ProdigalSlave

by Roxy Harte

  “Because I want there to never be a secret between us again. I don’t want to lose you again.”

  “I safe-worded. I know the house rules. I have to leave.” I attempt to pull away but he holds me in place.

  “Maybe I have mellowed with age, but that is no longer a house rule.”

  No longer a house rule? My head spins with the implications. I’m being given another chance?

  I meet his gaze. “I can stay?”

  “The decision to stay or go is always yours. I would like very much for you to stay.” He kisses me. “All I ask is no secrets, oui?”

  It all becomes clearer. “I lust Pierre-Louis.”

  “That was obvious before you ever left for your holiday.”

  I nod and whisper, “I think I’m falling in love with him.”

  “Oui.”

  He seems very calm for a man I just told I love another. “I want to fall in love with you again.”

  “I too want nothing more.”

  Doubt fills my mind. I can’t be the Cassiopeia I once was. I’m just not that tough anymore. “It’s been a long time, Frankie. Are we asking for too much of each other? We obviously aren’t the same people.”

  His lips descend on mine and his kiss prevents me from breathing at all but I don’t pull away. I release all the emotion I’ve been holding in since I answered his summons…hell, since I left him twenty years ago. I choke on the mucus clogging my airway and he releases me. He tells me to “Blow”.

  There’s no tissue, just his bare hand. I blow anyway. When I can breathe again, I explain, “I love the memory of who you were but I need to fall in love with the man you are now.”

  “And I need to learn to love the woman you are now, Charlotte. It has been a long time and you are no longer a young girl. I know I must change to accommodate who you have become, and honor your strengths and needs as they are now, not as they are remembered in my mind.”

  “It seems we have a lot of work to do.”

  “I’m willing to do my share.”

  “Me too.”

  He holds me and I hang on to him as if my life depends on not letting go.

  “Tonight the three of us move into one bedroom, oui?”

  I don’t tell him of the jealousy-filled night I listened outside his bedroom door. I whisper, “I see no other way of making this work.”

  “Agreed and for proprietary sake, you will keep a bedroom for yourself in case you ever wish for your daughters to come for a visit.”

  “Thank you for understanding.”

  “I only wish they were mine.”

  The ache in his voice makes me know he’s telling the truth. “We can’t change the past, but we can share a future. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you completely.”

  “As long as now you understand.”

  “I do.”

  * * * * *

  Even though we are all in agreement to share a single bedroom, a single bed, when the moment comes I am as nervous and awkward as a virgin bride. I don’t know what to expect. Will Pierre-Louis and Frankie make love to each other? Will the two men sandwich me? Will Master command the two of us, leaving us to obey?

  I am standing in the adjoining bathroom, shaking and wringing my hands when Frankie knocks on the door. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you coming out soon?”

  “Another minute?” My voice waivers.

  The door opens a crack and he sees me standing in front of the mirror. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course, Master.”

  He joins me in the large tiled room. “You are worried.”

  “It’s obvious?”

  He smiles, knowingly.

  “I’m out of my element. I’ve never…I don’t know what to do, or what to expect. I know, I know, you’re the Master, I’m the slave. It’s pretty easy. Just do what I’m told to do. No different than in the airplane. Or in the potting shed.”

  “It is different, though, isn’t it?”

  I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “It feels different.”

  “You have admitted you do not know me anymore, that you do not love me—”

  “No. That isn’t what I meant at all,” I interrupt.

  “Shh.” He presses two fingers against my mouth. “Truth still the same. And you admitted you are already falling in love with Pierre-Louis.”

  Now I just feel horrible. It sounds so much worse when he says it. I run my hands over his shoulders. He still wears a crisp shirt and dress pants. Pierre-Louis and I have been nude since the dungeon. “I do love you. I just need to relearn how to love you.”

  “Americans always try to wrap the truth in a comforting lie to manage feelings. I am man enough to know I can earn your love again. You need not coddle me.”

  “Maybe I need to soften the truth a little for me,” I say, sounding harsher than I intended.

  “Perhaps.” He makes a small face. “Because otherwise you couldn’t have sex with me at all?”

  “Not true.”

  “Then explain so I understand why you are hiding in the bathroom.”

  “You think I’m hiding from you? No, no, no.”

  “You are certainly not hiding from Pierre-Louis.”

  Reaching up, I cup his face. “I’m hiding from myself. I’m hiding from all that I’m feeling and all that I want to feel. I have doubts about me. Whether I will be able to relax and experience this for what it can be.”

  He takes my wrists in his but doesn’t pull my hands from his face. His expression says he is trying to understand.

  “Since returning to you, I have experienced amazing passion with Pierre-Louis but I’ve experienced no passion or tenderness from you. I’m afraid of how you will react once you see Pierre-Louis and me together. I worry Pierre-Louis and I will never be together sexually again. I worry you will want Pierre-Louis and not me. I worry I will never experience passion with you again.”

  He grabs my jaw, hurting a little, and kisses me, crushing my mouth, bruising my lips. I like his roughness and my mouth opens under the force of his kiss. My heart pounds inside my chest as I taste blood. John never kissed me like this. Pierre-Louis never kissed me like this…

  His tongue pushes into my mouth, thrusting and stealing my breath. This I remember and it is even better than the nights I lay in fantasy, pretending I was still his.

  He whispers into my mouth. “Am I still a good kisser, mon amour?”

  “Better than I remembered.”

  He jerks my hair, pulling my head back and making my neck arch. His lips descend over my jugular, kissing, sucking, biting and making sensation arc through my body I have not felt in decades. “Oh god.”

  “Did you miss this a little?” His breath is warm and sweet on my cheek.

  “A lot. I missed this a lot.”

  “Do you still doubt we will share passion again?”

  “No. I know we will.”

  He lifts me on to the vanity and forces my legs apart as he jerks my hips forward, leaving me pressed hard against his hidden erection. “Are you most certain?”

  “Most certain, Master. I feel the passion running through you.”

  “Who am I passionate for, Cassiopeia?”

  “Me, Master. You are passionate for me.”

  His fingers find my folds and he opens me, thumbing my clit, finding my wetness. “Tell me you lust for me.”

  “I have always lusted for you, Master. I need you. I want you. Please, fuck me.”

  “Here? Now?”

  “Yes, Master, yes. Please, yes.” I grind invitingly against his fingers.

  He calls to the other room, “Pierre-Louis, join us now.” I cease functioning. I cease thinking. Can I deal with this?

  The man in question appears immediately and I can’t look at him. Master continues to thumb my clit, he bites my neck, and even though I am distracted by Pierre-Louis’ mere presence I respond. I am embarrassed now that I am arching and moaning, wher
eas a moment ago I was completely immersed in feeling.

  “Do you still want me to fuck you, Cassiopeia? Here? Now?”

  I meet Master’s gaze and am more unsure than I have ever been about anything but equally sure that I need to do this. Here. Now. Or risk losing everything. “Yes, Master.”

  He slides a finger into me slowly. “Is this what you want?”

  “No, Master. Fuck me, please fuck me.”

  He holds my gaze as he continues sliding his finger in and out of me. I rock against his hand in response. “Why, Cassiopeia?”

  “Because I lust you, Master.”

  “For now, that is enough. You will look at Pierre-Louis now.”

  What? Why? I don’t ask. I shift my gaze and look at our shared lover. I expect to see hurt or anger, but all I see is lust. I lick my lips.

  “Pierre-Louis, you will unfasten my trousers and pull them down for me.”

  He complies, and his gaze never leaves mine. Without looking I know the moment Master’s cock is exposed. His tip rubs against my labia. I look back at Master. “Fill me, please, Master, don’t make me wait.”

  His lips claim mine and I kiss him back with urgency and need. His length slides in, stretching me. I am still tender but I push the pain away and focus solely on the feeling of being filled by him. There are three of us in the room, but in that moment I am alone with my Master. I let him see the pain I have carried, the need. Our physical joining is no longer about lust or passion but reunion.

  Chapter Twelve

  It is midday and I am lying by the pool, napping. I have been napping off and on since climbing out of bed this morning. It’s been a week since Pierre-Louis and I returned from the bike tour, and my reunion with Master and the creation of the ménage has overshadowed all else, including sleep.

  I am reminded I am not twenty-two anymore. I am in love with two men. And that’s okay. Two men love me in return. It’s a crazy thought and a reality I’m still adjusting to.

  My eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses. Between the sun glare from the water and the glinting light off the glass panes of the orangerie, I would be blind without them. Plus, it makes it easier to hide the fact that I have been sleeping, not reading the book in my lap. I think guiltily that it is Wednesday and if in Chicago, I would be up to my eyeballs in midweek research and paperwork. I sink deeper in my chaise, glad that I am here. I have to keep reminding myself that this is not a vacation, I do not have to be anxious that my time is running short…this is my life now…for as long as I desire it. I inhale sweet air, almost able to separate all the glorious scents that make it so—fresh-tilled soil, lavender, the blooms on the grapevines, the pine forest on the other side of the stables and of course the earthiness of the stables themselves. I smile, feeling the lull of sleep ease into my aching bones. The last few days seem like a dream. One I don’t want to wake from.

  “Belle?”

  “Mmm?” I barely acknowledge Pierre-Louis’ presence.

  “Do not panic,” he tells me, squatting beside me and covering my nakedness with an oversized towel. Of course I panic, sitting up, clutching the towel to my breasts.

  “What has happened? What is wrong?” I gasp, pulling off my sunglasses to look at Pierre-Louis’ concern-lined face, remembering that Frankie was going to the chai to check the progress of last year’s barrels of wine. Every imaginable scenario goes through my mind, including he’s hurt, he’s dead. Oh god, please don’t let him be dead.

  “François asked me to inform you that your parents and daughters have just arrived and that they are waiting in the main salon. You are to please act surprised.”

  “Act surprised? How could I not act surprised. I’m naked, I’m wearing a collar…holy shit.”

  “I think you are panicking.”

  “Thank god you, at least, have clothes on.”

  He shrugs, “Just lucky. I went to the chai with François.”

  He went with Master? Was he invited? I wasn’t invited. I pout, slightly disappointed, my entire forehead frowning as I wonder why he was invited to the winery and I wasn’t…but then I remember my parents and children are waiting in the main salon to surprise me.

  He blocks any view of the house as he helps me stand, suggesting, “The back stairs through the kitchen should get you to your room without anyone seeing you.”

  He shadows me as we walk, both of us knowing that if anyone looks through the main salon windows, they will probably see me…but at least I am wrapped in a towel.

  “What are they doing here?” I ask out loud, knowing he has no more clue to that answer than I do. He stays with me, escorting me through the kitchen, up the back staircase, walks with me all the way to my room. And though it seems odd, I don’t question his presence. I’m actually thankful he is near. I let out a deep sigh as I enter the bedroom, seeing the invisible servants have tidied, leaving no trace of the explosion in an insanity factory I left it. Now the room is as perfect as the first day I arrived, not a single thing out of place, my discarded clothing taken, presumably to the laundry. I blush, wondering about the toys, remembering that at least two vibrators, a butt plug, nipple clamps, actually two sets of nipple clamps, and assorted lubricants and massage oils had littered the nightstand when I left the room this morning.

  Pierre-Louis helps me by pulling out several dresses and laying them across the bed.

  “I’m supposed to be surprised to see my family. I think dressing for the occasion might be overdoing it.”

  He returns the dresses to the armoire. “What would you wear if you were sitting around on a Wednesday afternoon in Chicago?”

  “Sweats and a t-shirt.”

  He looks despairingly through the armoire. “You didn’t bring anything like that with you.”

  He turns toward the armoire and retrieves a pair of khaki capris and a pair of low-heeled leather sandals. “Put these on, I’ll be right back.”

  I dress, wondering what top I can wear. Everything I brought with me is dressier than what I would ever wear at home. I am sitting in my bra and capris and buckling my sandal when he returns with a plain white t-shirt. He apologizes, “It might be a little loose, but it will be casual.”

  I pull it over my head. It isn’t that loose, being a Lycra blend. I guess it would be skintight and very sexy on him. He ruffles my hair playfully and waggles his eyebrows.

  “You look like a soccer mom.”

  I laugh. “I am a soccer mom, but thank you.”

  “For?” he asks.

  “For being here, for helping me not be hysterical in this moment.”

  He kisses me gently before leading me from my room. With a heavy sigh, I head for the salon, preparing myself to act surprised when I see my daughters.

  “Remember to act surprised,” Pierre-Louis reminds me.

  “Trust me, I’m still shell-shocked. Pretending surprise isn’t going to be hard.”

  Seeing them, I throw my hands in the air and hoot. Though I needn’t have tried so hard—after quick hugs, neither girl gave me a second glance, they were too busy drooling after Pierre-Louis. Oh hell.

  We sit. A woman I’ve seen only once enters the room bearing a tray of refreshing drinks and small snacks. Frankie lifts a glass and toasts, “Welcome to France, welcome to my home.”

  My mother sits down on the couch beside me, sipping her drink. She whispers, “His age has settled well on him but then, I had no doubt. He was a very handsome young man, wasn’t he?”

  I smile tightly.

  “And my, look at you,” she says. “Coming to France has done wonders. It must be something in the water, you look ten years younger.”

  I try to look at my mother but am unsuccessful, I can’t take my eyes off Pierre-Louis and the daughter standing on either side of him, keeping him cornered. His eyes are a little too wide, and I wonder if I should have warned him not to panic. I pay little attention to what my mother is saying but do look at her when she asks, “So are you sleeping with Frankie again?”

&nb
sp; “Mother.” I only realize after I have spoken my voice has become both loud and shrill as every eye turns toward me. I look at my father and smile even tighter, if that is possible, going to him to give him a hug. “You came to France. What a wonderful surprise. I can hardly believe you deviated from your planned attack of the Mediterranean. Was it twenty ports?”

  “Twenty-three,” he corrects. “And the trip isn’t over. It’s just with three women haranguing me to come here and make certain you are all right, I had little choice but to obey.”

  I laugh. “As you can see I’m well. I just needed a vacation and it seemed the perfect time to come to France when the invite was extended.”

  Bree pulls her besotted gaze from Pierre-Louis long enough to comment, “I didn’t know you had friends in France. You should have told us.”

  I pat the cushion beside me, hoping to draw her away from the man, and am thankful when she joins me on the sofa. “François and I are old friends.”

  My mother interrupts, “Your mother did have a life before you were born…college, dating, lovers.”

  I turn my head and gape, bug-eyed. Beside me Bree giggles.

  Ellie says from across the room, “I told her to find a boyfriend while we were away. I had no idea she would take me seriously.”

  Pierre-Louis chooses that moment to escape to the kitchen. “I will see how meal preparations are coming. You are staying for dinner, oui?”

  “We don’t want to be any trouble,” my father says.

  “No trouble,” Pierre-Louis and Frankie say at the same time, causing their gazes to collide. Pierre-Louis turns a rosy shade of pink as he makes a quick exit.

  “Will you be staying the night?” Frankie asks.

  “No,” my father insists, but he isn’t heard over my mother and daughters’ quick acceptance of his offer.

  I let out a deep sigh. This should be entertaining.

  But it isn’t, it isn’t entertaining at all as my mother’s constant barbs go deeper and deeper. I’ll be the first to admit that most of my adult life, we haven’t had the best of relationships, but she’s never been so completely confrontational before.

  When Frankie drives everyone down to the stables to see his prized Andalusians, I finally escape out on to the terrace for some fresh air before dinner. I thought Mother had gone with them but when she suddenly joins me, I realize how wrong I was.