Her Immortal Love

by Diana Castle

  “Don’t you dare bring Father into this.” Lydia’s voice shook with both anger and grief. Her father had died when she was fourteen, but after all these years she still missed him desperately.

  Her father had loved her. Truly loved her. Had accepted her for who she was faults and all. And if he were alive, he would love her still. No matter what choices she made. No matter whom she wanted to be with. Of that she had no doubt and no one, not even her mother, was going to convince her otherwise.

  Her mother must have known she’d hit a nerve for a look of chagrin fell across her face. But she quickly shook it off. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “You should not have brought him to my party.”

  “I brought him here because I wanted you to meet him.

  But even as she said it she knew that wasn’t entirely true. She had known how her mother was going to act upon meeting Tristan. She had entered the situation with her eyes wide-open. She’d wanted to make a statement regarding her life and her choices. Well, she’d made her statement and her mother had reacted just as she’d suspected she would.

  “I’ve met him,” Carlotta said. “I have no desire to meet him again. If you’re going to insist on seeing him then I think it best the two of you leave before you embarrass yourself, and, most especially, me, any further.”

  Tears stung Lydia’s eyes but she quickly blinked them away. She would not give her mother the satisfaction of knowing how deeply she had hurt her. She left the library. The conversations among the guests had resumed but she noted curious glances being thrown her way.

  “Lydia, oh, Lydia dear.”

  She stopped and turned around. One of her mother’s acquaintances, a Mrs. Sorenson, came towards her, her round, pleasant face stretched in a wide smile.

  Lydia could not help but return her smile despite the pain in her heart at her mother’s words. Mrs. Sorenson was one of the few of her mother’s friends she genuinely liked.

  “Oh, my dear, wherever did you find him?” Mrs. Sorenson gushed.

  “Who?”

  “That utterly delectable young man. He’s absolutely charming. I just had the most fascinating conversation with him about the gardens of Versailles. You know how I love anything regarding the French.” She giggled. “Well, he’s quite the expert on Versailles. He told me all sorts of fascinating things about it.”

  She placed a plump hand on Lydia’s arm. “Did you know that the first hot air balloon was launched there in 1783 and that it carried a sheep, a rooster and a duck and it flew for eight minutes, right in front of Louis XIV, Marie Antoinette and the entire French court?”

  Lydia shook her head.

  “And that when Louis XIV visited the fountains of Versailles the guards were ordered to whistle so the fountains would be turned on when the king visited them. And that you could rent a hat and sword at the front gate so that you would be properly attired when visiting the Grand Apartment. Fascinating, don’t you think? Like a fancy restaurant providing a tie for a man.”

  “Yes, it is fascinating.”

  Mrs. Sorenson’s eyes sparkled. “Your young man is a veritable fount of information. And so well-mannered for someone his age. Wherever did you meet him?”

  “I, um, met him…at a bookstore.” She didn’t want Mrs. Sorenson to know she’d been hanging out at a campus bar and it wasn’t entirely a lie. They met the second time at the new age store and it sold books.

  “Really? Well, personally, I think it’s wonderful that older women are dating younger men. It is the twenty-first century after all and what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

  Lydia blinked. Carlotta had said the exact same thing, but hearing it from Mrs. Sorenson it sounded more like a rallying cry than an accusation of some sort of illicit activity, which is how her mother had made it sound.

  Mrs. Sorenson leaned closer. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

  “Of course not.”

  The older woman glanced around then lowered her voice to a whisper. “What is he like?”

  Lydia lowered her voice to match hers. “What do you mean?”

  “In bed? What is he like in bed?”

  Lydia smiled. “Amazing.”

  Mrs. Sorenson’s round face pinked. “Really? Does he. . .can he. . .all night?”

  Enjoying herself immensely, Lydia nodded.

  “Oh, my.” Mrs. Sorenson touched her cheek then proceeded to fan herself. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be with a younger man. They’re so. . . young and vigorous. Well, you are a lucky woman, Lydia. Yes, a very lucky woman indeed.”

  She looked over at a stout, balding man who stood in front of a long table bulging with food. “It’s not that my Harold doesn’t try to make me happy but. . .” She stopped and sighed.

  Mr. Sorenson bit into a hors d'oeuvre, brushing the crumbs off his round belly. Then, noting Lydia and his wife looking over at him, he smiled and waved.

  Mrs. Sorenson waved back then turned to Lydia. “All night you say?”

  Lydia nodded.

  “And does he make you. . .happy?”

  It took a moment for Lydia to realize what Mrs. Sorenson meant. “Yes, very happy.”

  “More than once a night?”

  “Yes, more than once a night.”

  Mrs. Sorenson eyes widened, but before she could say another word, Lydia saw Tristan moving towards her. As always, his eyes were only on her even though the eyes of everyone else at the party followed him.

  He smiled at Mrs. Sorenson. “Still enjoying the party?”

  Mrs. Sorenson was no longer pink. She was now as red as a beet. She giggled, batting her lashes up at Tristan. “Yes, yes I am. Very much so.” She glanced between Lydia and Tristan. “I’ll leave you two young people alone. I must keep an eye on Harold. He gets indigestion when he eats too many shrimp canapes.”

  She moved away toward her husband who was chewing lustily, a look of utter bliss on his face.

  Tristan leaned close to Lydia, his lips brushing her ear. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Mother was. . .Mother.”

  “Do you want to stay?” He slid his arm about her waist and pulled her close.

  She shook her head. She didn’t want to tell him that her mother had ordered the two of them out of her house.

  “Do you want to say goodbye to her?” he asked.

  “No, I’ll. . . I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  Tristan took her arm and they left the mansion. Once they were on the street and out of sight of her mother’s house she leaned against him. He put his arms around her. “Sweet, tell me, what’s wrong?”

  “Make love to me. Please.”

  “Here?” He smiled and glanced around. “Behind those bushes, perhaps?”

  Yes. Why not? Why not engage in a scorching hot bout of wild, monkey sex with her young lover on the grounds of her mother’s estate? Wouldn’t that put an appropriate postscript on the evening?

  “Tempting, but no.” She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. “I want to be alone with you. Completely and utterly alone.”

  He moved his warm lips over her face. “Your place is closer.”

  “Yes, yes,” she whispered. “Let’s go to my place.”

  Tristan kissed her, so deeply and so thoroughly that Lydia thought she would climax right then and there. When he finally released her, she was breathless. They walked arm in arm, stealing kisses from the other as they did. Once they were inside his car, Lydia sighed and pressed her head against his shoulder.

  “Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked.

  She shook her head. There was nothing to talk about. Either she did as her mother wanted and stopped seeing Tristan, or she did as she wanted and continued to see him. There was no middle ground. “I’m sorry she embarrassed you. I shouldn’t have put you through that. I apologize.”

  “Lydia, darling, trust me. I’m fine. It’s you that I’m worried about. I’d hate to be the cause of
a rift between the two of you.”

  She laughed bitterly. “You’re too late for that. That rift you speak of has yawned between me and Mother longer than you’ve been alive.”

  “I doubt that” Tristan murmured. He started the car and it purred to life.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He looked over at her. “For what?”

  “For being you.”

  He leaned over and kissed her. “You don’t have to thank me for that, sweet. I’ll be whatever you want for as long as you want.”

  “You truly are too good to be true.”

  He frowned. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

  “Did I? I didn’t mean to.”

  “Do you trust me, Lydia?”

  Did she? Should she? Her mother was right. She didn’t know all that much about him. They’d made love twice but he was still a mystery to her. Still a puzzle. Even now something about him continued to needle the back of her mind.

  “I want to, Tristan.”

  “But you don’t. Not yet.”

  She lowered her head and threaded her fingers together. Tristan touched her chin and brought her face back up to his.

  “I understand,” he said softly. “But I hope someday you can bring yourself to trust me. Completely.”

  Lydia remained silent. Her own mother didn’t trust her judgment. She had good reason to. What did Lydia really know about men? She’d not been with any other man but Douglas for nearly twenty years. And what, especially, did she know about younger men? About Tristan?

  He drove her away from her mother’s house. She slid her arm around his and nestled her cheek against her shoulder. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she didn’t have any idea what she was doing and, as result, would be hurt in the long run. Just as Douglas had hurt her.

  God, she hoped not. She liked Tristan. Wanted to be with him, but she also didn’t think she could survive that kind of pain again.

  Chapter Nine

  Tristan eased his car into the driveway of Lydia’s house. He keyed the car off then turned towards her, shaking his finger at her. “That wasn’t fair.”

  He glanced down to where her hand lay between his thighs. She had been playing with him during the drive to her house, rubbing his groin and teasing his cock with her fingers. It now strained, thick and hard, against the fabric of his slacks.

  She laughed and rubbed her breast along his arm. “All’s fair in love and war.”

  Thoughts of her encounter with her mother had diminished as Tristan’s erection had grown, and her mood had drastically improved as they’d gotten closer to her house. She supposed it was a combination of his intoxicatingly erotic cologne and the way he’d hissed and moaned as she’d fondled him.

  He grinned at her in the dim interior of the car. “What a wanton wench you are.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Wench? Who are you calling a wench?”

  He laughed, opened his car door and walked around to where she waited for him. She could have gotten out on her own, and she still felt strange letting a man open a car door for her, but it seemed to make him happy and, in all honesty, she liked it. She liked being treated like a lady. His lady.

  Once they entered her house, and as soon as the door was closed, he pulled her hard against him. Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth against hers, swallowing any words she was about to say with a long, smoldering kiss.

  Lydia moaned and slid her arms around his waist. Pushing her hands up under his suit jacket, she jerked his shirt out of the waistband of his slacks and slid her palms across the warmth of his bare skin. It hurt her that he had dressed so nicely for her mother’s party and Carlotta had treated him so shabbily. But she soon forgot about that as Tristan continued to kiss her.

  “Where’s your bedroom?” he whispered against her lips.

  She pointed towards the hallway to their left. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. They fell together on the bed. He kissed and bit her neck then pulled away to gaze down at her. “Tell me, sweet. Tell me what you want?”

  She slid her arms around his neck. “I want you to do the most unseemly and improper things to me.”

  “Unseemly and improper?” He grinned, his deep dimples flashing. “And just what would that entail?”

  “Let me think.” She played with his hair where it brushed the back of his neck. “Lots and lots of licking and sucking and fucking.”

  “I think I can accommodate you regarding that.”

  He took off his jacket, loosened his tie and, pulling it off along with his shirt, tossed them all to the floor. He then took off his slacks and underwear and once he was naked, he quickly got her out of her dress, throwing it onto the floor with the rest of his clothes. He buried his face in her breasts, his tongue licking deep between her cleavage, his teeth nipping the swollen mounds.

  Lydia moaned, her hands pushing through the warm strands of his dark hair. Even now she still found it hard to believe she was doing this. Making love to a sexy, younger man. When Saffron had suggested that she not only start dating, but that she date younger men, Lydia had brushed it off as pure nonsense. First, because she couldn’t imagine any younger men wanting to date her when they had their pick of women their own age to choose from. Second, she couldn’t help buying into society’s view that it was perfectly fine for men to date or marry someone younger than they were, but it wasn’t as acceptable for women. Cougars and all the attention they had been receiving of late notwithstanding.

  But Tristan was here with her. And he wanted her. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  Reaching around, he undid her bra and pulled it off her breasts. He slid his mouth down and ran his tongue around both of her stiffened nipples, licking then biting first one then the other.

  She drew in a hard breath. It hurt when he bit her nipples, but it also sent a hot dart of lust straight to her pussy. He slid his mouth down her stomach, kissing and licking her skin, his tongue sliding all over her belly, his teeth nipping around her navel. He gripped the top of her stockings and pulled them down off her legs.

  “You’ve got lovely legs, Lydia. You should show them off more often.”

  “That’s what Saffron says.”

  “She’s right.” Placing his hands on her hips, he hooked his fingers over the edges of her panties. He pulled them off and threw them on the floor. He covered her mouth with his, his tongue diving deep between her lips, his warm body pressing against her now naked one.

  When they finally broke their kiss, she gazed up at him. “Tristan, the way you make me feel. It’s....”

  She stopped. It was perfect the way he made her feel and that frightened her. Perfection was an intangible ideal. Something to seek but never possess. Even a child knew that.

  He stroked her cheek with the side of his forefinger. “How do I make you feel, Lydia? Tell me.”

  “Happy. Desired. Young.”

  “Young? But you are young.”

  “Not as young as I once was. Not as young as you. I know you can see the lines on my face.”

  He caressed the skin next to her eyes where the creases had deepened over the years. “I like them.”

  She silently scoffed. Easy enough for him to say with his smooth, youthful skin.

  He must have seen the look on her face. “It's true. I love everything about you.” He lifted her hair and pressed the strands against his lips. “The silver in your hair.”

  He could see her gray? Oh god.

  He slowly caressed her breasts, her belly, her thighs. “Your lush woman's body. I love all of it.”

  She wanted so much to believe him. But it was so hard. Douglas had told her she no longer excited him sexually. He hadn’t called her old in so many words, but the implication was there in his having had an affair with someone so much younger than her.

  Tristan put her hand around his cock. “Feel it. Feel how much I want you,”

  Her throat tightened as she pressed her palm and fingers around the warm, firm
length of him.

  “Now believe it. Believe that I want you for who you are. A wonderful, beautiful, desirable woman.”

  She would let herself believe it. At least for tonight. She deserved that much and, in a way, she needed it too. She slowly moved her palm up and down his cock. Tristan smiled then wrapped his hands around her breasts, slowly kneading them, his long fingers pinching and rubbing her stiff nipples. He kissed her lips then moved down her body. Pushing aside her thighs, he lowered his head towards her waiting sex.

  A soft moan escaped her lips as he slowly, softly licked her pussy, which was now soaking wet. So wet, in fact, she was embarrassed by it. But he didn’t seem to mind how wet she was. He moved his hands from her breasts and slid them beneath her buttocks, lifting her hips towards his mouth, his tongue making slow circles around the lips of her cunt. His delicate licking of her clit was driving her mad. She moaned, her throat working, her back arching against the mattress. She threw her hands out to her sides and clenched the sheets. She was primed for an orgasm, and she sensed it would be unlike any she’d ever had.

  Tristan lifted his head. “Don’t come yet. Don’t come until I tell you to.”

  She stared down at him. What? How was she supposed to keep herself from climaxing? Even now her pussy was throbbing with her need to come.

  “I don’t think I—”

  “Not until I say you can come.”

  She took in and released several measured breaths, forcing herself not to focus on that boiling epicenter that was her cunt. “All right. Not until you tell me.”

  He smiled. “Good. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.” He lowered his head and went back to massaging her clit with his tongue.

  Lydia gritted her teeth and gripped the sheets, fisting them into sweaty balls. She’d never tried holding back an orgasm. Why should she? Until she met Tristan, having an orgasm had been more hit and miss with more misses than hits.

  Tristan pushed his hands up her stomach and back to her breasts. He grasped them both, pinching and rolling her nipples as he continued swirling his moist tongue around her burning clit.

  Oh god, she wanted so much to come. She drew in long, ragged breaths, her hips shaking, her heart pounding, her body hovering on the razor edge of ecstasy as the sweet tip of his tongue danced nimbly across her clit. When it felt as if she couldn’t stand it any longer, her body screaming for release, he lifted his head.