Chapter Three
Tonn Vesik was quiet on the carriage ride back to the estate, but no one saw that as unusual. He often spent the night talking to associates, nobles, and hangers on, so him decompressing on the ride home was nothing much to think about. Jeron and Sere talked about the night together as the carriage traveled the streets relatively smoothly. Tonn picked out a few interesting pieces of information and asked them to elaborate, but the answer was lost in a haze almost immediately as the response came. He was seated next to Sere and that was the only thing that stuck in his mind. Her lyrical voice, the slightly spicy scent of her perfume, and the knowledge that her body was so very close kept him on edge.
Images roiled in his mind, thoughts and desires once buried or never even born until this night asserted dominance. He felt weak to them and powerful because of them all at once and it was a heady sensation. He looked around, noting only the dim light that floated by from the street lamps and how it floated across Sere, illuminating her gown.
Six seconds.
He could count six seconds before the light angled down her gown. His hazy mind grabbed the rhythm as an anchor as he focused on the legs beneath it, imagining their shape, and how supple they must be. He knew they would pull away from the main thoroughfares, albeit briefly as they approached the manor, and, at the first turn, when there would be blackness the rest of the way, he placed his hand on her knee.
Sere thought nothing of the touch at first. It wasn't usual in and of itself, but she noted that it lingered and his fingers sank into the fabric to dimple the flesh beneath. She stiffened at the feeling.
Father?
She said nothing aloud. Perhaps she was misunderstanding the meaning, and, if she was there was no need to make a scene with Mother there.
His hands drifted up her thigh and curled inward. There was no denying where his interests were focused. She placed her hand over his, fully intending to remove his hand from her thigh. When her palm rested over his hand Sere's thoughts clouded. She wanted to remove his hand. The intention was there, but she just couldn't quite send the thought to her body to have it carried out. His hand moved down with hers, and, as it did, tingles and a happy warmth moved from her neck and over her breasts to rest in her belly and build before spreading to her clit and flowing to her toes.
The first time the sensation rolled over her, there was confusion. The second time, there was some small wonder as to what to do about it. The third time, she lifted his hand to her thigh and sank back into her seat as her mother rattled on about whatever. It didn't matter that her mother was talking. It didn't matter that the hand trying to be felt through the layers of clothing was her father's. When you could just lie back and feel warm as though you were wrapped in thick blankets shielded from a bitter night while your pussy dripped dew all over her panties, what did the cause matter?
She lost track of time and the only thing that startled her back to the now was the slight jostle as the carriage stopped and the hand that reluctantly disengaged from hers. Once she came back to the now though she saw the lights of her own courtyard. She shivered, staring down at the ground, or the backside of the horse, or the door at the end of the walkway that led to her home, essentially anywhere but at another person, as she was sure she was exposed to them. She was certain that they could see through to what she'd felt moments before. She was certain that they could see her shame.
The air slapped her and the forceful placement of one foot in front of the other gave her back her control. Sere walked behind her parents and by the time they'd reached the halfway mark to the door, the intensity of the feelings that had taken hold had faded to the point where she could have almost dismissed them as a combination of too much dance and wine. By the time they'd reached the door, it all had the ephemeral quality of a dream.
Once inside, things seemed back to normal. Lord Vesik had even started conversing more as the staff hovered around them, taking their things, asking about the party, and generally just doing what they'd always done.
Jeron reached her hands and began to put her hair in a more relaxed state, quite happy to be home. She spoke as they made their way to the living room "Did you see Lady Bane's dress?"
Sere knew exactly where her mother was going and she responded with mockery, "They have always 'lived modestly.'"
"One would think they might try to look the equal of their peers on at least rare occasion. I swear there is southie blood in their line."
"Mother!" Sere wanted to laugh.
"I'm sure it's true."
Following her mother's lead, Sere freed at least some of her hair from the ornate coif that took two handmaidens no small amount of time to put together. As it fell down her neck her eyes met her father's. They were always dark, but now they seemed to smolder. There was something wild and untamed behind them now, and, as it sometimes was when the prey locked eyes with the hunter, Sere found she could not look away. Indeed, the more she tried, the more his gaze seemed to hold her. She could see that his own body was rigid, though the small twitches in his face made it clear he was making a mammoth effort to fight something within him. But, with a hard swallow, the conflict was resolved. "Get upstairs to my room," he told her firmly.
She shook, feeling like that prey animal as the predator circled. She explored the feeling with morbid fascination, as though it were happening to someone else. "Father?"
The fevered edge to his demand snapped her to, "Now."
Jeron was at a loss and it showed, "Tonn, what's wrong?"
"Not here," he snapped. Upstairs." He focused again on Sere. "Now. Don't make me say it again."
Sere's legs found the will to move as she headed from the room and down the short hallway to the stairs, lifting her dress as she took the steps probably faster than was safe. She could hear them behind her. She could hear her mother plea with him to know what was going on while she could hear his breathing, quavering and rough in the air and it urged her forward, those tingles wracking her body once again, to the point where she wasn't sure if she was moving so hastily to try to get away from whatever was to come or to get to it.
She opened the door to the master bedroom, walking in and turning towards the doorway to wait for them, footfalls growing louder as the seconds passed. The master bedroom was like the rest of the house in that it was a monument to excess. The bed, as large as it was only took up a small portion of the room, covered in a thick burgundy quilt and plush pillows. The vanity and small desk at the other end of the room alone cost more than some families made in a year.
"Tonn, what's wrong? What's gotten into you?" Jeron rushed in not more than half a step behind him.
"Close the door," he told her.
She complied quickly. Once done, she turned to him, exasperation evident "Now, exactly what's going on?
"What's going on," Tonn began, looking down at his daughter as though he were passing sentence, "is that your daughter is a slut."
Sere's jaw dropped and Jeron blanched, "Tonn Vesik, how can you suggest...?"
"I saw how you were with Markus. I saw it in your eyes. You know him in all the ways you should not until your wedding night."
She shook her head slowly, "No, Father."
He smiled, lips twisting upward, "Slut
and
a liar. How much more disgrace are you going to heap on your parents and your House?"
Jeron looked to her husband, uncertain of how to react. Certainly he could be rigid in what he believed proper, but this was not something he'd ever made mention of, even in passing. She tried to make light of it in an attempt to diffuse the situation that seemed on the edge of control. Keeping her voice low as though she feared the rest of the house hearing of her own transgressions, "My sweet, you know we did not wait for our wedding. She is betrothed and happy and the wedding is but a formality so what does it matter?" She took his hand in hers to calm him, but, almost at once she found the world becoming hazy around the edges of her vision as a rush of feeling seemed to come from everywhere to hold her in place. It came from everywhere, yet, if she had been able to sort through it she would have found that it had a center behind the brooch at her collar.
Not that it would have mattered.
"That was your fault, he told her, strangely calm as some of the itch he had been feeling was now shared, even as his eyes still carried their own special brand of insanity. "Those breasts. Those hips. Those eyes," he began as he looked her over. "I was noble. I would have waited, but I was young and you used your wiles. You ruined me. You're a slut."
"Jeron?"
"You're a slut just like your daughter. Why should I be surprised that I couldn't stand against that? You must be where she gets it from."
"I'm not a..."
"Slut?" He sneered at her, "Of course you are. Or don't you remember your heels in the air in your mother's garden, hoping we could finish before she returned. Whose idea was that? It wasn't mine. Who slid their hand down my trousers to seduce me into your slut hole?"
Silence.
"Answer me, Woman."
"It was mine," she said in defeat. "I did that."
