Lucien woke up with a splitting head. The scotch bottles littering the richly carpeted floor reminded him with a jolt of his solo drinking binge the previous night.
The sight of the sunlight streaming into the room through the drapes made him sit up angrily.
"Gustav!, 'he bellowed, shouting for his man to come in and wincing as the bright light hurt his eyes.
His head spun, and he scowled. He should hit the gym more regularly, he chastised himself grimly.
He had slept alone; in fact, he had taken to sleeping alone, dispensing with the services of the women who were willing to pleasure him to gain his approval. His position in the dark world he moved about in was an envious one and any woman associated with him was treated with awe. Even the club women who were on Shark's payroll knew that a night with the Boss meant you had moved up in the hierarchy.
Over a few nights now, however, he had taken the subtle hints dropped by Schwartz and opted to sleep without a willing body to service him in any way he pleased. Instead, he drank himself to a stupor to quench the raging fire in his loins as he thought of the woman with the lush body who was in his house. During the evenings, he made it a point to visit the gym and worked himself to a sweat, trying to exhaust his body to fight his desire for a particular woman.
He had determined that he would not go to her. His ego refused to accept that he had hurt her not just physically but emotionally that night at the club.
No, he thought obstinately, SHE should come to him and grovel before him.
Apart from the Club who*es, there were women willing to be f*cked by him, women who would do anything to please him.
But his cock demanded pleasure of a different kind. The genuine, loving company of the girl-woman he had married, her purity shining in her eyes when she gazed at him through hooded lashes as she thrashed under him in the throes of passion, moaning his name, her fingers sinking into his muscular shoulders. The soft gasp that escaped from her plump lips when she shuddered to a climax. The tightness of the muscles in her womanhood anchoring his cock within her as she moved beneath him, whimpering in submission, begging him to take her.
Yes, he wanted the real thing, not a performance by a set of trained monkeys paid to please any cock, he thought savagely as he stood by the windows beside the bar, scratching his hirsute chest, touching his hardwood that stood erect now as he thought of his desirable young wife.
Later as he stepped from the tub, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. The overhead lights brought out the grey stubble on his sunken cheeks, highlighted the bags under his eyes, the deep lines on his face, the nose that had been badly broken during a fight and not fixed well, and the ugly scar that was a remnant of his days as a young thug on the streets of Hollowford.
I look old, he thought grimly.
He had been to the mansion on a few occasions but had deliberately avoided meeting his family. The sounds of the children tearing around on the floor above had been clearly audible, but he had only spent his time in his study. He had left strict instructions with his Head of Security that the trio should not be allowed anywhere near his rooms downstairs.
Schwartz had raised an inquisitive brow at him, but he had offered no explanation. Knowing his friend, Lucien knew that he had come to his own conclusions, the correct ones too. But he refused to let Schwartz have the satisfaction of knowing that he had managed to get through Lucien's hard exterior.
Grimacing as he cursed, he went through his routine, aware that he was only growing older and looking ten years older than he was.
His thoughts gravitated back to Dmitri.
The damned man had been seen and had also approached a few of Lucien's sellers and customers, trying to rekindle his business.
But as he pulled on his immaculately pressed trousers and shirt, to complete the classic look of his suit, Lucien knew in his gut that Dmitri would not leave it at that.
Just this morning, he had a meeting with his clients, including Thomas Sykes-Bates Jr. The man was involved in the deal with the Armenians, and since he had a close relationship with the political head honchos in Washington, he had to be kept happy. The need to maintain secrecy had also forced Lucien to suggest that they hold the meeting at his palatial home in the suburbs, where his Woman and the children were residing.
Schwartz had a couple of apartments in the city while Shark lived in a penthouse above the club. Neither place was suitable for a serious meeting among arms dealers where maximum security was essential.
That had left Lucien with no choice. Accordingly, he left strict instructions with his Head of Security at the villa, Tony Beston, that his Woman and the children were to be kept confined in the rooms upstairs; he did not want them to come face-to-face with Sykes-Bates Jr. and his cohorts.
He strode out of the room, where his bodyguards waited, and soon they were on their way to the huge house.
***
Proserpina
A few weeks after Daniella and Grace had visited, I sat before the mirror in the large, spacious room adjoining the bathroom. The wardrobe door had been flung open, and my twins were raiding the shelves. Poor Piers, with his gentle blue eyes, was the target of Ria's attention, and she was draping him in my meagre outfits, although he sat patiently, obeying his fierce twin sister.
Tony Beston had come to the door of the dining room earlier in the morning. I watched him cautiously. He had come to represent the harbinger of bad news, as far as I was concerned. Standing at attention, true to his military background, Beston spoke in his polite, smooth voice.
As always, they were rules laid down by my husband, which he was conveying.
The Boss, he informed me, had asked us to stay upstairs as he was bringing home some important guests for a meeting.
I had nodded absently, but it hurt to be treated like something so distasteful that it had to be hidden from public view.
By mid-afternoon, the children had been bored and tired of being confined to the house, and I had hit upon the idea of getting them to help me re-arrange the things in my wardrobe.
I had no clue that I was heading to disaster.
It started off quite well.
'Mumma, why don't you have more fancy dresses in your closet?' demanded Ria plaintively as another T shirt landed on the floor.
Dressed in my familiar T and shorts, I pretended to scowl at her as I held the hand drier to my long mahogany hair. It now fell in waves and reached a little below my hips. Washing it was a chore, but I loved the feel of my hair swishing against my body. Hedonistic pleasures and all that, I thought drily.
Freshly washed, it looked like a curtain as I bent my head.
A small pair of arms grasped my shoulders, and Ria leant in to sniff at my hair in admiration.
I laughed out loud as she wailed.
"Mumma! Why doesn't my hair smell as yummy as yours?'
I chuckled fondly, grabbing her waist, pulling her onto my lap, and tickling her till she giggled and screamed. Ria's mop of golden curls tumbled around her head, making her look like a pixie whereas Piers had fine blonde hair. Both twins had inherited their father's colouring, I thought sadly.
Piers had also come to stand beside me, having dumped onto the floor, the clothes his sister had given him. He joined in the game and soon we were laughing out loud.
'You need to pick the clothes up now and fold them; return them to the shelves,' I said, huffing for breath as we lay sprawled on the floor, my kids and I, after a bout of Tickling the Twins. Somewhere during our rollicking bout of fun, they had fallen over each other, chortling helplessly as I went after them one by one.
Rising to my feet, I brushed my hair again, keeping half an eye on Ria as she clambered on a cushioned stool to return the gowns (two of them, that's all I had!) to the topmost shelf.
As I bent to fold another couple of shorts, I heard Ria exclaim in joy,
'Look Piers! Mumma she got a pink egg for us to play!'
Horror shot through me. I shot up so fast that I almost banged my head against the open cupboard door.
The damned box where I had stuffed all the sex toys, which my friends had gifted me so earnestly, was now in my daughter's small hands. I had hidden the box, imagining it to be safe from my twins' prying hands and inquisitive eyes. But no!
And to my horror, I saw that what had grabbed her fancy were the colourful pink egg and the jiggle balls.
"No! 'I squealed in alarm as Ria held them up high above her tiny head, away from Piers' insistent, demanding little arms as he screamed.
"Gimme! , Gimme!'
'Hey, hey, darlings: that's not for you!' I tried to placate them. 'It's a gift for Mumma. Like you get gifts, right!'
But my twins were beyond reasoning.
"Mumma will give you another..."
My voice ended in a shriek as Ria pushed Piers away forcefully and darted from the room, waving the wretched pink egg like a trophy and holding onto the jiggle balls for dear life.