“Deven, you know that you can’t see me in the gown! Why are you hiding in the closet?” Her face spoke to her mood, stormy and itching for a spat. Deven was putty in the minute woman’s hand. It was written all over his stance. Marq shook his head. Poor schmuck, balls in hand by a woman the size of a twelve-year-old. But Deven’s next words showed Marq he had her whipped just as badly.
“Pixie, if I end up seeing the dress for the first time at our wedding, the guests will get a public consummation.” Marq saw Charli shiver visibly as she opened the closet door wider. Marq watched his brother’s stance change from defense to offense in a split second, and decided to leave them alone.
His quick decision to back away was confirmed as the correct one moment later.
“Take it off, or you’ll walk down the aisle naked.” Deven’s voice was near a rumble.
Marq turned away as a zipper was lowered, he didn’t know whose, and it didn’t matter either. Once the master’s door was closed, he walked out the room altogether. But even the walls and closed doors failed to keep the sounds of the affianced lovers at bay. That Charli had to be a tough one, or she would be wheeled down the aisle after his brother got done with her.
When Marq reached the east wing, he stopped by his usual bedroom when he was at the family home. His mother had gone off on some East-meets-West kick, and now the room was filled with delicate Japanese Tansu chests and embroidered silk Shantung draperies. He found the room annoying, as it was bordello red and gaudy in the extreme. The last few years found him in Japan more than stateside, and it looked as if his mother took every item he’d sent her over the years and tossed them in the same space. It was so bad he still thought in Japanese at times. They had a way with phrasing. But he did need to get his tux and set it out for the next day’s ceremony. The yacht would be ready to disembark at ten and head for the first docking off the Carolina coast. When he finally reached the newly redesigned red room and opened the door, he heard a shuffling noise.
It took a moment for his eyes to begin adjusting to the light, and when they did, Marq saw a figure behind the modesty screen across the room. The person behind the rice paper and fabric didn’t realize it, but the early morning light showed every curve of her body. The unknown woman moved sensually, each motion lithe and fluid. He knew he was staring, a raunchy voyeur with debauched vision. Even though he was getting his thrills from an innocently initiated faux burlesque show, Marq felt no guilt. He watched her strip off each garment, from toed off socks to shirt and everything between the two. Her mass of hair was whipped swiftly into a ponytail, and Marq watched the shadowed feminine form gracefully stretch and a small moan emerge from the smooth column of throat bared to the early dawn. His cock grew turgid and semihard. He rubbed the front of his worn jeans. He wondered who the shadow siren was. She called his name with her innate grace and fluidity of movement. The bared breasts were a generous handful, probably a small D cup. The siren had thick hips and ass, and when combined with the hourglass shape of her profile, made for a sensual mix of seduction with a dash of earthiness.
* * * *
Jamison was exhausted, and with the rising of the sun, she had been awake the entire night. She looked like crap. Her hair was lank, her skin sallow instead of its usual bright coloring, and she felt like leftovers must when microwaved. It really didn’t matter what she looked like. No one would see her anyway. Nobody ever did. It wasn’t that she was unattractive, but she wasn’t an exceptional beauty and her shy demeanor didn’t win her awards either. Jamie was in dire need of Zen at the moment. After a harrowing hour of helping with last minute fittings and listening to the husky tones of the lovers pounding away, it was no wonder she felt a smidge short-tempered. It had been over two years since she had sex, and solo lovemaking lost its nostalgia long ago.
But she had made some headway with her movie-themed blogs along with added traffic on her website and found herself too busy to make more than a token effort at meeting another lover. Really, was there any point? Most men didn’t give her a second glance, and the ones that would weren’t appealing to her libido one bit. But that was for the best. If she hadn’t broken up with Aiden, then she would be right back at square one right now. She still worked at Southern Wireless, as she had the last two years, but with Aiden in her life, nothing would have been done to fulfill her personal ambitions. Aiden was a good one to make things as hard for her as he could. When she wanted to go on site for a film, he would pitch a fit. When she worked on her scheduled blog, he would obnoxiously turn the volume up on every TV in the house. He liked to call it his surround sound. He denigrated her, told her she was bland and fat. Yeah, she carried a few extra at the hip and breast regions, but she was fairly toned and her yoga kept her flexible. Shoot, he did her a favor by cheating on her with their neighbor. That was why she was so willing to leave their shared apartment and move into Makenzie’s vacated one. There was no way she wanted to have to look at the smug faces and corresponding smirks over awkward meetings in the hallway or at the mailbox.
After stripping her clothes off behind the conveniently placed screen, Jamie found herself finally free. Free of expectations and the trappings of respectability, able to be what anything she imagined. There was much she longed to be brave enough to do, but would never balk convention to try. Either way, the sunrise called to her, and answering Mother Nature with a series of sun salutations would bring a coup de grâce to her long night. Not to mention the start of an even longer day. After she slipped the buds of her MP3, fastened to an armband, in the well of each ear, Jamie let herself go. Hands in prayer carried her to a seamless flow into mountain pose, and from there her body took over. The motions long ingrained as muscle memory allowed her to center her mind. All the worries melted away in the moment angling from plank pose forward, snaking into a cobra next. By the time she hit downward dog, she felt more at peace and let a groan leave her chest. Her favorite mix of music made an exceptional soundtrack to the movements.
Gregorian monks chanted and lent a sense of serenity to the red bedroom, turning the girlish pinks of dawn to blush against the walls and screen shielding her. Being naked gave the sensual slide of postures an even greater depth of erotic weight. Her breasts were freed and bared to revel in warm light. The normally ignored spare flesh was given a chance to brush her in strange places even lovers never bothered to touch. Her nipples pebbled to peaks rimmed with taut areolas as the sun kissed them. The simple exercises never felt this naughty when doing her morning workout at her house.
* * * *
Marques found himself stumped. The beautiful show he watched left him with a hard shaft and eyes in awe. His hands clenched, and he wished that he could film her, right now, and there was no sex needed to spice the tape up. Her movements were innately graceful without pretense or artifice and would show well on the camera. No hesitation, as if the changing screen gave the woman it shielded modesty and allowed her to be more shameless than any exotic dancer. Each sway of limbs brought him closer to breaking her fragile peace by announcing his presence.
He shook his head and backed away for the second time that day. The door snicked closed, and Marq steeled himself against the desires he didn’t have the time or patience to indulge.
Marques was still lost in thought as he wandered the halls of his ancestral home. The east wing was devoted to the Eastern cultures, and priceless tapestries graced the hall at eye level. The one he passed first was owned by a sheik before his father won it in a game of dice years ago. Another was the story of Scheherazade enchanting her husband for a thousand and one nights. That particular piece was actually four separate mats woven by hand. They each told a portion of the tale, complete with characters from the stories the woman used to save her life. It happened to be his favorite, especially the tale from the last hanging. It depicted what happened to Scheherazade after she had no more tales to tell. This version had her husband initially giving the order for her death in anger, a gruesome seating by elephant, a process whi
ch had the condemned tied down and an elephant was commanded to sit on the person. But the prince couldn’t watch her die and ordered her to be let go.
Once he reached the intersection for the south wing, Marq decided to walk outside. The grounds were lavish at any time of day, but something about the blush of dawn lent a feel of childhood nostalgia to the beauty around him. Aimless wandering led him to the small studio he’d cobbled together his first movies in. At that time in his youth, they were regular movies, with a plot, screenplay, and extras. At best the movies were D-list. Not even straight to DVD, but they gave him the ability to understand the workings of film. It was much-needed experience that helped him make the best of shots, lighting, and his setting to this very day.
But with his first forays into film on his mind, he reminded himself that his last film wasn’t very good, and he nearly scrapped the entire thing. Not that it was Dakota’s fault. She was wonderful as always. But his performance was lacking. His heart wasn’t in it. His body barely was. He even faked coming after Dakota received her pleasure. His cock went soft, and the presence of her copious juices and condom aided in the deception. But when she left, he knew Dakota was adding two and two. Her expression said she had four as the answer, but she was willing to let the lie stand. When he watched the playback later, Marq saw fucking and nothing else. There was heat and two sexy people, but no spark. Tawdry and lewd, he’d been wearing blinders, and it was his brother’s fault that he was no longer satisfied with the status quo.
Three months ago, Charyn asked him for a favor, and it changed his life.
“Marq, I need your help.”
“Sure, what is it?” Marq would give Charyn anything he asked for. Especially after Charyn helped to free him from the guilt that sent him into self-imposed exile in Japan.
“I want you to film a movie for me.” Charyn’s grin let Marq know what he was asking for.
“You want me to make a movie with you and Makenzie? A flick?” Marq knew he rambled, but the shock kept him speaking until his thought expressed itself clumsily.
“Yes. Why does that shock you?”
“Well, I would have thought that you would prefer to keep Makenzie to yourself. I know you can barely hold back jealousy if I speak to her, let along watch you and her together in bed.”
“I want to give this to her. Watching our lovemaking in the mirror is good, but I think she would love seeing us on film even better.”
Marq thought about options for the film, mentally fluttered over settings and angles. “Where and when?”
“As soon as you can is fine. I want her in our bed for this.” Charyn sounded excited about the newest addition to his sexual tool kit.
Marq let his imagination fly and found several angles that would work well. He could use several cameras at different angles to get the fullest effect. One focused on the mirrored wall, one above the bed on a ceiling mount. He could do another on a tripod across from the bed. He could set it all up and let them activate it later. Then Marq planned to splice everything together and make the movie that way. And the extra tape would make the movie a good length, at least an hour. Or he could do vignettes, depending on how creative they were.
“You still here, Marq?” Charyn raised a brow slightly, emphasizing his query.
“Yes, I was just putting together a few ideas for the flick.”
“I could tell that.”
“I’m thinking I can set everything up in advance and collect the tape later on and construct the movie out of the footage.”
“Sounds fine to me. When will you set the cameras up?”
“Most likely tomorrow, after I check what each angle will do to the movie. I can have everything hanged and ready to go by Friday night.”
The angles he’d envisioned were perfect, as the playback attested to that Saturday afternoon. He’d given his brother a remote to activate the cameras when they were ready. Charyn gave him the all clear to pick the camcorders up the next morning. What he saw on the footage made him miserable. The pair made love for hours that night. There were three hours of nonstop, sweaty sex in numerous positions. Afterward, Charyn cared for his wife, massaging sore muscles and bathing her sex with his tongue. What made the footage so eye opening was the apparent emotion between the pair. The love they felt made the sex so hot, he carried a hard-on for the rest of the weekend. He was disgruntled with himself and the envy he felt while he worked on their film, and Marq didn’t make an attempt to meet any of his usual lovers for a while. Not for the last month at least, and that was the last time with Dakota where he didn’t come. But he’d brushed the rest of his stable off with stories of him being too busy with work to make time for sex. But in reality, he was obsessed with the lovemaking of his brother and sister-in-law.
He had never done that, made love to a woman. He simply fucked their brains out. Marq sucked at his back teeth as his jaw tightened and walked inside the tiny cottage on the backside of the grounds. When he opened the door, a cloud of pungent smoke wafted out and fresh air rolled in.
“Hi, Marques darling, come in.”
“Hey, Mom.”
“Have some?” She was sitting on a chaise by the tiny window of the four-room house. Through the dim lighting filtered dimmer by smoke, Charlotte held out a fat joint. The smell let him know it was one of her hybrids, grown in a special green house on the property. His mom had two loves now that her husband had passed on. One was horticulture, the other horses.
Marques took the offered joint and puffed hard twice, sucking the taste of pineapple and haze into his chest. He hadn’t had any Mary Jane in a while and nearly choked on the strength of it. He held his own though and handed it back to her after sitting in a small chair next the lounge.
His eyes had adjusted well to the gloom and dim, and he saw his mother scrutinizing him. She was still amazingly beautiful, with long golden hair to her hips, and a face barely lined with wrinkles. Even in her late fifties, she had to fight men off with a stick. Charlotte claimed her agelessness came from smoking her special stash and good living. She never was one to lie about, even in the lap of luxury, so even now didn’t carry much spare fat on her body. Charlotte used to be a model but, after meeting his father, left a life of glamour for a simple one with her husband. They lived in an idyll together here at home and let the world pass them by, riding horses and making love.
His father, Jackson, was a plain man. In all aspects. He wasn’t handsome by any conventional standards, but his smile could stop traffic. He was tall and well built, and all his sons inherited their build and height from him.
Charlotte had retreated further into isolation after his passing five years ago. She rarely left the grounds. But with the wedding, she left her shell little by little. Charli took her skydiving, compared growing techniques, and Mom loved it. Makenzie showed her how to paint the beach at dawn, and Mother was actually pretty good at it. She had grown several types of flowers for the weddings, and with the added activity, she now seemed serene and happy to be alive and a part of the world. He was glad she seemed to be back to the land of the living.
Marq took the offered joint and hit it again, waiting for his mother to speak. She had something to say, and he knew she was concerned about him.
“Marques, are you all right?”
“Yes, I am, Mom.” No he wasn’t, but how did he explain the unexplainable?
“Marq, I don’t mean physically. It seems like something weighs heavily on your mind. I don’t know what, but you do.”
“It’s hard to explain. I want something more than what I have and don’t know how to get it.”
“That’s life, Marq. You have to take whatever you can get and grasp it with both hands. I think you know what you are looking for. It’s that you don’t want to admit it to yourself.”
“That’s deep, Mom.” Marq laughed at bit, more at himself than anything else. Mom was correct of course. He needed a lover, not a fuck buddy. Somebody that made his heart beat faster and his cock hard on sight.
He wanted—love? Marq laughed at himself and watched Charlotte pin her long braid up into a chignon at her nape.
“I know you think I’m pontificating, and maybe I am. But I do know you are bored with endless meaningless sex. Marques, you were given much when many others were given little in life. It’s easy to succumb to ennui when you have everything life has to offer. You are handsome of face and form, rich beyond belief, and you were indulged by two loving parents. But for someone who is barely surviving, life presents them with numerous challenges and boredom is the least of their concerns. You can’t waste what has been given to you, and in order to feel more, you must give more. Of yourself. Share what you have been given with others.”
Marq understood what his mother meant. She was a philanthropist even today. The only thing she had left the house for was charity after his father’s passing. Whether it was as simple as chairing an event or donation of her time, Charlotte still found a way to give something of herself even as she gave to other people.
It wasn’t that Marq was selfish. He gave his fair share of money. But he didn’t give his time. Not the way his mother did. Charlotte found ways to make her donations personal and worthwhile, fitting the needs she saw around her. She was happiest when she fed a meal to the homeless or in times of disaster travel to give aid, although the last trip she’d made was to New Orleans after Katrina hit.
“How did you like the view from the red room this morning?” When the words left her mouth, he knew his meddling mother had done it again. She was the reason he encountered the sensual yogi this morning. How she did it, he had no idea, but Marq felt to his bones Charlotte was somehow responsible.
“It was beautiful, Mom. The dawn shows well in the space.” With his response, Charlotte laughed until tears came to her eyes.
“You have always hated that room since the renovations. But what the devil was I to do with all of the Japanese textiles and art you sent? Hence the red room was born…So you met Jamison this morning, I presume?”
A Harem of One [The Moreland Brothers 3] (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 2