Twelve Nights

by Remy, Carole

  “Being wealthy can be a real pain sometimes,” he admitted. “You should think about it.”

  “How rich are you?”

  “About half a billion,” Jimmy admitted.

  Aggie swallowed.

  “That’s a lot of money. Are you safe?”

  “You mean kidnappers?” Jimmy answered seriously. “I try to keep a relatively low profile.”

  “This is weird,” Aggie commented. “I never thought about being really rich.”

  “It has its benefits,” Jimmy offered.

  Aggie smiled. They were sitting in one of the benefits right now.

  “I could shop,” she smiled.

  Jimmy nodded.

  “We could go skiing in Gstaad.”

  “That we could.”

  “This could be fun,” Aggie admitted.

  “Then you’re saying yes?” Jimmy asked. “A serious yes?”

  “There’s one thing you haven’t said.”

  “That I love you?” Jimmy laughed. “I forgot. Yes, I love you, Aggie.”

  “Then the answer is yes, an unqualified yes.”

  “And …,” Jimmy prompted.

  “And I love you too. I have a confession to make.”

  “What?”

  “I think I fell in love with you at lunch the first day.”

  “I fell in lust. I’m not sure when it turned into love. Maybe when I realized that I couldn’t let you go back to Cincinnati.”

  “I have to go back and pack up my things. And resign my job.”

  “We’ll go together,” Jimmy stated. “For now, we’re making an overdue trip to the bedroom.”

  He picked Aggie up and carried her at a bumpy dogtrot through the lobby and into the bedroom where he threw her onto the circular bed.

  “Open the skylight,” Aggie suggested.

  Jimmy pushed a button and the cover retracted revealing a star strewn sky.

  “The weather cleared up,” Jimmy commented.

  “Everything cleared up,” Aggie added. “I’m ready for a preview of the wedding night, Mr. Buko.”

  “I’m yours to command, Mrs. Buko.” Jimmy began to strip.

  “Mrs. Trout-Buko?” Aggie tried and laughed. “I sound like a disease.”

  She lowered her voice and intoned, “I’m sorry. The patient died of Trout-Buko syndrome.”

  “The patient is going to die of an attack of Buko if she doesn’t get her clothes off.”

  “How about Beaucoup-Trout?” Aggie giggled on the bed making no effort to undress. “We could be a menu item.”

  Jimmy removed Aggie’s shoes.

  “Bu-Trout-Ko?” she giggled.

  “It could be worse,” he commented as he slid her pants and panties down her legs and off her feet.

  “How?”

  “My grandfather was Victor Ivanovna Bukolokovitch.”

  “Bukolo…” Aggie struggled.

  “Bukolokovich,” Jimmy laughed.

  He pulled the tunic over her head. He unhooked her bra and wrapped it around her head in an ineffective muzzle. He spread her legs and lowered himself between them.

  “Bukoloko…?” Aggie mumbled then her giggles turned into a moan as Jimmy rammed himself ungently inside her. She arched up into his hips to pull him deeper, all levity lost in a rapid swirl of deeper emotion. He rammed again and again in slow demanding rhythm, deeper and deeper. Aggie pulled the gag from her mouth.

  “Is this what I can expect when we’re married?” she gasped.

  “Yes,” Jimmy growled as he jack-hammered into her.

  “Good,” Aggie groaned and arched as his cock found a sensitive corner. She leaned up and sank her teeth into his shoulder. Jimmy grunted and she felt him grow inside her and the pace of the pumping increased. She sucked and bit a hickey into his muscle and it hardened beneath her teeth as he swelled inside her.

  The pounding was too rapid for thought now and Aggie relaxed her jaw and leaned back her head and let the current flow through her as the trembling precursor to climax grew in her belly. She tightened her vagina around Jimmy’s cock, trying to hold him somehow in place like trying to bridle a bucking stallion and then they met in the arena and the pounding of the horses’ hooves became the pounding of their hearts galloping in unison.

  “I’m not done yet,” Aggie panted as Jimmy collapsed on her chest.

  “Neither am I,” he gasped.

  “I thought of something,” Aggie gasped. “I can’t remember…”

  “Shh,” Jimmy begged. “Let’s catch our breath.”

  Slowly their breathing deepened. Jimmy rolled off Aggie’s chest and they lay side by side.

  “We didn’t use a condom,” Aggie found the thought.

  “Do you think we made a baby?” Jimmy sighed.

  Aggie counted for a moment.

  “I don’t think so,” she answered. “Maybe we should try again.”

  Jimmy pulled her to him and purred in her ear. “I want to make love to you in every room in the apartment. Tomorrow I want to smell you in the library and the kitchen and the dining room.”

  “Library…” Aggie murmured as Jimmy nuzzled.

  Ten minutes later their naked bodies stood by the library desk, poring over a book of ancient Greek statuary.

  “Do you think that can actually be done?” Aggie asked.

  Jimmy shrugged. “Maybe. Do you want to try?”

  Aggie studied the angles of the bodies in the photograph.

  “There are only two of us,” she commented. “Where’s your box of goodies?”

  “Box?” Jimmy protested. “What box?”

  “You have a box, big boy,” Aggie insisted. “Haul it out.”

  Jimmy pulled the shelf ladder to the end of one wall. He climbed up and brought down an oblong plastic container.

  “Fishing tackle,” Aggie laughed. She lifted the lid. Inside were dildoes and nipple clamps, handcuffs and paddles. She looked at Jimmy with raised eyebrows.

  “Semper paratus…” he responded with a smile.

  “Always prepared,” she echoed. “Classically appropriate.”

  She selected two dildoes, a tube of grease and a strip of condoms. She went back to the photo.

  “This is a menage a quatre.”

  “You and me and two dildoes?” Jimmy asked. “Wait a minute…”

  “Have you ever…?”

  “No.”

  “Do you hate the idea?”

  Jimmy squirmed then grinned as his rising penis answered for him. “Let’s try it.”

  Aggie positioned Jimmy behind a large overstuffed chair. She handed him a greased and condomed dildo and grasped the other in her left hand. She lifted her right leg to sit bent on the back of the chair.

  “Which do you think we ought to do first?” she asked.

  “Me inside you,” Jimmy answered promptly.

  He lifted her slightly and positioned her slit above his rigid penis. Aggie slid down onto his shaft with a sigh. Jimmy pumped experimentally and she felt her vagina tighten in response.

  “Maybe we should just…” she offered.

  “No,” Jimmy stopped her. “Put it in me.”

  Jimmy wrapped his right leg around her, opening himself to her. He held her steady as Aggie reached around her lover and parted his buttocks with both hands.

  “I’m not sure…”

  “It’s okay.”

  He bent forward slightly to give her better access. Aggie gripped the dildo hard and pressed the tip against his anal opening. He grunted as the rigid shaft slid inside. Aggie pushed harder and his penis grew inside her. She had the absurd sense that she was pushing his penis into her vagina, rather than a dildo into his rear. Jimmy was panting. They stood motionless for several seconds.

  “Your turn,” Jimmy grunted. “Hold onto the chair.”

  His hands parted Aggie’s rear and the shaft, she had stupidly given him the larger one, pressed against her. Aggie stiffened as the hard slick tip entered her anus. Her nails dug into the leather chai
r back as her other hand struggled to hold the dildo steady in Jimmy’s rear. She realized a moment later that her concentration had dulled the pain of entry; the dildo was fully engulfed.

  “Now what?” she gasped.

  Jimmy began to move inside her. He held the dildo firmly to her rear and the motion and the stiffness were an exquisite agony. Her left hand relaxed and the dildo slid a scant inch outwards in Jimmy’s backside. She pushed it back in, and he plunged into her with unaccustomed force. Aggie pulled the dildo out a fraction and pushed it back in. Jimmy again slammed into her. She could control his motion and she did. The in-thrust pushed her to within touch of orgasm and she teased herself and him. In and out, grunt and moan, she orchestrated his pumping and her almost-coming.

  Then his thrusting grew purposeful and his organ grew again inside her. The next near-orgasm became the real thing and she cried out as her senses shattered. All she could do now was hold on. The motion rolled over and through her, again and again, shuddering waves of emotion and sensation. Jimmy cushioned their fall to the floor with his arms. The dildoes slipped from uncaring rears and still Jimmy pounded inside her. Insistent and relentless, he pursued her up peak after peak, as she cried out in forfeit and release.

  At last he was still. He cradled her in his arms on the hard floor, held her until her trembling subsided. At last her breath returned.

  “Did you come?” she whispered, sure she knew the answer.

  “Three times,” he admitted or boasted.

  “Three times?”

  “Was it too much?” he asked, his voice unsure as he stroked her temple.

  No,” Aggie reassured him. “It was perfect. You were perfect. Three times?”

  Jimmy chuckled as Aggie sighed and snuggled into his warmth.

  “Maybe we’ll have triplets,” she murmured as she drifted to sleep.

  Chapter 25

  Angela had begun to wonder whether she was manic-depressive. Her moods swung from elation – she would be rich, she would start her life over, she was still young, she was beautiful; to despair – she was tainted, she was a criminal, no man (substitute Richard) would ever love her, she was getting old and turning ugly. December 27th , the twelfth day of the contract, found her at the grim end of the pendulum.

  She slept in as long as she could, hoping to avoid her slightly happier twin. She knew Aggie was unhappy about the money. Her twin was worried that she wouldn’t see Jimmy again after tonight. Angela could read a man’s eyes fairly accurately and she knew Jimmy wouldn’t let her sister disappear from his life. She wasn’t sure what kind of offer he would make, but knew it would be generous. And Aggie had the daily satisfaction of great sex with a man she adored. Angela knew her discontent was indefensible, but whenever she saw Aggie the green worm turned in her stomach.

  After Aggie left Angela couldn’t stand to sit alone in the quiet hotel room. She pulled on jeans and a bulky black sweater, encased her feet in heavy boots and her hands in warm mittens. Feeling like a real Canadian, she crammed a Vancouver Canucks toque her father had bought her onto her head and walked out into the night. She had no conscious destination. She walked along the waterfront in the opposite direction from Jimmy’s apartment, past the deserted sandy beach and through a grassy park. She ended up below a bridge and decided to turn and follow the road it carried back into downtown.

  Angela saw by the first street sign that she was on Burrard, a major thoroughfare. The weather didn’t seem to intimidate Vancouverites. Even on a chilly damp Saturday night, the streets were clogged with cars and the sidewalks with pedestrians. Angela felt safe and anonymous as she huddled into her coat and walked slowly uphill toward the center of downtown.

  Small white Christmas lights glittered like stars in the dozens of trees around the Vancouver Art Gallery and down to the courthouse. Angela smiled thinking that the city would always have a white Christmas. Late shoppers hurried along laden with post-Christmas bargains. A men in a business suit talked on a cell phone as he strode past. Two women clutching briefcases hovered on a street corner, waiting impatiently for a green light. The work week never ended for some.

  Angela acknowledged her unconscious destination about a block before the building loomed into view. The massive green roof was gray in the near gloom of urban night, but she recognized the gaping tunnel that was the taxi entrance to the Vancouver Hotel. She walked across the entrance road and around the corner to the front of the building. Though her body was toasty warm, her face was cold. She decided to treat herself to tea in the most elegant dining room the hotel offered. She hoped they wouldn’t turn her lumberjack persona away.

  She pushed her way through the heavy glass double doored entry. The interior of the vast lobby was softly lit and warmly inviting, dotted with conversation groups of richly upholstered sofas and chairs. She didn’t notice the tall businessman seated across the room until he rose and began to walk toward her. It was Richard. Angela thought for an instant that he hadn’t recognized her, that his approach was random, that an encounter would be unwelcome and awkward. Her eyes darted for an escape route.

  As if sensing her impulse to flee Richard quickened his pace, and Angela knew he wanted to meet her, to talk to her. Relief flooded into her bones and her face flushed from alabaster to peach. She snatched the stocking cap off her head and ran her fingers through her tousled hair. She must look a disaster.

  “Hi.” Richard’s approach was simple and direct.

  “Hi, Richard.” Angela held out her hand. “I’m Angela.”

  “I know.”

  He hesitated for one second and Angela pulled her hand behind her back just as he lifted his. He stood waiting with his hand outstretched and eventually Angela swung her sweating palm into his. He squeezed tight and held on a fraction too long. He took a deep breath.

  “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he offered.

  “I was going to have tea.”

  “I can buy tea too,” Richard smiled.

  He must have taken her comment for assent, because he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her through the lobby and into the coffee shop. The name was a misnomer, for the room was more elegant than most three star restaurants. Richard asked for a table by a window and they sat facing each other across a narrow expanse of crisp white linen.

  “How have you been?” Richard asked.

  “Fine,” Angela lied. Then she realized, it was time to stop lying. She began again. “No, I haven’t been fine.”

  Richard waited.

  “I don’t know why you’re even willing to talk to me,” Angela said defiantly, staring into his eyes.

  The waiter interrupted them and Richard ordered tea and a sandwich tray. It seemed the order was for them both, for the waiter bowed and left silently. He seemed to take her defiance with him.

  “How much do you know?” she asked with a sigh.

  “I think I know everything,” Richard responded.

  She wished he would at least smile, give her some indication where they stood.

  “You know I was a prostitute in New York?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And…?”

  Now it was Angela’s turn to wait. Richard sat silently looking at her for several moments. The waiter brought a pot of tea and two fragile china cups and saucers. He poured them each a cup.

  “I’ll bring your sandwiches as soon as they are ready, sir.” He almost bowed and then disappeared, leaving silence behind him at the table.

  “It’s hard to believe, seeing you looking like a relic from the northern territories,” Richard finally spoke.

  If he wanted her to make excuses, to deny, he would be disappointed.

  “It’s true,” Angela said flatly. Can you deal with it? The challenge was unspoken but clearly understood.

  “My mind keeps picturing,” Richard explained without finishing his sentence.

  “Don’t.” Angela reached across the table and patted his hand. She was being unfair. No man should be asked
to accept that the woman he wanted had been a prostitute. “Let’s just enjoy our tea and then I’ll leave. I know the whole situation is impossible for you.”

  Richard looked both relieved and anguished. He took a gulp of tea and must have burned his mouth. He choked and grabbed his water glass.

  “Sorry,” he sputtered at last. The word held a multitude of meanings.

  “Did you spend a pleasant Christmas?” Angela turned the subject into neutral territory.

  “No.” Richard didn’t follow her lead. “Angela, I …”

  She waited for him to continue but he stared instead at the teacup as though it held the wisdom of the universe.

  “What is it, Richard?” she prompted.

  “I’ve done worse than you’ve ever contemplated,” Richard blurted.

  “What?”

  “I’m not the upstanding citizen you think, Angela.”

  “What could you possibly have done?” Angela was incredulous.

  “When I was in my final year of law school, I got drunk and drove. I hit a lamppost; my girlfriend was almost killed.”

  “My God,” Angela breathed. She reached across the table for Richard’s hand.

  “She rejected me. I wanted to take care of her, but she wouldn’t let me near her.”

  “Has she ever forgiven you?”

  “She has; her family hasn’t.”

  “Have you forgiven yourself?” Angela asked the more important question.

  Richard’s smile was thin; his answer, silence. Angela rubbed his knuckles.

  “I can never practice law,” he continued, his hand a clenched fist in hers.

  “Jimmy calls you his lawyer.”

  “He rescued me. Hired me to be his assistant.”

  “What happened to the woman?”

  “She’s in a wheelchair. Jimmy hired her too. She manages a data processing division in Kamloops. She’s married now, with two kids.”

  “She sounds like quite a woman.”

  “She is.”

  “My God, Richard,” Angela whispered. “I’m stunned. How many years ago did this happen.”

  “Eight years this March.”

  “You’re very brave.”

  “Me?” Richard snorted.

  “You made a mistake, a big mistake, but you’ve moved beyond it. You’re doing something good with your life.”