by Robin Gideon
Suddenly Horace smiled. Estelle’s treachery had caught him by surprise, but Horace wasn’t completely without a means of income.
“Where’s my wife?” he asked the barrister. “I’m her husband, and I’ve got a legal right to see my wife.” Horace had expected Andrew Easley to at least show some surprise, but the righteous gleam in his eyes never even flickered. A sudden hollow feeling formed in Horace’s stomach. “Where’s my goddamn wife?”
“I couldn’t tell you, Prince Horace,” Andrew Easley replied. “I do not know where she is, only that she is with men who are armed and guarding her and that she’s quite safe.” The look in his eyes was icy. “Even if I did know where your wife is, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“You’re hiding my wife?”
Andrew Easley shook his head. “No, I’m not. Princess Estelle is merely keeping…um…a less public profile.”
Bootheels clicking against the hardwood floor drew Horace’s attention. He turned to see a man coming toward him purposefully. He was a tall, unsmiling man with broad shoulders and an air of menace about him. Horace’s sense of foreboding became a bit more intense.
“Prince Horace, my name is Jarvis. I am under the employ of Prince Julian.” He turned sideways and made a gesture with his hand. “If you’d like to come with me, I have a carriage waiting for you outside. Princess Estelle is at the unveiling of a new portrait of the royal family. I am to take you there.”
Horace’s eyes were murderous as he said, “The bitch I married is going to wish to God that she’d never picked a fight with me.” He turned toward Mr. Morton and Andrew Easley, then spit on the floor at their feet. “You men haven’t heard the last of me.”
* * * *
“This is called the Purple Room,” Estelle explained, stepping deeper into the small room cluttered with furniture, hundreds of books, three tall Swiss-made grandfather clocks each more than a hundred years old, and a wild assortment of bric-a-brac from all corners of the globe. Duchess Watters-Koch liked to spend her money freely when she traveled. “It’s the same color as my dress. If I don’t move, do you think I’ll blend in and nobody will notice me?”
Alek closed the door quietly. Estelle watched as he searched for a key to the lock. “There isn’t a key,” she said, reading his mind.
Julian unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, sliding his hands inside to put his palms on his hips, arms akimbo. Estelle felt the heat of his dark gaze going into her blood stream, touching her, arousing her.
“This is insane,” Estelle said as the men suddenly rushed her.
She kissed Julian first, but only because he pulled her into his arms before Alek had the chance. Estelle was right where she wanted to be—sandwiched between her lovers, feeling their powerful bodies pressing intimately against her, their hands bold and demanding.
When Julian ended the kiss, he pushed Estelle back into Alek’s arms. “Hold her,” he said sharply. “Hold her tight.”
A soft gasp came from Estelle. These had always been commanding men, but now they were acting thoroughly dictatorial, and their dominance of her heightened her desire to be submissive to them. Alek’s arms went tightly around Estelle from behind, his broad hands cupping the full, quivering mounds of her breasts.
“Yes! Oh, yes!” the passionate princess whispered as Julian got down on his knees in front of her.
It took only a matter of seconds for Estelle’s skirts to be lifted, and one leg to be lifted up onto Julian’s shoulder.
“No drawers?” he said, clearly surprised. Then his tongue was slipping between the rosy lips of her pussy, separating the petals on its northward journey until he whipped Estelle’s erect clitoris with his tongue.
The electrifying pleasure caused Estelle to toss her head back on her shoulders. Fortunately for Alek, he was so tall that her head only thumped against his muscular chest and didn’t strike him in the face.
“Don’t…don’t stop,” Estelle whispered, feeling her senses overheating with truly startling speed. She had learned to crave desperately the starburst sensations these men could provide. “Make me come.”
Alek’s fingers buried deep into Estelle’s breasts, squeezing the heavy mounds so tightly it almost hurt. Her soft white flesh billowed upward, threatening to spill out over the décolletage of her lavender gown. Having her arms pinned to her sides with Alek’s powerful arms completely surrounding her body was like being in bondage, and the awareness of this gave Estelle the most erotic sense of being submissive and helpless that she had ever experienced.
“Make it happen,” she whispered, the lewd request burning in her ears. “Make me come.”
Prior to meeting the English prince and the Austrian count, she could not have imagined ever saying such wanton things. But with them, trapped by their magnetic allure, in complete and utter bondage to the way they made her feel more alive than ever before in her life, making such a lustful request seemed the most natural thing in the world to do.
Alek took one hand from her breast and grabbed her chin, forcing her face to turn upward and to the side. A moment later, as Julian sucked hungrily on her clitoris, Alek kissed Estelle fiercely, slanting his mouth down over hers. His tongue forced its way between her lips, claiming her mouth, his tongue dancing with hers to force Estelle to respond.
The voluptuous woman’s hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. She sucked Alek’s tongue even deeper into her mouth as the tightening within her became painful. And then she came, her climax gripping all her senses, her body shivering as the harsh contractions buffeted her body.
“Stop,” she whispered when the last spasm signaled the completion of her orgasm. “No more, Julian.”
The prince tossed her leg off his shoulder, his eyes intense as he rose to his feet. Glancing down, Estelle saw the enormous bulge of his erection, locked inside the black fabric of his tuxedo trousers.
Estelle was just about to get down on her knees to give to her lovers the kind of oral pleasuring they were so willing to give to her, when from the hallway just outside the door to the Purple Room, she heard Duchess Nellie Watters-Koch announce, “And this is the Purple Room. It’s a small room, but I’ve tried to make it comfortable by putting lots of little baubles in it.”
Estelle prayed that she and her lovers could calmly join in the duchess’s tour of the royal palace.
* * * *
“Sir, I have him outside.”
Julian looked at Jarvis. His bodyguard’s expression was, as usual, completely neutral. He asked, “Did he make a fuss?”
“I was prepared for much worse.”
Julian looked over at Alek. “Ready to explain the facts of life to Prince Horace?”
“With pleasure.”
They walked down the long hallway, and then out through the front doors of the royal palace. Horace was standing outside the carriage, smoking a long, slender cigar, his body tense. When he saw Julian and Alek, his brow furrowed.
“What’s the meaning of this? I was told my wife was being brought to me,” Horace said with a sneer.
Julian stepped up to Horace, moving close enough that the shorter man took a step backward.
“Listen very carefully and say nothing unless I ask you a specific question,” Julian said.
“Fuck you,” Horace snorted.
“Alek and I have bought most of your markers in London. We’ve also put the word out that you’re not to be extended credit under any circumstances.”
“I have plenty of money. What do I need—”
Alek’s enormous right fist shot out, connecting solidly with Horace’s chest, knocking him backward into the carriage. Horace’s mouth opened as though he was about to shout, but Julian clamped a hand over his lips.
“Don’t draw attention to yourself, or it’ll only be worse for you,” Julian said quickly. He removed his hand from Horace’s mouth. Fear had replaced contempt in Horace’s eyes. “You’re leaving London for Paris, and you’re leaving right now. You’ll be set up with living quarters that
will be comfortable, and you’ll receive a generous monthly allowance from Alek and myself.”
Horace rubbed his chest. Alek hadn’t come close to using all of his strength, but the single straight punch to the sternum had staggered him terribly.
“You’ll get your monthly allowance and be able to live comfortably,” Julian explained. “In exchange for that money, you’re to never again set foot in England, never contact Princess Estelle under any circumstance. In one year’s time, she’ll be considered abandoned, and she’ll get her divorce. You’ll receive your allowance in perpetuity so long as you agree to the divorce and never return to London. Is that understood?”
Horace squared his shoulders. “I won’t do it. You can’t blackmail me into leaving my own wife.” His eyes narrowed in hatred. “My family has connections. The two of you goddamned well know that!”
Julian raised his hand, lifting his index finger and waving it from side to side like a schoolteacher admonishing a young student. “That’s true, but you’re not taking into account something very important.”
“Not that I give a damn, but what’s that?”
“That you’ll die in London, and soon, if you’re not on that boat to France.”
Julian watched as the blood drained from Horace’s face.
Alek moved a half step closer and added, “Maybe you’ll get your throat cut in an alley somewhere, or you’ll end up drowning in the Thames, or maybe you’ll just disappear. But trust me, if you’re not soon in Paris, you will die in London.”
Julian turned away from the ashen-faced prince. To Jarvis, he said, “Take him to the pier, and see that he gets on the boat.”
Jarvis opened the carriage door. “Please get in,” he said to Horace.
As the carriage rolled away, Julian looked at Alek and said, “I can’t wait to see the look in Estelle’s eyes when we tell her Horace’s out of her life forever.”
“He’s out,” Alek replied, “and we’re in.”
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robin Gideon was born in the prairie of North Dakota and today lives in the Upper Midwest. Married with a daughter, she has published numerous novels and novellas with Siren. Robin also writes for Siren under the name Brandi Maxwell. She loves hearing from her readers and can be reached at [email protected].
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