“By the time deMonde decided to go out on his own as a concert artist, he had already parted on good terms with the older artiste and slept with most of the other men in the troupe. DeMonde’s manager, Georges Mercier, became his lover, agreeing to a reduction of his take of the fees in exchange for access to deMonde’s bed.”
Ron grinned. “According to deMonde’s diaries, deMonde, quite an egotist, was a lover tres formidable, and Mercier was more than happy with the arrangement.” Ron sobered. “But when deMonde met Matthew, it was over for any other man. When Mercier arrived to pick up deMonde, he was told that their arrangement was finished. He’d receive the additional percentage of his fees to compensate. Mercier grew furious. He was a vulgar man,
built like a bear. He cuffed deMonde with the back of his hand, cutting his cheek with his ring. He stopped the carriage in the middle of the road and threw him out, shouting at him that his career was over. He would tell the world that deMonde’s voice was gone. He threatened to tell deMonde’s sire that his son practiced lewd and unnatural sex acts.
“Unfortunately, deMonde didn’t believe him. He couldn’t, at that time of his life, comprehend the depths of vindictiveness that Mercier held. He trudged the few miles to Matthew’s home, arriving dirty, disheveled, and aching, but filled with happiness to be with Matthew. That night was heaven for the two men. Matthew had only been with one man before, his neighbor’s son back in America -- a fumbling, inexperienced, selfish lover -- and in deMonde’s arms, he learned what it meant to be with --”
“A formidable lover?” I taunted him. “A real man.” He took a deep breath and continued. “They awoke the next day to reality. There appeared to be no outright rumors of deMonde’s ‘unnatural behavior,’ but without his manager’s skill in getting new venues, and with Mercier dropping hints of the unfortunate condition of deMonde’s voice, deMonde was forced to give up his apartments and move in with Matthew. That, of course, could not destroy their happiness. Then, one day, a discreetly sealed envelope arrived addressed to deMonde. When he opened it, sheet after sheet of paper fell out, each one a bill for clothes, hats, shoes, food, wine, cigars, even his barber. All overdue. DeMonde was flabbergasted.
“He gazed at Matthew and spoke in bewilderment. ‘Mon pere, he pays for all of this. He agreed to do so when he parted ways with my mother. Why is he doing this to me now?’” “Matthew looked inside the envelope. Stuck inside was a folded card, embossed with a coat of arms. He unfolded it and handed it to deMonde. At first, deMonde couldn’t focus on the words slashed in black ink upon the heavy paper. He read them, once, twice, then carefully ripped the card in half and then again.
“Matthew took the pieces from his hands and asked in a soft voice, ‘What did he say?’ “DeMonde couldn’t speak. He cleared his voice, shook his head, and cleared his throat again. ‘He said…he said, that it wasn’t enough that my mother was a Jewess, and her father a Negro. He had done his best to overlook that and honored his debt to support me.’ Here, deMonde’s voice broke. ‘But he could not condone his bastard son engaging in unnatural behavior. He gives me my current unpaid bills with the wish to sever all communication with me. He will not support me in my debauched lifestyle.’”
I listened to Ron relate this part of Hardesty and deMonde’s story, trying not to notice that tears had gathered in his eyes. I knew he wouldn’t want me to see how the story had affected him. Could he be related by blood to one of these men? An unknown descendent of Hardesty’s sister, perhaps? Why else the interest in the gravesite? Since deMonde’s father had disowned him, even if there were legitimate half-siblings, it seemed hardly unlikely that they would have acknowledged any connection to their father’s bastard or had an interest in Matthew’s grave. But, who knows? Perhaps some later descendents felt guilty over the way deMonde had been treated and took it upon themselves to take care of his lover’s grave.
Ron bent his head and regained control. He lifted his face and attempted to smile, but it became a grimace. He took a deep breath. “They didn’t care. For a year, they led a carefree, quiet life with few friends, but they were happy. Clermont came to visit and often would sing duets with deMonde to Matthew’s delight. But it couldn’t last. DeMonde needed to sing like others needed to breathe and not just for Matthew. He could not be happy unless he was performing before an audience. And then --”
“And then?”
Ron smiled, completely in charge of his feelings again. “‘And then,’ mon ami, will wait for tomorrow night. Stay there. I’ll bring us something to revitalize us.”
He left the room, stark naked, and went back downstairs. I was glad for the time to assimilate everything he had told me…and how it had affected me. And Ron. As Ron became more caught up with the story, his voice changed. His accent grew stronger, his speech patterns shifted. The diaries must be incredibly detailed if they could have such an effect on him. My hands itched to get a hold on them and see for myself. If I got the chance, I determined to look for them.
For now, I leaned back against the pillows and waited for Ron to come back upstairs. I smelled Ron’s exotic tonic before he reached the bedroom. The aroma alone was enough to make my penis twitch. If the drug companies ever got their hands on it, it could put any other aphrodisiac out of business.
He entered the room, pausing to flick the light switch by the door, holding a tray with the same fine teapot and cups, a jar of honey, and the bottle of brandy. He was still stark naked. He moved gracefully to the bed, balancing the tray before setting it down on the nightstand.
“Here, let me add some brandy to your cup and more honey. It will alleviate the bitterness of the brew.” He poured at least a jigger of brandy into our cups and several spoonfuls of honey. He took up his cup and sipped, his eyes closing in delight. He smacked his lips and opened his eyes, waiting for me to join him.
I drank slowly, and Ron’s gaze never left mine as I swallowed every drop. A strange lassitude swept over me, different from the feeling I’d received earlier. Ron took the cup from my limp fingers and pushed me back against the mattress.
And I let him. I lay there submissively, waiting for him to make the next move. He bared his white teeth in a feral smile unlike any he’d displayed thus far. He swung his legs to either side of me and knelt so that his face hovered near mine. Then he whispered, the heady smell of the tonic, brandy, and honey wafting from his mouth. His smile softened.
“Do you still wish to be the alpha dog, mon coeur? Or will you graciously accept what I offer you?” He brushed the tip of his cock against mine, and I jumped. He bit my jaw and then licked it. “I shall take that as a ‘yes.’ It was good to be the bottom, d’accord? You enjoyed it.” He pushed my hair away from my forehead, and his eyes crinkled. “I turned on the lights so I could see us better when we are together.”
He retrieved two condoms from the bedside box, sheathing us with brisk, businesslike motions. I glanced over his shoulder into the mirror, enjoying the play of his muscles as he shifted. I could look at his ass for days. And that’s more than likely what I would have been doing if I hadn’t been able to force my body to move.
“What did you --? Why can’t I --?”
“Move? I added a little something special in your cup.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and leaned into me. “Consider this a kinder, gentler type of bondage.” He ran his hands down my arms until he reached my hands. He lifted them to his mouth and kissed the inside of my wrists. “I would never want to see the skin abraded from your body, mon ami, but I prefer to be the master.” He brought my hands to his penis, and I instinctively closed around him. He threw back his head as I squeezed hard, then released him.
He looked down on me, his gaze narrowed. I returned his look. Slowly, Ron’s features relaxed. He sank down next to me and drew my head to his chest. His hand slid up and down my arm, and then he said softly, “Please touch me, mon coeur.”
It was still difficult for me to move with any speed, but it didn’t matter. I worked him slo
wly, making him moan and thrash as his breathing quickened. I switched position until my mouth was at his crotch and his penis between my lips. I suckled him, wrapping my tongue around his dick as much as I could. Since I couldn’t fuck his ass, I tried my damnedest to give him the best I could. His belly twitched, and he heaved up from the bed. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto his skin, and with each drop, he gasped as if it burned him. He jabbed deeper into my mouth, almost gagging me, but I didn’t stop sucking. His voice rose as he drew closer to coming.
“ Merde! Baise-moi! Maintenant! Mainte -- Merde!” He came. His hot seed filled the condom. I started to choke as he jerked up. Somehow, he heard me, sensed the situation. I don’t know. I only know that he reached down and pushed me off him and finished without my lips on him.
Damn him. Once more, he took care of removing the used condoms, but came back to bed, turned off the lamps, drew me into his arms, and just held me. The room smelled of sweat and cum and the mingled aromas of the lube and the drink.
He fell asleep almost immediately, but it took me a while to follow suit. Ron’s embrace was loose, but I didn’t move. Not because of the concoction he gave me, but because I no longer gave a damn about moving. I yawned and let myself relax.
* * * * *
I awoke from a dream that someone was sucking my dick to find that someone was sucking my dick.
Ron.
I could feel the softness of his lips and the warm, wet heat of the inside of his mouth on my naked penis.
“What the fuck!”
He lifted his head and released my cock. His half-closed eyes and slight smile reminded me of a cat that had just lapped up a bowlful of milk. “Don’t get yourself excited.” He chuckled. “ Non, get excited. Don’t become agitated. You were too delicious looking, and I trust you when you say you have no, ah, STD. Trust me. How many times must I tell you that I would not harm you? What must I do to make you believe me?”
What couldhe do that would make me believe him? I took a deep breath.
“Swear. I’ll take your oath.” I took another deep breath. “And if I find out that you lied, I’ll come back and kill you.”
He stared at me, his eyes wide with astonishment. Then he dipped his head slightly in agreement.
“I swear on the love that Matthew and deMonde had for each other.” He grinned then. “So ferocious, mon ami. You nearly frightened me.”
He bent to take me into his mouth again when my stomach decided to announce its need for sustenance. He sat back on his heels and laughed.
“I see you hunger for food more than for me.” “What time is it?” All the lights in the room were turned on, and there wasn’t any clock by the bed. I’d taken off my watch downstairs, leaving it in the bathroom. He had drawn the heavy, lined drapes over the one window in the bedroom, hiding the outside world.
“Eight o’clock.” He spoke with deceptive casualness, avoiding eye contact.
“Morning or evening?”
He hesitated then shrugged. “Evening.”
“Son of a bitch!”
I had slept away an entire day.
I dragged myself from the bed, still a bit woozy from whatever the hell he had given me last night. Last night! Fucking bastard “Fucking bastard! You swore you wouldn’t do anything to me. I guess you don’t consider drugging me the same thing as harming me.” I grabbed the jeans he’d given me and pulled them up, sitting at the side of the bed to shove my feet in the borrowed socks.
He hurled himself against my back, his arms trying to shackle mine. I threw him off, surging to my feet, facing the mirror that reflected his damned angel’s face.
Desperate. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at the thick curls, then clenched his fists and shut his eyes. “Please, Brandon, the tonic is harmless. It is only made of roots, herbs, honey, and the brandy I added. You were exhausted from the other night, and I let you sleep as long as you wanted. You must be driving yourself too much with your research. The excitement, our lovemaking…”
He was babbling, frantic to have me stay. He got off the bed, stood in front of me, and gripped my arms.
“Stay. You’re hungry. I’ll feed you.” He touched my jaw. “You want to know what happened next to Matthew and deMonde, yes? I’ll tell you.” “Get out of my way!” I shoved him aside and picked up the shirt, drawing it over my head. “I know what happened. They moved back to America. Hardesty joined the Army and died. End of story.”
“He tried to kill himself.”
“What?” I stopped mid way, the shirt still bunched up under my arms. “Matthew. Something happened, and he tried to kill himself.” He sank to the floor at the foot of the bed, one knee bent, and rested his face against his raised leg. “It was before they left for America.”
I shoved the shirt into my pants and sat down on the edge of the mattress. “Tell me what happened.”
Ron looked up at me. “Let me dress first. I will tell you downstairs.”
He got to his feet as if every bone in his body hurt. Grabbing some fresh clothes, he entered the bathroom and shut the door behind him.
I sat there, immobile, waiting for him to tell me what had gone so freaking bad with Hardesty and deMonde.
I no longer had any wish to leave.
Chapter Four I listened to the sound of the shower. Any other time I would have joined him. There’s hardly anything that feels as good as soaping your lover’s cock and balls. Every part of your body is slick, clean…hot. The smell of shampoos, gels, conditioners -- I don’t know, they turn me on. Steam seeped from beneath the door and with it, the scent of whatever products Ron was using. I felt gritty, sticky. I should be with him.
I shed my clothes and tried the bathroom door. Locked.
Fuck this shit
I pounded the door. “Open up, you shmuck.” I could use the john downstairs, but why the hell should I? I raised my fist, ready to bang the door again, when it was flung open. Ron stood there, a towel draped precariously around his waist, his curls plastered to his head, his lean muscles glistening with drops of water. Steam billowed out from the shower, carrying a hint of that familiar, astringent aroma. He looked…clean, relaxed…fuckable. He eyed my nudity and quirked an eyebrow.
“What do you want? I’m not finished yet.”
“What do you think I want? A shower. I smell.”
He snorted. “You stink.”
I took a step toward him. “I want to brush my teeth.”
He moved aside, bowed slightly, and ushered me in with a sweeping gesture. “There is an unused toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. It’s all yours.” I brushed his body as I passed. The towel couldn’t hide his rising erection. I halted in front of him and made a grab for the plush terry cloth. He gripped my wrist and stared into my eyes while I slipped my other hand beneath the flap and found him. His nostrils flared, and he clenched his jaw. I brought my mouth to his and whispered against his lips.
“And are you all mine? Am I yours, too?” He dropped my hand, dropped the towel, and dropped all pretenses that he didn’t want me. We stumbled back into the shower stall. The water drummed on our bodies, soaking my hair, drenching him again.
He squirted liquid soap into his hands and lathered up, spreading the cleansing foam on my body, finding every crevice. There was little subtlety in his actions. He found my penis and soaped the length, teasing my balls. The shower rinsed off the last of the foam, and he knelt, my hard dick waving in front of his face. I thought he’d take me in his mouth, but he didn’t, not right away. First, he shifted just a bit below me, clutching my thighs. And then, he licked my balls, rolling his tongue around them, sucking them. I gasped and grabbed at the showerhead, holding on while my balls grew tighter and tighter until he finally took me into his mouth.
Christ, the feel of his hot mouth enveloping my prick. This time, I’d finish in his mouth. Nothing would interrupt us. I flexed my muscles, moving in and out in quick, short bursts. I felt the strain, felt my balls tense even more, knew I was clo
se. Then he reached around to the cleft between my buttocks and slid his finger into my hole.
I came with a roar, my cum spurting into his mouth. He gripped my ass, holding steady while he took every drop. Leaning his face against my legs, his hands left my butt as his arms dropped to the shower’s tiled floor. I braced my hand against the wet wall, trying to catch my breath, trying to ignore the fact that I already wanted to do him again.
Why the hell was I so horny? Everything seemed to turn me on: his words, his voice, his looks. Yeah, I could deal with those, but everything else pushed the buttons. The house, the bedroom, the bathroom. The soft sheets against my skin. The scents in the air. The drink -- I’m an idiot. The drink. The damn drink. And the lube. The soap.
Fuck. What the goddamn hell was in that shit? Ron stood up in front of me and turned to shut off the water. He ducked beneath my raised arm and grabbed two towels from the nearby towel rack, tossing one to me and wrapping another around his waist. The towel was warm. Damn, a heated towel rack. Not too shabby. He snagged a terry robe hanging from the door and threw it to me. Then, darting out to the bedroom, he returned with a thin silk one for himself. It clung to his body wherever he hadn’t done a complete job of drying off. I found myself staring then quickly turned my back to him and moved to the sink.
“Where’s that toothbrush?” I could see his reflection in the mirror while he frowned as he responded, “In the medicine cabinet. Where else? Shave. You need to. I’ll leave some clothes for you on the bed. When you’re finished, join me downstairs. I’ve much to tell you.”
He left the room again, and I could hear him opening drawers and banging them shut. What did he have to be pissed about? I’d given in. I was quickly becoming his possession. Kept submissive by the promise of learning the most exciting story of all of my years of research as a paranormal investigator. I grasped the rim of the cool porcelain sink. Who was I kidding? It wasn’t the words that were keeping me here. It was him.
Barrack, Jeanne - The Sweet Flag Page 4
