3 comments/ 5399 views/ 4 favorites Crinolines and Leather Ch. 02 By: OliviaAyre The soles of Edward's shoes clicked across the bare wooden floorboards as he surveyed his newly acquired property, unable to keep the smile from tearing at his face. He did not see the large empty space, recently gutted by a fire; did not see the cold walls where evidence of smoke damage clung like a jilted lover. Instead, his vision rose before him, transforming the space into a glittering palace. Spreading his arms wide, he embraced the possibility that the building held. He dragged the heavy mahogany frame of a desk and two chairs into the centre of the room, placed last Friday's copy of the London Times on the table and smoothed the page that contained his cleverly worded advertisement. Checking his pocket watch, he took a deep breath, sat at his desk and prepared himself for his first appointment. She spilt into the room, ten minutes late, her flyaway hair tumbling from under her hat, which she pulled off unceremoniously and threw onto the desk beside him. Without pausing for a breath, she began to apologise for her tardiness, bombarding him with details of her journey and her subsequent excuses. When she finally stopped talking and raised her eyes to his, he surveyed her critically. She was not unattractive, with pretty wide eyes and a smile that illuminated her face, transforming her plain features into those of radiance. 'Miss Clark?' he asked, hoping that he had caught the correct name from within the confused mess of her monologue. He motioned for her to take a seat opposite him. She threw her frame into the chair carelessly. Edward peered at her from behind the wall of notes which he was quickly rereading, and frowned. 'Don't,' he snapped, 'slouch.' Her brows flew upwards with surprise and she quickly rearranged her body into a more satisfying pose. Supressing a smirk, Edward make a positive mark against her name. He flattened his palms against the desk and held her gaze levelly. 'Why do you want to work for me?' Unable to withstand the heat of his burning pupils as they starred into hers, she dropped her eyes and starred at her hands. He noted with distaste that she had bitten her nails to the skin; that her fingers bled. 'I don't know,' she began, nervously, 'I guess, I just...' Her face broke into that beautiful smile, and he felt his chest contract. 'I've fallen, completely, head-over-heels, for a man, and he desperately wants to marry me but we're both oh-so poor and he has this terribly clever plan about making his fortune in Australia. And he's said it's going to be an awfully exciting adventure, if only he had the money to get there. So I thought that I'd work for you for a few months, earn enough to get married and to travel to Australia and then...' Words failed her, and she merely grinned wildly, prettily, assured of her own genius. Edward felt his face set into the mould of cynicism. 'And your beloved is happy with this plan; with the idea of you sleeping with other men?' She flushed, whispered so delicately that Edward had to strain to hear: 'He wouldn't know.' Taking in his dismayed face, she continued. 'I could keep it a secret. It would only be for a little while. And I wouldn't be doing it because I want to; it would be to fund our future-' He held up his hand to silence her mid-sentence and, as she blinked in confusion, he waved his hand dismissively. 'Thank you for your time but I do not feel that you're the appropriate candidate for this venture. I wish you and your fiancé the best of luck.' She snorted in anger, turned on her heel and stormed from the room, scattering falling hairpins across the floor as she moved. The second candidate was a timid girl with thin limbs that jutted from her body at awkward angles. It was almost impossible to determine her age: poverty, malnourishment had stunted her growth so that she had the eerie look of a perpetual child. Her hair hung down her back in a thin, lank mass; her eyes appeared to be too large for her head as she stared at him as if pleading. When he beckoned her closer, she flinched. It was like looking into a mirror of his former self, and this thought cut Edward deeply. He spoke to her softly, desperate to reassure, fighting the irrational urge to pull her into his arms, to protect her from the external world. She trembled as she spoke to him, refused to meet his gaze and to answer his questions with definite responses. Finally, she broke and the truth surface to her lips with chest wrenching sobs. 'Please don't make me,' she begged, falling to the floor before him, a mass of weeping rags. Fighting the tears that streaked across her dirty pinched face, she confessed that her father had forced her to apply in a bid to save their family from poverty. Fear made her shrink and, afraid that she would disappear, Edward wrapped a paternal arm around her and guided her from the room to the front door where her father was waiting. With venom in his voice, he reproached the man; threatening him with untold acts of violence should any harm come to his daughter, before bolting from the scene. As he slammed the door shut behind him, he became aware of the familiar sensation of his body as it cried for blood; that steady, deadly pulse in the base of his throat that screamed for atrocity. His hands shook as he forced himself into a state of composure, desperate to shake the trappings of the past from his skin. Placing his head in his hands, he massaged his temples, waited for the calm to overtake him. He did not see her enter; rather it seemed that she appeared before him like a spirit. He watched her wordlessly as she moved towards him, marvelling at how the cut of her dress moved as she walked, betraying the sinews of her skin that lay beneath the black silk - a secret ready to be uncovered. Her face was half obscured by a veil of black lace that fell, like a shadow, from the edge of her hat and grazed her features. She sauntered slowly, revelling in the anticipation that her slow steps caused, watching, with her careful dark eyes, as he strained to get a better view of her. She slipped her slim body into the chair opposite him and smoothed her skirt beneath her, before gently removing her hat and brushing tendrils of her hair back into place. She lifted her eyes to meet Edward's, for the first time, and he reeled. He watched her features as the light lit them, feeling the pull of recognition; certain that he had met her before. She could not be described as a classical beauty but she was striking, with sweeping lashes that framed her wide green eyes, a strong, straight nose and a small but round mouth that held an all knowing smile. She arched her brow as she held his stare, assessing him critically, as a wolf would watch its prey. When she had judged him to be satisfactory, assured herself that she had found a glimmer of honesty in his blue eyes; a degree of sincerity in the blush that gently coloured his face as he stared at her, she slipped her black gloves from her dainty, child-like digits and proffered him her palm. 'Olivia Ayre,' she whispered, looking at him from under her lashes. 'Edward,' he breathed, feeling the pulse that beat beneath her skin. His perfectly formulated questions, those that he had spent hours perfecting, were dragged from his head by the rapids of his thoughts, as he drank her in. His dry lips moved of their own accord. 'Who are you?' Her smile was devastating. 'I'm nobody,' she declared softly. 'I doubt that,' he breathed. She laughed sardonically. 'Would I be here if I wasn't?' Averting his eyes, he found himself troubled by her honesty. 'Tell me about yourself,' he demanded quietly; his voice coloured by the steely dominance that crept into his command, desperate to learn about the mystical creature before him. Without answering, she stood and turned from him and slowly, sensually began to unbutton her bodice. Her fingers moved slowly, teasingly. She did not break his gaze and he found himself drawn into the inky blackness of her dilated pupils. 'What are you doing?' he breathed, hypnotized by the way the fabric fell away to reveal the gentle curve of her shoulder; the line of her collarbone. 'Is this, or is it not, a job interview?' she solicited as her shirt slipped from her body. Numbed by desire, he nodded silently. 'Then,' she murmured, 'I'm persuading you to hire me.' The black silk curves of her skirt slithered from her hips, grazing the lines of her legs, before pooling on the floor. Freed from the cage of her netting and clothing, she stepped from the shores of her trappings. Temptation personified, she kissed him breathily, tangling her fingers in his hair and tugging him from his seat. As he surrendered to his base desires, as he allowed the blaze of immolation to claim him, he poured himself into her, kissing her desperately. She reciprocated wildly before drawing back; denying him tauntingly, leaving him wanting. His fingers crushed her waist as he pulled her closer, burning with the urge to contain and consume her. She tore at his shirt, indifferent to the destruction that her fingertips wrecked; to the havoc that she, that brilliant and beautiful muse, inspired. Animalistic, her tongue traced a line down his chest, tasting the outline of his beating heart, frantic and wanting, beneath her lips. She kissed the seams of his skin as she unbuttoned his trousers, and felt as he tensed in anticipation, as she lowered her mouth to his erection. Her tongue worked in small, agonising circles, building into a deeper, darker tempo as she drew him into her throat, moaning deliciously; a siren's song that took him to the edge. There, poised on the brink of orgasm, ready to plummet into the tumult of pleasure, he knotted his fingers in her hair, dragged her to her feet. She tasted of carnality and he revelled in this, lifting her into his arms and placing her upon the desk. His fingers skimmed her body, marvelling in the sighs of pleasure that his touch instigated. He thrust himself into her, groaning at the taught pull of her body, as she pulsated around him, writhing in pleasure. Her eyes drifted shut as her body shuddered and she abandoned herself to ecstasy. There was a desperation to her movements; a resistance hidden within each gasp that escaped her parted lips - as if she were raging against some dark internal force and the memories that it carried. She had promised herself that she would never sleep with an employer again and hated that she had chosen to derogate herself in such a manner, but it was impossible to regret her decision while Edward continued to move within her, so deeply and deliciously that she was convinced that her sole purpose in life was to experience such exquisite pleasure. She was a mass of sensation as he quickened his pace, driving himself into her, desperately seeking the release that her body, that throbbing, writhing mass, promised. The orgasm tore through him, like an explosion, rendering them both breathless. Exhausted, he collapsed his head onto her chest, feeling her lungs expand and contract greedily as she drank in the air. Propping himself on his elbows, he assessed her face, gently tucking a stray tendril of hair back into place. A moment of utter silence and contemplation, of perfect satisfaction, passed between them. As he smiled into her eyes and she felt her lips, unconsciously, mirror his, she pulled away from him, sent him reeling. With trembling hands, she dressed herself; her fingers tripping carefully over the buttons and laces of her corsets and skirts as she constructed herself once more. When she was complete, her hands no longer shook. She surveyed him, her head tilted, a pretty smile playing across her face as she watched him, naked and vulnerable. 'Well,' she asked, 'did I impress?' Edward remained sprawled across his desk, uncomfortable with the cold air that billowed around him without the protection of her body. He didn't like this shift in authority; didn't like that she had turned his gaze back upon him. Reassuring himself of his own masculine power, of his ability to make women subservient, he rearranged himself into a more comfortable position and held her gaze levelly. Although he was naked, his broad shoulders and confident hold afforded him an air of authority and he returned to his position as interviewer with ease. 'Why do you want this job?' he asked. Her thin shoulders shrugged. 'It's all I know how to do. All I've ever known how to do.' She twisted the ring that sat on her middle finger and admired the pattern of light that the opal and diamond setting threw upon the walls - a pretty distraction from the trauma of the past, a reminder of all she had to lose. The image of her as a child, small and crying, burnt beneath his eyelids, and he fought to supress the horror of her imagined, tearful face. 'How old were you, the first time?' 'Eighteen,' she responded quickly, her voice devoid of all emotion. 'What happened?' Silence surrounded her, pressing itself against her body; an oppressive and inescapable power that forced its way into her mouth and lungs, choking her. She was aware of the quiet as she navigated her way through it, slipping onto the desk next to him. Her voice was quiet, halting, as if honesty was a notion that she was unaccustomed to, as if she needed to reacquaint herself with the ideal of truth before she spoke through it. 'I, uh,' she whispered. She faltered; her voice became higher, flippant. 'I was young and in love, and naïve. And I believed all the stories that I was fed, realising too late what poison they were made of.' He scoffed. 'Very poetic, but you're avoiding the question.' She smiled at him. 'I'm being enigmatic.' 'I want you to be honest.' 'Why?' 'Because,' he rationalised, 'if we are going to be working together, if you are going to be working for me, I want to know who you are.' A shadow passed across her face. 'I am not defined by my past.' 'Just shaped by it,' he countered. Her eyes sparkled at the debate. 'Touché,' she beamed. She took a deep breath, stared at her hands as she spoke. 'Forgive me if I do not give you all the details; some things are too personal, too intimate and too painful. I was young and silly and I wanted so badly to believe him when he promised me the world. He manipulated me into a position where I had nothing but him; he used and abused me and I was powerless to stop him. Prostitution was my only option; the means of my liberation, and I've found that I'm rather good at it.' 'Indeed,' he commented dryly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 'Why,' she interrogated crisply, 'do you want to open a brothel?' 'I thought I was asking the questions,' he uttered, revelling in her curiosity, her independent spirit. 'If,' she said, mimicking him, 'if we are going to be working together, if I am going to be working for you, I want to know who you are.' 'Touché,' he retaliated. He paused, ran a hand through his hair. 'It's a purely hedonistic venture; I like sex and I like money, and this is the perfect opportunity for me to delight in my two favourite things.' She raised an eyebrow. 'Are you always so harshly honest?' 'Would you believe me if I said I wanted to help you; to create a safe space for you where you cannot be violated or hurt; where you are autonomous and protected?' 'No,' she said softly, 'but I like the thought of such a space.' He reached for her hand, looked at her sideways. 'As do I.' He led her round the skeleton of the building, using his hands and his words to add colour to the bare walls and floors, to paint his vision for her. He wanted so desperately to impress her and spoke with childlike abandon, his ideas tripping over each other as they fought to be heard. He watched as she walked through the empty rooms that would become the bedrooms of the women who worked there; watched as she stepped into the rays of light created by the wide windows, as an actress would step into the spotlight. Her heels sounded like gunshots as she walked across the bare floorboards and she smiled at the sound of her own authority. She reached up with her fingertips, in an attempt to graze the ceiling. When she found that she was unable to reach far enough, she turned and smiled at him. 'I want this one.' He eyes her quizzically. 'Why?' She spoke with precision, as if everything had already been determined. 'The ceiling is the right height for a restraint; there's enough space in here for both a bed and a bench. I can have a large, guilt mirror set on the fall wall, opposite the two. I'll need some artefacts sourcing for me: restraints, crops and such.' 'Why?' he whispered. 'Why do you think?' she snapped. 'Do you enjoy being hurt?' She shrugged. 'I've been ruined, and I excel at being so. I'm merely exploiting my own talents.' She sighed, stared into the distance as if reaching for a memory both pleasant and painful. 'I learnt to love it,' she murmured, by way of explanation. 'I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with,' he claimed, but as he said it, his treacherous hands were itching to work the leather that would adorn her. He wondered what she would look like with her wrists bound. He held out his hands. 'May I?' She nodded gently. Her wrists were so delicate that he was able to encase both of them in one of his palms. Tracing his fingers over her porcelain skin, he measured the width of her joints, appraising her as an artist would a masterpiece. It would not do, he thought, to have her caught by thick, ugly bands of leather which would dwarf her tiny frame. Instead, he resolved, he would craft a set of cuffs worthy of her; using fine, ribbon-like strips of the most supple leather to create bonds that would sit upon her wrists like the finest jewellery. He found this notion - the fact that she would be wearing his ties, that she would be his, even as she slept with other men - incredibly erotic. Her voice cut into his fantasies with the force of a knife. 'I want my own room.' 'Everyone who works here will have their own room,' he stated calmly. 'I don't mean a room to entertain clients,' she said, 'I want a separate room, in which I can relax and sleep and... be alone.' 'You're awfully demanding,' he admonished, grinning. She refused to return his smile; her eyes were dark and serious. 'With the amount of money that I will make you, I can afford to be.' He blinked in surprise, shocked by her bluntness. 'And how can you be sure of that?' he asked. Her eyes sparkled in defiance, as if she was daring him to challenge her statement. 'Because,' she drawled, dragging out the word, 'I am worth it.' She turned on her heel. 'We're going to the tea rooms,' she stated, 'you're going to buy me a drink.' She stalked from the room, leaving him whirling, stumbling to follow her. She moved through the streets as though she owned them; negotiating the crowds with ease, never diverting her path for them, instead parting them as though they were the Red Sea and she wielded the power of the almighty. Edward watched her; watched the men whose hungry gazes followed her body as it drifted, unchaperoned, across the winding pathways that spread across the London underworld - a nervous system that kept the city's treacherous, depraved heart beating. And, in the centre of this netherworld, she was Persephone. If, he thought, I can keep her within this eternal winter of my grasp; if I can prevent her head from being turned by the promise of summertime, we can rule Hades together. We can challenge the gods! She carried herself with the regal grace that benefited her position as Queen and this authority, coupled with the overtly sexual roll of her hips as she walked, made her irresistible. She was, he realised, the perfect advertisement. She calculated each movement and executed it with devout precision, using the canvas of the public sphere as her billboard; transforming herself into a coveted commodity. One for which, men would pay any price. 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. Crinolines and Leather Ch. 03 Cordelia sank to her knees beside Olivia, bent to lick the moisture from her lips. Gently, she tucked a strand of black hair behind the younger woman's ear. 'That,' she breathed, 'was delightful. Thank you.' The praise dragged Olivia into the present; she shrugged off the shackles of the past and, with a smile shattering her features, transforming her into a siren-like creature, she stated: 'You are most welcome.' 'Still,' the older woman drawled, 'I think that deserves a reward.' With her head cocked, she looked towards Edward, his chest rapidly rising and falling; his body rigid with desire. 'I might need a hand,' she breathed. 'With pleasure,' he grinned. He stood, allowing his tall frame to fill the room, and approached the two women, his palm brushing the crown of Olivia's head – an act of beatification. He felt her lean back, into his embrace and felt his chest contract at this act of trust. Slowly, as he wanted to appear commanding and in control, he stooped, so that he was kneeling behind his beautiful submissive. As he moved, he unbuttoned his trousers, letting his erection break free from its fabric prison. He kissed the girls neck, feeling her tense as Cordelia's hands slipped between her legs, into the silky wetness of her inner depths. With Edward's hands upon her breasts and Cordelia's fingers working against her clitoris in small, agonising circles, Olivia's delicious moans became frenzied, liberating screams. She was slick with the evidence of her orgasm and Edward slipped inside her easily, sighing as his cock was claimed by the taught muscles of her still contracting cunt. Cordelia lay backwards, spreading her taught body across the bare floorboards, like a feast. Her heeled feet hooked themselves around Olivia's shoulders and pulled her down to taste her sex. Shockwaves of pleasure tore through Olivia's body, she convulsed as she came; surrendering her body to the overwhelming indulgence that Edward's expert ministrations evoked. The moans that escaped her lips reverberated through Cordelia's body, forcing her over the edge. She screamed in delight; thrashing against the younger woman's tongue. Lost in the delights of her body, Edward gradually built his tempo, rising to a devastating pace, to the point of a convulsing mutual orgasm that left both he and Olivia panting; sated. Cordelia extracted herself from the limbs of the couple and watched as, with lips and fingers, they pieced each other back together; their eyes were wide; vulnerable. She drew her cigarette case from the lining of her skirt and – with matches plucked from Edward's pockets – lit the blistering cylinder. Edward's dark, searching orbs met her gaze and she took a deep drag, letting the smoke cascade from her lips. 'Well,' she asked with a questioning smile, 'are you satisfied?'