Page 64 of Audacity

It’s the frisson that only the prospect of a beautifully orchestrated scene can offer. For what is a scene but the most mystical fairy tale for adults, brought to life with sensory details that are both achingly inventive and unimaginably sweet?

‘This way,’ one of the guards barks, and together they march me to the castle entrance.

The enormous doorframe dwarfs even the guards. The stone-floored hallway is rich with tapestries and lit with hundreds of candles on iron sconces, their wax sagging and dripping so prettily. The air is heavy with beeswax and a heady, sexy scent that I’d swear, if I wasn’t bang slap in the midst of the Middle Ages, is Diptyque’sBaiescandles.

On both sides are heavy carved oak doors, shut tight, and ahead of us, a wide oak staircase, more heraldic banners fluttering colourfully above it. The guards lead me to the staircase, and I gather up my cloak and skirts and ascend carefully. The steps are shallow, but it’s dim in here and my hood is constricting my vision. I have the oddest feeling of being marched to my execution, when really, only great pleasure awaits me.

As we climb, the faintest sounds of a woman’s moans carry on the air like a whisper of candle smoke, and that insistent pull deep in my belly only intensifies.That will be me in a few moments.It’s a carnal sound, a promise of unknown delicacies behind closed doors.

When we reach the top of the staircase, the guards process along the corridor before stopping at a doorway at the front of the palace. Through the narrow windows along the front wall, I can make out the fuzzy torchlight that lights the driveway. I stareat the carvings on the door, my heart thumping as though I’ve just run up fifteen storeys instead of walking painfully up one.

One of the guards uses his fist to thump three times on the door, and through the slab of wood comes the muffled response.

‘Enter.’

It’s Gabe’s voice, but it’s not. This voice is more imperious. More impatient.

Two guards move in front of me and open the door with a flourish, pushing in. The other two position themselves behind me. One prods me in the back, and I realise I’ve been standing frozen. I stumble slightly. My pulse is pounding in my ears, for some reason.

This is Gabe.

This is a role play.

And yet I can’t help but feel in this moment like a sacrificial lamb.

I advance slowly into the room as the door clanks shut behind me with an ominous thud of finality. The chamber is huge, with high ceilings. Rich tapestries hang from the walls, their jewel tones long faded. Beneath my leather slippers is a layer of rushes. My first impressions are of flickering candlelight and long shadows, of some ephemeral quality of solemnity.

Then I see him.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Just as it was with his voice, it’s Gabe and yet not Gabe, because the man standing before me in the centre of this room, as strong and grounded as a great oak, has the kind of entitlement my Gabriel has never embodied. He’s removed and kingly and imposing… and so, so gorgeous.

For a moment, it’s me and him, taking each other in in these fantastical guises, and it’s the oddest, oddest thing.

It’s as if we’ve both hurtled back in time to the Dark Ages where we’ve found each other again.

It’s as if our paths are meant to cross in every century, however impossible that might be to fathom.

Until his voice cuts through the thick silence as coldly, as harshly as a scythe might cut through a wildflower meadow.

‘Bring her closer. Let me see.’

CHAPTER 31

Athena

This lord’s bedchamber is as richly appointed as my first impressions suggested. Behind him stands a majestic four-poster bed: a great, hulking thing carved from oak. Its heavy hangings are a deep red, and a thrill courses through my body at the thought of the guards closing them around us so it’s just me and him in a womb-like space where he can consume me entirely.

The guards ahead of me move forward until they’re in front of him. They stop and move to the side to give their lord a clear view of this virgin they’ve brought to his bedside. We stare at each other again, and I take him in.

His hair is more tousled than I’ve seen it, his beard less neatly clipped. He’s in a fine doublet made from burgundy-coloured velvet and punctuated with a wide leather belt. His breeches look like wool; his long boots are black leather. I spot several chunky rings on his fingers.

I bet they’ll rub against my clit when he explores his new plaything.

---