Page 47 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

Ferrin pulled him into a hot, heated kiss. “You always are.”

Silver kissed him back, then slid to the floor and went down on all fours, shaking his still-reddened ass in invitation. “I wouldn’t mind being a little bad, right now, just for a treat.”

Ferrin laughed. “I think I can get behind that,” he said, and winked.

CHAPTER 8

Stress Relief

“You know you can call this off whenever you like,” Sabre said, unbuttoning his shirt in the middle of the House of Onyx’s training room. Toys lined the walls, various whips, floggers, clamps, and wicked little contraptions that most of the pleasure houses in the district avoided due to the expense and risk. Sabre had tried out most of them by now, except for the humbler that clamped his balls and ankles, because Laurent still said Sabre would overextend himself.

Which he would, but Laurent didn’t have to say that part aloud.

“Sabre.” Laurent sat in a comfortable chair a few paces away, running a fingertip over the rim of his glass. “Are you trying to remind me how a scene works in the brothel that I own?”

Sabre flashed him a bright smile. “You’re possessive, Laurent. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, yes, very distressing,” Laurent said. “My husband is an insatiable masochist who occasionally needs to be fucked mindless while I admire him with a glass of wine, how will I survive it?”

Sabre only just stopped himself from pointing out that Laurent had, just a few weeks before, looked like he was about to hiss at a man just for eyeing Sabre’s backside. Instead, he stripped off his shirt and folded it next to his boots by the wall.

He knew that Laurent was doing this for him. Laurent was a dominant, but he wasn’t particularly sadistic—or not the sort Sabre needed sometimes. He tried, and Sabre loved him for it, but there were days when the lash just didn’t strike hard enough, and Sabre needed more than Laurent’s tender touches and demeaning pet names couched with affection. He needed to disappear inside himself for a while, and after dealing with Adrien’s coronation and everything that had come after, Sabre needed it more than ever.

Laurent had even suggested it, a one-night special feature for the House of Onyx where anyone could come in and use Sabre at a discount, with the funds going toward the house courtesans’ savings. Sabre had fantasized about it for weeks after Laurent mentioned it, until just the thought wasn’t enough, and now Sabre was taking off his trousers in front of a set of stocks he’d dragged to the middle of the room. The stocks would hold his head and hands still, but they could be raised or lowered so he could stand or sink to his knees as necessary. Sabre kept eyeing them as he put his clothes away, and Laurent smiled.

“Slut,” he said, fondly.

“You knew what you were in for when you married me,” Sabre said. He tossed his hair in a mockery of Laurent’s elegant style, and Laurent covered his mouth. Sabre got to his hands and knees and crawled over to Laurent, who spread his legs just enough to give Sabre room between them. Laurent tugged at Sabre’s long, red-brown hair, and Sabre met his gaze briefly before lowering his head to open Laurent’s trouser buttons with his teeth.

The door swung open, and Cathal, their maid Dottie’s replacement, sauntered in. He was about twenty or so, with messy black hair and a round face, and he didn’t even pause when he saw Sabre kneeling at Laurent’s feet.

“Oh, getting a treat, my lord? Good for you.” He had a plate in one hand, which he set down on the little table next to the wine. “Dark chocolate tarts, baked them up special once I heard you were having your mate get fucked sideways tonight. Chocolate’s good as oysters for the fire of passion, so says the lady down the street.” He spoke all in a rush, like his tongue couldn’t quite keep up with his thoughts. He had a thick accent neither Sabre or Laurent could quite place, but their best guess was somewhere in the Diabolos Islands. “Put some spices in, too.”

“Thank you, Cathal,” Laurent said, holding Sabre’s head to his thigh as Sabre tried not to laugh. “Did you finish cleaning the common area?”

“Oh, yeah,” Cathal said, taking a tart for himself. “Old Yves helped me get on the ladder and everything.”

“Old—” Laurent cleared his throat. “How kind of him. We won’t need your services in this room for the rest of the night, not until the morning.”

“Ah, yes, lucky you,” Cathal added, winking at Sabre. “You go back to sucking his cock. I’ll be doing the laundry.”

Sabre held in the laugh until Cathal closed the door. It came out as a bark, and Laurent smacked his shoulder lightly.

“Be nice, Sabre. That man’s a walking disaster. Surely we weren’t as foolish at his age.”

“Adrien was.”

Laurent pulled a face. “Ah, yes, I can see that.”

Cathal had appeared the night after they’d placed an ad in the gossip papers for new cleaning staff after Dottie’s retirement. He’d shaken everyone’s hand, even Charon, who was just in the common area to read.

“You see, I need a fancy job,” he’d told Laurent, while Sabre and Yves listened in outside the door, “on account of me being what you call married, down here.”

“Married?” Laurent had said. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. The only trouble is, I can’t seem to find my husband yet,” Cathal said.

It had only been a month or two, but most of the House were already taking bets on how quickly Cathal found his so-called husband, or whether he had one at all. In the meantime, he’d proved to be an impressive cook and uncannily good at fixing broken doors and creaking window shutters.

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