Unlike her father Linden was an incredibly easy-going person, not at all shy about sharing her opinion, and more than willing to turn a blind eye to poor manners if it kept the conversation going. She was also, Maxim thought with a little spite, easier on the eyes.
Maxim had taken to monopolising a corner of her rooms in the mornings, finding the company and conversation refreshing, engaging, and far less tense than his other options for filling his days. His reading had stalled entirely, but he was now thoroughly educated on oil paints as a superior medium to watercolours, the importance of sexual health and vocal training, the torrid decline of men’s fashion, and just how much work went into making a woman look her best.
The last was less of a topic of discussion so much as something Maxim happened to just bear witness to these days. Linden took a great deal of care with her appearance whenever she had the opportunity, and as a result had invested a significant bit of coin into her clothes. And hair. The most expensive part of her wardrobe was her wig with the red curls that she’d been using when they met. Along with her painting and drawing skills she was a deft hand with the embroidery needle, and she added to her clothing where possible.
That morning Maxim had been watching her fuss with a new pair of stays while she kept a singularly dissatisfied expression, but she’d gotten distracted with a letter. She was leaning back in her rickety old desk chair, half-dressed, her shift sort of tucked into her unbuttoned trousers, new stays loosely laced over the top, nice boots still on and stretched out in front of her. The frown was only deepening, reddened lips unhappy under her narrowed brow as she read from the sheet in her hands.
“Debt collector?” guessed Maxim, making her look up at him, her loose, dark hair swinging around her jaw as she did so. It was a good look on her, except for the frown.
“What?” she said, sounding nonplussed.
He nodded at the letter. “I’ve only known one kind of letter to put that expression on someone’s face.”
Linden snorted, folding the paper and setting it on the table. “Hardly. My father reminding me of our meeting on Saturday afternoon.”
“Oh yes?” said Maxim, watching her fingers return to tugging at the stays on her chest. “Continuing his disapproval of the way you live your life?”
Maxim hadn’t thought Ozias Alix had ever been married, and when he’d returned to the house after meeting Linden, Gregory had been terribly eager to confirm that fact for him. It had been well before Maxim’s time, but Linden’s birth had been a neat little scandal for him. He wasn’t sure if Alix had never recovered socially, or just simply had no interest in marriage and further child rearing. Linden didn’t know either way, and either didn’t care too much about the shaky state of her connection to her father, or did a good job pretending that she didn’t.
Linden looked up from her stays, releasing her lip where she was chewing on it to answer him. “Hmm. He’s been discussing having me legally recognised as his son.”
“Really? Is that good or bad?” asked Maxim as she got up and crossed the room to her mirror, turning her shoulders every which way as she continued frowning at the stays.
“Ostensibly good,” said Linden without looking away from her reflection. “A bit of security, I’d get to use my actual surname. Money.”
That she certainly wouldn’t be able to continue presenting as a woman in any aspect of her life went unspoken, though her expression softened a little in the mirror as she fussed. “Why has he waited until now, then?” he asked instead.
Linden laughed at that, reaching behind her to tug at the lacing awkwardly. Her previous stays had laced in the front for convenience, these ones did not. “Oh, he brings it up every couple of years—he has a few too many conversations with his priest, comes and sits me down, and tells me to turn my life around so that he can finally bring me home and introduce me to polite society.”
Maxim stood up and crossed the room, taking the laces in hand and gently working them securely down her upper back. “Does it always put such a frown on your face?”
Linden stilled obligingly, sweeping her hair away so he could see the top lacing to straighten it. “He seems a little more intent this time,” she said, her shoulders coming back with the fabric. “I think he’s finally gotten sick of waiting for me to become a polite young gentleman of my own accord.”
“I’ve met the kind of man he considers a polite young gentleman,” said Maxim, tying the cord in a bow and stepping back so she could turn to see. “You’d probably kneecap them.”
Linden laughed, adjusting where the garment sat across her ribs. “I’m not very good at that I’m afraid, I’d probably just end up being unconscionably rude. Lord, I hate breaking in new stays, they never look right.”
“I think they look quite good,” said Maxim, tilting his head a little to examine them with a critical eye. “They fit and they’ve got the right shape, that’s all they really need to do isn’t it?”
Linden turned and looked up at him, half smiling, amusement in her eyes. “Yes, and if all they needed to do was make my dress hang right then it would be fine, but I do actually spend a bit of time with this on display. For strange men, who are paying money for me to be attractive.”
“You are attractive,” said Maxim. “Even if your stays aren’t sitting as perfectly as you’d like, I think any strange men might be more enamoured with your other qualities.”
“Are you insinuating that men may only want me for my body, sir?” she joked, grinning widely at him.
“Oh, I would never dare insult my Lady so,” drawled Maxim, watching her smile widen impossibly more.
“Good, I’d hate to have to deliver a lashing so early into my knowing you,” she teased, pushing at his shoulder before moving past him and back to her desk.
“A suitable punishment for a pert tongue?” asked Maxim, hooking his thumbs into his pockets as he turned to watch her, eyes following the sway of her loose hair down her back.
Linden glanced back at him with a raised brow, then leaned over further and picked up a riding crop from the other side of the desk. She kicked her chair around and sprawled in it, one boot hooked over her knee, thwacking the crop against her hand with an impressive noise. “I do enjoy a man who knows how to use his mouth,” she drawled back at him.
Maxim crossed the room slowly, meeting her eyes and watching her head tilt back ever so slightly as he came to a halt in front of her. “Would you have me use my mouth for you,” he said, tilting his head sideways, “my Lady?”
Linden considered him for a moment, her eyes darkening, and then the crop came up to rest on his shoulder, a gentle pressure to send him sinking carefully down onto his knees in front of her. “If you’d be so kind, Maxim,” she said, tapping his shoulder lightly as he came to rest.
Maxim leaned in and kissed the toe of her boot where it was resting across her knee. “Of course, my Lady.”
The tongue of the crop rubbed a small circle on his shoulder as Linden removed her foot from her knee, eyes on Maxim, and as she raised her leg away he took the opportunity to shift forward, kneeling between her thighs. She smiled at him, resting her leg over his shoulder, booted heel digging into the middle of his back. She didn’t say anything, watching him with expectant eyes, the crop resting on the thin fabric over his bicep.
The flap of her trousers was still unbuttoned and hanging loose; it all came together in a picture that sent a thrill down Maxim’s spine, the casual ease with which she’d invited him to see her like this. He reached inside the front of her trousers with one hand, watching her face, conscious of the crop against his arm, and held her, half-hard, in his hand.
Her eyes were dark and interested and he could see the lines in her throat tensing as her length swelled and warmed in his grip. He curled his fingers slightly, pushing his hand further down to get more of a feel for her, and then his arm jerked at the impact of the crop on his arm, the light thud leaving a very small stinging sensation in the muscles.
“Your mouth, Maxim,” she said, her lips curving into a practiced smile. “Unless of course you’d like to stop and do something else?”
No dimples.
“Apologies, my Lady,” he said, nodding, and he held her gaze for a moment before pulling his hand back and drawing her length out of her trouser flap. She inhaled as if to say something, and then he dropped his gaze and wrapped his lips around her head.
Whatever she’d been about to say was cut off with her pleased hum, the tongue of the crop shifting to rub at the side of his head. He had to resist the urge to smirk around his mouthful. “Very good, Maxim,” she said with her usual composure, her leg shifting a little over his shoulder to accommodate for the movement.
It had been a while since he’d last done this and he took a moment to hold her in his lips, shutting his eyes and relishing the soft, warm weight before he tilted his head and pushed in, taking her further into his mouth. She twitched in his mouth, hot and firm, and he removed his hand from her thigh to clasp his wrist behind his back, tucking his thumb into his fist.
She groaned, pushing her free hand into the hair at the back of his head and almost cradling him there. “You take direction so well,” she said, her tone dropping a note on the croon.
He laughed despite himself, his mouth loosening a little, and she swatted his arm with the crop again, making him burn with satisfaction at both her words and the sting. “Did I speak too soon?” she asked, barely holding the amusement in her own words.
Maxim shook his head as best he could and opened his eyes to look up at her through his eyelashes before he wrapped his lips tight and sucked hard, sliding his tongue up along the length of her in his mouth. Linden made a sharp noise and her fingers tightened in his hair, curling and gripping at him so that he could feel the tension in her hand and wrist.
“Oh, that’s good,” she said, and he could hear the tension in her voice as well as she tugged on him. He kept up the pressure from his lips, sliding his tongue as he settled into the small motions of his jaw, sliding back and forth along her to hear more of the breathy noises spilling from her lips.
Her fingers were an inconsistent massaging pressure on his scalp, almost frenetic in the way they’d tighten and release, and she pushed him into the back and forth motions with a long moan. “Maxim,” she breathed out, her hand pulling harder on his head as she tried to hold the demanding note in her voice. “Just like that, just like that, oh lord, Maxim, that’s good—”
He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes before sliding his lips as far down as he could, pressing his nose flat against the skin at her crotch. She lost track of her words entirely with a choked noise, and he swallowed, relaxing into the pressure against his throat so as not to immediately push back away. Her leg tightened like a vice on his back as she tensed, and her other knee collided with his shoulder, the crop falling to the floor with a clatter as she bent and bowed and clutched at his head. “Oh lord,” she blurted, both fingers digging in tight to his scalp.
Maxim pulled almost all the way back with a hard breath, looking up at her with his lips wrapped around the head of her. She was flushed all up her face, tension in her neck and collar bones, chest heaving, clutching at his face and staring at him hungrily with her pupils blown wide.
He maintained eye contact, feeling the weight of her arousal in his chest, his fingernails digging into his own arm viciously, and he pushed his tongue up into her skin and sucked hard.
She kicked him in the back with a strangled yell as she came, pulsing in his mouth as though he held her heart there, her face going slack with pleasure, still gripping at him hard. She was bent over, panting, pressing her forehead against the top of his head as she relaxed and softened, and he let her fall out of his mouth, weighing his options before he gritted himself and swallowed.
He released his wrist behind his back and flexed his fingers as she stroked at his head, muttering soft nonsense into his hair. He managed to catch smatterings to the tune of “So good” and “Lord help me”, even as he shifted to try and return feeling to his knees.
She grunted a little as he shifted, and pulled back with a warm smile at him, letting her leg slide off his shoulder. He rubbed at her knee as she went and braced his hands on the floor, shifting to sit with his legs stretched out. “Suitable use of my mouth?” he asked, voice coming out a little rough. “Or should I prepare for my lashing?”
Linden gave a startled laugh from where she was slumped in her chair. “My god, Maxim, you give as good as you get. No lashings today, very well done, sir.”
“Oh good, I’d hate to have disappointed you,” said Maxim, leaning in and resting his head against her knee.
“Oh no, definitely not,” she said, sounding silly with breathlessness, head tilted back. “In fact, I think you may have ruined me for other men.”
Maxim laughed, turning his head and taking in her warmth against his face. Good.
Rory Banks 