Page 25 of Summer

Gennelle’s room is next to mine, and I press my palm against the wall that separates us. My room is simple – a bed with exquisitely soft sheets, an armoire which the servants have filled with my belongings, a sturdy desk, and a window with a seat. I settle into it, leaning my forehead against the glass. It’s not as warm here as it is near the city, the humidity less biting. The lake is visible from my room, and I want so desperately to sink my toes into it. I don’t know if such a thing is proper here; Protegre could only prepare us for so much of alien culture.

A few months before I was caught, I landed on a planet made entirely of water. The cities were floating behemoths, which moved depending on the seasonal storms. The crew spent an entire afternoon swimming and diving with the ocean animals. Some even ate from our hands. I’d give anything to go back to that time, where I was free.

Soon, I remind myself.

Supper is less of an ordeal without the duke and duchess. Aaoric continues his rambling about the countryside, the estates nearby, times they spent here as children. Gennelle stares at him and barely touches her food.

Aaoric and I have done little planning so far, mostly because the concerns of being overheard. This little trip to the country was to avoid as many extra ears as possible. We hadn’t counted on Gennelle.

As supper ends, Aaoric retires to his study, and I decide to head to bed. The long day of travel has me exhausted, another reminder that my fitness isn’t what it once was. Protegre did everything it could to prepare us for life as a noblewoman, that included keeping us from being able to run.

Gennelle follows me up the stairs to my room. To my surprise, she shoves me into it, closing the door behind her. I wheel on her, unable to control my outburst.

“What is the meaning…” I begin, but she is on me so quickly my words catch in my throat. She glares down at me, her eyes narrowed, just a breath from me.

“What is going on between you and my brother?” she growls. Aaoric’s words from earlier come back to me, and I cannot keep the smile off my face. Keep out of my life, he’d said. She must have barged into him and tried to strong arm him into telling our plans, and he didn’t.

“I was purchased to be his bride,” I tell her, taking pains to sound sweet and innocent.

“That’s not what I meant,” she continues. “You’re up to something – have you bewitched him? Promised him something? Tell me.”

“We are fulfilling our duties as betrothed. If we’re stuck together, we might as well like one another,” I say with a shrug. It’s our agreed upon front. I am eager to please my future husband, as Protegre beat into me. He’s resigned to his fate and decided to make the best of it.

“He doesn’t like you,” Gennelle says, incredulous. “Even if you had a single redeeming quality, the fact that our parents picked you for him is enough to despise you. Don’t fool yourself into thinking he might care for you.”

“I am no fool,” I say, my voice hardening. “And what do you know of love? Of relationships? You’re single, and I haven’t seen a single suitor call on you.”

“My life is none of your business,” she growls, and I know I’ve struck a nerve. Her carefully placed facade of indifference shatters when she’s like this, when I’ve struck a chord.

“Neither is mine – nor your brothers,” I tell her. “Perhaps it’s time you’ve stopped trying to control his life and focused instead on your own – sad as it may be.”

“How dare you,” her anger reaches its peak, her face contorted in rage. This close, her eyes are lightning yellow, swirling in her anger. Her breath is hot on my face, another reminder of our closeness. “How dare you speak to me like that? How dare you… You…” She trails off.

“What are you going to do?” I muse. “Punish me?”

I don’t know why I’ve said it, but I don’t regret the words. I long to see what she’ll do with them.

“Perhaps I shall,” she says, her voice deadly soft. She reaches out, her fingers tracing the skin of my cheek, and I suck in a breath. Her touch is fire on my skin, leaving it raw and empty once it’s gone. Her hand moves to the base of my neck, and my eyelids flutter. Does she mean to kiss me? Will she bring me close at last, so that our…

Her fingers tighten in my hair, and I groan at the sensation. It’s not tight enough to cause pain; what I’m feeling is something else entirely. She pulls, and my head rolls back with her grip. I catch her gaze, and what I see there is so incomprehensible my mouth drops open.

She watches me as a predator does prey, as though I am something to conquer, to devour.

“Do it,” I breathe as her fingers dig into my scalp, grasping for more of my hair, for a better grip.

I don’t resist as she shoves me until I’m bent over the desk, my cheek pressed into the wood grain. It smells like dust and ink, well-worn and loved. I cannot appreciate it because my body is electric, sparking with need. Her hips press into my backside, her grip still at the base of my neck as she presses me down.

The first slap is light, a barely-there touch across my ass cheek. I almost laugh – this is her punishment? To hold me down over a desk and give me sad, little pats over my dress?

She must realize this, and she grips for the excessive skirt of my dress, pulling it higher and higher. My ankles are exposed, then my calves, then the air of the room hits the back of my thighs. She pushes my skirts up and over, bunching them together so her hand can return to press me down into the desk.

I am fully on display – naked from the waist to my shoes, completely at her mercy.

Her breath is ragged, and I long to twist to see her face, to know what it looks like as she sees me. I’ve not taken to the undergarments of these ridiculous outfits, preferring the freedom without the stupid bloomers. I miss my thongs, I miss my fitted pants, I miss it all. This is my silent rebellion – to be naked and bare beneath my dress.

Her next slap is firmer, and I jump. I don’t whimper, I groan. Her fingers press tighter into my body and I push back – not enough to escape, but enough to encourage.

Slap – firmer still, sending a racing arc of pleasurable pain along my body. A drop of moisture trails down my inner thigh, my body giving away how much I enjoy this.