Page 14 of The Shadow of Breninsol
“Oh, I can see that, my lord,” Eleanor purred, gaining his attention.
Eleanor raised the glasses, making the lord exchange his grip from the courtesan’s arm for the wineglass. Eleanor kept her eyes cast down with a tentative smile in a show of fake innocence. If this lord had sought the young courtesan, he likely had a specific type, so she needed to emulate that for him. No longer restrained, the young courtesan slipped away unnoticed, and Eleanor hoped she’d find a gentler lord for the night.
“Can you show me how powerful you can be, my lord?” Eleanor asked, making her eyes go as wide as possible. She knew men like this enjoyed their ego being stroked almost as much as they enjoyed their dick being stroked.
The lord’s eyes shifted from arrogant to leering, ogling her body openly in a way that confirmed that he could offer nothing good.
“I’m a powerful man, you know,” he repeated, leaning in so close that she could make out something stuck in his teeth. She gritted her jaw from recoiling, forcing herself to stay close to him.
“Oh, I’m sure you are, my lord,” Eleanor replied, guessing at his title.
She didn’t know which aristo he was, nor his ranking in the nobility, but she recalled from previous encounters with the aristocrats’ introductions that they addressed each other as “lords”. Not that he’d notice, in his drunken state, if she’d addressed him incorrectly.
Either the lord hadn’t noticed or cared which courtesan he took for the night, as Eleanor replacing the young courtesan he’d cornered didn’t seem to bother him at all. He grabbed her arm and led her across the marble floor to the gold-curtained hallwayshe’d traversed the other night with Lord Riccie. It was a shame she hadn’t been able to find him or his aristo friends tonight. They’d have been easier to deal with, she was sure.
“I know people, you know,” the lord continued, thinking he was impressing her, flaunting his wealth and position. “I’m powerful,” he repeated, almost as if to remind himself more than anything.
“And a powerful man needs a strong drink,” Eleanor said as they entered a vacant room and she slipped from his drunken hold. She hoped he’d at least have a drink before he acted on anything.
The gold and marble room was near identical to the room she’d shared with Lord Riccie. The large bed took up a central position, with the red-upholstered collection of chairs to one side and in front of where a low burning fire crackled in the hearth. Even the placement of the drinks table and the spy hole were identical.
“Whiskey,” the lord commanded. “None of those floweryfemaledrinks in here.”
Eleanor had to bite her lip as the lord discarded his long-coat, so much wealth haphazardly thrown onto the floor. The cost of the silk alone could feed a family for a few weeks, notwithstanding the gemstones that were sewn onto the coat’s lapels.
“Of course, my lord,” Eleanor placated as she focused on pouring the drinks into the short glasses and slipped the last of her narcotic into his drink.
Due to the time-consuming brewing process, the stringent conditions required for its creation, and the difficulty in finding the necessary herbs within Breninsol, she was only able to produce small batches of the concoction. Moreover, there were days when she fought with a debilitating lack of motivation,feeling as if a persistent, dark cloud shrouded her, and lead her to seek momentary solace from the bottom of a bottle.
Of the few apothecaries in the city, Eleanor had found a small one that was willing to sell some of the required herbs to her. It was not a place she could frequent, otherwise she’d attract unwanted attention, and the cost of purchasing those herbs was a drain on her limited money more than her usual alcohol purchases. It wasn’t the cost of the herbs that were expensive, rather paying the hefty price for silence from those working in the apothecary.
The lord continued talking, as if she cared, “I know things, you know. Things that only the right people know. I get invited to the right parties.”
With a swirl of the glasses, Eleanor made sure the ice cubes clinked, thus helping the powder dissolve, the fleeting, unpleasant scent of henbane instantly vanishing as it blended into the oaky flavour of the whisky. With a rhythmic sway of her hips, she walked towards him, where he was already lying on the bed. His yellow waistcoat lay open, as he stretched out on the smooth, white silk bed, his soft stomach resting comfortably over his trousers.
“You should be grateful I chose you tonight,” he said as she handed him his drink.
“Oh, I am. Oh so very grateful that such a powerful and handsome man chose me.”
Eleanor hoped her pandering to his ego didn’t come across as fake, but she was relying on his inebriated state to help her.
The lord threw the drink back in one gulp, which Eleanor copied, keeping her eyes on him while she did. If she hadn’t, his hand grabbing her and pulling her down onto him would have taken her by surprise. As it was, her glass fell onto the patterned rug with a thud, but he didn’t let up on his tight grip of her arm.
“If you’re lucky, I might even bid on you in the Collection,” he sneered while giving her arm a further squeeze.
Stars, she hoped not.
“Undo me,” he commanded as he released her and folded his hands behind his head.
He’s too good to unfasten his own trousers.Eleanor gave a slight pause as she followed his direction, to which he narrowed his eyes.Apparently, he’s too good to take his own dick out as well.
Having unfastened his trousers, she blinked at the lack of a cock springing free from the underclothes. Thinking she was mistaken that the narcotic was working, she realised the lord was erect after all. In her profession, Eleanor had viewed penises of all sizes, lengths, and curves, but this one was a first for her. She realised that Lucy’s theory might be correct. Whenever a woman at The Ladies Grace had a difficult client, Lucy would ask if their penis was exceptionally large or small. The consensus had usually been one of those options. Lucy called it dick-size theory.
While Eleanor had been busy staring at his erection, he had said nothing. She might have worried again that her concoction wasn’t working, but his eyes had the familiar glaze, and his leering look had deepened into a sneer.
Eleanor swallowed. She didn’t want to imagine what he thought he was seeing right now. Instead, she remembered the spy hole in front of the bed and bounced herself up and down, making her noises of pleasure a little over-exaggerated. To avoid detection, she needed to make her sounds unrealistic, otherwise the eavesdropping ears and eyes would know something was wrong. With no foreplay, no one could think this lord would make her evening pleasurable. She made her noises as fake as she liked while she pulled out his pocket kerchief and dropped it over his exposed penis as he lay there.
As the lord's sneering expression made Eleanor look away, she decided to fixate on the shadows in the headboard while his dick twitched. As she stared, she conjured the image of the Dark God sitting on his throne. Although only a few minutes had passed, it felt as though an age had elapsed since she had become aware of his existence. Having learned of him, a desire to know more about him consumed her.
