The Tender Days of May (The Belle House Book 1)

by Vlad Kahany

  She felt like she was fleeing, her heart pounded with a mix of fear and excitement. The night was warm and full of people, but May was distracted by the novelty of Lord Ashbee’s kisses in the darkness of the carriage.

  At the house, Gordon met the two at the door, and May shot a glance of despair at Lord Ashbee.

  “It’s all right, May,” he reassured her, and though she wanted to scold him, she forgot about it as soon as they entered the front parlor, of considerable size and lavishly decorated, lit up by the oil lamp suspended from the ceiling. The room smelled of aromatic balms and gourmet dishes, and there was a table arranged with all sorts of food and appetizers.

  How new and exciting it all was!

  Lord Ashbee poured himself and May cherry brandy and raised the glass in the air.

  “Let’s celebrate!” he said with a smile.

  “What are we celebrating, Lord Ashbee?” May asked sassily.

  “This night, sweetheart. You in my house.” He smiled.

  She gave him a slight nod and put the glass to her smiling lips.

  And…” he added.

  “And?” She cocked an eyebrow.

  “I want you to call me Ray.”

  “Ray,” she said softly, and his heart fluttered at the way she said it. “Ray,” she repeated quieter, and he came over and wrapped her into his embrace and a deep kiss.

  She was excited to be in Lord Ashbee’s house. She realized that away from the Belle House and the protection of Mrs. Sharke, she was entirely at his mercy. Though the thought scared her, it made her even more aroused. The place was marvelous. Persian rugs, olive-stained oak, heavy curtains, and décor of all kinds, most of it quite exotic.

  Lord Ashbee took May to his study. The last and only time she had been here was when they made an arrangement. The memory flashed in her mind as if it had been a lifetime ago. But now she strolled along the bookshelves that lined the entire wall floor to ceiling as Lord Ashbee showed her the more extravagant editions he had, the intricately wrapped heavy volumes and the small pocket-size notebooks, handwritten journals and beautiful illustration. May’s eyes glistened with excitement as she looked at all the books, tracing the bookends with her fingers. Lord Ashbee watched her with a concealed smile. He had never been so proud of his collection or had as much joy sharing it with anyone as he did looking at May in her awe.

  They went back to the sitting room, and he closed the doors behind him.

  “You don’t have to worry about anyone anymore.”

  He led her around, and she studied the strange objects placed all around the place—on the tables, shelves, hanging off the walls. Several massive animal mounts decorated one of them. Bison and kudu, Lord Ashbee explained, telling her about his trip to Africa years ago.

  “Africa!” she exclaimed, looking at him with admiration.

  It was there that he got interested in taxidermy, he explained, as well as collecting bones, horns, and art objects made out of them. May wondered at the ebony figurines painted in bright colors, gasped in amazement at the skulls decorated with gems, shuddered at the weapons made out of bone. Oryx, impala, lion teeth, bear claws, zebra hides—there were so many exotic items that May felt she was in a different world.

  “This one is human”—Lord Ashbee pointed at the skull on a glass tray on the bureau, and May gave him a look of astonishment—“I acquired it from a tribe on the South-West coast of Africa.”

  “Why would you want to own such a thing?” May asked with uneasiness but leaned closer to inspect the crevices and cracks in the skull-bone and the gaps of the eye sockets.

  “There is something savage about the remnants of living beings, in the ownership of a thing that once was alive and then was turned into a beautiful object that one can admire. There is a mysterious trace of life in dead things,” he kept talking, following May as she stroked a long white-grey bull horn that pointed upwards from a metal mount on the glass podium. The horn was decorated with golden letters that May studied with her head tilted sideways. “It brings one back to prehistoric times,” Lord Ashbee continued, “when a human was on par with an animal. Some cultures believe that animal remnants keep the energy and the spirit of that animal. The horns, in particular, often symbolize fertility and male power.”

  “Ah!”—she turned to look at him—“Is that why you have so many of them here?” She laughed, turned around, and kept walking.

  She soon paused at the bureau that had several vases with feathers in them.

  “Peacocks!” she exclaimed, and a look of joy came into her eyes.

  “Yes! Beautiful birds!” Lord Ashbee stopped behind her. “Contrary to what most think, the males are the ones that have the bright, colorful tails that the feathers like these come from.”

  “What about these?” May’s eyes shifted to the much smaller black feathers in another jar.

  “The huia bird,” Lord Ashbee said as May touched one of them with her finger and stroked its sharp edge. “It’s the native of the islands of New Zealand and is very rare.”

  “Oh…” May jerked away, but Lord Ashbee gently placed his hand on the back of hers and took it back to the feathers.

  “It’s all right,” he said in a lower voice and guided her fingers to trace the side of the feather. “The bird is regarded sacred by certain Māori tribes”—his voice was softer now, his body behind her was pressing closer—“and only the ones of high status”—she could feel his warm breath next to her ear—“have the privilege of wearing the feathers,” he concluded and planted a soft kiss on May’s neck.

  There was something sexual about stroking the feathers, how his and her fingers moved together as one. She turned her head, and Lord Ashbee’s mouth met hers, sinking his tongue into it.

  May felt weak again. The familiar now sweetness spread over her body.

  He pulled away. “I want you to bend over this bureau,” he said softly and gave her a gentle push, guiding her. She did just that, her breasts flat against the dark wood of the surface, her palms against its coldness.

  Slowly, Lord Ashbee picked up the bottom of her skirt, tracing her legs with his fingers, made his way up, and lifted the skirt around her waist, exposing her bare buttocks.

  May held her breath. Shivers ran down her body, and she felt a familiar spasm between her legs as Lord Ashbee touched her exposed skin. He took a step back to have a better look at what opened up in front of him. The two slender legs that turned into white hills of her buttocks, the little flower in the crevice between them and below it—the intricate shape of the folds that glistened with readiness.

  May saw him stretch his hand and pick one of the huia feathers out of the jar.

  The next second she felt its soft touch on her buttocks and broke out in goose-bumps from pleasure.

  “You deserve the most exquisite things, May,” he said, and the feather caressed her butt cheeks.

  Oh, how divine it felt! And May thought she had known everything!

  Slowly, the feather traced the inner thigh. The soft curve of her buttocks. Went up to her lower back and came down the same way.

  May’s breathing increased.

  “You are beautiful, May,” said Lord Ashbee as he placed one hand on her hip and kept playing with her.

  The feather made a trail closer to her center now, making May moan. He saw the wetness slide down her thigh and smiled, knowing that her every cell was burning with lust.

  He paused for a second and used the tip of the feather to stroke the folds of her sex.

  “Oh, God!” she exhaled with a moan as her thighs quivered, and the buttocks nudged upward, seeking the pressure of the feather.

  Lord Ashbee stroked it again.

  Slowly.

  One more time.

  Then another.

  Every stroke echoed with her movement. He moved the feather upward and stroked her back orifice. She erupted in a moan. He repeated the movement, and her body moved along with it, the feather glistening with her liquids. He continued to str
oke her, enjoying the ripples it sent down her body and the meek moans that escaped her.

  Suddenly, he stopped.

  “Do you like this, May?”

  “Yes,” she gasped, waiting for another stroke.

  “Do you want me to continue?”

  “Yes,”

  “With a feather?” He smiled.

  He waited for her answer.

  “May?” he asked sternly.

  She was unable to hold her urge, but he wouldn’t do anything until she answered. So, she closed her eyes and smiled.

  “I want your mouth and your tongue,” she said, “I want them between my legs, on my sex, the folds, the clitoris,” she continued slowly as if she was reciting poetry, “I want it soft and gentle, not too hard,” she kept telling him what she wanted just like he taught her, “I want you everywhere,” she was breathing heavily, “and then I want you inside of me. Please,” she added, drawing a smile on Lord Ashbee’s lips.

  He put the feather away, got down on his knees, and started planting soft kisses on her buttocks, his hands caressing the skin around. His lips moved closer to her hot spot that dripped with lust, and when his tongue reached it, her body answered with a loud moan. Her legs quivered, weak with pleasure, her face pressed against the cold wood of the bureau. She felt his tongue stroke her sex, slide down to her swollen clitoris, then come back and slide past it and up between her buttocks. Her eyes widened at the realization where he was going, as the tip of his tongue reached her anus and gave it a soft swift stroke. She yelped from pleasure, and he repeated it.

  “Ah! Ray!”

  Every time he did it, she felt a wave of intense pleasure that arched her back, and her buttocks nudged towards his tongue. May was beyond herself. That spot! The most shameful! And his tongue on it! She was burning with embarrassment, but the pleasure overwhelmed her senses. His tongue kept pressing on that spot, pushing deeper, then his lips closed on it, and May’s entire body quivered in pleasure. His tongue kept massaging her anus with more insistence, its slither-like movements between her buttocks driving her crazy, and when he slid his hand between her legs and caressed her clitoris, it only took seconds for May to break out in a series of moans as she reached orgasm.

  Lord Ashbee didn’t wait a second. Instead, he sprung up to his feet, opened his trousers, and, in one smooth move, thrust his erection inside of her, drawing another cry out of her. He grasped her hips and kept thrusting, his movements impatient and forceful, resonating in her with the moans that kept coming.

  “Ah! Like that, yes! Oh, sweetheart!” He kept moving, shaking the bureau, his body wanting to feel May’s hands on him but his swollen member demanding the full attention. She burst in a succession of cries, announcing her yet another climax as his rhythm increased, and he pulled out, spilling his semen on her white skin.

  She was panting, her breathing sharp and uneven, her lips parted in the last silent moan. She stayed like this for a moment, enjoying the closeness and Lord Ashbee’s hands on her hips, her buttocks pressed against his groin. Then straightened out, her skirt unrolling down onto the floor, and turned around.

  “Ray,” she whispered. Her fingers gave his member a brief caress as if soothing it, then slid up his body and cupped his face. “You are incredible,” she said and confirmed it with a long soft kiss.

  —————

  They drank brandy, then made their way to food, both of them famished.

  “I love oysters,” she said, scooping them out with an oyster fork and planting them in her fine mouth. Lord Ashbee watched her, marveling at the appetite. There was something admirable about women that loved good food. Quail eggs and more appetizers were followed by the marinated lobster. He took a tender piece of lobster meat with his fingers and dipped it into the butter sauce. “Try this.” He put it in her mouth and watched with delight as her eyes lit up with approval.

  They tried spiced wine.

  “I only drink sweet wines. Never developed a taste for any other kind. There are too many wonderful drinks to waste time on the ones of fashion that you don’t quite like.”

  Though it was warm outside, he lit up a fireplace, and they sat on the sofa next to it. He was kissing her, marveling at the warm glow that the fireplace cast on her face, how it made her skin golden. She could tell by his caresses that he was aroused again.

  Oh, how delightful was the realization that she could read a man’s body so well!

  She took her clothes off—he liked her naked. She did it slowly and with confidence, gazing into his glistening eyes with poise, then came onto the sofa and straddled him. He was sipping brandy while she slowly unbuttoned his shirt and stroked his front up and down. Her fingers went to his trousers, unbuttoned them, and he nudged his hips forward to help slide them off and free his erection. She took his manhood in her hand and started stroking it gently as Lord Ashbee’s eyes were fixed on what she was doing.

  He wanted her mouth on him, her lips wrapped around his sex.

  Ah! How he looked forward to that moment but didn’t want to prompt it himself.

  And she wouldn’t.

  Not yet.

  Instead, she nudged her hips closer until her wetness met his member. Her hand kept the erection in place as she slid up and down its length, leaving the wet traces behind. His member was trapped between her pelvis and his, and she kept repeating the motion, grinding against him, her eyes transfixed on their flesh that was pressed close together. Her pink clit, like a tiny tongue acquiring the taste of the surface, kept tracing the length of his sex, reaching the tip, then coming back down, then came back up to the top one more time, and finally, she sank onto his erection.

  “Mmm,” he exhaled slowly, put the glass away, and put his hands on her waist, helping her push onto him deeper. It took her a moment to get in the rhythm. Her hand found the back of the sofa for support while the other wrapped around the base of his skull, and she pushed onto him with more eagerness, her hips moving in circular motions every time her body came down.

  “Don’t stop, May,” he whispered and pushed on her hip bones, prompting her to increase the tempo, his breathing quicker and hotter.

  “I won’t, Ray,” she whispered back with a smile.

  His hips started pressing towards her while she rode him with confidence, finding his mouth and kissing him, her hand sliding up and down his body, sinking towards his erection, catching the base of it with her fingers. He pressed on her hips harder, and she started moving faster until he lifted her abruptly off of him, and as if it was a clue, that very second her hand found his member and, with several swift strokes, released the pressure, drowning in his semen, sealing the act with a soft kiss on his mouth.

  —————

  May was sitting on his lap, her gentle fingers caressing his open shirt.

  Still on the sofa, naked, except for his shirt, sunk into sweet tiredness, they watched the fire and talked about literature, art, philosophy.

  It amazed Lord Ashbee how much she knew. How well-read she was. That, in itself, wasn’t a rarity. But her wit and the ability to absorb the knowledge and use it in arguments was astounding. There was something enchanting in educating her. The way she absorbed his ideas and echoed with them. How his words made their way to her mind and continued to develop, yet, he knew part of him was in them. It entranced him. She had too much good in her to be anything like him. She won’t be. Such a woman would be a dangerous creature. She could bring the world to her feet, slaughter it, and, without flinching, get back to her dinner plans.

  “You are a good student, May,” he told her as the flickers of the fire jumped around her face, as if lighting it up from within.

  A flush of pleasure came across her face.

  “You pride yourself on being a good teacher, Ray.” She smiled at the novelty of calling him by his name.

  “I am not talking about the bedroom skills right now, sweetheart.” He smiled back.

  “I know.”

  “A good woman should be caref
ul with philosophy such as mine. If she wants to avoid trouble.”

  “A good woman should be careful with men like you,” she retorted. “But you weren’t too concerned when you lured me into the arrangement that we have.”

  “Lured? Is that what you think happened?”

  She raised her eyebrow at him. “Do you think there was any other way this would happen?”

  “May, sweetheart,”—he cocked his head with a sly smile—“if you didn’t want this to happen, it wouldn’t have.”

  “Oh!” She gave him a strange look, and her caresses stopped. “You could have lent me money, but you had a different plan.”

  “You could have said no if you loathed the idea of selling yourself.”

  Selling!

  He used that word!

  May blushed with humiliation.

  “We all have choices, May. And in that situation, you had yours.”

  “Maybe, I felt under the pressure of the circumstances. For if the opportunity didn’t present itself, there is no chance in the world that I would have let you have me.”

  “Is that so?”—he cocked his head in astonishment—“Do you really think that your virtue would have held the fort?” He laughed, shaking his head.

  “Do you really think that your charms are so irresistible that no woman can stay away?”

  “So far it proved it, May. You know very little of the world to understand that lust and desire are the strongest impulses. More powerful than self-preservation instincts.”

  “I think you give too little credit to virtue and morals.”

  “You are too romantic.”

  “You are too vain, Ray.”

  “Vain?”

  “You hate to think that someone else has more power and strength than you.”

  “Interesting, May. Are we talking about you?”

  “No. But the strength of a powerful person is knowing one’s weaknesses. You try hard to deny yours.”

  “Why don’t you enlighten me, May? Which weaknesses are those?”

  “I don’t know”—she shrugged her shoulders—“but I’m sure you do. You are just afraid to face them.”