ten years ago, up to only five minutes before Hershel arrived, when a distinguished gentleman, certainly in his sixties, had stopped by her table, bowed gracefully, then said in fluent French that he was honored to find such beauty in a setting that normally drew brains instead of form. Then he had bowed again and left. There were times she would have preferred to be less attractive, for hearing the same refrain a thousand or more times became a bore. Hershel had changed that. Falling in love with him made her eager to be beautiful–for him.
“Undressing me with your eyes is a poor substitute. Come, I’ll take you where you can do it properly.”
“It took you long enough to suggest that. But I cannot go yet. I have a massive erection.”
“Shall I come to that side of the table and caress it away?”
“If you do, you’ll have to place all your allure in cold storage for a while. Until I recuperate.”
She stood up, laughing, her heart singing at the sparks the two generated when together. “You are a better lover the second time. Come to think of it, you are just as good the third time.”
He grinned as he climbed to his feet. “Flatterer.” Reaching out, he took hold of her hand, and they began walking towards the exit. “That might have been true when I was a young man. But I haven’t seen you for close to three months.”
“Three months, one week, and two days,” she said, hugging his arm.
“See, I told you. You are lucky I’m still able to walk.” Outside, he halted at the top step. “Where are you staying, and how did you get here?”
“I have a flat fifteen minutes or so away. I walked. I have also been coming here each day for over a week and two days.”
He drew her closer to him. “I was held up,” he said easily, his eyes lazily scanning the street in both directions. “My horse is tied down there. Do you have a stable near the flat?”
She had grown tense ever so slightly when he mentioned being held up, then she forced herself to relax. “The building has a stable in the rear.”
He untied the animal, and, side by side, walking together in the street, she led him a few blocks away to a wide apartment complex set in a highly fashionable section. An alley led to the stable at the back. Under Hershel’s eye, a stableman took the reins, unsaddled the horse, placed him in a stall, and pitched in a fork of hay from a bin at the far end.
Katrine led him up a flowered walk to the rear entrance. A doorman in a pale blue uniform was stationed there, opening the door and saluting as they passed by. Hershel followed her through a hallway covered with rich Turkish rugs, then up a curved staircase to the second floor. She inserted a key into the lock of enormous doors decorated with fine, brown leather containing a family crest.
“Whose flat is this?” questioned Hershel, evidently impressed by what he had already seen.
“A cousin of mine, Prince Teodor.” She laughed as she pushed open the door. “A Pole, of all things. An aunt, my mother’s sister, married his father. Absolutely filthy rich. All kinds of estates south of Warsaw.”
Katrine drew him into a wonderland. The entry chamber was huge, with a tan marble floor, and heraldic crests of the family on triangular shields decorating the walls. An archway led into a massive parlor, with fireplaces at opposite sides, and three pools of sofas, chaise lounges, and chairs, all covered with silk tapestry in which were embroidered horses’ heads with the family crest in each corner.
The walls held–Hershel counted them carefully–two paintings of naked, heavy-flanked women, who identified them as works of Rubens, a battle scene with the French tricolor leading the victorious forces, whose clarity and neoclassicism stamped it as a David, two light and colorful Monets, forever restful to look at, and a somber Delacroix, with his penchant for defying oppression.
Sliding doors led into a dining room holding a long, ebony table, polished to a mirror finish, with a score of chairs of the same wood, their backs and cushioned seats of red, Moroccan leather. A crown shaped chandelier held two dozen delicately arched gaslights, converted to electric.
Hershel stopped at the bedroom and smiled. It met his expectations. It was monster sized, with an enormous canopied bed and goose down pillows covered in rose colored silk. On everything, as expected, was the family crest.
“This cousin of yours,” remarked Hershel, still overawed. “Does he think he’s Alexander the Great?”
“Alexander was a homosexual,” said Katrine, eyeing him with amusement. “Teddy could never be accused of that. He has probably bedded more innocent virgins, happily married matrons, and love-starved widows than there are feathers in those pillows. He once said that having only one hundred new conquests per year would be sexual abstinence.” She slipped her arms around Hershel’s waist and drew him to her. “How’s your erection?”
“Being in the same room that Cousin Teddy occupied makes me ready to poke even the cook.”
“I’m the cook here now.”
“Where’s Cousin Teddy? All I would need is for him to come charging in while we were trying out his bed. His peals of laughter might make me give up sex forever.”
Her usual soft, sensible laughter, full of the beauty and mystery and magnetism that had captured his heart, came out as he expected it would, for he knew that she knew he had enough fire inside to satisfy any woman. She kissed his lips, and his arms engulfed her, pulling her close with a hunger that he was unable to hide since the moment he had set eyes on her. Their tongues explored each other feverishly as his hands pressed her hips tightly to his own, and she rubbed her body undulatingly, sensually against him, rising on her toes so she could feel his raging penis pressing harshly at her loins.
Feverishly, they shed their clothing and slid under the silk covers, sinking into the softness of the thick mattress, locked close together with a desire that drove everything but their want of each other from their thoughts. Soon he rose up and mounted her, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, driving hard against him, allowing him to withdraw almost to his glans before they crashed together again.
She sensed him starting to come a few strokes before the moan she loved so much to hear broke from his lips, then it became more intense as he felt the flood begin its race from deep in his loins. He crested with an explosive gush, his pent up breath bursting from his lips as he ejaculated time after time.
After a while, he lay quietly atop her, the need of her still boiling inside, only the emptiness of his testes keeping him from continuing. Her caresses had turned to gentle strokes, her fingers slowly massaging his back and shoulders, her body still vibrating under his, the only thought in her mind that he had been hers and soon she would be his. She marveled again at how fully he had filled her, how his savage thrusts had brought her such pleasure.
He rolled them both to their sides, and, kissing her soft, wet lips, he placed his leg between hers, his hand gently fondling a breast grown large with desire. In moments, she was driving her vagina against his leg, her body shuddering with pent up passion, the fingers of her hand wrapped around his penis. Faster and faster she masturbated against his leg, her breath coming out harshly as she climbed her mountain to orgasm. Then her movements became jagged thrusts as she flung herself against him, her eyes now tightly closed.
Suddenly, she began to moan. These were critical moments, he knew. He had lost her more than once in the past, and had learned that feeling rather than raw sex was needed now, “I love you, my darling,” he whispered.
She came at once, her entire body leaping against his, her lips kissing him here and there, short cries of animal pleasure sounding between her gasps for breath. Little by little, her movements became less demanding, then she stopped and lay lank, her face resting on his chest, her breasts heaving from her exertions.
He stroked her body gently, as she had done to him. “I adore it when you come,” he said. “It feels like I own you.”
“You do. I knew it from the first time we made love.”