Celui Que Je Désire

Ma Beauté (My Beauty)

The hour is late, nearing the early morning but dark as night outside. There is still a long while before we see the sunrise, and Pierre continues reading as his guests are spread throughout the room, some coupled in corners, others with drink in hand while listening and watching the women servants that fill their cups. Le Gris sits nearest my lord, his drink empty and forgotten as he listens respectfully. When I walk into the room, his gaze upon me is like that of a hawk silently stalking its prey.

"And said she, 'Bring thyself to lay nearest to me, to allow thine hands to explore the temple of my body. Thy lips hunger eagerly to stroke gently upon the skin of my thighs, wherein a quaking doth draw my breath short.' Embracing her into his arms, whispering in her ear, said he, 'Look upon mine eyes, beloved; for my arousal stirs within and quells not. Thine mortal body shall ascend this night, unto the heavens. And thy breath shall mingle intimately with mine own; warm and tender. Let no thing disrupt this union as I delve deeply into the untouched valley between your legs, now unclasped like precious jewels set in gold; still burning from your passion..."

Pierre reads the words slowly, distracted as one of his lady guests approaches him, her hands running over his chest. The sounds around the room have grown erotic and indecent, further fueled by the flowing wine and mead. The guests indulge in each other, even Pierre, who soon begins greedily undressing the mistress that had chosen him.

But alone sat Le Gris, watching the debauchery unfold before him. When I would walk near, his eyes, dark and flickering, would find me and carefully study my movements.

"Le Gris..." Pierre calls as he's pulled from his chair.

Hearing his name, he looks to his liege lord with expectation.

"Milord?" he responds.

"Take yourself some women. Take as many as you please. I think I've found mine for the night. Or at least a start." says Pierre with a chuckle, gripping tightly the hind quarters of his mistress.

She giggles delightedly as she tugs Pierre by his shirt, off and away into another bedchamber nearby. Others begin doing the same, dragging themselves still locked intimately into bedchambers or just finding a more comfortable space upon the floor or other furniture.

I sigh wearily as I gather the pieces of a shattered glass goblet into my palm, careful not to wound myself from the sharp fragments. I hear distinct heavy footfalls behind me as I straighten, meeting again with the gaze of the handsome Squire. He looks down at my palm grasping the broken pieces of glass, his brow suddenly knit.

He turned and found an empty bowl from the table, quickly taking it and holding it before me. I watch as he carefully yet deftly begins picking out the pieces of the goblet from my hand with his long fingers, placing them into the bowl one at a time. As he removes the last shard, he replaces the bowl on the table, his large hand still engulfing mine tenderly.

"That was very kind of you, sir. But you need not trouble yourself further. I will dispose of it." I tell him, unable to look at him.

"It's no trouble at all. And your hands are too beautiful to see punctured." he says softly.

I lift my eyes to his, seeing the genuine concern as his fingers grip my hand possessively. I feel myself drawn to him, like a moth to flame. His long shirt hangs open, revealing his carved, smooth chest, glistening from the fire light. The licking flames of the fireplace crackle, the light reflecting upon his beautifully toned skin, shadows crossing his face and illuminating his pronounced masculine features.

"What is your name?" he asks me.

I blink quickly as I find my words, feeling foolishly entranced by his very presence.