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Authors: Megan Mulry
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thought of Anna Redondo turned Pia Carvajal into a weak, useless thing.
She thought of how Anna had made her— made her! Ha! Made her want to , more like —unwind the long strip of linen that she used to bind her breasts, and how the cool autumn air had trailed against her nipples, and how the pressure of Anna’s appreciative eyes on her tender flesh had made her breasts feel heavy and full, desperate for more. Always desperate for more of Anna’s gaze. Anna’s touch.
And then how Anna had approached her, making the anticipation crackle between them even more keenly. And then when Anna’s mouth had been on her, sucking and teasing, biting and punishing, until Pia had felt wave after wave of crashing pleasure break apart inside her.
Even now she could feel an approaching climax at the recollection—without even a touch between her legs, without anything but the memory of that greedy mouth, with nothing but the faintest reminiscence of Anna’s desire and her hoarse command, “Come for me.”
All those blessed memories now only brought more tears. More stifled groans of misery.
Anna probably kissed that beast of a man with that beautiful mouth of hers. She probably submitted to him, losing the spark and honor that made her who she was. The force of steel that resided in that deceptively small body had probably been bent to his will. The greatness that was Anna’s power had probably been destroyed or subsumed by an arrogant prick.
Pia wiped her eyes and patted her face dry with her apron. In several weeks she would see for herself. That’s when the newlyweds were due to pick up their lady’s maid . Pia stood up straighter, despising everything those words implied.
She would see Anna one last time. She would see that she was safe, at least. She would let herself be taken out of the convent, out of Spain. She would let herself be taken to London.
And then Pia would run.
For the few weeks before they were due in Madrid, Anna and Sebastian rusticated in Feria with Javi and Isabella. Banns were posted in the capital, and Sebastian’s parents were delighted their son had finally agreed to marry a virginal Spanish miss.
During that idyllic time, Sebastian and Javi spent many hours in the corral, while Isabella and Anna strolled with their parasols beneath the warm sun and pretended to admire their horsemanship. While both men were excellent equestrians, Anna and Isabella were far more preoccupied with the fit of male trousers and the turn of muscled hips.
For the first time in her life, Anna felt like she could breathe without the pressing need to worry about her future or calculate her prospects. The summer dresses that Isabella had given her felt less confining, the jaunty straw hats more playful than the rigid ones she’d been forced to wear in Burgos. Anna realized she had never been at leisure, and she relished every second now. She listened to the wind as it wound its way through the cork oak forest at night. She read volume after volume from Isabella’s library. She dreamt of Pia. And, as the days passed, she dreamt of Sebastian.
On this particular afternoon, ten days after the wedding, Anna and Isabella were once again watching the men in the riding ring (and pretending to see their equestrian skills). The crunch of the gravel path beneath their feet offset the rhythm of the trotting horses.
“Sebastian is quite a good rider,” Isabella conceded, squinting her eyes and pausing to lean against the white wall of the enclosure. Since she was apparently unable to see the radiance of any male but her new husband, everything Isabella said about Sebastian sounded reluctant.
Anna nodded her head in agreement. “He is.”
“Have you really fallen in love with him?” Isabella asked, turning her attention away from the prancing Arabians—and their handsome riders—to focus on Anna.
Sebastian and Anna had not been alone since their time in the library. Ironically, the public announcement of their future
She thought of how Anna had made her— made her! Ha! Made her want to , more like —unwind the long strip of linen that she used to bind her breasts, and how the cool autumn air had trailed against her nipples, and how the pressure of Anna’s appreciative eyes on her tender flesh had made her breasts feel heavy and full, desperate for more. Always desperate for more of Anna’s gaze. Anna’s touch.
And then how Anna had approached her, making the anticipation crackle between them even more keenly. And then when Anna’s mouth had been on her, sucking and teasing, biting and punishing, until Pia had felt wave after wave of crashing pleasure break apart inside her.
Even now she could feel an approaching climax at the recollection—without even a touch between her legs, without anything but the memory of that greedy mouth, with nothing but the faintest reminiscence of Anna’s desire and her hoarse command, “Come for me.”
All those blessed memories now only brought more tears. More stifled groans of misery.
Anna probably kissed that beast of a man with that beautiful mouth of hers. She probably submitted to him, losing the spark and honor that made her who she was. The force of steel that resided in that deceptively small body had probably been bent to his will. The greatness that was Anna’s power had probably been destroyed or subsumed by an arrogant prick.
Pia wiped her eyes and patted her face dry with her apron. In several weeks she would see for herself. That’s when the newlyweds were due to pick up their lady’s maid . Pia stood up straighter, despising everything those words implied.
She would see Anna one last time. She would see that she was safe, at least. She would let herself be taken out of the convent, out of Spain. She would let herself be taken to London.
And then Pia would run.
For the few weeks before they were due in Madrid, Anna and Sebastian rusticated in Feria with Javi and Isabella. Banns were posted in the capital, and Sebastian’s parents were delighted their son had finally agreed to marry a virginal Spanish miss.
During that idyllic time, Sebastian and Javi spent many hours in the corral, while Isabella and Anna strolled with their parasols beneath the warm sun and pretended to admire their horsemanship. While both men were excellent equestrians, Anna and Isabella were far more preoccupied with the fit of male trousers and the turn of muscled hips.
For the first time in her life, Anna felt like she could breathe without the pressing need to worry about her future or calculate her prospects. The summer dresses that Isabella had given her felt less confining, the jaunty straw hats more playful than the rigid ones she’d been forced to wear in Burgos. Anna realized she had never been at leisure, and she relished every second now. She listened to the wind as it wound its way through the cork oak forest at night. She read volume after volume from Isabella’s library. She dreamt of Pia. And, as the days passed, she dreamt of Sebastian.
On this particular afternoon, ten days after the wedding, Anna and Isabella were once again watching the men in the riding ring (and pretending to see their equestrian skills). The crunch of the gravel path beneath their feet offset the rhythm of the trotting horses.
“Sebastian is quite a good rider,” Isabella conceded, squinting her eyes and pausing to lean against the white wall of the enclosure. Since she was apparently unable to see the radiance of any male but her new husband, everything Isabella said about Sebastian sounded reluctant.
Anna nodded her head in agreement. “He is.”
“Have you really fallen in love with him?” Isabella asked, turning her attention away from the prancing Arabians—and their handsome riders—to focus on Anna.
Sebastian and Anna had not been alone since their time in the library. Ironically, the public announcement of their future
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