Page 30 of Dimistrios's Bought Mistress
Being here. Slowing down. Taking things easy.
With Arielle.
Going with the flow.
And the flow was good, very good. Simple, leisurely, detached from anything going on anywhere else. He felt himself relax into the slow, sensuous massage that Arielle was giving him as she perched beside him on the lounger. The feel of her hip indenting into his. The scent of her body—a body he now knew so, so intimately—caught his breath and mingled with the rich aroma of the sun cream she was smoothing into hissun-warmed skin.
The soft palm strokes ceased.
‘Don’t stop,’ he murmured.
‘You’re all done,’ said Arielle. He could hear the smile in her voice, as she stood up. ‘Time for a cooling drink.’
Lycos watched her go. Her natural grace, the unconscious sway of her body, so alluring even without her realising it, all held his gaze. As she disappeared through the stone gateway, he let his gaze lift to the sky. The afternoon sun was still high, tiny cloudlets puffing to the west, warmth flooding through him. So peaceful. So quiet.
Even the ducks were quiet. Maurice and Mathilde were nestled down in the shade on the far side of the pool, their heads buried in their folded wings as the pool water gently lapped against the filter.
Only the ever-invisible cicadas seemed to be active, along with a few butterflies that were busying themselves with the lavender bushes against the old stone wall and a bird that was pecking randomly in a flower bed.
Peace and quiet. Quiet and peace. It soaked into the warm stone of the house, the garden wall, the paving around the pool. Soaked into the lavender-scented air.
It soaked into him.
He let his eyes close, the brightness of the sun pressing on his lids. He wondered what he was thinking and then realised he wasn’t thinking anything at all. Only that this was good. This moment. This day. This time.
Time that seemed to have almost stopped. Turning over slowly, unhurriedly, uncounted. Turning with the hours of the day, the setting of the sun, the rising of the moon and the pricking out, one by one, of the gold stars in the dark velvet night. Easing towards the morning and the sun lifting in the east, its rays stealing over the roofs of the barns, threading through the canopy of the sheltering trees, awakening the birds, rousing the hens and the ducks from their night’s slumbers.
Rousing him and Arielle, from their entwined arms, their tangled legs, their desire-sated bodies. To start the day all over again.
How long he had been here at themashe scarcely knew and did not care. He only cared that Arielle was here and time had ceased.
Arielle crossed to the sofa, snuggling down beside Lycos, piano abandoned. At his invitation she often played for him after they’d dined, notes rippling soothingly as he relaxed on the sofa, watching her through half-closed eyes. Now, the final nocturne finished, she joined him. He put his arm around her and pulled her close against him. His long legs stretched out, crossed at his ankles, free hand cupping his liqueur glass. She reached to take a tiny sip herself from it. How strange it felt sometimes to be so intimate with him, even in little gestures like that. How strange and yet how entirely natural.
As if it has always been like this.
And always will be.
A shadow flickered in her eyes as she rested her head against his shoulder. But it wouldn’t always be like this, would it? She had given herself to Lycos. To her own consuming desire for him, that glowed within her like a sweet, sweet flame. And to his desire for her that made that flame burn so wondrously.
But for how long would that flame burn?
She did not want to think about it. Did not want to do anything other than accept what had happened, feel wonder that it had and feel this deep contentment that filled her every moment of every day. Every gold-limned day.
Here, with Lycos.
While he wants me.
While it pleased him to stay here, at themas, with her. Day after timeless day.
She felt him drop a light kiss on her hair.
‘Today was good,’ he said.
She tilted her face to him. ‘It was, wasn’t it? And you truly didn’t mind my dragging you along?’
He laughed—a relaxed, indulgent sound. ‘My first grape harvest,’ he mused.
‘You did well,’ she praised him. She’d responded to a call by her neighbours, Jeanne and Claude, saying they were shorthanded that day. She always lent a hand when they asked, exchanging her labour for wine. She’d passed the request on tentatively to Lycos, but he’d volunteered willingly. They’d driven over in the morning and pitched in all day.
