Melissa Lord
She looked across at her husband crossly. They were sprawled, naked and sweaty after a long session of wantonness, of downright kinky sex, on the large bed in Tristan Lord’s house. She sighed and rubbed her sore behind, smoothing in the lotion her husband had been tenderly applying before the phone had begun to ring. Her husband had spanked her hard before thrusting his c*ck into her and she had been mewling as he mounted her and rode her roughly, the way both of them liked.
Smiling like a satisfied cat, she watched curiously as he picked up the phone on the nightstand and immediately, tensed up, turning on the large reading light on his side of the bed and sitting up to take the call.
Now she rolled across, tugging at his flat nipples as he spoke into the phone, low and urgent. Squirming as she climbed onto his lap, she flicked her tongue daringly across them before nipping at them.
Who could be calling at this ungodly hour, she thought in some irritation, her curiosity piqued as he grabbed her small hand and held it captive even as Tristan continued to talk on the phone.
Finally, he was done.
“The f*ck, woman,’ he snapped as he bent to take her mouth, greedily. And then, panting hoarsely, he added,
“You are being a bad girl, Melissa my love and I might have to tie you up and spank you again till your plump as* is red, for disturbing me. But.’ he went on, noting the impish look of delight on his wife’s face as he pronounced her punishment,
‘But,’ and he moved off her with a broad grin at her pout of disappointment,
“But now, my sweet, I have work.’ And he fastened the belt of his robe as she prepared to leave.
“Hey!’ cried Melissa crossly,’ What…?’
Tristan stopped and met her eyes, this time, his face was serious.
‘ Delano needs some help, baby.’ he said and his voice was serious.
And he was out of the room.
In a minute, his wife was scrambling out of bed and throwing on her pyjamas as she took after him.
“Is it…is it … Proserpina? What is it?’ she panted as she chased after him down the stairs.
‘Ssssh.,’ he growled, grabbing her arm. ‘Don’t wake up the kids, for f*cks sake.’
She stopped and in the dim light from the porch, he saw that all traces of playfulness had disappeared from her lovely face.
‘Please tell me,’ she said in a small voice aching for her friend who seemed to be going through one problem after another. Melissa Lord adored her friend, the dreamy, otherworldly Proserpina who was like Mother Earth, benevolent and generous. And her best friend. Jutting out her chin and drawing her robe around her, Melissa marched after her husband.
She had to find out if poor Proserpina was in trouble.
*
Maja Nord
They were back in the Delano mansion and she had been happy to see that Maddy and Tara were getting on well. But that had been earlier in the evening. Now, after neither the Boss nor Proserpina had come down to dinner; instead, their food had been taken up to their rooms by the security guards, she was more than a little puzzled. And strangely worried too.
Without any hesitation, Proserpina Delano had opened her house to them and had only been gracious and kind and Maja hated to think that the woman was unwell or unhappy.
Her son Magnus had not responded when she had knocked on his door; only after a long pause and even then, he looked strange, bleary-eyed and resentful.
She sighed and turned around sadly to meet the keen, all seeing eyes of James Schwartz who had come out of his suite of rooms at the end of the passage.
He stopped as he looked at her, concern flitting briefly across his handsome, chiselled face.
“All good?’ he asked mildly.
*
The sound of his voice, the deep timber, and the look, made her turn away, eyes filling. Ah sh*t , she thought fiercely, dashing the tears from her cheeks. But he was beside her and he grabbed her arm as he said,
“Watch it.’ she stopped and stared. One of the old Delano dogs was lying in the passageway and she would have tripped over him if she had blundered ahead. Suddenly, she felt his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth and she looked up, a sharp retort on her lips which died as she saw the humour of the matter.
With a grin, she shook her head of wild red corkscrew curls and said,
“Damn, you saved the dog, Scotsman.’
*
James Schwartz looked at her in sudden interest. She was pretty, not a dazzling beauty and not lovely in that sultry, sensuous way of Proserpina; this was a cheeky beauty, like that of one of the wraiths, the fairies his grandmother, a true blue Scotswoman, had told him about. As she grinned up at him, her blue eyes sparkling, the quick change of mood apparent, he found himself softening. He actually wanted to kiss this woman, he thought, after a long while; he was interested in a woman who was neither Proserpina, the one he yearned for hopelessly not Aiyana, the one who could never hold his heart…
*
Claude
The young man knocked on the door of his parent’s rooms tentatively. It was long gone midnight and he had not wanted to disturb them but he had been trying to get through to Ria for a long while and he was getting more than a little worried. After what had happened with Paddy, was more than a little uneasy.
Now he shifted from foot to foot, a habit he had incurred over the years whenever he was about to face his father.
His father’s guards had not been happy to see him go upstairs but he had stormed upstairs anyway. Amit Singh, the brawny Indian bodyguard who now accompanied his Mumma every time she stepped out of the house had said in his polite way,
“Boss must be asleep now.’
But Claude has dismissed him with a distracted nod. He wanted to inform his father about Ria.
*
The door opened after a while.
His brawny father stood there, all muscle, in a bathrobe loosely tied around his middle. Even though he was in his fifties now, Pappa was the embodiment of masculinity, with an animal virility which could put younger men to shame, thought Claude admiringly. He could see the grey hairs curling on his chest and he suddenly felt embarrassed as he realised that he had caught his father at an inopportune moment…
“Ah, f*ck. He must have been scr*wing Mumma,’ thought Claude ludicrously and he wanted to turn around and run at the cold look on his father’s face.