The Alexandra Series

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “Don’t say no. I’m not good at being denied and you know that.” How right he was. It had taken her weeks to tear herself away from the man when they were entangled years before. “In fact, I won’t take no as your answer.”

  “It’s not a simple lunch you want, is it?” Jocelyn asked.

  “What does lunch mean but a sensuous feast? And what would we be doing that we haven’t already done? I hardly think you should feel ashamed, but if you do, why turn me down? It will only add to that perverse and antiquated thrill of guilt.”

  “You have extraordinary logic,” Jocelyn replied.

  “I’m not trying to be logical, I avoid that at all cost. But you’re the woman I plan to dine on and I won’t be rejected.”

  “Do I have to screw you to get rid of you?” she asked.

  “No, just enjoy me.” His hand, having control of her hungry pussy, continued experimenting with the spasming hole, producing exactly the results he desired.

  “You are leaving tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Or the day after.”

  “But today is it,” she said firmly.

  “I promise, I’ll leave you to your marriage.”

  “You’re mocking me.”

  “Why would I do that when all I want is to make love to you?”

  Desire so rampant, face flushed, heart beating, her skin burning hot – she would have climaxed just from the feel of his roving fingers, though Ian would not allow that.

  “Where?” she asked.

  “My little home away from home?” he suggested.

  “Okay then, let’s be quick.”

  The escapade reminded her of stealing candy from a drugstore, pilfering baguettes of bread from French markets and other acts of petty larceny she and Ian perpetrated across France and Italy when they swept through those charming countrysides. She was just twenty at the time. Now, in the same spirit, they walked the street beyond Jocelyn’s office, grabbed a cab one block down and arrived at the French restaurant just in time to hustle up the stairs to Ian’s apartment.

  “Jacques will bring us lunch, we’ll eat up here.”

  A day with potent air, succulent with the aromas of spring and just warm enough for open windows, they made love in the bed in the breeze, with curtains fluttering and something so delectable about the atmosphere Jocelyn could feel the taste of it on her tongue, yet there was no flavor to recognize except the flavor of springtime.

  Dissolving into his body, hers was atop his. The feel of his hand’s caress from her breasts down her slim waist, to the cushy rounds of her ass brought musical sounds of pleasure to her lips. For a while, as he marveled at her satin skin, his lips joined with hers, and she forgot who she was with. Just sex, just passion, one body or another didn’t matter with such pleasure. Feeling Ian’s prick surge within her dropping its seed deep, she rocked with him, allowing what had begun in her office to burst free.

  When the last of the subtle seizure disappeared, Jocelyn sat back on his groin with his dwindling cock still inside her. Looking out the window to old apartments and the street a story below, she breathed deep the freedom. A last hurrah, perhaps the encore to the last hurrah. She’d enjoy the rogue for a half hour more then go home to the stability of her darling Reg. Perhaps she just needed Ian to get her through the ending of this personal era.

  Before Jocelyn left the cagey Ian, he begged for just one last glance at her perfect derriere, and took the chance to lay three strokes of a bamboo cane on her flesh before she could stop him.

  “What are you doing, you ass!” she screamed, bolting away from the bed where she exposed rear.

  “A reminder, darling.”

  “No, I can’t, no more!”

  “Ah, guilt, what a motivator,” Ian chimed in happily.

  Furious, Jocelyn ordered him out of the apartment, even though it was not her own, and dressed by herself. Though she was not at all pleased with him, she gave him a kiss at the doorway of the restaurant, and half her stunning smile.

  The next two days she heard nothing from Ian Pennywhistle and assumed that he was gone from her life again, a memory that would slowly fade into nothing.

  Chapter Six

  Reggie sat in the midst of his study at home pouring over the disaster before him, dispassionate, as was typical on the outside, though the fury was building within.

  When he heard the knock on the door he looked up. “Yes.”

  “Reg? You’re here?”

  “I am,” he said no more, though his response was enough invitation for Jocelyn to move inside the room. Even for Reggie, who was sometimes given to ruminating in the dark, the mood seemed particularly grim.

  “Wouldn’t you like a little more light?” she asked, as she was about to turn on the floor lamp beside his desk.

  “No,” he replied, emphatically enough for her to quake a little nervously. Her concern increased when she looked toward his desk and spied what was there. Though it took some time for the truth to register, once she made out Ian’s face and hers in several black and white photographs, the raw emotion overwhelmed her. She sank into the chair in front of him.

  “You had me followed?” she asked, awestruck. She trembled everywhere, her head feeling a sharp throbbing.

  Reggie looked at the array of pictures before him, a perfectly manicured hand moving aimlessly from one to the next. Jocelyn watched, mesmerized.

  “I guess I don’t trust you anymore,” he finally replied, the statement half speculation. He looked up at her, his face a blank.

  “And I guess I’ve given you reason not to,” Jocelyn replied, looking down at the pictures again. How could he possibly be so civil? She could feel from him an intense emotion gurgling internally, but it remained well below his surface calm. Then, too, why wouldn’t he be civil? After all, this was Reggie.

  “You’re not angry?” she wondered aloud.

  “Oh, there’s no doubt I’m angry,” he replied. “But this treads so deep, anger’s not going to solve anything. You’ve lied about your past and about our present. You’ve been one woman in bed with me and another woman with another man. Whatever’s going on with you, Jocelyn, whether it’s business or something else, we obviously haven’t been able to handle it between us.” Reggie might have winced in pain, but if he did the expression was subtle. Pushing the pictures back in the envelope, he paused for a moment staring at the one on the top. It was a close-up from outside Ian’s hotel room window two days before, Jocelyn with her head back, and a winsome smile on her face, her naked breasts looking as though they were bouncing with the curtains that danced in the wind.

  Jocelyn cringed seeing this intimacy she hadn’t shared with the man she loved.

  “Just when I thought there might be a breakthrough with your business problems,” he said, “this happens and I’m stunned.” He handed her the envelope and rose from his seat. “What happens from now on is up to you.”

  Impeccably honest, as forthright as the day is long, blunt but sincere. What more could she ask of a wounded husband? And yet, his cool reserve climbed inside her like winter reborn in spring.

  “I think I must need some time away,” she said, when she heard him reach the far door and felt a draft of air on her ankles as he opened it.

  “It’s yours to decide,” he said. He nodded and left her alone in the dark.

  Chapter Seven

  Jocelyn pulled herself from the azure water, rivulets of the warm liquid dripping down her bared breasts, down her belly and back and her long legs, those tiny rivers finding their way into the crevices between her thighs, another small river of water making a journey down the crack of her ass. One small cloud having danced across the sapphire sky, across the sun and melting into nothingness, left the skyward ball of fire to raise the heat against her fair-skinned shoulders.

  “You’ll have to douse me with cream again, Ian, or I’ll burn to a crisp,” she said, falling to the cotton towels on the sand. He turned over, reluctant to be awakened from a dreamy sleep. But see
ing his limp cock, Jocelyn’s mouth watered as if she were eyeing candy.

  “It takes such measures to maintain you as lover,” he sighed, taking up the bottle of sunscreen and squirting the lotion on her breasts.

  “I thought you wanted me,” she answered his exasperation, drawing closer, so his hands could massage the cream into her skin. Ian stopped for an instant to tweak a nipple and Jocelyn gasped then collapsed on her back to allow him better access to her soft flesh. Another squirt of lotion, Ian rose above her on one elbow and stared into her eyes, as his fingers moved down her belly, which undulated under his hand. At her pubic mound, he held her with his palm gripped tightly, driving a finger into the cleft between her labia. With kisses along her lips and down her neck, he lingered at her nipples, sucking each until they tightened hard. A brisk wind raised a chill and goosebumps that disappeared with a shiver in her hips.

  “Perhaps we should go back to the room,” she uttered quietly, knowing how much she wanted Ian to slip his erection inside her. One glance down at his rising organ, her lips again wanted it inside her mouth.

  “Whatever we do we’ll do right here,” he purred to her. Pushing himself to his knees, he straddled her head so her mouth could work his prick.

  It wasn’t a deserted beach, but it was not a busy one. No one paid attention to public sex, except to stop and admire for a few seconds before strolling by, or if inspired and bold enough, find a way to join in. Jocelyn labored fondly over Ian’s erection, her mouth taking the thickening organ deep. Drawing back the skin she teased about the head. Her own crotch hungry, she parted her thighs luring a dark-haired Frenchman between them. Dropping to the sand, the young man’s fingers crept up her legs, and her body quickened with the realization that she’d be taken by two men on the beach that afternoon. Fingers exploring deeper found her pussy wet and her belly spasming when he shoved two inside. Her hips rose to his face as his tongue descended to the purple skin inside the sexy pouch.

  While willing to share his wealth, Ian claimed her mouth for his, driving his penis beyond the point where she would gag on the depths it demanded of her. With a second penis in her crotch, she was helpless to control a thing. Being used for two men’s pleasure, letting go of her own was her only alternative. That was easily accomplished since her body was as happy with the prospect as the men she pleased.

  Relishing Ian’s organ as though she had a feast of delicious food to sample, she was urgent, ravenous for the stalk that raped her mouth. She wanted to swallow him whole. Her tongue delved into the sinewy flesh, her mouth and lips sucked hard, and she grabbed the length of him in her hand and pumped it vigorously, awaiting the eruption while little spurts of pre-cum shot on her face and down her throat. While she pleasured Ian, her own depths were plumbed by the anonymous prick. Like two women, one that gave and one that received, her desire was climbing to that point where in seconds she’d be over the edge. Ian assured himself first climax, demanding her attention until he was shooting himself across her face, letting his liquid get into her hair and across her chin and, of course, beyond her open lips. When he backed away, the dark-haired man resumed their copulation in earnest. Only then did she get a look at this intruder’s earthy, handsome features and feel the full essence of a man bold enough to prod at the door of an available female cunt.

  This itinerant lover moved on her like he’d had her before. After having held himself above her, free of Ian, he dropped to her chest and mauled her breasts, taking a nipple in his fingers and drawing it out, pinching it hard so she’d buck harder on his erection. Withdrawing from her, he turned her over, haunches up, holding them in his hands, while her shoulders were pressed into the blanket beneath her. Then fucking her from behind, with flesh slapping against flesh, he rode her until he peaked. Plunging himself to the very end of her vagina, he climaxed. The rigid sand was no comfort for aching shoulders driven into its unyielding surface. She would have preferred to take her pleasure to the luxury of a real bed. But her two lovers were determined to see her climax right on the beach. They wanted to see her body jerk and her expression turn to that state of bliss where cumming is as much anguish as it is sweetness.

  Lying under her, Ian’s mouth ate at that portal, lapping freely, while her anonymous lover worked her ass, his tongue rimming her backdoor. Two men’s fingers slipped inside. The spasms began small and then increased when so much stimulation overpowered her body. She was prickly everywhere, her toes and fingers, her shivering shoulders, all the way to the top of her head. Her back arched, and she drew up on her arms with breasts jiggled beneath her when she began to cry. Panting, breath short, sun baking down, sand between her toes, her nerve endings burst exhilarated. Tension everywhere, she quivered at that exalted peak.

  “Ah, ah, ah, yessssss, now.” The trickle of words she uttered swooning over the top were drowned by the sound of the pounding surf behind her. But there were little cries that rose above the dull roar like the soft sound of birds fluttering beyond. For a time, she cawed sweetly, eyes closed in a private reverie while Ian and the other man continued tonguing her ass cleft and labia. A little jolt like an electric surge and her heated flesh jiggled again with another sensation of ending. At last, with the men moving away from her, she lay on her side, finding her fingers in the sand beside her, unconsciously fondling grains of sand that were soft to touch.

  The beach was totally deserted when she opened her eyes. Had she scared away the bathers or was it simply late in the day and time to leave?

  “I did this here, didn’t I?” she said dazedly.

  The dark-haired man pressed a hand to her belly and rubbed her there. “I could bring you more,” he said.

  “I’m sure she’d like that,” Ian said plainly, “but I have much to do tonight and we’ve got to go.” He was ready to return to the hotel room, even though there were a few hours yet to enjoy on the beach before sunset.

  “I could stay here,” Jocelyn offered. “This charmer bring me home.” She looked up at Ian who was folding a blanket.

  He looked back sternly. “No. Get up.” All passion vanished, he pulled her to her feet, and slapped her ass once as if he was taking charge of her like a pet. Resigned to that fate, Jocelyn threw a shift over her naked body and followed him as they walked toward their hotel. She looked back once and blew a kiss to her other lover as he sat in the sand staring at her departure and the lovely bottom that wiggled underneath her dress.

  ***

  “You’re going out again without me?” Jocelyn asked Ian, after seeing him wash and dress without mentioning a word to her about his plans.

  “Business, darling,” he explained.

  “You’re coming back for a late dinner?”

  “No, you’d better order in.”

  “Or go out,” she suggested.

  “Please don’t.”

  “Ian, you’re suffocating me.”

  “And keeping you from scoundrels,” he added.

  “Like my lover this afternoon.”

  “Exactly.”

  When Ian was charming, he was devastatingly so, oozing with designs for her pleasure and his. But when he was engaged in the business that took him from her—business he refused to divulge—his mood was glacial and efficient. She might as well have not been around. She would have been perfectly happy to entertain herself in this small, bustling French resort, but Ian insisted that she remain in the hotel room. That hadn’t posed much problem in the two weeks they’d been at the resort, but his excursions without her becoming more frequent, the time alone seemed unnecessarily empty.

  It had been nearly six weeks since she fled her husband’s home. In that time she refused to think of that horrifying night her marriage ended. Escaping was the simplest thing to do, far easier than facing the reality of Reggie’s detective work, her adultery, his lack of trust, her hurt, his anger, her frustration…the list of damages seemed without end and was far too many to look at. Running away with the scoundrel that had blown the fidelity from her marriage
was as reckless as all the other blunders in her comedy of errors. Though it certainly kept her from the pain of trying to heal what was so deeply wounded.

  Jocelyn forgot about Reggie while keeping up with Ian—a project that was simple for several weeks while they pretended they were new lovers or newlyweds. They had sex morning, noon and night, in whatever plush hotel room or seedy hostel they happened to land. In quaint shops he would fondle her. In out-of-the-way corners, he’d expose her breasts so he could suck her nipples. In the arched doorways he’d take photos of her half-naked, playing with her pussy, or her bent over with her skirt flung up over her naked behind. In cafes at tables with long cloths, they’d sit side by side and bare their genitals under napkins, raising so much heat they’d hardly finish a meal before finding some alleyway behind the restaurant to finish the sex they started. Amsterdam, Belgium, Germany and Switzerland played host to their frenetic journey as they moved daily to a new venue for their blatant play. Only in Northern Italy did they slow the fury and remain a few days. Then in France, Ian announced he had to get back to work, which simply meant that Jocelyn had a few late afternoons and evenings to kill by herself. That should hardly have been a difficult task.

  “You wouldn’t mind if I took a walk on the promenade?” she asked him a few minutes later as she dried her sun burnt flesh on a thick beach towel.

  “I would,” Ian said. He was almost out the door, and Jocelyn regretted having asked him at all.

  “Then I’ll see you when you get back,” she said.

  “Don’t wait up, I will be late.”

  “That late?”

  He pecked her on the cheek like a traveling husband. “Don’t worry, I’ll grab your ass when I get in bed and fuck it soundly.” Flashing her a smile, he walked out.

  Time’s the enemy of a lonely woman. Fidgeting her way through a few magazines she’d already read, and glancing through a dreary chapter in a suspense thriller, Jocelyn ached for more. Most importantly, she needed some relief from thoughts creeping through the carefully constructed barricade she’d erected to obscure the recent past.