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“You can’t help me.”
“Why not?”
She looked away and he followed her eyes to a painting hanging on the wall by the door. Nothing special, just a ship sailing away from the shore. “Because no one can help me. Not even King Arthur. Not even Lieutenant Godwick.”
“Regan, what’s wrong?”
She smiled at him. “Nothing. Nothing and everything.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“You’re not here to help me.”
“Then what am I here for?”
“To make me forget for a few minutes that no one can help me.”
“Then I’ll do that,” he said.
Slowly she stood and set her empty glass on the side table. She came to him and stood in front of the chair, where she gathered her gown and lifted it. Arthur pulled her down onto his lap. Clothes were pushed aside, his cock hardened, and he slipped easily inside her still-damp cleft.
Regan rested her chin on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck. He unzipped her gown and lowered it to her waist. He licked her nipples, sucked them, as she moved on him slowly, slow enough he could count her breaths. And from the ballroom came the sounds of a Viennese waltz as she sunk down onto him and rose in time with the music.
One, two, three… One, two, three…
5
Black Iris
Arthur woke from heavy sleep Monday morning. His phone on the bedside table vibrated loud as a jackhammer in his ear. He saw it was his sister, declined the call and shoved his phone under his pillow.
He wasn’t surprised to hear it beep a few moments later, warning him he had a text message.
The message was simple. Only two words, all caps, plus punctuation.
REGAN FERRY?!?!
Arthur groaned and rubbed his forehead. The hunt ball had only been two nights ago. Gossip really did fly faster than the speed of light.
He replied with two words. No punctuation.
Regan Ferry.
The next text summed up his sister’s thoughts on the matter—two thumbs-up emojis.
Arthur tried to return to the dream he’d been having before Lia’s call woke him. In the dream Regan was on his old bed at Wingthorn, naked but for white lace-trimmed socks on his white sheets with the red pinstripes. She’d been on her hands and knees and he was in her from behind. All good. All very good. Except while they were having sex, she said something to him like, “Don’t stop or I’ll die.”
He’d laughed at that, but she hadn’t laughed. She’d said it again, like she meant it.Don’t stop or I’ll die.So he’d fucked her harder, deeper, as if he would never stop.
Arthur wanted to go back to sleep and find out what she meant by that, but now it was too late. The bloody front doorbell was ringing. First the phone. Then the doorbell. Why did the universe not want him to finish the most intensely erotic dream he’d had in his life?
Quickly he yanked on his jeans and a t-shirt and went down to the front door. He knew exactly who he’d find there, and he was right. Regan’s redcoat was waiting on the front steps.
“Can’t she send an email?” Arthur said to Zoot. “A text? A carrier pigeon?”
“She says to come at eight tonight, and you can pick the painting.”
“I can pick the painting?”
