Buffy’s sole objectives when entering Concentrico’s main room were clear: maintaining control over the situation, and above all else, herself. This plan was rock-solid up until she noticed William was nowhere to be seen. Then like a row of tumbling dominos, his absence dredged up a string of long dormant personal feelings that ultimately changed an agent’s determination to a woman’s disappointment.
Casting another searching glance around the room and once again coming up empty, Buffy decided to wait for William at the bar. While on route, she was unexpectedly stopped by a portly man dressed in extravagant clothing of an age long past.
“Mademoiselle Buffy.”
He gave a cursory bow and presented her with a scroll tied with a blue ribbon. Buffy briefly eyed the man, who had returned to the stooped position, prior to untying and unrolling the vellum, exposing the elegant script within.
“Your presence is desired—W”
Four simple words, a melding of dominance and confession, elicited a thrill. Buffy reread them several times before remembering the man who appeared to be patiently waiting for her response. With a simple “Yes,” he stood to full height, turned, and with almost militant precision, marched across the room with Buffy in tow, all of her earlier convictions long forgotten.
~*~
When they arrived at a customary black door, the man moved off to the side, placed his hand on the knob, and on her nod, he opened the door.
Without sparing him a second glance, Buffy entered and was immediately greeted by two young brunettes dressed in simple muslin. Each curtsied and then escorted Buffy through a grandiose room with lavishly tapestried walls, a large golden and crystal chandelier, to a gilded dressing table where she was offered a seat.
Over the next hour, they altered her modern appearance into the embodiment of an era when women wore upswept and powdered hair, smears of drastic cheek rouge staining white face powder, faux beauty marks, and the pièce de résistance, extravagant gowns, complete with a form-fitting bodice, décolletage neckline, panniers, and the customary sans under things. However, unlike true court attire, the front hem of her pale blue dress stopped mid-thigh, showcasing her thigh-high, white tights secured with a matching blue bow.
With her transformation complete, Buffy left the room and, to her delight, was greeted by the ever handsome William, dressed in black breeches, a white frilly collared shirt under a black vest and waist coat, and low-heeled leather boots.
In a flourished display, he bowed and, following his lead, she held out her hand, which he took in his. He placed a lingering kiss to her knuckles while regarding her through thick lashes. In spite of this chaste facade, she noticed his eyes twinkling with what she would describe as a potent fusion of pure mischief and desire.
“Lead the way, Mademoiselle Buffy.” William took his place by her side, resting her hand just below the crook of his elbow then led her down the hallway to a set of mahogany doors.
Majestic, was the best word to describe feeling the satin train dragging behind her as they made their way. At the entrance stood two identically dressed porters, who opened the doors, releasing a surge of jovial music and raucous laughter.
Men and women dressed in similar finery surrounded a lengthy banquet table heavily laden with every mouth-watering French delicacy imaginable. William escorted Buffy around the table to the only two remaining chairs. He assisted her into her seat before taken his place to her left.
The room was alive, everyone relishing in all that was offered and spread out before them, including one another. A man several seats down lapped clotted crème from a woman’s ample cleavage. At the end of the table, a woman sat on a man’s lap hand-feeding him a roasted leg of duck that he tore into with gusto between sessions of heavy kissing and petting.
As the feasting on food, drink, and flesh continued around her, Buffy’s couldn’t help her focus dwelling on the man across from her. His head was lolled back resting against his chair, and his eyes were closed. He appeared to be sleeping, or so she thought up until his face contorted as if in pain before relaxing. It wasn’t long before the reason climbed out from under the table, delicately wiping the corners of her mouth with a laced handkerchief.
“Champagne?”
Buffy lifted her glass, and William poured generously. She drained half then lowered her glass in order to pluck a caramel-glazed crème puff from an impressive tower of pastries. After a single taste, she needed to share her delicious find with William.
Ever eager, he wrapped his hand around her wrist and devoured the rest in one bite. Then one by one, he cleared the smears of caramel and crème from each of her finger-tips. Buffy felt every swirl of his tongue between her thighs.
“Please forgive me for not telling you how delectable you look this evening.”
William circled his thumb over her pulse point while leaning forward, his hot breath now fanning across her throat. Not trusting her own voice, Buffy slowly nodded her forgiveness.
“Simply delicious you are, sweet Buffy.”
William trailed his free hand up her leg and stilling at the top of her thigh-high, he teased the bare skin just above the hem.
Buffy was reeling. The sensations of his touch, his words, sent her mind awhirl. The parting of her thighs was the only invitation he needed to continue.
“My mouth is watering from the thought of my fingers dripping with your sweetness.”
Buffy slid forward, seeking his hand trailing closer to her exposed center. On contact, her world fell away, succumbing to his touch. He started off gradually, teasing and coaxing out her pleasure. One finger soon became two as William released her wrist and brought her closer, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below her ear.
“So hungry, so gluttonous aren’t you?”
Buffy’s only response was grabbing his wrist and riding his fingers steadily. Time stretched like warm caramel, as she sought her release. Then unexpectedly, movement on the table grabbed her attention. Through half-lidded eyes she watched dozens of plump, black worms squirming and writhing over and burrowing into the food.
Fighting against the swell of desire dragging her under, Buffy blinked quickly trying to focus and make sense of what she was seeing. In horror, she watched across the way, a woman’s smile grow and distort to inhuman proportions, before a large worm wriggled from one of her nostrils, slid across her upper lip and into her now gaping maw filled with razor-sharp fangs.
Buffy shut her eyes tight and started trembling from the jumble of conflicting feelings of confusion, insatiability, and a hint of fear.
“Don’t fight it, sweetling. Just. Let. Go.”
On his demand, William’s pace quickened, adding a third finger and riding his thumb firmly against her clit. In spite of what she saw and felt, Buffy was unable to deny him and let go with a silent cry, christening his fingers while her fingernails dug into his wrist, leaving behind crescent-shaped marks.
Her hips slowed, each sway slowly bringing her down from the ultimate high. When she finally stilled, William broke their intimate connection, and she immediately felt empty, bereft. With a shaky breath, she opened her eyes to witness him bringing his fingers to his mouth.
“Mm…simply divine.”
Unable to hold back a moment longer, Buffy roughly grabbed him by the lapels and captured his lips, teeth and tongues colliding. Their battle for dominance didn’t end until her conscience got the best of her and she pulled away.
“Soon, sweetling. Soon I will taste you straight from the source.”
After his parting promise, the rest of the evening passed by with endless glasses of champagne, her keeping a wary eye out for anything else unusual, and the complete avoidance of all food. In spite of her hyperawareness, neither a freaky grin nor wriggly worm made another appearance, leading Buffy to seriously question her eyesight and even more so, her sanity.
At sunrise, Buffy made her way out of the taxi and back to the apartment. Exhausted both physically and mentally, she left a trail of clothing from the front door to her bed. Although her mind had continually raced most of the evening, only one word followed her as sleep dragged her under—Soon.