Currency in Flesh

Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

L ady Cora’s heart beat a steady rhythm. I followed it like a metronome, its cadence a comforting constant amidst the tumultuous whirlwind of my emotions. Wrapped in her arms and the enveloping heat of the spring, I felt as though nothing in this world or the next could cause me harm. I felt protected in a way I hadn’t known since childhood, and the realization sent a rush of tears spilling down my cheeks. She let me cry—only moving her fingers over my hair in a gentle, reassuring caress.

When I at last thought I could speak properly without the fear of a sob interrupting, I pulled away reluctantly.

“I do not think anyone has ever before thought of me as safe,” Lady Cora said, placing her knuckle beneath my chin and lifting my face to hers. “You are an interesting contradiction, marigold.”

I felt a blush hit my face. It was one thing to feel something, but another thing entirely to hear it spoken aloud. I wasn’t sure why it was so embarrassing. My private thoughts have always remained private before Lady Cora, and I wasn’t accustomed to hearing them articulated when I couldn’t even do it for myself.

Sensing my discomfort, her thumb ran across my jaw. “Would you prefer to continue honoring our agreement now that your thoughts are not filled with lust?”

“You’re not helping,” I muttered. I probably looked like a damp tomato, which didn’t lend me any confidence. “But yes, I would.”

She gave me a noncommittal nod. “As you wish.” I chuckled, and she lifted a brow.

“When I was younger, all I ever dreamed of was hearing a man in a black mask say that to me.”

The sheer confusion on her face sent me into a fit of giggles. I laughed until my face hurt, and her sour expression just made my laughter more uncontrolled. Her narrowed eyes scanned my face for some sort of explanation, and when I finally caught my breath, I grabbed her hand and grinned. “There is a movie I watched a lot as a kid, and the main love interest’s big line is ‘as you wish.’ As a kid, it was the most romantic thing I’d ever heard.”

“Why would a man in a mask seem romantic?” she asked, her lip still slightly lifted in disdain.

“I think every woman wants a man to pledge to do anything to make her happy, and that’s what he does.”

“It is a foolish dream of youth indeed to think a man could ever make you truly happy,” she said. Her fingers tightened in mine, and I had an odd thought.

“Do you only… um… enjoy women?” I asked. Though she could listen in on my thoughts, I wasn’t sure if she knew I had never been with a woman. The only time I had ever even kissed one was in the midst of an alcohol-drenched failed threesome early in my marriage to Sean. He couldn’t get it up, and I was jealous, and so we sent her home in a cab and fought until he stormed off and I slept on the couch .

“I tried men a few times, and I did not find them to be anything worth repeating,” she replied. “They tended to be clumsy and selfish lovers and I do not find their bodies to be particularly appealing.”

“But you find my body appealing?” I asked, for once, not trying to stifle the vulnerability in my voice.

“Oh, Grace,” she said, “you have absolutely no idea how much.”

I wanted her to show me. I wanted to see how she would touch me, what she would look like when she did. But I couldn’t say it. I didn’t know how to ask for what I wanted, so I looked away, tugging my hand from hers and sinking down into the water.

“You do not believe me,” she spoke, more a statement than a question.

“No, no. I do,” I replied. “I’m just not sure what to do about any of it.”

I felt her body slide closer to mine, pressing against the soft warmth of my thigh. I felt her eyes on me, burning holes into the safe shell of my avoidance. If she truly broke through that protective layer, what would seep out? I didn’t even know what lay beneath, certainly she couldn’t know either. And that’s what it always came down to—was the person I had once been meant to be even worth it? Or was she just as weak and soft-edged as the woman I had become.

“Little flower, have you ever—of your own volition—been submissive with a lover?” Her words cut through the voices in my head.

Turning, I found her face open and non-judgmental. It was a genuine question. “I’m not sure what you mean. Like, have I let a guy tie me up? Yeah, a couple times.”

She responded with a subtle shake of her head. “No, pet. That is not at all what I am asking. I suppose that is an answer, anyway. ”

“No, what do you mean? How can I answer accurately if I don’t understand the question?”

“Precisely.” The finality in the single word grated on my nerves, but she went on. “If you do not understand the question, it is because you have not experienced what I ask.”

Lady Cora stood, leaving every space that had pressed against her feeling cold despite the heated water. It ran down her body in glimmering droplets, faintly illuminated by candlelight. Her pink nipples were high and round, still hard and defined by temperature or lingering arousal. The soft hollow above her stomach held the tiniest bit of shadow, and I wanted to let my fingertips brush against it. A breath caught in my chest when her arms raised to wring out her long hair and secure it in a tidy knot. Her body seemed unreal—legs too long, alongside curves that rarely blessed women her size.

And yet, she genuinely seemed to want me. Or, at least, to find me attractive.

I didn’t try to hide how I watched her. What did I have to hide anymore? Yes, it was foolish and thoroughly idiotic to lust after Lady Cora, but I was unable to shake off the constant, insistent pull of her. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Her steps were silent and graceful, pausing to wrap herself in one of the plush towels and to pour a measure of golden liquid into a glass. The light of her eyes reflected on its surface as she took a long sip, draining it with a single swallow before setting the glass back atop the table. “You may remain, if you so desire,” she said, voice echoing slightly. “You will find your own bed easily.”

Daring or recklessness slipped from my tongue. “What if it’s not my bed I want to find?”

She chuckled from the bottom step. “You will find it all the same.”

I stewed in my bed for hours. I’d thought she’d have liked my boldness, but she shut me down with a laugh on her lips. I didn’t know what the fuck she wanted from me. Whatever game she played, it was one I did not understand. I’d faced Sean, broken his fucking wrist, taken off my own clothes without covering myself, and it still wasn’t enough bite for her. Maybe it never would be. Lady Cora could keep me for all of eternity, demanding my service in whatever ways she deemed necessary, and I would have no choice but compliance. She didn’t owe me anything, certainly not sexual favors of her own. But why, then, would she tease me so goddamn much? Was it some kind of sadistic pleasure? Seeing me squirm and feeling how wet I became just from her presence?

Even now, hours after returning to my room and crawling into bed clothed in another silk nightgown, I knew I’d find slickness between my thighs. I replayed the image of her coming around my hand in my mind, over and over and over. My fingertips skated over my hip, wanting to touch myself, to ease some of this overwhelming tension, but her words stilled my hand. You do not touch yourself, ever again.

“Fuck!” a frustrated scream tore from my chest. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t need to eat, didn’t need to work. Hell, I didn’t even need to take a shit. Other than entertaining Lady Cora and taking revenge on Sean, I had nothing to do but read. Now I couldn’t even masturbate without fear of what she would do if she found out. And she would find out. I believed her promise to not read my thoughts, but it was absurd to not realize that she likely had eyes all over this place. She was this place, certainly she could see what occurred in her domain.

Her domain.

Shoving off my covers, I walked to the wardrobe, tugging the nightgown over my head and pulling on a simple black top and a pair of skinny, black jeans. It struck me as odd to find there were purposeful holes and distressing on the knees and thighs, but maybe Lady Cora’s clothing choices had all come from somewhere deep in my subconscious. Yeah, the internet regularly assured me skinny pants were out and a ghastly level of uncool, but I liked the way my hips and legs looked in them, and had no intention of going back to the baggy wide-leg pants I’d worn as a preteen. I made a face remembering the inches of wet denim that had dragged over my puffy skateboarding shoes. God, I had looked so bad. Desperate to fit in, but never getting it quite right.

Young Grace, with her shiny retainer and chin length wedge of hair, was gone. Today’s Grace knew how to tame her long, warm-brown waves, paid a pretty penny to maintain her thick, curling lashes, and groomed her naturally unruly eyebrows to sleek perfection. I might not be built like an influencer, but if my middle-school self could have seen me now, she’d think I was the picture of sophistication and style.

As though it knew my intention, the wall of my room shimmered out of existence, opening to waving stalks of grass and balmy air. People bustled about, and I smiled warmly at each soul I passed. I didn’t have a destination in mind, but there were at least things to do here—businesses, orchards, people to talk to. I sort of hoped I wouldn’t run into Anna. She was a nice girl, but I wanted company who had some lived experience, a woman to bitch to over coffee or something. Lady Cora had called this place mundane, and right now? Mundane sounded nice.

I strolled down the well-maintained streets, peeking into shop windows and taking in the city and its various smells. I hadn’t realized how devoid of sensory input my room and Lady Cora’s chambers were until I faced a full civilization’s worth. I walked past a restaurant from which the spicy fragrance of curry wafted, a shop that appeared to sell candles that perfumed the air with red roses and the salty sea. At last, the one smell I truly wished to find made its way into my overloaded nostrils. Coffee.

The little cafe was decorated with pale blue and white striped wallpaper and white wrought-iron tables and chairs with blue damask cushions. A smiling woman with dark skin and braided, midnight-black hair greeted me with a wave as I walked in, my arrival announced by the ring of a strand of bells. There were two other patrons, a small, round man and an older woman who reminded me of my mom. The man sketched as the woman wrote, and I had the sense that each was secretly writing or drawing the other.

“Hi there!” called the lady behind the counter. Her voice was deep and rich, and I’d be willing to bet she was a great singer. “Welcome in!”

A little menu stood on an easel, the beverages surrounded by watercolor flowers and curling vines. My mouth watered as I read; lavender latte, iced raspberry white chocolate mocha, cinnamon and honey flat white… I wanted everything. I realized I didn’t see any posted prices, nor did I have any money, and wondered how this worked. Seeming to notice my confusion, the woman chuckled. “You must be a recent arrival,” she said. “We don’t charge for anything here, so order whatever you’d like!” She gestured to a glass-front case behind her. “We also have some pastries if you’re hungry.”

I hadn’t noticed the baker’s case, and I almost moaned out loud. Cupcakes, macarons, small sandwiches and fresh fruit sat inside. I wanted everything. “How ‘bout you give me your favorite, and whatever iced drink you like best!”

Tapping her chin with a finger, the barista hummed before grinning widely and turning to the espresso machine. I took a seat at an empty table beside the window and looked out at the meadows. Would I ever be able to retire to this place? It’s where I’d likely have ended up, and it struck me as a bit unfair that thanks to Sean, I probably wouldn’t ever have the life I’d wanted or the afterlife I’d earned. A young boy and his mother walked past, and I tried not to wonder how they’d ended up here.

The more I considered Lady Cora’s multitude of responsibilities, the more I thought I understood why she might want some sort of companionship. Not that I was really her companion, so to speak, but I was a facet of her life that didn’t carry any real duty. If anything, my having not come here organically absolved her of feeling like she owed me some specified experience of eternity. I was an outlier, a hobby, a distraction.

A drink adorned with a swirl of whipped cream and caramel appeared on the table in front of me, accompanied by a small plate with a purple macaron and fresh berries. “Here you are!” the woman said, and I shook off my musings to look up at her gratefully. “Coconut caramel latte with white coffee and a tiny pinch of salt, and a taro-coconut macaron.” Her head tipped back, and she laughed. “Damn, I guess I like coconut.”

“I do too!” I replied. “I’m Grace, what’s your name?”

There was a long pause, and a bit of the warmth bled from her kind face. Her lips parted, but closed again without a response. I watched as she forced a false grin onto her face. “Nice to meet you, Grace! Silly me, leaving my nametag at home today,” she said, words trailing off as she walked back to the counter without answering my question. I felt my own smile fall as well. Did she not recall her own name?

She didn’t visit my table again, and after I had finished my cookie and drank half of the coffee, I left. The bells jingled as the door closed behind me.