Sudden Legacy

by Kristy Phillips

  “Hmmm?” he asked again. “What is it that you need Chérie?” His finger curled within, rubbing against my g-spot and making me buck off the mattress. “Can I be of assistance?” he asked, the picture of innocence. I bit down on my lower lip and pressed into him as best I could. He flipped the camera around and handed it to me one-handed, his other hand still wreaking havoc on my sensitive flesh. “Dites-moi, Lara. Tell me what you need,” he urged in miniature through the viewing screen.

  “Y-you!” was all I could manage as he drew the tip of his erection across my wet opening. Feeling naughty, and just the right amount of dirty, I panned down his beautiful torso and focused on his manhood gripped tight in his fist and rubbing lazily against my labia. I watched his member go in and out of focus on the little viewing screen until the camera found the right depth of field.

  He continued to tease me, rubbing and gently pushing against me, letting just his tip breach my opening, and then taking it away again. My arms were beginning to shake holding the weight of the camera at such an awkward angle. “Please...” I begged.

  “Hold it steady,” he instructed, supporting the weight of the camera with his hand on my wrist. He was delighting in watching my extreme concentration as I willed him to enter me fully while trying to keep the camera still like he asked. He rewarded my efforts by slowly pushing into me. I moaned in ecstasy as his considerable length filled me to capacity.

  It was such an incredible turn on to watch him pump in and out. I had never understood why people would make sex tapes until this moment. It was so erotic. So taboo. My arm began to give out as I neared climax. The viewing screen showed our joined flesh begin to shake and blur as if an earthquake were taking place. Finally I couldn’t hold it any longer. Julien took the camera from me and moved as if to set it away from us on the bed. “No,” I said, panting. “I want to see.”

  My whine enthralled him. “You want to see, Lara?” he asked with a wicked smile.

  I nodded enthusiastically, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

  “What do you want to see?” he asked while keeping a perfect rhythm.

  He wanted me to say it. I was too aroused to be embarrassed at this point. “I want to see you cum!” I said. A small part of my brain thought I should be scandalized by the words coming out of my mouth, but it was quickly forgotten as my climax hit, rocketing over me and sending me into paroxysms of rapture.

  I barely registered him pulling out of me in that instant just in time to spill himself atop my abdomen and amid the tight curls on my pubis. As his spasms slowed, he rubbed himself against my tingling flesh, causing me to jerk a bit at his touch. Then he pushed back into me again, pumping once, twice more, and falling still.

  He leaned in then and kissed me, still holding the camera. “An Oscar worthy performance to be sure mademoiselle.” He chuckled against my ear.

  “They have the Oscars in France?” I asked as he trained the camera back on my face.

  “We have the European Oscars,” he answered. “They’re pretty much the same thing, only our statues are silver phallic women as opposed to golden phallic men.”

  “Hmmm. I’d like to see that,” I said, more out of wanting to drag out this moment of afterglow than an actual desire to see a European Oscar statue.

  “Then you must come back in December. I will take you.”

  I smiled lazily up at him, wishing he were serious, and that we had the means and ability to visit each other as often as we wanted. Thinking about my impending departure made me sad, and I wanted to change the subject. “Perfect. We’ll watch the European Oscars in December, then you can come to the states and watch the American Oscars in February.” I put my hand over the front of the camera lens and pushed it away to indicate my boredom with our toy. I flexed my Kegel muscles causing my walls to tighten around him and I felt him twitch and harden again. “This will be one of those times where the sequel is better than the original,” I teased, raising my hips in encouragement. Julien’s laughter rumbled deep in his chest as he lowered his lips to mine.

  The crescent shaped needle pierced through Julien’s skin one last time. Skin is definitely tougher than you would think, I mused. I watched in fascination as Nan made the fourth and final knot, then snipped the last of the nylon with her suture scissors. She had done a tidy job of it. The tiny black knots sat in a neat row like a mini railroad track across Julien’s otherwise beautiful upper arm.

  Julien sagged against the back of the couch in relief as Nan began to dress his wound.

  I wiped a cool cloth across his damp brow and he smiled at me in thanks. Pops came over with a glass of water and put two ibuprofen pills into Julien’s good hand. Julien tossed them to the back of his throat, and accepted the water from Pops. “Merci.”

  Martin began threading his belt back through his pants, drawing my attention to him.

  “You never said what the second possibility was,” I said.

  He didn’t hesitate to answer, knowing exactly to what I was referring. “Oh, yes. Well, if it’s not Omniteq, then the next logical conclusion I can draw is that it’s a cousin - or someone else who doesn’t want Julien claiming his birthright. Does that about sum it up, Baldovino?”

  Baldovino perked up at being addressed. He had watched rapt as Julien endured Nan’s ministrations without so much as a groan. Now he nodded in apology and answered in his thickly accented English. “There are men that would prefer you to have stayed missing, il mio re.”

  We had never been aboard a private jet before, Pops, Nan, Alex and myself. I caught myself about to laugh at Nan’s gap jawed look of wonderment before I realized I was probably making the exact same face. I quickly snapped my mouth shut and discreetly glanced around, wondering if anyone had noticed.

  It had been easy to forget the fact that Julien was a billionaire while he had been at the ranch, sleeping on the lumpy fold out couch in the solarium. He had seemed perfectly comfortable living among us mere mortals, cooking crêpes, playing on the floor with wooden trains, and being thrown up on. And making incredible, passionate love to me, my inner voice added smugly.

  Julien’s jet was not your regular luxury aircraft - or maybe it was - what did I know of such things? Regardless, it didn’t have rows of seats the way commercial planes did. Instead it was divided into five distinct areas. The flight deck and galley made up the first area, then a set of four lounge type chairs facing each other for easy conversation. Past the chairs was a large dining table to the right of the aisle and a couch on the left. Behind that section was another sitting area composed of two long couches facing each other across the aisle, and finally the farthest most area was the bathroom.

  Alex immediately launched himself out of my arms and made a break for the flight deck. “I’m on a airpane!” he said to the flight attendant.

  His fever had broken late the previous afternoon and another dose of children’s ibuprofen had him feeling good as new.

  The flight attendant knelt down to Alex’s level. She was young and attractive with a seemingly cheery disposition. “You most certainly are! Would you like to see the flight deck?” Off Alex’s excited nod she rose and took his hand. She smiled at Julien and said softly as she passed, “He looks just like you, sir.”

  Julien nodded in polite acknowledgement, but I was happy to note he didn’t seem all that interested in making small talk with the pretty blond.

  “Should I go with them?” I asked, not wanting Alex to push any important buttons.

  “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Pops volunteered. He had a twinkle of excitement in his eye and I remembered he had flown as a hobby in his youth. Mostly crop dusters and the like, but I could well imagine his delight at getting a good look at the cockpit of a plane such as this one. “Thanks Pops.”

  Julien led me to the couch across from the dining table and indicated I should make myself comfortable. It was a half full flight with, in addition to our little family of five, Mr. Martin, Signore Passarelli, two men I had never seen before
, and the crew.

  One of the unknown men turned out to be a doctor. Dr. Fleischman inspected Nan’s handy work, complimenting her on her precise stitching, then he gave Julien some antibiotics, instructing him to take them three times a day. When Julien joined me on the couch I couldn’t help teasing him. “Does your personal physician always travel with antibiotics?”

  “He does when I call him ahead of time and tell him I’ve suffered a gunshot wound,” was his glib answer.

  I didn’t like being reminded how close Julien had come to being killed. My playful demeanor quickly soured. He noticed and tried to placate me. “Why the sudden shift in mood, Chérie? I am only teasing.”

  “But you’re not, Julien. You really did suffer a gunshot wound. A gunshot wound from a gunman who, I would like to remind you, has yet to be found.” I shivered a bit and wrapped my arms around myself for comfort. Julien quickly pulled me against him, settling me in the warmth of his side. Cupping my jaw with his far hand, he kissed me softly and huskily replied, “There is nothing to be afraid of Chérie. I wont let any harm come to you.”

  I so wanted to believe him. I knew he would do everything in his power to keep us safe, but he was just a man, and therefore fallible. Someone wanted him dead, and that someone had come far too close to accomplishing their mission.

  I felt eyes on me and pulled away a bit, shy to be engaging in public displays of affection in front of Nan. When I looked up Nan was carefully studying her fingernails.

  “I’ve arranged a car to take you to the airport. It’s only fourteen kilometers from here.” Julien looked down at me from his vantage point, propped up on his elbow as I lie beside him in supination. I nodded my head, not trusting myself to speak without tearing up. He bent down and kissed me softly. “Stay, Lara. Reste avec moi.”

  My heart broke at his pleading tone. If only life were so simple that I could take up living on a yacht with this wonderful man. I was so enamored of him it was tempting, despite his angry mistress staring daggers at me at every turn. “You know I can’t,” I answered thickly.

  We were docked somewhere near Marseille at the very end of a long dock. Marla’s super-yacht was too large to dock any closer. It was our last night together as my plane left early the next morning. Suddenly Julien’s cell phone began buzzing email alerts. His cell phone got limited reception at sea, and he usually only checked his email when we docked. It had become a joke between us. We always knew when we were close to docking by the buzz of his phone receiving a backlog of messages. “That reminds me,” he said, reaching for the vibrating phone on the nightstand. “I need your contact information.”

  I scoffed at his formality. “‘Contact information’? You sound like such a business man.” He ignored my teasing, concentrating on typing my name into his contact list, then he handed me the phone so I could type in my number. He studied the number when I handed his phone back. “Is this your home number?” he asked.

  “No,” I answered. I had a cell phone back home. I hadn’t brought it because I didn’t trust myself not to rack up a million dollars in international calls. “It’s my cell.”

  “Good,” he said, pressing the call button. He hung up just as my voicemail greeting finished. He smiled at my cheerful tone in my out-going message. “Now you have my number.”

  “So mine will be among the many missed messages that beep in when you come to port?” I said, trying to make light of the situation when what I really wanted to do was cry myself to dust.

  “Yours will be the only reason to come to port at all, Chérie,” he murmured softly. Just then my tears spilled over and ran silently down my cheek. He kissed them away. “These tears,” he whispered, “These tears will start me crying too. It is you who insists on leaving, Lara.” His voice cracked, betraying his emotions. I clung tightly to him, letting myself go, and sobbing into his chest. “Shhhh. Shhhhh,” he tried to soothe me, though I could hear his own tears in his voice. “We will see each other again soon. I am coming to your American Thanksgiving, remember? And let us not forget the Oscars.” I half giggled at his mollifications.

  Reaching down to the waistband of my shorts, I released the small carabiner holding my mother’s little bear. “Here.” I sniffled, handing him the tattered key fob. “I want you to hang on to Gus for me.”

  Surprise lit Julien’s eyes. “You are giving me your little traveling companion?”

  I shook my head. “Not forever. Just until I come back for him.”

  Julien accepted Gus with great reverence. “Thank you, Chérie. I will take diligent care of him.” He set Gus atop his cellphone on the nightstand and turned back to me with a soft smile. “Now, let us not waste the short time we have left. I intend to memorize every square centimeter of your beautiful body before you go.”

  I rewarded him with a watery smile and pulled him down to meet my kiss.

  It was early afternoon when we touched down in Perugia. The flight had been roughly thirteen hours, and coupled with the nine-hour time difference, we had essentially lost a day.

  There was a bevy of people awaiting our arrival. I marveled at the organized chaos unfolding around me as bags were taken and paperwork attended to. Watching the efficient way Julien’s staff handled each task made me wonder how they would handle a crisis. What would they have done if the four of us hadn’t taken a Disney cruise to Mexico last year, and consequentially didn’t have up-to-date passports? As the customs agent waved us thorough with deference I had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn’t have been too challenging a problem.

  The last time I had traveled to Europe I had had the pleasure of waiting in countless lines and hauling my own heavy bag through the terminals. I much preferred Julien’s way of doing things. Yeah, money can’t buy you happiness, but it sure does make travel easier.

  We were headed for Julien’s family estate in Terni. The drive would be around an hour. Nan and Pops took the first car with Dr. Fleischman, Mr. Martin and Signore Passarelli. They would stop in Pantalla to let Dr. Fleischman off, then catch up to us in Terni. I was to ride with Julien and Alex. Noting that a car seat had been installed in the back seat of our sedan, I took the seat next to Alex while Julien settled into the front passenger seat.

  Alex wasn’t in the car five minutes before he fell into a jet-lagged coma. His face lolled against the side of his car seat, his curls damp with sweat. For the most part we rode in silence, due to a combination of shyness in front of the driver and nerves over what lay ahead. I settled into my seat and watched the beautiful countryside pass by out the window. Alex was still asleep when we pulled off the road onto a private drive. The car idled quietly as we waited for a pair of tall iron gates to open and let us in, then it purred up the driveway, coming to a stop in front of a large villa.

  It was clear the prodigal son had been expected. No sooner had the driver cut the engine than the great front door opened and several people came spilling out down the stairs to greet us. Most of the welcoming committee was in uniform and swarmed around the backs of the vehicles to spirit away our luggage. Julien flashed me a reassuring smile and opened his door. He was immediately engulfed by a stocky Italian woman, hugging him tightly to her ample bosom, tears of joy glistening on her sun-weathered face. “Nipote mio!” she chanted as she gripped him like a vice, her voice sounding muffled to me through the barrier of the window.

  A beautiful dark haired woman stood just behind them watching the reunion with a watery smile. Julien’s mother. I knew Julien had spoken to his mother, but I wasn’t sure exactly what he had told her about us. Obviously he had told her about Alex. And about being shot as well I assumed based on his teary reception and the way his mother was gesturing to his arm. Suddenly the three of them turned toward me as one. I smiled shyly and opened my door, sparing a glance at Alex to see if he was still sleeping. He was.

  Julien extricated himself from the women and reached out to me, pulling me close beside him and keeping his arm around my waist. “Maman, Nonna Vera, I would like you
to meet Lara.” He looked down at me then. “Lara, this is my mother, Élodie, and my Nonna Vera.” I loved the way their names sounded on Julien’s tongue; Aay-low-dee and Nonna Vedda. I smiled again and offered Élodie my hand. She took it with a warm, firm squeeze, a welcoming smile on her pretty lips that reflected a delighted curiosity in her beautiful cornflower blue eyes. “Enchanté,” she said. Next I turned to Nonna Vera. She also took my hand, but rather than shake it, she pulled me from Julien’s side into a fierce hug. Finally releasing me just before I blacked out due to a lack of oxygen, she cupped my cheeks in her warm hands and crooned unintelligible things to me in Italian.

  A uniformed man was watching my exuberant welcoming. When I caught his eye he smiled at me and inclined his head in a show of deference. In a heavily accented voice he asked, “The child? Would you like me to take the child?”

  Both Élodie and Nonna Vera looked past me into the car, rapt with wonder. Alex stirred, as if sensing the extra eyes on him, but he didn’t wake. He shifted his head from one side of the car seat to the other, his damp curls framing the cherubic curve of his cheek. I could tell from their awestruck faces that both women wanted to scoop Alex into their arms, but they remained still, neither wanting to breach the sanctity of a sleeping child.

  “I will take him.” Julien’s voice cut through the fog of maternal lust. “I don’t want him to become startled, waking up in a stranger’s arms.” Élodie and Nonna Vera nodded and watched as Julien deftly unclipped the car seat restraints and lifted Alex onto his shoulder. They studied my son’s beautiful face as if trying to commit him to memory and comparing his dark lashes and pink bow lips with the specter of the toddler Julien once was. Clearly they found him to be a startling match. Nonna Vera said something in hushed Italian, and Élodie answered her with equal reverence, “Yes, just like him.”