Lesser Monsters, Part 3: Unbound Appetites

Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Other Titles

Lesser Monsters, Part 3: Unbound Appetites

Author Notes

Coming Soon

About the Author

Lesser Monsters

Part 3: Unbound Appetites

By Kevin Thorne

Lesser Monsters, Part 3: Unbound Appetites

Published by Kevin Thorne at Smashwords

Copyright © 2015 Kevin Thorne

Cover design © 2015 Jay O'Connell

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Other Titles

Discover other titles by Kevin Thorne:

Lesser Monsters, Part 1: Using John

Lesser Monsters, Part 2: Ruthless Truths

Lesser Monsters, Part 4: Captivity

Unbound Appetites

It was a sullen John who trudged his way to the bathing room when his summons to the Sapphire Suite arrived. But neither Maida nor Abigail stood at the side of the bath; instead, old arthritic Harvine and half-blind Belinda waited with their lined, knobby hands to scrub him down without a word. He was sure he detected cold judgment on their faces, and a harder, more skin-peeling scrubbing than necessary, but he disdained to comment.

As he walked toward the Sapphire Suite, his thoughts jumbled, he forced himself to slow down and relax, as best he could. Lady Helène was more forgiving than her sisters, but she was still one of them, and she baffled him.

He tapped at the door and was surprised at how his blood thrilled to hear the perfunctory answer: Come.

Just nerves, he told himself, opening the door.

Lady Helène sat at her desk, clad in her sky-blue robe, writing what looked like a letter in a graceful hand. When he entered, she held up a hand without looking up. It was just as well; the sight of her mesmerized him, left him unstable on his feet. He needed a moment to compose himself.

While she finished, he spread a heavy sheet atop her bedspread, holding a second at the ready.

He glanced over at her, and found he could not take his eyes off her: the tiny frown of concentration etched between her dark brows, the calm gray eyes, the way her wavy hair spilled forward every so often, and she pushed it back impatiently.

Finally, she set her quill down and leaned back, breathing a deep sigh. Then she looked at him, and her gaze pierced him like fire, leaving him dazed and tingling.

Do you know, she said, in all the times you’ve been in this suite, I haven’t had a massage from you since that very first night?

He did. Allow me to rectify that, milady.

She rose and smiled. Gladly.

When the other Ladies disrobed, they watched him out of the corner of their eyes, calculating whether he snuck peeks at them, but Helène slid unselfconsciously out of her robe and onto the sheet on her bed. A flush heated John’s face.

He looked away, as propriety dictated, as he settled the upper sheet atop her. But his eyes swung back as if drawn by a magnet. He felt surprisingly strong surges in his nether regions.

Remembering her preference for silence, he said nothing as he worked the rock-hard muscles of her back and shoulders. He leaned knuckles, thumbs, and elbows into the hardest knots, which, little by little, loosened, to her contented sighs.

He took his time with her arms and hands, remembering how he had affected her that first time, and wanting very much to do so again. But despite his tender touch, her expression did not change.

As he worked her legs, an internal battle began within him. He craved a more sensual encounter with her, the congress of their bodies, in a way he had never craved her sisters. This close to her, he felt nearly sick with fascination, and hungry with every inch of his skin.

Every inch.

But she had made her disinterest clear last time. And after alternating between her cruelties and her kindnesses, he feared to trespass on her good nature.

Then again, on that first night, he could tell that her body warmed to his; he had seen her arousal in the way she moved, in her parted lips, the shine in her eyes. She had declined—but did that necessarily mean disinterest?

Even if so, he would do his best to change her mind.

He started with her feet, rubbing and rolling them between his big hands, then stroked up the insides of her calves, gripping the muscles there, flexing them, loosening them.

Circled her lower thighs with his hands, brushing upward an inch at a time with a slow, teasing touch guaranteed to arouse.

And she responded, her breath quickening, her limbs shifting languorously.

But she did not make a move.

He stopped and stood back, holding up the sheet, turning his head away and forbidding his eyes to track back. If milady would turn over, he said.

She did, and he settled the sheet over her belly and breasts. Her face was flushed, though her eyes stayed closed.

He began making artful loops with his fingertips, up from the sole of her foot and along her leg, almost to—but not quite touching—her pubic mound.

Settled his broad hands on her belly, lightly brushed them to the sides and then back to the center, up the middle of her chest, between her breasts.

Took hold of her hips—

She grabbed his wrist, so quickly he never saw her hand move.

John, she said, eyes still closed, best be careful. The last week has not been kind to me, and my… resistance is lower than usual.

Resistance, milady? he murmured, stroking her leg with his free hand.

My self-control. She opened her eyes, and they were luminous as gray clouds lit by shafts of lightning. You know I don’t require anything more than a massage.

His blood beat harder in his veins, and his cock jumped and ached. Could she be hinting at an interest?

I’ve been told, he said, that massage is not the sum total of my skills. Milady.

She gave a gentle laugh. That I can tell. But just because my sisters expect it…. She let her voice trail away.

Let me please you, he said, his voice like warm honey. Nothing would make me happier.

She looked at him assessingly, then pursed her lips. I believe you, she said, but that doesn’t make it wise.

Puzzled, he said, Milady?

I am at the center of a storm, she said softly. And the storm is building. Nothing near me is safe. I—I can’t afford to shelter anyone. The stakes are too high.

He clasped her hand between his, dared to raise it to his mouth, rested his lips against her fingers. "The center