Until the Sun Falls from the Sky (The Three #1)(27)
Author: Kristen Ashley

Again.

“I don’t like anything about the relationship. Not. One. Thing,” I announced and then took a huge sip of my martini.

When I was done swallowing, I caught her sly grin. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning after he feeds tonight and we’ll see what you say about the relationship then.”

I rolled my eyes. Stephanie laughed.

“Don’t you have more boxes to open?” I asked tartly.

She looked down at the boxes on the coffee table, her eyes narrowed and she reached out to grab one.

“This one has a note on it.” She yanked off the bow using the thick, cream card that was attached. “It says, ‘This is for tonight’.” She turned it to face me. “That’s Lucien’s handwriting.”

I looked at the bold, slashing, powerful, black scrawl that, in itself, was a command even if I couldn’t make out the words that seemed to be moving under my eyes. Of course it was his handwriting.

She thrust the box in my hands. “Open it. I have to see this.”

“No,” I thrust it back, “you open it.”

She pushed it back to me. “No, I want to see your face when you see what’s inside.”

I glared at her. She had eternity to live; she could play this game forever. I had only another forty, fifty years, if I was lucky.

I pulled open the box. It was, to my relief, not bondage gear.

It was, to my surprise and secret delight, something even more exquisite than the black gown.

A rich taupe camisole with dusty, lilac flowers imprinting the silk jacquard, trimmed in delicate taupe lace. The cups were half-jacquard, half-lace. The body was jacquard as were the thin straps. There were matching Brazilian cut panties, the front was jacquard with lace trim, the back almost entirely lace except a tantalizing triangle of jacquard at the top. There were sweet little rosettes at the waistband of the panties under the navel and at the juncture of the bodice where it met each of the straps of the camisole.

Stephanie eyeballed the camisole and panties as she took a sip from her martini. “Lucien always had good taste.” Her gaze moved to my face, a smile lit in her eyes and she repeated, “Always.”

I decided, yet again, I really liked Stephanie.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

She gave me a wink and nodded to the lingerie. “New order. Try that on first. Then the black gown.”

“We’ll have a fashion parade!” Edwina shouted enthusiastically from the kitchen where she was cooking dinner. I jumped because I forgot she was there.

A fashion parade didn’t seem like a bad idea. Or at least it didn’t after four martinis.

I jumped up, wobbled then righted myself and announced, “I’ll change, you open more boxes.”

Stephanie didn’t need to be told twice.

I started to run to the powder room but skidded to a halt and asked Edwina like I was a tweenie and Stephanie had come over after school, “Can Stephanie stay for dinner?”

“Of course, dear.” Edwina smiled and I smiled back.

Then I whirled to Stephanie. “Will you stay for dinner?”

She was still digging through boxes and didn’t look up when she answered, “I’d like that.”

Happy for the first time in weeks, I took my pretty lingerie, deciding not to think of it as a gift from Lucien as that would spoil the fun, and ran to the powder room to start the fashion parade.

Chapter Seven

The Punishment

Lucien walked into the kitchen from the garage and halted.

Edwina was busy at the sink scouring pots and pans. The living area looked like an exclusive boutique exploded in it. Red tissue paper, ribbons and black boxes were scattered everywhere, mounds of the clothing Lucien purchased for Leah were smoothed out on the backs and arms of furniture. On the countertop of the island bar were three used martini glasses all with silver toothpicks resting in varying states of martini remains. One still had a half-eaten olive on it.

Edwina turned to him with a bright smile on her face and he instantly knew she was intoxicated. He saw it and he smelled it.

This surprised him.

In the forty years she’d worked for him he had never, not once, come to his concubine’s home to find it a mess, to find the kitchen not sparkling clean, to find Edwina inebriated while on duty.

He’d seen her that way, of course, during parties or celebrations where she attended as a guest. For instance the birthday parties he threw every year for his concubines past and present. And the first anniversary of The Bloodletting which it was a tradition to celebrate.

Any other time, never.

“You’re here!” Edwina greeted happily, a huge drunken smile on her face.

Lucien’s eyes scanned the room again and went back to Edwina. “What happened?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the mess, lifted a hand from the sink and waved it around, slopping soapy water and bubbles on the floor, the counter, her shoulder.

“We had a fashion parade,” she explained bizarrely, ignoring the mess she made and went back to scouring. “Leah’s up in your bedroom.” Her voice dropped to a happy murmur, “Such a sweet, beautiful girl.”

Lucien studied his housekeeper.

Leah was hardly a girl. She was forty years old, for God’s sake.

She was, of course, beautiful. But sweet?

“How is she?” Lucien found himself asking and he had no earthly idea why.

He had also, in the years he’d employed Edwina, never requested such information.

Then again he’d never needed to.

“Oh, she’s fine. Settling in. She’s so cute. You should have seen her tonight. She was hilarious.”

Fascinated by the idea of a cute, hilarious, sweet Leah “settling in”, Lucien tired of the discourse with Edwina and headed for the stairs.

“Good night!” Edwina trilled gaily behind him.

Lucien didn’t reply.

Five strides into their room, Lucien saw Leah exiting the bathroom. He again halted.

She was wearing the lingerie he’d sent.

He saw he’d been wrong in his thoughts when he’d watched the stick thin model sashaying down the short runway displaying it at his personal showing when he was ordering Leah’s wardrobe the day after her Selection.

He had, in his mind, expected it to look far better on Leah’s generous curves.

However, he had not anticipated it looking that much better.

She was wearing her robe over it but the robe had fallen open at her sides exposing the camisole and pants. The cups of the camisole hugged her full br**sts, the silk ending just above the nipple so a tantalizing hint of the aureole peeked through the lace, a chill in the air obviously causing her ni**les to harden against the silk. It hugged her midriff and stomach like it had been made for her. The hem of the camisole left only a glimpse of smooth skin above the underwear. Her long legs went on forever beneath the lace of the panties.