Free Bastien by Alianne Donnelly Page B

decently covered until I take it off again.
    Why is Jacques so quiet?
    “Have you gone deaf? I asked you a question.”
    The man pales.
    “Speak!”
    Jacques pulls back his shoulders and puts on his most stern face. “I believe your clothes were destroyed… my Lord .”
    “Have them fixed. Better yet, I want new everything.” Luckily it seems my boots survived whatever tantrum took place here. I shove my feet into them, impatient to be out of here.
    “Are you going out, my Lord?”
    I pause at the door. Why is he saying my name that way? “Is that any of your business?” I am alive, I am free, and I am about to overindulge in every vice known to man.
    Jacques stands even straighter. “No, my Lord.”
    I take three steps back to him and lift him by his lapels. “Then the next time you feel the urge to ask,” I say, nose to nose with him, “don’t.”
    “Yes, my Lord,” Jacques says stiffly. There is that tone again.
    I release him with a shove and run down the stairs, straight to the stables. I mount my horse bareback and ride out hard in Louis’ direction. The night is rife for sin of the sweetest kind and there is no one I would rather drag into it with me than Louis Lafarge.
    I almost break down his door in my haste. He almost knocks over his dinner table at the sight of me. I laugh at the look on his face. “What are you doing dining here alone?” I ask.
    “Bastien? How...?”
    I grasp his shoulders and shake him. “The night is young, and I am hungry. So stop dawdling and let’s go!”
    He fires questions at me which I have no intention of answering. I don’t care. I don’t care what happened to the Beast, or how I came to be myself again. I don’t care what the mopey bastard did since Lilith’s curse. I only care that I am free and the cold is biting. I ride straight to the brothel and spill a pouch of coin into the purveyor’s lap.
    A patron objects when I pluck his entertainer from his lap, but I silence him with a quick clip on the jaw. “You,” I drawl to the woman with a lusty grin. I look around the chamber, heartily amused at the shocked expressions on each and every face, and point out my selection.
    “You, and you. Oh, most definitely you.” Free or not, all of the women stop what they’re doing and come to me. It must be the bulge of my pants luring them. Within moments Louis and I are surrounded by drink and women eager to warm us from the cold.

    I drink deep and fuck hard until my body is heavy with pleasurable exhaustion. Multiple sets of hands roam over me. Tongues lave at me, mouths suck on me, and I laugh at the absolute rightness of it all. I am back, and more alive than ever.
    Faces hover before me, one more beautiful than the next. I fuck them all, take my pleasure with each of them. I have energy to spare and happily spend it here along with my coin. When one begins to bore me, I take another. Two, three at a time. Laughter and moans are the music of the night, the perfect rhythm to move to. They sigh my name, pour wine into my mouth, onto my cock.
    This is beauty—perfect because it is flawed. Cheeks too bright, lips too red, but flesh so hot it burns me and I adore it. The next one who mounts me is stunningly garish in a bright red wig and her clothes dark and stained. I rip them off her and bury my face between her ample breasts as she slams down on me with a slap of flesh against flesh. I lick, she moans. I nip, she screams and clutches my hair. She pulls my head back to kiss me and I frown.
    Her skin is suddenly pure as milk, her lips pink and lush. Her eyes, before so dark, now flash blue fire, and her hair is a shade I know all too well.
    I shove her off me and snarl. My heart beats too hard, and I shake my head and clutch my temples, blinking past the drunken stupor. The woman is on the floor, scrambling to her feet.
    “Get out,” I snarl.
    Garish red hair, painted lips, flushed, freckled skin. Strength is gone again. The whore runs out of the room, weeping.