himself back, struggling for control until the tension was unbearable. He gasped and panted and trembled all over, and finally focused on her.
She looked straight up into his eyes and licked around her lips and the corners of her mouth where some of him had leaked away.
If she hadn’t drained him so thoroughly, Angelus thought, he would have come again on the spot. Bending at the waist, Angelus pulled her up into his arms and clutched her tightly against him as he kissed her lips passionately. He inhaled deeply, reveling in her scent. Slowly, he lowered her into the lukewarm bathtub.
She did not release her tight embrace on his shoulders and he kissed her throat ardently, nuzzled her, smelling her delicious blood beneath her skin.
“It was pleasing, wasn’t it?” Ramadevi whispered to him. She ruffled his soft hair. To her delight, he purred against her neck, the vibration sending heat racing through her body again.
“You satisfied me very well,” he drawled. He frowned as her body relaxed against him. Had she been afraid he wouldn’t like it? He urged her up on her knees and spread her thighs. “One more.”
“Angelus, it’s enough–”
He chuckled, lightly traced her inner thigh and held up a slickly wet finger. He looked right at her, amusement plain on his handsome features. “I don’t think you’ve had enough, Egypt.”
“I don’t want to!” She turned away abruptly, giving him her back.
“What’s this?” His arm snaked around her and turned her back to face him. He lifted her face with a finger under her chin and frowned again. She trembled, and her mouth was pouting slightly. “Why are you afraid?”
“I’m not afraid of anything!” she replied, stung. “I pleased you, didn’t I?” Desperation quavered in her voice.
Angelus watched her as she stubbornly refused to meet his eyes. Just a moment before she had been on her knees swallowing up everything he had to give like it was divine nectar, looking up at him with sparkling dark eyes and pink cheeks, and now she didn’t want him to touch her... Comprehension came slowly to him. A grim smile touched his cruel lips and his eyes were hard as flint.
“Don’t be afraid, kitten.” He drew her up out of the tub again and held her in his lap. “You’re so beautiful,” he crooned softly. “Look at me. Now Egypt!” He smiled tenderly at her when she slowly raised her eyes to him. “Now,” he chuckled. “It seems you need to learn a little more about men. You were wonderful, quite good,” he praised her warmly. “I don’t think anyone’s ever gone down on me as–soulfully–” he laughed nastily. “–as you did. But it isn’t enough. It will never be enough, not if you do it a thousand times in one night! When I’m ready, nothing is enough to keep me from ripping you to your core with my cock, Egypt." He spoke low, softly, lovingly, holding her as she squirmed and whimpered like a trapped puppy in his lap. He caressed her hair soothingly. “Judging from how you smell, you’ll like it more than you think. Now, clean up and come to my sitting-room so we can read together.”
Without another word, he put her back in the cooling tub and walked away from her. He never looked back to see the young beauty’s tear-filled eyes on his back as he stalked angrily towards the sitting-room to light a fire. Shuddering with suppressed sobs, the young girl picked up her sponge and began to wash herself.
****
"Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words
Can no way change you to a milder form,
I'll woo you, like a soldier, at arms' end,
And love you 'gainst the nature of love, force you."
Two Gentlemen of Verona (Wm Shakespear)"...the knight ungloved his right hand and motioned to conduct her thither. But Rowena declined, by her gesture, the proffered compliment and relied, "If I be in the presence of my jailor, Sir Knight--nor will circumstances allow me to think otherwise--it best becomes his prisoner to remain standing till she learns her doom."
"Alas! fair Rowena," returned De Bracy, "you are in presence of your captive, not your jailor; and it is from your fair eyes that De Bracy must receive that doom which you fondly expect from him..."
"I repeat to you, Sir Knight, that I know you not, and that no man wearing chain and spurs ought thus to intrude himself upon the presence of an unprotected lady..."
Angelus watched her as she read. Fresh-scrubbed, her hair drawn back with a green velvet ribbon that matched her dressing-gown, there was no trace of the panicked child-woman in Ramadevi. On the contrary, she read smoothly and clearly to her guardian from Scott’s latest novel.
His mind still reeled over the past hour’s events. She did not want to bed him properly. She would rather use her mouth on him than take him inside her. That was certainly a switch! Angelus had never known women to willingly perform fellatio. Whores charged more money for that service. He had forced other women to do it. Darla had occasionally done it for him but it was clear she took little pleasure in it. Rama had been creamy-thick with lust for him. He had smelled it, felt it.
Oddly enough, he still found her voice and scent soothing to his agitation. Even when she was the cause!
"You counsel well, lady," said the Norman; "and in the bold language which best justifies bold action, I tell thee, thou shalt never leave this castle, or thou shalt leave it as Maurice De Bracy's wife."
Angelus had not lived his near-century of life without becoming a talented seducer. Even before Darla sired him nearly seventy years ago he’d enjoyed a reputation as a ladies’ man. He’d loved wenching in taverns, patronizing good brothels, and he’d been the disgrace and ruin of more than one kitchen servant. After his conversion to vampirism he went on to enjoy women of every type. Ladies, noblewomen, tradesmen’s wives and daughters, actresses, peasant girls. Married women, fresh young girls, middle-aged beauties with a knowing glint that assured him his efforts were worth it. Most became his food. Darla killed some in jealousy. A lucky few slipped away when he was too indifferent to notice they were leaving.
Not one of them had ever refused him his pleasure in any way. Whatever he wanted of a woman she gave him–willing or no. It was that simple.
Any other woman he would have thrown on the floor and spread and plowed into her until she wept and pleaded for pity he didn’t have in him. A wave of nausea cramped in his stomach as he thought of Rama brought so low.
"Thy language," answered Rowena, "hath in its indifferent bluntness something which cannot be reconciled with the horrors it seems to express. I believe not that thy purpose is so wicked, or thy power so great."
"Flatter thyself, then, with that belief," said De Bracy, "until time shall prove it false."
You want me too! You can’t hide that from me! Why are you fighting me? He recalled her quivering flesh and her deep-throated moans when he’d whispered to her, filthy little secrets of things he knew how to make her body do. She’d not grown coy or disgusted, she’d grown even more excited. Her body had throbbed and writhed and dripped with lusty heat on his thighs."I'll woo her as the lion woos his bride."
--Douglas
"Take these," she said, "good friend, and for God's sake be merciful to me!...These ornaments are of value, yet are they trifling to what he would bestow to obtain our dismissal from this castle free and uninjured.""Fair flower of Palestine," replied the outlaw, "these pearls are orient, but they yield in whiteness to your teeth; the diamonds are brilliant, but they cannot match your eyes; and ever since I have taken up this wild trade, I have made a vow to prefer beauty to wealth...Thy ransom must be paid by love and beauty, and in no other coin will I accept it...I am not an outlaw then, fair rose of Sharon. And I am one who will be more prompt to hang thy neck and arms with pearls and diamonds, which so well become them, than to deprive thee of these ornaments..."
Of course, young maidens feared the sex act, the pain of first penetration and the simple fear of the unknown. But it is not unknown to her! Christ! The way she touched me, sucked me...A good whore could learn a thing or two from her! He remembered her large beautiful eyes looking up at him as she knelt and caressed him, kissed him, nibbled him, stroked him, took her in her mouth. In over seventy years of sexual experience Angelus had never had a woman touch him like that. A woman whose body was totally innocent, while her mind was knowledgeable of intense types of sensual pleasure.
Her sweet voice...Please let me undress you...You must tell me if I please you or not, how best to please you...
Was it pain then? Probably. He’d played gently with her little quim and one finger was always enough for her. He’d felt the tightly lodged flesh barrier within her and she always whimpered and squirmed from it. He’d even looked forward to the day he would break it. Maidenhead offended him, reminded him that part of her body was still not his. And he did enjoy pain. The idea of Rama writhing beneath him, bloody and weeping was not unappealing. In fact, just the thought made his cock stir under his nightshirt. He was very large, maybe she feared permanent injury? He almost smiled.
Maybe she was afraid he’d get her with child? The vampire frowned for a moment. She didn’t actually know he couldn’t impregnate her. They’d never discussed it. He felt a cold doubt in himself. Did she want a man who could give her children? She’s only eighteen years old–too young! he thought, outraged, completely overlooking the fact that many women were wed and pregnant twice or thrice by that age.
Surely she was not so foolish as to cling to hopes of rescue by her own people! She was smarter than that! If they came, Angelus would kill them all. If there were too many, he’d take her away to Bryn Keaghan, in Ireland, or even to America.
Did she want to give her innocence to some other man? Angelus would kill him, slowly, terribly, and force Ramadevi to watch.
Even as these dark thoughts crossed his mind, though, Angelus knew it wasn’t right. She seemed utterly uninhibited about allowing him other types of lovemaking–fucking, he corrected himself, annoyed. He was certain she would allow him anything except actual intercourse.
"I have hitherto spoken mildly to thee, but now my language shall be that of a conqueror. Thou art the captive of my bow and spear, subject to my will by the laws of all nations; nor will I abate an inch of my right, or abstain from taking by violence what thou refusest to entreaty or necessity."
"...stand back, and hear me ere thou offerest to commit a sin so deadly!...I will proclaim thy villainy from one end of Europe to the other..."
"Thou art sharp-witted," he said; "but loud must be thy voice of complaint if it is heard beyond the iron walls of this castle; within these, murmurs, laments, appeals to justice, and screams for help die alike silent away."
What the hell is wrong with me? he wondered. I ought to walk across the room right now, and force her on the floor! Or bend her over the back of the chair. But it’s not as good as when she feels it, when she lets it happen... He snorted in self-disgust.
“Did you want me to stop, Angelus?” Her voice was polite and ladylike. She looked elegant and refined, a true lady of the ton. No one would dream that she had been on her knees devouring his cock with wicked enthusiasm only a short while ago. No one would believe she had said in actions if not in words, “I won’t fuck you! Not like that! Not all the way.”
No one who knew him, knew Angelus the vampire, would dream he was so stung by her refusal.
Angelus didn’t answer her directly. He picked up the elegant leather-bound sketchbook Ligeia had brought him from abroad. He had his drawing pencils nearby, in a small box of carved cedar. He opened the album slowly, inhaling the scent of the crisp new pages.
“Take down your hair,” he commanded quietly.
She looked at him, her eyes unfathomable, closed. Obediently, she removed the ribbon and let her lush thick curls float around her.
“Stay still,” he said.
Rama continued to read as the soft sound of pencil lead on thick textured drawing paper accompanied her.
"Only one thing can save thee...Submit to thy fate...and thou shalt go forth in such state that many a Norman lady shall yield as well in pomp as in beauty to the favourite of the best lance among the defenders of the Temple."
"Submit to my fate!" said Rebecca; "and, sacred Heaven! to what fate! Craven knight!--forsworn priest! I spit at thee and I defy thee..."
"Say not so, maiden," answered the Templar, "revenge is a feast for the gods! And if they have reserved it, as priests tell us, to themselves, it is because they hold it an enjoyment too precious for the possession of mere mortals...She who could prefer death to dishonour must have a proud and powerful soul. Mine thou must be! Nay, start not," he added, "it must be with thine own consent, and on thine own terms..."
Her voice trembled over the words and she shut the book without asking Angelus if he was ready for her to stop. She realized he had stopped sketching and was looking right at her.
“What frightens you? About our joining?” he asked casually.
“I’m not frightened.” If he could be frank so could she.
“What then?”
What to say? How to tell the truth and not hurt or insult him? And why care if he was hurt or insulted? He was a monster without feelings to hurt.
Wasn’t he?
“I am the Deva,” she answered simply. “The Devi do not couple with the dead, it is an act of blasphemy.”
The vampire smoothed the page he was drawing on and carefully closed his book before setting it on a small table beside his sofa. When he faced her again, his eyes were dark, empty of emotion, soulless. It was impossible to tell what he thought.
A moment stretched out between them like eternity. The scents and textures of the room seemed suddenly vivid to Ramadevi. The dwindling, crackling fire in the fireplace, the odor of lamp oil, the soft black swansdown on the cuffs of her dressing gown, the weight of the leather-bound book in her hands. And the man-creature before her, pale, beautiful, fascinating, monstrous, watching her intently as he sat completely still.
Finally, he spoke.
“We’ll see about that, Egypt, when you’re spread under me.”