My Lady Gambled (3 page)

“Your body is so arousing, Drummond.”

Gabriella stood and began stroking down Drummond’s firm back. “I am not sure if you like this position, but it is highly arousing from my view,” she purred, as her gaze fixed on his arching male shaft.

Gabriella stroked her hand over Drummond’s tight buttocks. “Not really, Orchid.”

“Mmm,” Gabriella stroked the other cheek of Drummond’s ass. Then, she gave it a light pat. “Lay down then, amour, and feel the softness of the mink on your hard cock.”

Surprised! Drummond nearly lost a groan of bliss as the mink enveloped the heat of his rigid dick. He eased gingerly down against the stiffness not wanting to bend. His instant desire was to hump the mink as he felt Gabriella climbing over his back to straddle his hips. Christ! He had taught Gabriella too many sensual tricks and now with her creative and fertile mind unfettered to do anything she could imagine sexually— he was in for it!

And, he loved it! He might not survive, but what a way to go. Drummond felt Gabriella’s bare pussy on his buttocks as she settled in with a lust-filled undulation. Then, his lust filled. Frothing over. Tightly reined. Drummond felt Gabriella drizzling oil on his back with her massaging hands following. He laid his head to the side and fought his tension to relax. He knew this carnal teasing well. Raise sexual tension to the breaking point, then relax it. Then—raise it again higher. Oh yes! He had taught his wife too well, and he was definitely in for it.

“Feel good, my sexy slave? It feels good to me.”

“Madame, I am yours.”

Drummond played along with the game, and while Gabriella’s hands kneading his back felt excellent, the movements of her denuded pussy riding his ass was most assuredly reeking havoc. She enjoyed it also because he could feel her helping the undulations along and not all propelled by her massaging. The softness of her bare pussy was incredible. He could feel the plump, heated outline, and the dampness she exuded.

Without intent, his hips humped, riding his cock through the mink’s plushness and Gabriella’s up and down movements on his ass. His fingers curled beneath his cheek where his chin rested. When he realized what he had done, he strained not to do it again.

Gabriella purred above him with her fingers digging deep into his muscular back. “Do not rein it in, my amour, let it free.”

Oh, he wanted to, but more than that, he wanted soft pussy around his cock. Gabriella leaned forward with the tips of her nipples scoring his oily back, while her lips kissed the side of his mouth. Her hands dug deep, massaging lower on his back, and then she rose and scooted lower over the hump of his ass. He could feel sweet hot pussy rubbing all the way, making his mouth water. Then, he felt more oil poured onto the small of his back.

“Joelle told us all of course,” Gabriella murmured above him as her fingers began kneading his lower back, the motion moving his hips in barely perceptible thrusts, which connected to his cock.

Now? Now, she brings this up, Drummond thought, trying to change mental gears. Failing, he decided his wife was too clever by far.

“It is a horrible, shocking story, Drummond. Thank God, they are alive. I think Joelle fits Saxon to my view, like a glove.”

Gabriella’s hands moved to the top of his buttocks, spreading more warm oil and allowing it to slowly run down the crease between the cheeks of his ass. It was then, Drummond discovered a new “erotic zone” on his body. Who knew? Then, his hips humped, lightly stroking his throbbing cock into the mink. By god, the experience was sensual, he had to give his wife that! And, he knew she was not through yet.

Drummond tried to find his voice, but it rasped, “You are not going with the Archangels or be involved.”

Gabriella’s fingers found the crease of his ass, tracing it. Et oh! Another “zone.”

“I know, darling,” she answered, much too acquiescent, Drummond thought, when he could think, with Gabriella’s fingers now spread out over the rumps of his buttocks as she kneaded them. He had always known he was an ass man. He delighted in playing with his wife’s, but he had never considered his own much, until-.

A groan rumbled uncontrolled from his throat as one of Gabriella’s oily fingers slid and burrowed through the crevice of his ass. His cock seemed to be connected to the sensation and pounded through it strongly. Incredibly, his ass itched to rise upward, and he fought the urge to crawl up on his knees, while his mind vicariously wondered how far his lovely wife might go in this direction. Whether it was balking on his part or actually hidden aroused thoughts over the matter, he could not digest at the moment.

“We were cheated of twenty-five years, Drummond. Years we missed the pleasure of each other, and now it nearly makes me weep or crumble to even think of being away from you for any length of time.”

Damnation, the woman was merciless, ruthless! “Ah hh,” Drummond groaned as his ass lifted and Gabriella’s small finger circled his anus. Another “zone” of incomparable proportions. Gabriella leaned forward over his back again with her breasts rolling, as her heated breath touched his ear.

“I want to, Drummond. A little prod, but I will not if you do not find it arousing.”

Good Christ! Drummond jerked his head more to the side, getting part of Gabriella’s mouth in a heated kiss. She must have taken this as a yes, because he could feel somewhere inside him the feeling that he knew meant that she had-.

“Ah hh!” His cock nearly ejaculated.

“Oh, darling!” Gabriella mewled as she scooted back more, freeing his legs and ass. Then, while his thighs spread open wider, Gabriella’s finger stroked shallowly, while her other oily hand began to frolic with his balls.

Heaven help him, he came up on his knees with his engorged cock burning it was so hard, as he literally begged like a fool. “Oh Christ, Orchid, stroke my cock.”

“Oh yes!” Gabriella exclaimed passionately. “This is just as I envisioned it!”

His wife envisioned wicked, naughty things that pushed him to an edge he had never been on before. While her finger began rhythmically stroking in his ass, her tongue suddenly lapped against his balls from behind, and her other hand squeezed around his cock—pumping it.

“Fuck!” Drummond charged, losing his control, as his wife milked a thrashing ejaculation from him, while finger fucking his ass.

Fertile imagination, his ass. Drummond thought. His wife was kinky in the best, most lavish sense of the word, and his cock spewed seed, four times, until his knees nearly collapsed, and his chest heaved in great billows. He twisted his neck, shook his head, tried to catch his breath as Gabriella lifted her finger from his ass, but lovingly kept licking his ball sacs. He was on his hands and knees, with his legs spread, and he considered tentatively that it was not such a bad position, if all done properly.

“What was the razor for?” His breath still heaved.

“Mm,” Gabriella’s warm tongue lifted from his balls. “I was going to shave your balls, but I have decided that I really love them hairy instead.”

Drummond’s flaccid cock twitched. Impossible! “You are not going to go along with the Archangels!” he growled.

“I know,” Gabriella answered sweetly, too sweetly by far and Drummond knew his wife’s campaign had just began!

He was in for it …

As she walked Kit squinted again at the address on the letter in her hand. Paris addresses were hard for her American mind to make out, and Clay’s scribbled writing did not help. Thank the lord she had been able to lose her husband at the dock. She had made her way into Paris, arriving last night and had managed to find a hotel that was respectable enough for her to stay. Not that she had gotten much sleep. She found she was much too keyed up at being so close to discovering where her brother was. She had even thought to use a false surname at the hotel, just in case Nick was more industrious than she thought he was.

But, he was behind her now, and she was determined to leave the embarrassment of her monumentally bad choice in marriage behind her. She had much more important matters to attend to. It had taken a lot of willpower not to go out searching for Clay last night, feeling that all her worries could easily be set aside if he was still at his Paris apartment, just being stubborn in the end, and refusing to write to her these last six months.

Hearing about their father’s illness might have made Clay retreat into himself, or he could be sitting in his flat drinking French wine, brooding, and playing his piano. His one true love in life was music.

Nevertheless, while she may have been confident enough to gallop a horse on the road to Paris on her own, she had enough common sense to not try to wander alone in Paris at night. Paris was the largest city she had ever been in besides New York City. The sprawl of Paris awed her, when her normal bases of reference were vast, wide-open spaces.

Kit stopped at what looked to be the address, a well-laid brick building, in what appeared to be a nice section of Paris. Clay was not without his resources. While his passion might be music, he had taken his knowledge of raising cattle and turned it into profit. From his letters, Kit understood Clay had used his personal relationship with many cattle-ranchers in America to ship beef cattle to France, and the price was high here for the American bred delicacy.

Kit knew there would be several larger apartments in the building. It did not surprise her when she walked through the gate and stepped into a well-kept patio garden. On the far side was the front door with a large iron pull-bell placed out front. Just as her gloved hand reached upward to pull the bell, the front door pushed open toward her, and she quickly stepped back, hearing the burr of a baritone voice saying, “Aye, Mademoiselle lass, ye keep my card and think on it. I just want to look, and I’d take nothing. Maybe help, when it’s said and done.”  

Mademoiselle lass, Kit thought at the queer turn of phrasing, and her mind registered and placed the Scottish accent. The accent seemed so out of place to her mind set of Paris. Then, suddenly a large man passed her on the front steps. Kit barely saw the man as he tipped his head in a polite gesture, then he was past her. Had she turned around to watch him leave, she might have seen him pause to look back at her. Instead, she was left looking at a middle-aged woman standing in the entryway.

What passed next, to Kit, was a dance in French pantomime and American as she tried to converse with the lady and make known her wishes to see her brother. In the end, her savior was the arrival of the lady’s English speaking, twelve-year-old son. The son informed her that his name was Pier and his mother’s name was Mademoiselle Lillian. They lived on the bottom floor of the building and oversaw the tenants for the owners.

The next piece of information Pier imparted was quite disturbing. He said Monsieur Clayton lived there no more. Luckily, Kit rallied and asked more probing questions. At first, Pier and Mademoiselle Lillian were hesitant to say anything until she showed Pier a letter from her brother. Fortunately, he could read English as well as speak it, and quickly understood that she was Clayton’s sister. This changed the dynamic considerably. Mademoiselle Lillian now saw her as a way to recover unpaid rents she adamantly felt were due to her.

Upon hearing all of this, Kit nearly had the hope that Clay had run out on them. Her mind quickly skipped to hopeful possibilities such as he had fallen on hard times. However, that hope was dashed when Mademoiselle Lillian informed her, through Pier, that she was almost ready to sell Clay’s personal belongings to recover part of the money owed.

Kit hastily assured them that she would pay the rent owed and that she wanted all of Clay’s personal property. Once this was clear, Mademoiselle Lillian became more relaxed and conversational again. Soon, Pier, with key in hand, was taking Kit to Clay’s apartment.

“When was the last time you saw Clayton, Pier?” Kit asked as they climbed the narrow stairs. They passed two flights and two other doors that Kit assumed were other apartments.

“It was on zee day before Bastille Day. I remember well. Monsieur Clayton would wave on his way to zee caf‚ in zee morning, or he would stop and throw the ball to me. I like those days. Then, he was no more, and I think he would say adieu.”

Yes, he would, Kit thought with a twinge. Clay was always good to children. Dread silently built inside her at the thought of how long Clay had been gone, that and the fact all his personal property was still here. 

Hours later, Kit emerged from a hired carriage outside the Commissionaire de Police building in Paris. All her fears were confirmed, running rampant really. Clay was actually missing, and for no outward or  discernable reason. Foul play, screamed inside Kit’s head as she straightened the folds of her mocha colored walking dress. She had taken the time to return to her hotel to change her clothes after searching Clay’s apartment for clues. She had dressed in an elegant outfit, with accessories. They were clothes that by their very quality and presence spoke of money. Deep pockets, her father would say. Show them you mean business by your appearance and demeanor alone.

She did mean business, Kit thought firmly as she adjusted her deep chocolate-colored hat with a mink-edge, set off with a black veil scripted with flowers. She meant to file a report with the Paris police that her brother was missing and she meant for them to listen to her and to take her seriously. Or at least think that she had money enough to cause a monumental fuss, Kit thought, which was halfway true. She came from money, but whether she had any money any more was up in the air. Nonetheless, she knew somewhat how to carry off the ruse of a moneyed person. After years of watching her father, she would use it like he would and bite back any hesitations she felt at trying to do so. The world was very much a man’s world and not easy for a female to get her voice heard.

But she had been brave enough to leave Nick behind, hadn’t she? Oh yes! Only she wished she could not hear the echo of Nick’s voice in the back of her mind telling her over and over how incompetent she was. The true mystery was, why did she care what he thought?