Cat's Tale: A Fairy Tale Retold by Bettie Sharpe

Author:Bettie Sharpe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2011-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

When I returned to the room we had let for the night, I found it empty. The bed linens smelled of soap and sun, with not a trace of Julian. I stowed my boots and hat and bag of prizes beneath the bed, and made my way to the tavern on the inn’s ground floor.

The tavern was a raucous place, packed tight with drinking men and women. Over the noise of the crowd, I heard Julian’s voice. I leapt onto a shelf, and thence into the smoky rafters just in time to see a blowsy blonde lead him through the back door of the common room.

It took me some time to catch up with them. I had to cross the room jumping rafter to rafter—a task, I will add, which I accomplished with enviable grace. I ran into the hall beyond the exit, and caught the sound of voices coming from a storage room.

Unnoticed, I scurried through the crack in the door and hid myself on a shelf behind several bags of grain.

“Why not your room, love?” The woman’s voice was smoky as the air inside the tavern, and thick with the sound of sex.

“My traveling companion is in my room,” Julian said.

“I was there when you let the room. You didn’t have no one with you but that black cat.” She paused, and curiosity lit her expression. “Speaking o’ which, what kind o’ cat is it? I ne’er seen one that walked about in boots before. Just like a little man, it was.”

“Dorinda, did you bring me here to discuss my cat?”

She laughed. “Oh, no, my dearie. We came here to discuss my cat. My pretty little pussy.” She flashed him a coy look. “Would you like to see it?”

He chuckled.

She raised her mouth for his kiss, and he obliged, meeting her lips with his, and then deepening the kiss by slow degrees. She caught his hands in hers and brought them to the front of her bodice. He tugged the ties and undressed her in a few swift moves. Between one moment and the next, it seemed, her dress and shift lay at her feet, and her breasts overflowed his hands.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

Though Julian seemed to like her breasts well enough, I thought them rather vulgar. My own were high and round and pert, more than a handful, but lacking the suffocating weight of Dorinda’s ample flesh. Men tended to sigh and gasp when they saw my breasts uncovered, their faces twisted in expressions of such rapture as might befit a saint in a stained-glass window. Were I there in that woman’s place, I was certain Julian would be no different.

Where Julian’s hands were deft, Dorinda’s were desperate. She grasped at him, trying to touch him all at once. First tracing the muscled length of his back, then kneading the firm curve of his bum, then wedging in between their bodies to ascertain the state of his arousal—a discovery which elicited an almost feline purr of, “My, my.”

“My, my,” he said, mimicking her action.

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