The Right Hand Of The Father

chapter 31

"Come now my little one," Lafayette purred in his ear and Alexander tried to focus even though his head was swimming. "Surely you have done such things before?" Angelica Schuyler was standing in front of the Frenchman, naked and letting him caress her. One hand on her breast and the other between her legs.

"Not..." Alexander swallowed. "Not with a woman."

"It is as simple as you can imagine," Lafayette announced. "You must simply lay back and let our Angelica guide you. She'll bring all her sweetest bits to your mouth for you to taste."

"I—" This was a bad idea. He didn't want to do this. Hadn't meant for things to go this far.

"Now." The Marquis stepped away from Angelica and came toward him, his ever-present flask in his hand. "A quick nip for courage and then we'll begin. Yes?"

"All right." Alexander nodded slowly as he took the flask from Lafayette and took a long drink of the sharp-tasting liquid. "Yes."

The image began to fragment then. Angelica Schuyler no longer a raven haired beauty but a demon. Her skin red and scaly. Her face melted and began to swirl.

Instead of Angelica now it was Henriette, Neddy's younger sister, staring at him as if he were a disgusting bug brought in from the cane field that needed to be squashed. Instead of her regular sausage curls her hair was a wreath of black flames, crackling, haloing out from her head.

One of the tendrils of hair whipped toward him and Alexander winced backward. "George would not approve," the snake at the tips of her hair announced. "Licking at the honeypot of some slut and trying to pretend that you are a normal man like others are. George would not approve at all. Your Daddy will be angry and then he'll cast you aside. He'll throw you away. A bad boy who doesn't deserve a daddy like him."

"George isn't—"

"No, no," Lafayette's voice crooned in his head. "Your papa is not here little Alexander. He will not ruin our fun tonight with his sour glances and his stern chin. You must not worry that he will interrupt our fun."

"Not normal," the snakes that were dancing in the flames of the woman's hair sang, their voices taunting, as the woman raised her hands and Alexander could see long black talons curving away from the tips of her fingers. "A boy. A dirty, nasty boy who craves a daddy in his bed. Dreams about his father, his own father. Dreams about those hands on his skin. The other man's cock inside him and stains his sheets. A dirty, foul, unnatural—"

"Stop," Alexander screamed as he brought his hands up to cover his ears so he no longer had to listen. "Please stop."

"Alexander." George's voice was right there and Alexander could smell his spicy scent. Could feel the air change in the way it always did when George was near. "Alexander wake up."

His eyes flew open and he sat upright, trying to breathe.

He wasn't there. Wasn't in the Marquis's loft. The room he was in wasn't papered in red with gold flocked flowers worked into the pattern. It was a calming blue. No pattern. Just blue. Curtains of a darker shade. Gold ties to hold them back. A blue and gold silk blanket over him. Smooth, cotton sheets underneath him. A white fireplace in front of him instead of the elaborate gold affair that had taken up one wall of the Marquis's hideaway. It had been big enough that Alexander could have stood inside it. It had been worked in gold leaf and carved with fornicating nymphs across the mantel and down the side pieces.

He swallowed and tried to take another breath.

"That's right." A voice rumbled in his ear and his shoulders slumped.