By My Side ... (A Valentine's Day Story) (13 page)

With three, distinct thuds
objects fell to the pelts besides her, the sounds of their impact
jarring her with cruel finality. Elena's eyes were caught by them,
her mind considering them dispassionately. A riding crop, one of
the broad, wooden cooking spoons and a short stranded flogger. She
knew all three could cause significant hurt, even harm -- the last,
the flogger, had been known to kill. She had seen it come close to
do so, once.

A visitor to the court had
brought ten orcs to travel with and one had earned a flogging for
some infraction, imagined or real. She had only been twelve then
and had snuck to the servant's quarters for some company. She had
not seen the actual punishment, only the blood streaming down an
already scarred back, seven deep slices dissecting flesh and
muscle. It had been horrific.

She was no orc and after the
last few days she could appreciate just how superior their physical
abilities, let alone their perseverance, were. What she had seen as
a child had not been a prone body at the limit of its ability to
endure, laying there in desperate need of medical care. No, when
she had seen the orc, he had calmly knelt besides a trough washing
his own blood from the heavy strands of the very implement which
had turned his back into raw meat. A human would have died from the
punishment.

Her hand stroked over the
flogger, her fingers touching the soft leather strands tentatively.
She was human. She could die under its wicket bite. Was that what
he wanted? Had he given up on her already? Or was it a test, to see
how much she was willing to risk? Did it matter?

"Choose one."

Pain

Fear is a curious emotion -- it
sharpens the mind, the sensations and then leaves the human in a
cloud of hyperawareness, seemingly rational and still completely
detached. She wanted to run, to hide, to escape; she wanted to give
him all she was. His large, heavy hand came to rest on her head,
the fingers tangling with her hair as they stroked through the soft
strands. The rough callouses on his skin caught in the fine texture
of her braid, pulled on it, reminded her of the pain of his grip in
her hair only minutes before. Was his hand holding her in place --
or was it giving her solace? She was not certain.

"Choose." Softer, gentler. He
would not have had to remind her. Her hand was already reaching for
the flogger. The choice was, at least in part, instinctive. Of the
three it frightened her the most, was the most alien and held the
most threat. It was the biggest challenge, the fiercest test she
could meet. And she would meet it -- for him. For herself.

When her eyes found his she saw
unhappiness lurking in their depth. It wiped away the moment of
certainty, of security, she had felt and left her falling into
nothingness again. She thought he had wanted her to choose the most
difficult, choose that which would show her contrition, her
willingness to give herself freely to the bonding, most. Instead he
frowned at her. She started, shifting uncomfortably under her own
doubts. His face blanked, all emotion wiped away in the face of her
distress.

Reschkar offered her his hand
to rise. She took it and let him pull her to her feet. Her knees
shook. It was barely noticeable, even to herself, but he noticed
it, noticed too much entirely. Without a word he pulled her closer,
not close enough to force her into an embrace but close enough his
hands could hold her, steady her until she had found her
footing.

"I thought you wanted me to
choose the flogger?" She felt the need to ask, to make certain she
and not displeased him again. He looked at her for what seemed to
be a long time, his gaze never wavering but also never revealing
his thoughts. Finally, he said:

"I expected you to do so."
Then, with a sigh, almost too quiet for her to hear. "But I would
have preferred if you would have chosen from trust, not hate."

Elena did not understand that
last part. She had only thought to please him, to prove herself to
him. What did he want? She could have assured him that she did
trust him -- but it might have been another lie. She was not
certain she knew what trust was. So what could she give him?

Did he think she was mocking
him? Wanted to remind him of the way he had been used by the
courts, the evidence writ large on his skin?

"I wanted to please you. I did
not mean to insult you, or to insinuate anything. Please, if you do
not want to..."

She was babbling, she knew it
but she needed him to know there was no disdain, no dislike in her
for his people. They were amazing. A pale finger came to rest on
her lips, stopping the deluge of reassurances.

"I know, little one. I know. It
is not me you despise." He sighed, then his eyes hardened, his
features setting into harsher lines. "Though you will before we are
done."

Confused, she was again left
without the ability to form words. He did not give her the
opportunity to recover her wits, instead he let her go, turning
from her to walk across the room towards the heavy four-poster
bed.

"Come."

Her feet were already moving
when she realised he had still not told her why he was unhappy with
her choice of the flogger.

He waited for her by the bed,
his hands filled with leather -- not the flogger, which he had
discarded on the bed, but a set of cuffs. They were broad and
heavy, frightening. They weren't toys. If those cuffs snapped
around her wrists, the soft inside moulding to her skin, she would
not be able to escape them. No matter the insistence with which her
rational mind told her that she was already caught, by word and
deed, there was a purely instinctive, and primordial reluctance to
step closer, to let him close those restraints over her wrists,
predator to prey. He watched her reaction, watched her eyes fix on
the restraints, tense under the threat of their presence. He saw
her reluctance.

The long, elegant fingers
unfolded the cuffs in what was an invitation and command in one.
She knew he expected her to put her wrists on the broad, padded
leather so that he could close the straps and tighten them around
her wrist. She could almost feel the soft padding against her skin,
the gentle rub as it closed over her, the way it would slowly
absorb the warmth of her skin to become a part of her. But it was
an imaginary memory, not a real one.

"You have worn cuffs before,
there are no surprises hidden in these." Her hesitation had been
too long. His tone was teasing, a soothing timbre underneath it
all. He smiled at her, a smile which slowly slipped away when she
did not budge.

"Elena?"

"No." She did not really expect
him to understand her answer. He frowned again and she did not like
the disquiet churning in her stomach when looked at her like
this.

"Elena?"

"I have never been cuffed
before." There, finally she had surprised, even shocked, him.
Wide-eyed he froze, for a moment.

"You have never been cuffed?"
She shook her head, watching as disbelief and amazement warred on
his face.

"You are trained in submission,
have been so since before you even reached adulthood. According to
all sources your skills are superior and you are telling me you
have never been restrained?"

"No." She shifted her weight
from foot to foot, embarrassment beginning to outweigh the fear at
the thoughts of being restrained.

"How?" Did he not believe her?
She studied him but he gave no signs of disbelief, only intent
interest, astonishment colouring his eyes.

"Adrianus did not let anyone
tie me down. He thought it was too dangerous. Not even when it was
only people from his own circle who had access to me did he let
them use restraints whilst trying to engage the bond. He argued
that it was the reason why he had me so well trained, so that it
would not be necessary."

She remembered those
excruciating days. It had been not long after her nineteenth
birthday. Elena had not been a child anymore by a long measure.
Three years of bonding attempts by Adrianus had also made her no
stranger to sex, but there was nothing which could have made the
intercourse with men and women who she had grown up with any less
embarrassing -- for them or her. Then, she had still had the hope
she would be able to develop the ErGer bond in Adrianus's
court.

"And before? When only he
himself tried to bond you?"

With Adrianus? The mere hint of
the memory made her shiver in prolonged disgust.

"It's not his thing -- I mean,
it was hard enough. More often than not he could not ... I mean
..."

She slapped her hands over her
heated face. Could this conversation get any more embarrassing?
Whatever heat there had been earlier between them, whatever arousal
or even fear, was washed away under the discomfiture, the
humiliation of the memories. She heard his chuckle and it was hard
not to give into the ridicule of the moment, the whole situation,
her whole life.

"Lay back and think of
England?"

The well known quotation broke
the dam of laughter. Elena hoped in all seriousness that the first
person who had ever said it had done so in jest, but since that
long-forgotten day that comment must surely have lightened more
than one awkward moment. Her eyes met his amused gaze through her
fingers and the shared understanding of the faintly ridiculous gave
them the ground to revive some of the previous intimacy, of the
growing warmth between them. Gently he pulled her hands from her
face and lifted them to his mouth, the kiss with which he caressed
them still holding the remnant of laughter.

She fell into his eyes, the
amusement and warmth, the intensity and confidence in them. When he
snapped the cuffs around her wrists a strange calmness rose in her
mind. There was not anything she could do anymore and it gave her a
quiet peace. Still she felt the need to defend her guardian, a
complicated need to protect the dignity of a man she had once loved
before she had come close to hating him.

"Adrianus is known as a good
lover." The moment the words left her mouth she realised how
ludicrous they sounded. His lips twitched and she was lured into
adding: "Really!"

"Sweetheart, the man has
brought you up -- the fact that he had problems engaging in any
kind of sexual relationship with you does merely raise him in my
estimation." Underlying the words was a clear sense that Adrianus
had a long way to go to approach a level of even basic respect in
Reschkar's estimation. He closed the last clasp on her left cuff
and held both of her wrists in his large hands. Even with the heavy
leather surrounding her wrists, or possibly because of them, her
hands looked impossibly fragile in his. His pale fingers closed
over the leather, bringing home to her the feeling of
restraint.

"You don't really need them,
you know." She said it more out of a desire to say something, than
in an attempt to dissuade him from his course. Her whole body,
every inch, every pore, every thought and sensation were centred on
his hands over the cuffs, on the emotions it evoked in her. There
was safety in them and her body had grown heavier, more languid
with the simple closure of the snaps. The arousal, the heat, the
anticipation were all coming back.

"No, Lena, I don't need them.
You do." She felt a mild flush of insult though there was only
gentleness in his eyes as he said it. She glared at him.

"I don't. I have never needed
them. I have been well trained and I will stay in whatever position
you order me to, without the need to restrain me."

He met her crisp, proud tone
with another smile.

"Ah, but they are not to keep
you from fighting me -- the cuffs are so that you
can
fight
without risking injury."

At his words his fingers
pressed on the cuffs. The effect was electric. As if a rope of heat
ran from them to her core she felt herself moisten, her breasts
growing heavy and tender. Automatically she shifted to close her
legs over the wet heat blooming but the move only made her aware of
how sensitive her swollen folds had suddenly become. The cuffs held
a tacit permission just to be, not to control each reaction, be
aware of each single muscle at all time. It was a from of freedom.
And he knew it, his too knowing gaze taking in every move, every
twitch, every reaction.

She could not help pulling
against his hands, testing the grip he had on her wrists. Reschkar
did not budge by even a centimetre and she felt that awareness in
the almost painful tightness of her nipples, the aggravating
sensation of moisture seeping from her core.

"Not yet, little one. We get to
play later -- now you will take the punishment you asked for."

Why did this sound like a
promise and not a threat?

He made her kneel on the floor
besides the bed. She had sunk into the familiar position with
barely a flick of his hand whilst he moved around the room to
assemble a confusing collection of objects. Here, far from the
fire, the air was cooler and she could feel the cold stone through
the thin rug below her knees. Elena could not suppress the shiver
at the sudden touch of cold.

Immediately, his eyes snapped
back to her, his gaze intent and concentrated. He scanned her, her
surroundings. After a moment he dropped what he was doing to add
some wood to the fire. It made her realise how closely he watched
her, how aware he was of her smallest movement, even when he seemed
otherwise occupied. It was a reassuring thought -- and a
frightening one.

When he returned to the bed he
held two straps, both a few meters long and broader than his hand.
He dropped them onto the bed, let them join the wide assortment of
leather already collecting there. With slow, deliberate movements,
Reschkar attached the two straps on the top of each post -- then
spanned them to tie to the opposite lower end so that they formed
an X. He then carefully checked their tension twice before
attaching shorter, softer straps on all four ends. Only then did he
turn to her again, offering her his hand to help her rise.