by Robin Gideon
Sheathing her teeth with her lips, Estelle was careful to not injure Julian as he fed her his cock in short, jerking movements of his hips. She could fit less than a third of his length into her mouth. It was impossible to concentrate solely on giving the sinewy Englishman pleasure with her lips and tongue when her own body was wracked by powerful orgasmic seizures.
As soon as Estelle’s climax had ended, she wanted her lovers to leave her alone for at least a minute or two. At a minimum, she needed that much time to collect her thoughts and recover her energies after yet another draining, satisfying orgasm. But Alek and Julian were both too far along in their pleasuring to stop. They had already passed the point of no return. Julian thrust into her mouth hard, the crown of his erection striking the opening of her throat with such force that Estelle sputtered, nearly choking on his dimensions.
Julian pushed his hands into Estelle’s luxurious, golden hair, his fingers curling around the silken locks to hold her tightly, keeping her in position to receive his lust. Estelle felt strands of hair getting pulled from her scalp as Julian held her with savage determination. He pumped into her mouth harder, with more energy and less control. His teeth were gritted, lips pulled back to reveal white teeth in a snarl.
The men came simultaneously, their desire peaking on the same thrust, Alek pouring out his passion inside Estelle’s clasping feminine channel as she drank Julian’s thick eruptions…
Chapter Six
Princess Estelle, sitting in the chair beside the sofa, began crossing her legs at the knee. Almost immediately she felt a twinge of pain. She winced, then placed both bare feet on the floor again. Her vagina was sore, her labia pink and decidedly swollen from recent excessive passion. It was the sweetest discomfort Estelle had ever known.
Estelle had a long, black cape around her shoulders. It was Alek’s cape, or perhaps Julian’s. When she inhaled, she caught the aroma of her own exertions, as well as the masculine scent of the cape’s owner. Sitting in Mademoiselle Clarisse’s private office, Estelle felt a strange sense of serenity at having her lover’s cape covering her from shoulders to ankles.
Alek, leaning back on the sofa, his powerful body glistening with perspiration, his lounge indolent and at ease despite his complete nudity, exhaled a slender stream of cigarette smoke toward the ceiling, and said, “We’ve got to get Prince Horace out of her life, and permanently.”
Julian, seated in the chair on the opposite side of the sofa from Estelle, replied, “Don’t underestimate Horace’s family. They’ve got a reputation for absolute ruthlessness. They’ve lost their fortune, but not their pride.” He took a hefty swallow of schnapps from his crystal glass. “Horace is a swine, but to his parents he can do no wrong.”
Estelle said, “I don’t care what it costs me. I’ve got to be free of him. The Queen and the church—they’ll try to stop me unless I have a reason they’ll accept to grant me a divorce.”
Alek leaned to the side, patted Estelle’s knee through the cape, and said, “It isn’t a question of whether Horace has a weakness—everyone knows he’s got a thousand of them. What’s important is to find exactly the right weakness to exploit so that when we tell him he’s got to leave you alone, he knows he has no choice but to do what we tell him.”
A soft, slightly tremulous smile curled the corners of Estelle’s mouth. “You’d do that for me? You’d really protect me from Horace?”
“Yes,” Alek answered but then added almost immediately, “Julian and I will do exactly that.”
“He’s the kind of man who wouldn’t hesitate to put a knife in your back. Don’t for a second think he’s not capable of murder.” As much as the princess wanted her detestable husband out of her life, she couldn’t let these two men she adored march naively into her own private war. “I’ve lived with his monstrous behavior for years. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I just learned to—”
“No!” Julian interjected sharply. “There’s no reason for you to not live the life you want.” He shook his head and made a crisscrossing motion with his hands. “You don’t deserve anything other than happiness.”
Estelle felt tears pool in her eyes, but she refused to shed them. It had been such a crazy and chaotic evening that all of her emotions were heightened, both the good and the bad, the joyous and the sorrowful.
It was Alek who said, “We’ll figure some way of making him leave you alone.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly expression in the least. “And if he won’t listen to reason, then I’m sure that Julian and I can figure out how to change his mind.”
“He’s a dangerous man,” Estelle said softly.
Julian looked into her eyes and explained, “So are we.”
* * * *
By the time Horace made it back to where he had left his coach and driver on the side street three-quarters of a mile from the opium den he had visited earlier, it was six o’clock in the morning. He was nearly completely sober by that time, but not even liquor or exhaustion could prevent him from feeling anything less than adolescent exuberance. The thought of buying three young, slender, waiflike boys for his very own pleasure to do with whatever he wanted was almost more than even his experienced, debauched imagination could comprehend.
But his carriage, the black lacquered one that he had purchased that spring along with the matching black geldings, wasn’t waiting for him. Only his driver waited at the curb.
“Where is my carriage?” Horace demanded, his eyes widening, a murderous gleam forming in their dark depths.
The coachman, about fifty and wearing livery that was quite obviously several years old, was quite pale with fear. His voice trembled as he explained, “Men came, my lord! They said you owed them money, and so they took your carriage.” He reached into the pocket of his oft-patched jacket, pulling out a slip of paper. “I was told to give this to you.”
Horace took the note and opened it. He recognized the handwriting, the smooth black lines of ink on the crisp watermarked paper. “Prince Horace, this carriage and the horses will be sold to settle, in part, your debt,” his banker had written. “To retrieve them for market value, please see me by Friday next. Signed, Edmund Stein.”
Crumpling the paper in his fist, Horace turned on his driver. “And you just let him take my carriage?”
“There was nothing I could do, my lord! There were four of them, and they had guns! They were from the bank!” the driver implored.
“You fool! You cowardly fool!” Horace started toward him, his hands clenched into fists. “I’ll kill you!”
The driver started running as though the devil himself was after him. It was a fair assessment of the threat he faced.
* * * *
“We must have the worst luck of any family in all of England,” the widow Faye Smythe said to her sisters, Princess Estelle Moreland and Lady Celeste Fallon. “What have we ever done to deserve lives like ours?”
Estelle patted the back of her sister’s gloved hand, made an effort to smile reassuringly, and said, “Remember that your husband was a good and decent man who loved you dearly. It isn’t your fault that he made you a young widow. And as for Celeste and myself, our husbands’ behavior in no way reflects on our own conduct. Our husbands behave dreadfully, but there isn’t a soul in all of polite London society who holds us responsible.”
Estelle looked around, making sure that only her sisters could hear her. They were attending an afternoon charity event, ostensibly to raise funds for an orphanage, though Estelle suspected the real reason was that the hostess, Lady Sarah James, was looking for a new lover now that her husband had taken up tiger hunting in India. He had been in India for several months already and was showing no sign at all of returning to London anytime soon. And as Estelle had been told, Lady James bored easily.
“How has your husband been behaving of late?” Faye asked Estelle. “I’ve heard unpleasant rumors that make me worry about you.”
Estelle pursed her lips and nodded, though she felt a twinge of remorse at having
to deceive her sisters. Yes, it was true that her despicable husband had been consuming more liquor than usual, but his intemperance didn’t bother her nearly as much as it used to. Now that Julian and Alek were a part of her life, Horace’s behavior just didn’t seem to bother her the way it used to. If he wanted to destroy his life and happiness, she couldn’t stop him, but she didn’t have to let his misery destroy her own happiness.
“I must tell you,” Faye said, her eyes narrowing, “that you seem happier. There’s not that gloom-and-doom aura to you that you had last Christmas when we were all together.” She smiled benignly. “What’s the secret of your happiness?”
Estelle felt a rush of embarrassment go through her veins, and she hoped that she was not blushing. The secret of her happiness? The answer to that was both simple and complex. It was also one that she had absolutely no intention in the world of giving to her sisters. What could she say? That gloom-and-doom had been replaced by gentle, passionate loving, though sometimes it was wild, feral fucking? That a gorgeous English prince and a hulkish Austrian count had taught her the true meaning of ecstasy? That the men always made sure that she was satisfied sexually and enriched emotionally?
“Well?” prodded Celeste. “What’s the magic?”
“No magic, really,” Estelle replied, then took a sip of her iced punch. “What I have learned to do is simply detach myself from Horace’s dark ways. By turning a blind eye toward his self-destruction, it might not do him any good, but at least I don’t torture myself by thinking that if I loved him more, maybe then he would be a better man.”
“Do not blame yourself for that man’s behavior,” Celeste said sharply. At thirty-six, she was the eldest of the trio and had always been protective of her younger siblings.
Her older sister’s sharp statement drew the attention of several men and women standing nearby. Estelle looked into Celeste’s eyes and without words reminded her that she must keep her voice hushed.
“Well I don’t care how you’ve achieved your happiness,” Faye said, opening her fan with a snap of her wrist. “All that matters is that you’re happy.”
Movement behind Faye caught Estelle’s attention, and her heart skipped a beat, then accelerated madly. Some twenty yards away, Julian and Alek had been stopped by four young debutantes. The young ladies were talking animatedly in low voices, and Estelle couldn’t help but notice that all four of them seemed to innocently touch Julian’s forearm and Alek’s hand when they talked. Estelle doubted the innocence of such touching with every fiber of her being.
Celeste, having noticed where Estelle’s attention had shifted, smiled and said, “Those two rakes have got women buzzing around them like honeybees to flowers. And, as I understand it, Prince Julian and Count Alek are not at all averse to entertaining the ladies.”
“At least on a temporary basis,” Faye added, half turning away from Estelle. “Though a friend of mine said they haven’t been on the town of late.”
For a moment, Estelle closed her eyes and forced her rioting emotions to remain, at least outwardly, in check. “Oh? Just what have you heard, Faye? Tell me everything you’ve heard. There’s nothing like a little scandalous gossip to make me forget about my own troubles.”
Faye shrugged and sipped her punch, to Estelle’s annoyance. She knew her sister always liked to keep people waiting, drawing out the suspense whenever she could.
“Well, the two are best friends, as you probably know,” Faye explained, but not before she had the full concentration of both of her sisters. “For years now they’ve been entertaining any number of women from the ton in a flat they keep in Kensington. The sole purpose of their living quarters is to have a place to bring their women for a tryst. Though I’ll never give you the names, several women of my acquaintance have been, um, thoroughly entertained by one or the other.”
“Their skills in the bedroom,” Celeste added, “are supposed to be considerable.”
“And that’s why they are in such demand,” Faye said, and with a flick of her wrist snapped closed her fan. “But lately they’ve been as chaste as monks, I’ve heard. They’ve gotten plenty of offers for boudoir hijinks, and they’ve turned them all down.”
Thank God for that, thought Estelle, suddenly paying very close attention to the punch she swirled around in her china cup. She knew that Julian and Alek were in high demand by the more free-thinking women of the ton, and though she didn’t want to be a jealous shrew, she couldn’t help but worry about the faithfulness of her lovers.
“Why do you suppose that is?” Celeste asked. “Why the sudden change of behavior?”
“Perhaps they’ve finally discovered just how shallow their frivolous pursuits have been,” Estelle said to her sisters. “Maybe they’ve decided to behave like gentlemen instead of rakes.”
“That’s a possibility, I suppose,” Celeste replied, though her tone suggested great suspicion. “But they don’t strike me as the reformed type.”
Estelle looked toward her lovers. She felt a stab of anger go through her when she saw a young brunette reach out and place her palm flat against Alek’s starched white shirtfront. The young lady wore a lovely white summer dress that was high necked and trimmed with lace and almost screamed out that its owner was a virgin from a wealthy family. Alek smiled down at her and said something that brought another small laugh from the girl.
“Do either of you know who that girl is?” Faye asked under her breath so that only her sisters could hear. “I think she’s just come out, and if she’s not careful, Count von Faust is going to be adding another notch on his headboard. If she thinks she can touch him like that and not have to back it up, she’s undoubtedly the most naive virgin in all of London.”
“Her mother should be coming along shortly,” Estelle added, her tone more brittle than she would have liked. “Throwing herself at the count like some tart from the London docks is hardly the behavior we expect of young ladies just coming out, now is it?”
Uncharitable images of walking up to the silly girl, slapping her hand off Alek’s chest, then slapping her hard across the face, drifted through Estelle’s thoughts. Such absurd and unladylike behavior was far beneath Estelle’s standards, but it felt terribly good to consider such a response to the girl’s flirtatiousness.
The brunette took a half step closer to Alek, and to Estelle’s incredible relief, he took a full step back and, with his free hand, rather deliberately removed the girl’s hand from his chest. Even from a distance, Estelle could see that she felt rebuked by what he’d done. Estelle suspected the girl was unaccustomed to having any man not responding favorably to her coquettish ways, and she did not like Alek or anyone else suggesting she keep her hands to herself. The brunette was no longer smiling, though she continued to look up at Alek as he spoke in a low voice.
A young man, part of the army of servants and staff that had been hired for the charity event, stepped up to Estelle. Having been trained to perfection, he waited until being recognized, and said nothing until he was spoken to.
“Can I help you?” Estelle asked.
“Ma’am, Prince Moreland wishes to see you. He’s in the gaming tent.”
“I don’t know which one that is,” Estelle replied. For the charity event, there were more than two dozen tents set up on the polo field, each housing various types of foods or entertainments. “Could you escort me?”
“It would be my pleasure,” the young man replied.
The big tent was open at both ends to allow the breeze through, and housed six or seven tables where various card games were being played. Estelle stopped before entering. Women were never allowed in pubs or in gambling houses, even temporary ones like the gaming tent.
“I’ll let Prince Moreland know you’re here,” the young man said, hurrying along into the tent.
Estelle turned her back to the tent opening and looked out at the crowd. Did any of the nearly four hundred people attending the charity event have any idea how loathsome she found it to be summoned by
her husband? Did any of them realize how he took enjoyment in tormenting her? Could any of them ever understand why or how she could fall in love with two men simultaneously?
“There you are.” It was a masculine growl of a voice. “What took you so long?”
Estelle turned and looked at her husband. He didn’t seem to be drunk, which she took as a good sign, though the scowl on his face was a warning all its own.
“I got here as quickly as I could,” she said sweetly, hoping to mollify his temper. It was particularly hideous to her soul whenever Horace publicly humiliated her. “What can I do for you?”
“I need some coin,” Horace said, moving closer and lowering his voice. He obviously didn’t want anyone to know he was asking his wife for money. “That goddamned brother-in-law of yours is on a lucky streak, and he’s nearly cleaned me out.”
Estelle frowned. “Barlow Fallon? I didn’t know he played cards. From what I’d gathered, his interests included gin and women and little else.”
“I’ll get my money back, and then some,” Horace promised. “He’s just lucky, that’s all.”
“How much do you need?” She opened her small purse and looked inside.
Horace snatched the purse from her grasp with a short, compact move that extracted the cloth from her fingers in the blink of an eye. He reached inside and pulled out the folded notes, smiling when he saw how much was there.
“This’ll get me back in the game,” he said, handing the purse back.
Estelle looked around, desperately wanting to scream at her loutish husband. In a controlled voice, she said, “That money is for the charity. You can’t have all of it.”
“Yes, I can. I can have every quid of it. Those little orphaned bastards will get enough from others here. They don’t need to stick their grubby little hands in my pockets.” Horace smiled, obviously thinking about the card game he was about to reenter. “You’ve given me a good idea, though. If I get Barlow Fallon to drink, maybe that’ll change his luck from good to bad, and mine the other way around.”
