Crinolines And Leather Ch 03

Olivia stirred the tea that sat in the delicate, rose coloured teacup on the lace covered table before her. Against the backdrop of the pink tearooms, with their doily covered walls and framed watercolours of kittens, she cut an impressive figure. It appeared that she rose above the pitiful salmon coloured expression of femininity, which palled beneath the confident, harsh lines of her black dress and withered under her fierce green gaze. Idly, Edward wondered why society educated women to delight in pale, blushing colours when they were built to command the spectrum. Olivia tapped the newspaper with her spoon, left a stain across the page that spread, distorting the words beneath it.

'It's a very clever advertisement that you placed,' she smiled, the saccharine sweetness of her voice working to disguise the sensual intent of her words, 'but won't be effective.'

'Why not?' Edward snapped, irked that she dared to question his intellect.

'Because the women you are seeking will not understand your clever puns and witticisms.'

'You did,' he said bluntly.

'I,' she grinned mischievously, 'am a mass of contradictions.' She fell silent as the owner of the tea parlour bustled past them. 'I am far from ordinary and, as a girl, was fortunate enough to receive a basic education, which I have struggled and strove to maintain and further.' She sipped her tea and, gazing at him over the edge of the cup. Her eyes sparkled. 'Public libraries are wonderful things, although it has been claimed that are corrupting the women of Britain at an ungodly pace and soon we shall be overrun with harlots!'

Edward fought to keep an edge of condemnation cradled within the tone of his voice and found that his tongue was sliced by the insincerity of his speech. 'What a tragedy!'

'I think that the problems stems from the fact that young women take things far too literally,' Olivia claimed.

He smiled at her. Sat here, she the very image of a lady, one would not venture to guess the depraved actions that she practiced in private, and this dichotomy, made Edward's body tingle with anticipation. She crossed her ankles and the black fabric of her dress rippled around her, highlighting and then hiding the contours of her body.

The patron of the tearooms, a portly and greying Mrs Lewis, bustled over to them brandishing a plate of scones and a pot of tea that flowed onto the carpeted floor, leaving a trail of scalding droplets in her wake. She beamed at the couple and shoved the plate under Edward's face so harshly that he flinched.

'Scone?' she inquired, the softness of her plummy accent grating against Edward's sensibilities. He recalled women like this, with maternal faces and arms brimming with baked goods, coldly casting their eyes over him and shooing him away when he was starving. It gave him immense pleasure to reach towards the plate and grasp the proffered cake within his hand; to take from the people who once sought to deny him. Delicately, with the grace of a well-bred woman, Olivia declined the offer.

The proprietor cast her narrow, steely blue eyes over the newspaper and the advert that Edward had placed within the pages. 'What nonsense,' she said, picking up the paper and retrieving a set of eyeglasses from within the many folds of her dress. She mumbled as she read, tracing the lines of the words with a finger. 'Gentleman proprietor seeks,' she mouthed, 'beautiful... night-flowers... to decorate, provide pleasure and entertain in his garden...' She looked towards Edwards, her thick greying eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 'What does it mean?'

Olivia grinned and lent back in her chair. 'What do you think it means?' she asked, her eyes glittering wickedly.

The woman shook her head. 'I don't have the slightest clue, and I doubt that the poor soul who wrote it did either. Why would one advertise for flowers within the Times, and what is a flower of the night?'

'Indeed,' Edward said wryly. The innocent way in which the old widowed woman spoke his clever metaphors, with their delicate hints of sensuality, delighted him.

'You see,' Olivia commented as Mrs Lewis made her way back across the parlour, scattering crumbs in her wake, 'people are far too literal.'

'How do you suggest I advertise?' Edward snapped.

Her lips rounded deliciously. 'Word of mouth,' she breathed.

Fighting off the urge to grind his mouth against her impertinent smile, to wrestle her to the floor and claim her body as his own, Edward stared at her levelly, praying that his exterior did not betray the whirlwind of desire that stormed within him.

'I,' he stated, 'want women who can read.'

'Why?'

'I don't want silly, uneducated women working for me.'

'Why?'

He narrowed his eyes at her. 'Are you always this irritating?'

She grinned. 'You interest me. I want to understand you.'

Frowning, he asked, 'Why?'

She shrugged her slender shoulders. 'I think that I have almost fathomed you.'

'Really?' he inquired, drawing out the syllables.

'Almost,' she smiled.

'I'm interested in hearing your deductions.'

'Well,' she brought her thumb up to her lips, and bit it in a contemplative manner, unconsciously reminding Edward of the delicious movements that her mouth had made around him earlier. 'You weren't born a gentleman. You've worked your way up; I can tell by the marks on your hand that you have done manual labour, maybe steelwork; something skilled, otherwise you wouldn't have the revenue to be here today. You're married, unhappily. I assume that she's very rich but old and ugly and terrible in bed. Otherwise, you wouldn't be embarking on such a pleasurable business venture.'

Out of the corner of his eye, Edward noted the old and dull Mrs Lewis, polishing a cake stand and eyeing them with renewed interest. 'Quiet,' he hissed.

Her eyes sparkled. 'Are you scared?' she asked.

Edward smoothed the sleeves of his shirt, stared into her wide, innocent eyes and felt the sense of desire rise within him. The way that she smiled at him, as if she held all the secrets of the world within her tiny, white palm; the way that she dared to challenge his authority, his knowledge, irritated and enthralled him in equal measure.

He spoke through gritted teeth: 'I feel that this is a conversation that we need to have back at the house.' Without waiting for her to respond, he placed enough money on the table to cover their bill, and threw his coat around his shoulders and turned on his heel. He did not wait to see if she was following him, confident in the fact that she would. When her hand, cold and frantic, clasped his wrist, he smiled; he had guessed where her fingers would fall.

As they stepped through the threshold of his future brothel, Edward rounded upon her. 'Scared?' he spat, 'of course I am scared. I created myself from nothing! And I will not have you speaking out of place and jeopardising everything that I have fought for!' The wild, wolfish look in his eyes scared her, and the breath caught in the back of her throat. He clenched his fist, as if he could physically clutch at his reputation and wealth, as if he could prevent it from slipping through his fingers. 'I,' he bit, 'will not be nothing.'

'Then why,' she countered, 'risk it all?'

He moved with the force of a natural disaster, sweeping her off of her feet and pinning her against the wall in one quick motion. His hands moved over the sinews of her body, catching the delicate lines of her wrists and forcing them above her head. She gasped as his body pressed against hers.

'You,' he said as he kissed her neck, 'are insufferable.' He held her wrists within one hand, using the other to tear at the buttons of her blouse. He gripped her chin, forcing her to stare at the animalistic rage that burnt within his pupils. His words were torn, caught between his desire to growl and plead. 'How can you be so ideal?'

She scoffed, the force of her laugh pushing her breasts against his fingers. 'Ideal?'

'More than ideal,' he breathed, using his tongue to trace the line of her jaw.

She writhed against him, a mass of sensation, desperate for more. 'Worth risking it all for?'

His mouth crushed hers. 'Indeed.'

From the depths of their frenzy they heard a polite cough. 'With a view like this, I must assume that I have the right place.' Olivia squealed and attempted to pull Edward closer in a desperate bid to rescue her modesty. A low, throaty chuckle reverberated around the room. 'Honey, you don't need to be so scared. You two carry on and I'll make myself comfortable.'

Edward gently stroked Olivia's hair and planted a reassuring kiss upon her forehead, before tearing his body away from hers. He buttoned his shirt and trousers then turned to face the stranger who reclined in his own chair as though it were a throne. Moving tentatively towards her, unsure of how to address her, Edward thrust out his hand.

'I must offer my most sincere apologies for what you just witnessed. I hope that we have not offended you, Miss...?'

She laughed, and shook his hand confidently. 'Miss Croft,' she stated, 'although I would prefer if you called me Cordelia. And there is no need to apologise: I wouldn't be here if I were offended by such displays.' Her dark brown eyes pierced Edward's blue orbs. 'I suggest that you drop the pretence; it will make interactions so much simpler.'

Edward smiled warmly. 'Forgive me for my coyness,' he uttered, 'I was merely being cautious.'

'A wise decision' Cordelia claimed, as she reached into the beaded chatelaine bag that hung from her belt and pulled a silver cigarette case from the depths. 'May I?' she inquired, the tone of her voice implying that she was merely asking because social convention dictated that she must.

'Of course.' Edward found a packet of matches in his pocket and leant over the woman to ignite the cylinder between her lips. As she exhaled, her eyes closed in rapture, the silver mist of smoke catching in her auburn ringlets, giving her the aura of an angel; a characteristic which was quickly dispelled as she looked at Edward, her eyes glittering wickedly. 'So,' she drawled, 'you're my gentleman proprietor?'

Edward grinned, 'The one and only.'

Cordelia cocked her head and with the mischievous glint still illuminating her eyes, gesticulated towards the empty chair that sat squarely before her, like an invitation. 'Are we going to continue this discussion in a more civilised manner or do you lack the good grace and breeding that you advertised?'

Edward, with his hands in his pockets so that the cut of his coat billowed about him; the thick expensive fabric swirling about his body, sauntered over to the chair and draped his body, like an ornament, into the seat. When Olivia, clumsy and unsure of her place within this new hierarchy, stood silently and attempted to slip into the shadows, he caught her wrist and drew her towards him. With her balanced across his lap, like a prize, one hand stroking her hair, he turned to Cordelia, a satisfied smile playing across his face.

'So,' he said softly, his fingers massaging the nape of Olivia's neck, 'why do you want to work for me?'

The woman watched Olivia as her eyes drifted shut. She bit her lower lip. The silence was deafening. Edward became aware of the painful physicality that he and Cordelia shared; the power that radiated from their bodies, trapping Olivia, innocent and oblivious, between them. Staring into her face was like confronting one's own mirror image. Written across her features with unashamed honesty was the desire to control.

His voice a barely audible whisper, he muttered: 'You understand it, don't you?'

She gulped nervously. 'Understand what?'

He did not know how to translate the feelings into words; he was not sure that language contained the words to properly describe how he felt. In frustration his fingers knotted themselves into Olivia's hair and, not as to hurt her but to disturb the comfort that she had become accustomed to, he forced her head backwards. The gasp that tumbled from her lips shattered the silence that had built between them – the shards of which sliced through the notions of decorum that had kept them bound to their chairs.

Edward watched this unknown woman as she stared at Olivia, the inky blackness of her pupils overpowering the copper colour of her irises. The ravenous appearance that suddenly coloured her features demonstrated the wanton, carnal thoughts that occupied her mind so clearly that it was as if she had spoken them aloud.

Of course, Edward had witnessed such behaviour before: it had been commonplace within the brothels where he had cultivated his sense of self. He remembered accidentally stumbling in on Estella, her red hair spread out like a fan; her body tense, trapped in the rapturous agony that tormented her in the second before she orgasmed; another woman's mouth moving between her legs. He was hurt that she had dared to seek solace in another; delighted when, a week later, he was invited to join the couple. The mere memory made him twitch with anticipation. He wanted to experience it again. A greedy, insatiable need rose within him.

He grinned: a display would certainly sate his appetites. 'Show me,' he commanded.

Cordelia, puzzled, tilted her pretty head to one side as she looked Edward up and down, unsure of the role she was supposed to be playing. She was most comfortable when the men surrounding her were at her feet but understood that Edward would never submit to such a position.

'Not with me,' he stated firmly. Slowly, his palm opened and he released Olivia's hair, freeing her from his grasp. 'With her.'

Unable to resist the smile that spread across her face like a stain, Cordelia took one last drag of her cigarette, savouring the burn of the smoke as it slipped so deliciously down the long line of her throat, into the coursing rapids of her bloodstream; fuelling the quickening of her heart.

'Is this what you want?' she asked gently, her eyes wide with sympathy as she assessed the younger woman.

Olivia opened her eyes, revealing the emerald supernova of her irises. Her lips twisted into a delicious smile as she, slowly but certainly, inclined her head, her eyes never once leaving the domme's gaze. 'Please.' The word tumbled from her lips – loaded with meaning – fell into Cordelia's lap like a gift.

Cordelia rose and moved towards both Edward and Olivia, her fingers reaching out so that they grazed the other woman's cheek and traced their way to her parted lips. She felt Olivia's breath upon her digits, hot and heavy and wanting. She smirked as her eyes met Edwards and, gently, she moved her index finger into the warm, wet cavern of the younger woman's mouth. She rocked her hands back and forth, letting her knuckles graze over Olivia's teeth, plunge further into her throat with each motion.

This power and the ability to enact it on such a nubile, beautiful specimen was deliciously enticing. The very thought of the younger woman's nubile, lithe body made her wet; the fact that she had been granted the power to exult her power against it was almost enough to make her come. As she stared down at the young submissive before her, Cordelia smirked: she had been rendered to force the world to its knees and this – towering over such a helpless, willing creature, was where she belonged.

For Edward, the scene was almost too intoxicating to endure. He watched as Cordelia withdrew her finger with an audible pop and trailed it, across the geography of Olivia's face before entwining her knuckles with the girl's hair. His breath became shallow as Cordelia tugged Olivia's head back so that she could kiss her with ease. When the two women's lips, full and flushed, met, he felt as though he would explode. His skin itched with expectation; with the desire to be touched. Whenever Olivia moved, as she did to deepen the kiss, with squirms of pleasure, he – who was both included and barred from participation – felt as though he had been burned. She became an inferno, contained within the space of his knees – and she raged. The weight of his erection pressed against her crotch and she bucked against it, desperate to stir herself to orgasm; to find the pleasure that both her partners were, slyly, seductively, denying her.

She felt Edward's large, masculine hands cup her waist, his long fingers encircling her slim abdomen. Like one unveiling a treasure, he slowly began to unbutton her shirt, exposing the milky white skin of her shoulders. With distain, for he believed that she should not be permitted to wear so many clothes, he threw the blouse away from him and began to unlace the tight bonds of her corset, which fell away from her body, letting her large, pert breasts tumble free.

Cordelia gazed into Edward's eyes, watching his frustration build as she cupped Olivia's breasts; ran her thumbs across her nipples and felt them harden against her practiced ministrations. She licked her lips in anticipation and reached for Olivia's dainty hand, pulling her to her feet; tearing her from Edward's lap.

'You,' she claimed, boldly, her eyes sparkling, 'are wearing far too many clothes.'

They kissed, their tongues intertwining, as Cordelia unfastened the crinolines and skirts caged Olivia's legs. Each layer of her outfit was removed with a dizzying slowness, intended to stir Edward into a frenzied state; to build anticipation. After what seemed to have been a century, the final layer of silk was stripped – with a flourish – from her body and Olivia was unveiled. Cordelia ran her hands over the naked body that stood before her.

'My, my,' she breathed, 'you are beautiful.'

Delirious with desire, Olivia reached for the femme-fatale that shimmered afore her like a mirage. She stroked the red fabric of her dress, wondered how her counterpart would look with it pooled about her feet. 'As are you,' she murmured, as she felt for the eyelet hooks that would allow her to expose the other woman.

With a sharp breath that grossly resembled the sound of a whip, Cordelia removed the gift of her touch from the warm body before her, leaving Olivia cold; shivering. 'I,' she snapped, 'did not give you permission to talk.' With her eyes wide and smiling, with her hand inching to grasp the crop that she usually wielded, she turned to survey Edward. 'I think,' she drawled, 'that this silly, little creature needs to be taught how to address her superiors, don't you?'

Olivia felt the blackness of her memory tug upon the edges of her consciousness; felt herself slip backwards; fall into the delicious, devastating space of her mind where regret and reminiscence reigned. With her head bowed and her hands clasped behind her back, in a position of utter subservience, she did not witness the glorious display of Cordelia's body as she shed her clothing and stepped, like a bronzed goddess, into the fading natural light of the room. She did not feel Cordelia's hand as it roughly pressed against the crown of her head, forcing her to her knees. She barely registered the sharp bite of Cordelia's high heeled boot as the stiletto rested upon her shoulder and her wanting mouth was placed against the other woman's pelvic bone.

'Make me cum,' the domme commanded.

Her lips moved unconsciously, fuelled by her innate desire to cause pleasure. Greedily, she licked and sucked the older woman's clitoris, swirling her tongue around the bud, tasting the seeping wetness that spilt onto her thighs. Cordelia's fingers clenched, entwining themselves in Olivia's dark tresses and pulling her head closer and driving her tongue into the femme's depths. As the other woman's orgasm surged across her face, as she screamed in release, Olivia surrendered to the dark recesses of her mind; she welcomed His image as it rose before her – a blisteringly, beautiful memory; bittersweet, intoxicatingly enticing.