by Galia Ryan
She lifted her head to allow him the formality of kissing her cheek. “This is an unexpected pleasure,” she said.
“So what brings you to Madrid?” Philippe asked as Charles settled into a rattan chair.
“Just another business trip,” he replied casually. It had been a while since they had met, and time had not been kind to Mathilde’s husband. While his hairline was clearly receding, his belly was not, and protruded more than a little over his tight Speedos.
“Business?” The question in Mathilde’s voice made it clear that she did not believe him. He wondered if she had seen Stephanie and guessed they were together.
“Unfortunately it’s true.”
He looked quizzically at the other couple.
“Sorry.” Philippe was trying to attract the attention of a waiter. “This is my sister Marie and her husband Javier. We haven’t caught up for a while.”
Charles couldn’t see any family resemblance, which was just as well, he thought, given Philippe’s frog-like looks. In fact he thought Marie was rather attractive. He liked a woman with curves.
“So, are you all staying here?” He directed the question at no one in particular.
“Not at the hotel, no,” Philippe replied. “Marie and Javier have a place not too far out of the city. We thought we’d come in for the day. What about you?”
“A flying visit unfortunately. Hopefully next time will be a little longer.”
Mathilde’s eyes were boring into him. She casually lifted her wine glass to her lips and said, “And the lovely young lady?”
“Darling, perhaps Charles would rather not talk about that,” Philippe warned his wife.
“Oh I don’t know. Do you not want to talk about it, Charles? Or can you tell us who she is? Perhaps she’s another one of your secrets?”
“Secrets? You make me sound far more interesting than I really am.” He turned to Philippe with a chuckle. Not that he expected any support from that quarter. Philippe had always been under his wife’s thumb. “She’s a family friend.”
He hoped he looked more relaxed than he felt.
“Really?” Mathilde’s tone was disbelieving.
“Really.” Charles held her gaze. “It’s Alain Duvall’s daughter. Don’t you recognise her?”
Mathilde spun round and stared at the pool.
“She needed a break from her studies and since I was coming here on company business it seemed a good opportunity to bring her along. Especially as her father hopes she may join us once she has completed university.”
“She certainly has grown up since I last saw her,” Philippe said admiringly.
“That’s why she needs a chaperone,” Charles rejoined with a laugh.
“Look, she’s getting out of the pool, tell her to come and join us. The more the merrier.”
Charles wondered how Philippe could have missed his wife’s furious look, and for once he agreed with Mathilde. It was not a good idea. Reluctantly he stood up to get Stephanie’s attention. As he did, another chair was produced and more glasses requested.
“Bring another bottle of wine, too,” Philippe ordered as the waiter turned to leave, “and a menu. She may be hungry after her swim.”
Mathilde leaned towards her sister-in-law. “She looks like she hardly eats.” The words were designed to carry.
“Oh, I can assure you that eating is something she really enjoys.” Charles was fully aware he was skirting dangerously close to the edge with the innuendo.
Stephanie made her way around the pool. He could see she was on her guard from her gait—cat-like, almost predatory. Unable to warn her of the delicate situation, he prayed she would follow his lead.
At her approach he sensed a change come over the table. If the men seemed to be sitting straighter, the two women had become wary, uncomfortable even.
“Stephanie, do you remember Philippe and Mathilde? They are friends of your father’s, and mine. And this is Philippe’s sister and her husband.”
Stephanie’s skin was wet and glowing. She accepted a towel and dropped into the offered chair with an innocent smile. “Yes I do remember. But it was a while ago.”
“It certainly was. You were probably no more than ten or eleven, if I remember.” Philippe was having trouble tearing his eyes away from the two small triangles of shockingly pink fabric and the succulent globes they barely covered.
“I was just saying that your father has big plans for you,” Charles added.
“He certainly does.” She smiled encouragingly at Philippe, and Charles’ heart sank.
“Can I offer you some wine?” the other man managed.
Charles was aware that Mathilde was bristling. Even though she and Stephanie had not exchanged a word, he sensed battle lines being drawn.
“So,” Mathilde said pointedly, “I understand you’re still at school?”
“Yes. A convent.” Stephanie turned once more to Philippe, her eyes alight with mischief.
“But you’re going to university in a few months,” Charles put in hastily.
She nodded. She was playing with the gold crucifix that hung around her neck and had put it to her mouth to suck on the end. Philippe and Javier were mesmerised, especially when it disappeared between her full lips.
“You still have a lot to learn.” Mathilde’s tone was, not unexpectedly, icy.
“I do,” Stephanie agreed pleasantly. She faced the other woman. “I’m hoping I’ll have a good teacher. It is so important, don’t you think?”
Mathilde’s perfectly shaped eyebrows went up. “And what do you intend to study?”
“Law.”
“Really.” Mathilde gave a dismissive laugh as though the whole thing was very improbable.
Stephanie leaned forward. Philippe had pushed a glass of wine across the table towards her, and as she reached for it her breasts jostled and strained against the fabric of her bikini top. Mathilde’s husband stared outright and swallowed noisily.
Charles sighed, but Stephanie was unrepentant.
“Don’t you think it is important for a woman to be able to stand on her own two feet?” The glass was at her lips and she was looking around, as if to see who would argue with her.
“Is that what you’re going to do?” Mathilde questioned.
“Of course. My generation has been encouraged to pursue careers. To be successful at whatever they do.” She turned back to the other woman. “I’m not sure I could be a kept woman.”
“A kept woman?” Mathilde was incredulous.
Charles heard Philippe clear his throat, and wondered if the man would rather be somewhere else. He knew he would.
“Isn’t that why women get married?” Stephanie was asking sweetly. “To be kept by their husbands?”
“Not everyone. Some of us marry for love.” Mathilde smiled thinly.
“So romantic. Does that mean that in all the years you have been married, you have never taken a lover? I find that hard to believe.”
This time it seemed everyone around the table choked at such forwardness. Everyone except Stephanie and Mathilde, who had locked horns.
“As I said, you have a lot to learn.”
“You’re right of course. But I’m young, and I have all the time in the world to make my mistakes.”
Stephanie was not looking at Mathilde, but at Philippe, her smile decidedly wanton.
“What the hell were you doing down there?” Charles demanded.
They were in their hotel room. He was pacing. She was sprawled across the bed.
“I’ve no idea what you are talking about.”
“Oh yes you do. You deliberately made a play for Mathilde’s husband.”
“Oh please! He’s ugly.”
“That didn’t seem to bother you at the time.”
“It was fun,” Stephanie conceded. She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Did you see her face?”
Charles shook his head in disbelief.
“You have no idea what that woman can be like.”
“You should. You’ve made a very bad enemy.”
“So what,” she replied with a casual wave of her hand. “Or do you still care for her?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Why is it ridiculous? Don’t tell me you haven’t slept with her. It’s written all over her face.”
“That’s ancient history.”
“So you did.” Stephanie giggled delightedly, rolling onto her stomach. “Was she as good as me? I bet she wasn’t.”
“For God’s sake. That woman is poison, and the last person you should antagonise.” He was seething. He had no idea what Mathilde would do, if anything. But she could so easily make life difficult if she chose.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” Her expression was immediately contrite. “Perhaps you should punish me?” She pulled her knees beneath her and lifted her pert bottom into the air.
“What’s the point,” he said irritably. “It will probably turn you on.”
She reached back and tugged at the bottom half of her bikini. “It might make you feel better.”
Charles stopped. She certainly had the most beautiful arse he had ever seen. The thought of seeing it reddened and sore was just too tempting.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
Before she could reconsider he was kneeling on the bed with one hand on the small of her back. He ran the other over her exposed cheeks. Her skin was still warm from her afternoon in the sun. She gave a quick intake of breath, and he sensed her excitement. Well, she would soon learn this was not something to be enjoyed. Lifting his hand, he brought it down hard.
Stephanie gave a muffled scream. Her flesh quivered and reddened immediately. But to her credit, she held the position.
“You are a spoilt brat. What are you?” he demanded as his hand came down again.
“A spoilt brat,” she managed between gasps.
“And what does a spoilt brat deserve?” His hand had come down again, this time on the other cheek. “Well?”
She was struggling for breath. He knew there was no way she would beg him to stop. It was now a matter of pride for her.
“To be punished,” she admitted between clenched teeth.
“Good.” He smacked her hard again. Perhaps a couple more would do it, he decided. Surprisingly he was beginning to feel better. His hand came down again, and Stephanie yelled into the bed cover for the fourth time.
Happy to have administered a sound spanking, Charles held her in place and looked down at his handiwork. He could clearly see the shape of his palm and even the outline of his fingers in the furious redness of her bottom.
Fuck, he was hard. He reached between her legs and fingered her opening. He wasn’t surprised to find her hot and soaking. It wasn’t what he’d intended when he started. But why not?
He quickly moved behind her and lowered his swimming shorts. With his fingers he opened her further, then with little more than a couple of purposeful thrusts his cock was happily embedded in her cunt.
Stephanie moaned into the sheets. He wasn’t quite sure whether she was getting off on the fucking or if his pummelling of her bruised and battered flesh was hurting her. Either way, he was too far gone to worry. Playing up to Mathilde had been stupid and reckless. She deserved to be punished, and that was that.
He tightened his grip on her hips and dragged her back so that her arse was hard up against his groin. That way his cock could pound mercilessly against the opening of her womb.
When he came, he had no consideration for her needs. That she was oh-so-close to her own orgasm was something he cared little about. As his pent-up seed boiled up and spewed into her, he felt the most wonderful sense of release. Raw fucking, that’s what it was all about.
No one in the hotel could have missed Stephanie’s scream of outrage as, with a satisfied grunt, he pulled out of her.
“What about me, you bastard?” she demanded.
“Take it as part of your punishment.”
He was off the bed and readjusting his clothing. “I’m going for a shower.”
No reason why she shouldn’t suffer a little longer. If the spanking hadn’t taught her anything, that certainly would.
“I don’t need you. I can finish myself off.”
He turned around. She was lying on her back, her hand over her cunt. One finger was already inside herself.
“Trouble is,” he said pleasantly, “it’s not the same, is it?”
Chapter 8.
“Hi. It’s me. I thought I would surprise you,” Stephanie called out as she shut the apartment door. It was the day before her eighteenth birthday and she knew Charles had a gift for her. She also couldn’t wait to tell him of her success in her recent examinations.
She glanced into the salon. “Where are you?”
He had promised he would come up to town, but if he were out she might as well return later. It was a shame, though. He could have taken her to lunch. Somewhere expensive, because she deserved it. Her results were far better than anyone—herself included—had expected, and she knew he would be pleased.
Wandering into the kitchen, she immediately spotted a woman’s jacket draped on the back of a barstool. Somewhat intrigued, she picked it up and lifted it to her face. Chanel. She knew because her father had bought Amelie a bottle for her birthday a few years back. Strange. Charles hadn’t said anything about his wife coming up with him.
Or perhaps she hadn’t.
Thankful for the thick carpet, she crept along the corridor and stopped outside the bedroom. Even through the closed door, the sound of lovemaking was obvious. Not Antoinette, then. Why would he bother bringing his wife to the apartment for a fuck when he could just as easily do that at home?
There was a bitter taste in her mouth. He was cheating on her, and worse, here in the place she thought of as hers. Wild with jealously and rage, she decided there was no way he was going to get away with it. She grasped the handle and flung open the door.
Standing on the threshold, she had an immediate and sickening sense of déjà vu.
Charles and the woman were completely oblivious to anything other than their own pleasure. It was like finding her father and Amelie all over again
She was shattered. Unable to move and overwhelmed by rejection and worthlessness, she simply stared.
The woman was first to see her. “Darling, I think you have a visitor.”
Charles lifted himself and looked over his shoulder. “Stephanie.” He fell back onto the pillow, not so much shocked, she realised, as annoyed. “What are you doing here?”
“It was meant to be a surprise.”
“Well, you have certainly given me that.”
“So I see. I’m sorry I interrupted you.” She intended her tone to be sarcastic but failed on the final word. It emerged as a sob.
“Oh God. Look, give me a moment and I’ll put something on. Go and make us all a coffee.”
“Since when have I been your servant?” She spun on her heel and slammed the door.
Stephanie’s pain and fury knew no bounds as she switched on the coffee machine. She was as angry with herself as she was with him. Really, what had she expected? That he would be faithful to her, and to her alone? That was a laugh. He wasn’t even faithful to his wife, and she was higher up on the food chain.
If she had any sense she would walk away and never see him again. Let him learn the hard way she wasn’t to be messed around with.
He appeared in the kitchen, tying the cord of his robe. “Come here.” He tried to put his arms around her. “Stephanie, we need to talk.”
“How could you?” The words were almost incoherent.
“Shhh.”
“Don’t I mean anything to you?” She pushed away from him. “Obviously not!”
He sighed, and Stephanie knew he was wondering what to say in the face of such anger.
“I don’t think any woman would be enough for a man like Charles.”
Stephanie gl
ared at the woman standing in the doorway. The cornflower blue silk robe was the perfect backdrop to the abundance of golden waves that fell to her shoulders. It also matched her eyes. Now that she could see her properly she understood why Charles would want her in his bed. Perhaps in her late thirties, she had an elegant beauty and sophistication Stephanie could only envy.
“And how would you know?” She rounded on her enemy.
“Oh, I’ve been around a bit,” the woman said pleasantly. “I’m Olivia, by the way. Charles, your manners are appalling. You could have at least introduced us.”
“I was waiting for the right moment,” he offered contritely.
“Darling, I think that moment passed a little while ago.”
Stephanie couldn’t believe the audacity. “I don’t care who you are,” she cut in, “I want to know what you are doing here.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she realised how childish they sounded.
“I think we have already established that.” Olivia said gently. “Why don’t we go into the salon and talk? Charles, didn’t you say you have some important work to do?”
“I do indeed,” he agreed, his relief a little too obvious.
“Wait! Where are you going?” Stephanie demanded to his retreating back.
“I think it’s time you learnt another lesson,” he said, closing the door.
Stephanie glared at the other woman.
Olivia’s composure made it clear that she was completely at ease with the situation. Standing in front of a gilt mirror, she caught her hair up in a comb. Then she made herself comfortable on the sofa, crossing her long legs in one elegant and fluid movement.
Stephanie felt gauche just looking at her.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Olivia suggested.
With a show of bad grace Stephanie took the Louis XV winged chair beside the fireplace. It was where Charles usually sat when they used the room.
“So you are Stephanie. Charles has told me about you. You are as beautiful as he says, and I can see why he loves you.”
Stephanie fought to keep her expression neutral. Charles loved her? How little this woman knew. Love was not what their relationship was about, it was sex. Good sex.
