Read Online The Lady Submits by Chloe Cox - Free Book Online

 
     
    The Lady Submits
     
    It was a truth universally acknowledged, within the confines
of the city of J’Amel, that no woman should go wanting during the Bacchanal.
And yet the Lady Lucrezia Grimaldi wanted. She wanted very badly.
    “Oh please,” she groaned. “I’m so close!”
    Lucrezia helplessly ground her hips into her hapless lover’s
face, desperately seeking her orgasm. She closed her eyes and grasped for it, only
for it to flash and dart away, just out of reach. Since the beginning of the
Bacchanal holiday, no man had properly satisfied her. She had one week of
complete sexual freedom each year — one week in which it was actually
sacrilegious not to indulge —
and she couldn’t come.
    “Oh, this is hopeless,” she snapped, and shoved the
Chevalier’s head away. He looked up at her with some surprise, her juices
smeared all over his face. “You may go,” she commanded.
    “But Lucrezia,” he complained, sitting up as Lucrezia
wrapped herself in a sheet and went to stand by the window, “look.” And he
pointed at his erection, purple with pressure.
    “Then get a servant or something, Marc,” she said, and she
rang the bell for service. She didn’t even bother to look at him as he gathered
his things, muttering something about gratitude.
    Lucrezia knew she was becoming unpleasant, even to those of
whom she was quite fond, like the Chevalier Marc Sancre .
But she couldn’t help it. No one could be pleasant all the time under such
circumstances. She felt as though she were swollen to the point of bursting,
and had inexplicably forgotten how to release the pressure. Or ripe to the point of rot, with no one who
can properly eat me, she thought with a grim smile. The streets of J’Amel
below her were still relatively quiet, with most of the citizens sleeping off
the previous night’s indulgences. Or, like Lady Lucrezia, indulging some more.
Only they probably got some satisfaction out it.
    Tonight was her last chance, and yet it wasn’t a very a good
one. Ivy House was having its party, the last of the Bacchanal Society Dances, and
traditionally a boring, staid affair, a reminder for the upper classes that the
world would soon have to return to normal. Lucrezia was expected to attend as the representative of the Grimaldi family, while
her constantly scheming brother did whatever it was he found amusing, presumably
hatching another tired political plot or something similar. She had sent him a
pleading request that he go in her stead — for safety reasons, of course,
neglecting to mention that it was the safety of everyone else that would be at
risk if she were forced to attend — but she did not have particularly
high hopes.
    “Antonia,” she said, turning to find her lady’s maid waiting
patiently by the door, “has my brother sent word?”
    “Yes, milady.”
    Antonia’s face told Lucrezia what her brother’s answer had
been. Lucrezia felt a pang of anger somewhere below the din of her frustrated
desire. She never should have asked; she should have just done what she
pleased, like a true Grimaldi.
    “Oh, don’t say it, I know he was beastly about it,” she
said, and wrapped the sheet tighter about her shoulders. The soft material
grazed her nipple, and slid across her skin, stoking the fire in her core.
Which was absurd. She was having a conversation about her brother with her
maid. Sex should be the furthest thing from her mind.
    “Milady,” Antonia said hesitantly, “he didn’t just send word.
He sent Carlo.”
    Lucrezia slowly swiveled her head. “I told him I wouldn’t
have that brute in my guard.”
    “He’s outside the door, milady. He wouldn’t wait.”
    It was just like Carlo Castellan to barge into a lady’s
private chambers and skulk outside her bedroom door. Lucrezia swallowed.   Her sexual frustration had become a
constant presence, a low hum, steadily growing in intensity and volume, and the
vibrations were beginning to tear at her from the inside out. But now