The Revolutionary Mistress. Leia Rice

room to help her tie the laces. “We will go, but we won’t stay long. I’m in no mood to listen to the same fanfare for another night.”

      People packed into the basement of the hotel where Mariette stayed. They called themselves revolutionaries, and on every second Tuesday of the month, they checked into the hotel, descended the stairs and murmured to each other their plans of liberty. Their ingenious plans were always the same, and Mariette never heard of anyone actually going through with them. But times were changing, and the revolutionaries spoke louder and more passionately about stealing ammunition, provisions, artillery—anything to overthrow the French monarchy.

      The room smelled like men’s armpits and booze. Dirt covered faces and hands, holes spotted across their shirts and pants. Some looked as if they had not eaten in days, which started to become common across the plebeian population. Helene pulled Mariette through the throng of testosterone and angst until they broke through the barrier and reached the clearing where a raised podium stood.

      Mariette didn’t see Sebastian, but she knew he lurked somewhere. Somehow, he had risen up as a leader of the hotel revolutionaries, a celebrity amongst failure. “I should have stayed in my bath.”

      Helene continued to hold Mariette’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “There’s no turning back now, Mariette. He has his eyes set on you, and everyone here is well aware of it.”

      Self-consciously, Mariette looked over her shoulder. Dozens of sparkling, shadowed gazes fell on her, and immediately she turned back to face the front, uncomfortable. “Surely they are not. I do not belong to anyone.”

      A man approached the podium and wrapped his gritty fingers around its edges. Looking over the group, he called them to order, voice rising above the others. “Attention, s’il vous plaît.”

      Mariette’s conversation with Helene quieted, as did the rest of the room. She watched the man as he started what was going to be a long-winded speech about taking France back. The same speech as last month’s, just in different words. As the crowd(and Helene) began to cheer, Mariette felt a tug on her sleeve, which turned into a yank. She stumbled toward a shadowed side of the basement that led to the coal room.

      “My beautiful revolutionary.” The husky voice brushed against her neck, heavy and thick.

      “Sebastian.” Mariette turned to face him, her eyes level with the dark curls that peeked out the top of his shirt. She tipped her head back, looking up past his square jaw and slightly pointed nose to those unsettling, black eyes.

      He wrapped a hand around her waist and jerked her toward him. Already, his cock grew hard and pushed against the thin fabric of her dress, brushing against her thigh. “Where have you been, mon amie? I expected to see you between meetings.”

      Uncomfortable, Mariette checked around to see if anyone paid any attention to them, but all eyes were directed at the podium, and the crowd closed in tightly, packing the two of them closer together. “I’ve been busy.”

      “Busy?” He dragged her dress up, bunching it slowly around her hips, walking his fingers down until the tops of her legs were exposed. “Too busy for me? I find that hard to believe.” When he said “hard,” he jutted his waist forward, accentuating the obvious fact that his prick pushed against the front of his trousers.

      “Sebastian…”

      He leaned forward, brushing his lips just under her earlobe. “I’ve missed you. And you do remember our agreement?”

      As much as she grew mad at herself, she could feel her clit pulsating between her legs. When Sebastian’s thumb slid around the curve of her thigh and into the slick folds of her cunt, she gasped for breath. “Yes, I remember.”

      A finger slid into her, thumb pressed against her swollen button. Mariette sucked in another breath and stepped closer to him. Without missing a beat, Sebastian pulled his hand away, lifting her leg slightly. With his other hand, he freed his cock from his breeches, and with some practiced manipulation, pushed himself into her.

      Still, no one paid attention to them, half protected by the shadows and the general tendency to be blind and deaf to anything that didn’t have to do with the revolution. Sebastian did not try to make it something pretty. He grunted a few times, thrusting his hips forward, forward, forward, filling her completely.

      Too quickly, Mariette whimpered a cry, pleasure boiling over to a shattering, delicious orgasm. Her pussy contracted around his hard member, and almost immediately after she came, Sebastian grunted one last time, shooting his seed into her.

      “I would like to now introduce our champion…”

      Stepping back, Sebastian tucked his cock back into his pants, pulling the ties too tightly to keep his erection bound. He left Mariette where she stood, his black eyes showing no hint of pleasure or satisfaction. She hated that the most. How he could make her want him, and then make her hate him right after. But he felt so good.

      And he paid her well.

      She felt the warmth of his load slide down the inside of her legs as she turned and smoothed down the front of her dress. She spotted Helene jumping up and down, trying to see over the heads of the crowd. With a wave, Mariette pushed back through the people and toward Helene, just as everyone roared and clapped for Sebastian, who now stood behind the podium.

      In her hand, she clutched a velvet bag of coins, enough to get them through the month.