Kitabı oku: «The Perfect Escape: Romantic short stories to relax with», sayfa 18

The Clause
Anna Lou Weatherley

‘My, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?’

Lance Spencer rolled over onto his side and admired his wife’s perfect naked form next to him, gently circling her exposed pink nipple with an expert finger.

‘Hmmm … what time is it?’ she murmured in response to his touch.

‘Let me see,’ he said, absentmindedly reaching for his platinum Rolex on the bedside table, ‘it’s sex-o’clock,’ he raised an eyebrow, Roger Moore style.

She laughed softly.

‘You’re nuts, you know that?’

‘I’m nuts about you, that I do know.’

She was propped up on her elbow now, facing him, admiring his fresh-faced good looks, crumpled Egyptian cotton sheets outlining her naked form. He was such a handsome man, even first thing in the morning, too handsome really she supposed, a head-turner as they say, with his perfectly symmetrical features, large doe-brown eyes framed by thick lashes, chiselled cheekbones and a square jaw, his thatch of dark hair flecked with silver giving him that distinguished, silver-fox look that suggested he had a wealth of sexual experience in his repertoire. And he had; women had thrown themselves at him like suicidal lemmings his entire adult life. And he had tirelessly pursued the ones who hadn’t. Of course, they all gave in eventually, where a man like her husband was concerned – an international playboy who spoke five different languages and wrapped his charm around you like a mink coat – it was simply a matter of time.

‘Shall I send down for breakfast?’ she fixed him with wide blue eyes. ‘Eggs florentine and some Buck’s Fizz do you?’

He smiled. His wife loved to eat. And he loved the fact that she loved to eat. In his vast experience, women who enjoyed their food enjoyed sex far more than their self-starved counterparts.

‘Let’s work up an appetite first shall we …’ he said, grinning, though there was detectable authority in his tone. Not that he’d ever needed to raise his voice to her once during eleven months of marriage. So far, she had been the most compliant of his four wives; accommodating, her thoroughly amendable disposition proving to be just the tonic he needed from the vociferous, demanding, harridans he’d previously saddled himself with.

By and large, women had been Lance Spencer’s downfall, at least certainly according to his exasperated and somewhat disapproving mother. This time however, she had been active in the selection process for a new wife for her only son. In fact, it had been Mother, good ol’ mums, who had first introduced him to Soledad at the Cartier International Polo final last July.

‘Perfect wife material,’ Margaret Spencer had surmised, casting a critical eye over the young, beautiful socialite. ‘Father’s a Russian; mother’s Spanish; educated at Wentworth House,’ she had studied her intently as though she were a rare piece of art, glasses perched on the tip of her nose in critical examination.

Margaret Spencer despaired of her only son and heir’s lack of ability to hold down a decent wife long enough to produce grandchildren and maintain the Spencer lineage that she was so proud of. An impatient woman, it had sent her half mad to watch that ridiculous lothario of a son of hers make a royal balls-up of his love life, collecting decrees nisi like cheap portraits, making a mockery of the sanctity of marriage and their good family name. She and his father had been together for thirty nine years, thirty nine years, thirty six of them married before he went and had a heart attack, leaving her disappearing into old age alone, the selfish bloody bugger.

Fifteen years tops, she reasoned, that’s what she had left on the planet if she was lucky and she was determined to fill her twilight years with the sound of children’s voices. Only that useless boy she had birthed couldn’t manage to keep a woman happy long enough for the girl to push one out. His trouble was he just couldn’t keep his thing in his trousers, never had been able to, even as a child, always waving it around like a loaded weapon, and women today simply wouldn’t tolerate their husband’s infidelities. Not like in her day when you practically expected it and accepted it, turned a blind eye and got on with the job in hand. Girls today were far less forgiving, as Lance had discovered to his detriment, which was why she had added the clause to his pre-nup with Soledad. The clause stated that should her son commit adultery during the first fifteen months of marriage – more than long enough to produce a child – then he would forfeit his entire inheritance to his wife. All twenty four million pounds of it. Now if that wasn’t an incentive to keep his pecker zipped then she wasn’t sure what was, because she knew this: her son loved women, yes, but he loved money more. And even he wasn’t stupid enough to gamble away his entire birthright for the sake of a quick knee-trembler with some game little slut. It was precautionary, but she’d had it stamped by the lawyers all the same. This time she’d meant business and if it had to be done the hard way then so be it. Besides, it had been the girl herself who had inadvertently given her the idea. Soledad had told her a tale about some Saudi king who’d had something similar put in place to keep his wayward daughter, who had brought terrible shame on the family, in check. Quite inspired really.

‘Let’s work up an appetite first,’ Lance gave his wife a lascivious grin, ‘breakfast can wait.’ He was practically licking his lips. He would never tire of looking at her naked. She was what the boys from the Hurlingham club referred to as a ‘total fox.’ Almond-shaped blue eyes, high cheekbones and a bee-stung pout that was always slightly open, ready and willing to receive, like a human blow-up doll. And her body; small but high and round breasts, tiny waist and curvy hips – almost retro. She had given him a permanent hard-on from the get-go.

Lance Spencer had spent a lifetime charming women in a bid to seduce and screw them (sometimes in every sense of the word). Soledad Vladimiri was his fourth wife and, incidentally, the only woman he had ever felt anything close to resembling love for, whatever that was supposed to be. Women seemed to think they knew, tossing the word around like a tennis ball as they were wont to do.

‘Love is what’s left when the attraction stars to wane.’ He had read this somewhere – no doubt in some ghastly, patronising women’s magazine that claimed to have all the answers – and had found such a statement to be highly objectionable, at best questionable. If complacency was the key to eternal happiness then he’d stick to lust any day. Lust was the driving force behind all unions and was as an integral part of being in love as anything else. It frustrated Lance that women, or certainly the women he’d known, couldn’t, or wouldn’t acknowledge this fact. This time however, he understood what he meant when he said those three words; ‘I love you.’ This time he actually felt it.

‘Ok, sexy time first … breakfast after,’ she acquiesced, stretching out across the super king-sized bed in their palatial penthouse cabin suite, deliberately affording him a glimpse of her breasts. ‘And then perhaps a walk along the top deck … the view is breathtaking.’

The six-star celebrity liner, all 122,000 tonnage of it, boasted an occupancy of 2,300 and was three decks of unrivalled, exquisite luxury. Their penthouse apartment, complete with three en-suite bedrooms, a vast entertaining space and 60ft terrace which incorporated a real grass lawn, gas heaters, floodlights, a private plunge pool and jacuzzi that granted unparalleled sea views, was the best available. No expense spared. The ship, The Celebrity Silver as she was called, was slowly making her way around the Med. So far they had docked at Marbella, Ibiza, Mykonos, Santorini and were now heading over to the picturesque island of Capri. Lance had visited these locations at one time or another in his vast experience as a seasoned travelling playboy, and he’d enjoyed the sights – and the women – in every location. His wife, however, had never been to Capri before and was positively excited.

‘It’s supposed to be one of the most beautiful places on earth,’ she had gushed.

‘Wait until you see Como, and Venice …now Venice is really something …’ he had been quite touched by her enthusiasm. She was surprisingly untravelled for someone of her provenance, but her father had been a military man and by all accounts had wanted to afford his only daughter the stability which he himself had lacked as a child.

He pulled her closer to him, her stiff little nipples against his chest making him instantly hard as he pushed her slim legs apart and took one of them in his mouth, nibbling gently. Within seconds he was inside her, powering through her gentle resistance until she began to yield, her soft kittenish moans causing his orgasm to rush to the surface too quickly. He liked to take a woman. Foreplay, though often required, slightly bored him. It was much like ordering a decent three-course meal: the entrée was simply a prerequisite to the main dish – and he often rushed to get to that too. She didn’t seem to mind though, which pleased him no end.

‘Breakfast?’ she beamed at him and he grinned back his approval as he rolled off her, sated. She hadn’t come, but it didn’t seem to bother her one iota. Something else he loved about her: a woman who didn’t demand an orgasm every time you fucked them. It was all rather easy and refreshing. No pressure. It was one of the main reasons he’d agreed to marry her, much to Mother’s delight. Mother had thought she was being clever adding that ridiculous clause into the pre-nup but he had zero intention of screwing things up with this one. He wasn’t stupid enough to gamble away his entire multi-million pound inheritance for the sake of a little side order of pussy. Besides, for now he was happy. Soledad was young, beautiful, educated, obliging … and he would impregnate her just as soon as possible and keep that damn interfering mother of his happy. Once she popped out a few sprogs, leaving her belly like an eight day-old party balloon with tits to match, he may well be forced to find himself a little extracurricular, but by then it wouldn’t matter. The clause his demanding matriarch had forced him to put into effect by threatening disinheritance would be long since null and void. Thankfully Soledad knew nothing of this. And she didn’t need to. It had no bearing on her. If he was to divorce her at any time then she would walk away a comfortably rich woman anyway.

He glanced over at his wife who was now dressing, a silk Heidi Klein kaftan sliding down her naked body, her long dark hair offsetting the azure blue of the fabric. She flashed him a smile at his appreciation of her body. Fifteen months of keeping it in his trousers was going to be, as they say, a doddle.

*

‘You were right,’ she turned to her husband adoringly, taking a generous sip of limoncello, ‘Capri is stunningly beautiful.’

‘Much like you, darling,’ he mused, raising a toast. They had just finished the most exquisite five-course lunch overlooking the postcard-perfect bay of Marina Piccola and he was fit to burst. He watched her as she looked out towards the tiny fishing boats floating on the ocean like bath toys below, the bay surrounded by craggy rock, restaurants with vast glass frontages affording the many diners magnificent views as they chowed down on bresaola and fresh mozzarella.

‘Apparently,’ she began, crossing her slim, tanned legs as she leaned in towards him seductively, her floral summer dress – Dolce e Gabbana, he’d chosen it for her himself – lifting gently with the motion, ‘this was where, so legend has it, the Sirens seduced Ulysses …’ Her voice trailed off as she looked out towards the Faraglioni, the three giant sea stacks that stood erect and proud above the ocean, ‘… Easy to see why really.’

He nodded, distracted by a commotion that had begun to take place a few tables behind them. A man was standing, gesticulating wildly, his face animated in anger as he raged in Italian at the woman sitting opposite him. He couldn’t get a clear view of her face, only the back of her long, chestnut hair that hung in glossy loose waves down her naked back like a Titian waterfall. Lance felt an odd stirring as he surveyed the faint curve of her spine visible from beneath her smooth, dark, tanned skin. She stood then, the sound of her chair scraping against stone causing his teeth to tingle.

‘What’s going on?’ Soledad enquired, realising her husband’s attention was no longer upon her.

‘I have no idea,’ he feigned disinterest but continued to stare. The woman turned around, beginning to make her way from the table and he saw her face for the first time. She was tall, maybe 5’10, 120 pounds if that, and had the most exquisite body he had ever seen in his life – and he’d certainly seen a few. She was supermodel standard, beyond even. Her enormous tits and tiny waist were encased in a spray-on-tight red and black wiggle dress that ended mid-thigh, her endless silky brown legs glistening in the glow of the descending sunset. Her limbs were coltish, indicative of a model’s, slim and slightly awkward somehow, but her face, it was like she’d been painted by one the greats. Her cheekbones were broad, high and perfectly symmetrical, her nose slim and upturned – nothing Roman about it –eyes dark as onyx, shining like marbles with anger and passion as she glared at the man opposite her. Lance’s heart began to palpitate, watching every step as she strutted past their table in defiance, clutch bag thrust underneath one slim arm, her chest heaving, leaving a trail of potent, spicy scent behind her. He could’ve sworn she had flicked him the most fleeting glance as she had passed their table, their eyes meeting for the briefest of moments.

Soledad watched her husband carefully.

‘Hellooooo,’ she said, waving a hand in front of his face, instantly shattering the vision. ‘You can put your tongue away now,’ she bristled.

For a moment he was unable to speak, rendered speechless by the effect the beautiful stranger had had on him.

‘Darling,’ he apologised, snapping back to the moment with clarity, ‘you know for a second there I thought I recognised her,’ he lied, fairly convincingly he thought, after all, it was a feasible response. ‘But, I … I was wrong …’ he added quickly. ‘And anyway, why would I be looking at her when the view from here is the best I’ve ever seen?’ he took her hand in his and kissed it affectionately, trying to erase the vision of the beautiful woman from his mind.

He was keen to discontinue the conversation lest she see the abject desire that was currently coursing through him, making his head pound and his cock raging hard.

‘I’m so glad we don’t argue,’ she said, swallowing back the last of her limoncello. ‘I would hate to be one of those couples.’

‘Indeed my sweet, indeed,’ he said jovially, trying not to look at her in a new light. Suddenly she seemed quite plain, almost pedestrian, sitting opposite him and he shook the thought from his head.

‘I was thinking,’ Soledad said, ‘that I might take in a few hours shopping on the island before we reboard. Visit a few boutiques that caught my eye … do you fancy tagging along?’ Her husband hated shopping, which suited her as she preferred to undertake such a pastime alone anyway. She was merely asking out of politeness. Lance felt the sudden urge to be away from her. He wanted the time to savour the vision of the woman he’d just seen, to think about fucking her; imagining the feel and scent of her as he explored every square inch of her incredible body. They were just thoughts, he told himself catching Soledad’s eye for a brief moment. He was allowed to fantasise wasn’t he? Mother hadn’t written anything into the damn contract about that!

‘If it’s all the same to you angel, I think I would rather take a leisurely stroll along the beach. Watch the last of the sunset, take in a bit of all this culture and beauty … even more of it,’ he winked at her and she giggled.

‘Silly …’

‘Take this,’ he opened his Cartier wallet, handing her his Platinum Amex. ‘Enjoy yourself. And I very much look forward to appreciating your purchases later …’

She smiled at him, her small head cocked to one side.

‘See you back on board in a few hours, say 7pm? We can shower, change and then go for dinner with the Captain.’

‘Sounds perfect.’

Lance was strangely happy to see his wife go, and swiftly ordering himself a large Courvoisier which he more or less threw back in one, he left the restaurant and made the slow, steep journey back down the cliffs towards the beach.

*

The beach was still relatively busy despite the sun’s slow descent behind the sea; the last of the day’s rays fading like an old sepia photograph. He watched as groups of adolescents frolicked against a backdrop of low hip hop music emanating from their iPhones while they drank cold beer and surveyed each other with lust and suspicion. Sandy, naked toddlers with dirty ice-cream-sticky faces made sandcastles with their weary parents, and young, bronzed women sunbathed, topless and proud, pretending to be sleeping while they scanned the beach to see who was paying them attention.

Kicking off his Ralph Lauren espadrilles and rolling up his cream chinos, he began to stroll along the water’s edge, allowing the surf to gently tickle his white toes. Was he really happy? He had thought so; marrying Soledad had been the best decision he’d ever made. For once Mother had come up trumps. Soledad was beautiful, young, and sweet-natured, far preferable to the bitter, cynical women of a certain age that he’d previously become entangled with; women who had been hurt too many times, their fairy tales shattered by real-life baddies who had promised to rescue them and fallen short on delivering. They would have a child together; keep Mother happy. Hell, he might even enjoy becoming a father, he thought, watching the displays of unconditional love taking place before him between parents and their children.

It was as he was pondering this deep thought that he saw her – the woman from the restaurant. She was instantly recognisable, her incredible body stretched out upon the sand, propped up on her elbows looking out to sea, nut-brown skin shimmering like she’d been hand-painted in gold. Her flat stomach displayed the outline of her defined abdominal muscles, the dip of her pelvis, her large breasts straining to free themselves from her red bikini top. Lance slowed his pace as he walked towards her, suddenly feeling every day of his forty four years. Never before had he questioned his own attractiveness or appeal when it came to procuring the opposite sex, yet seeing the vision before him, he wondered, for what he thought might be the first time, if he was actually good enough to attract this woman’s attention. Not that he should even be thinking of such things because he was a married man now and this time he was determined to try and do things the right way. Keep his mother happy, at least while that damn clause was still valid anyway. No, he would simply admire her from afar, walk by without affording her a second glance.

‘Ciao,’ the woman was sitting upright as he approached and he could not be sure she was addressing him. ‘You are English, no?’

Lance slowed to a halt, still uncertain if she was speaking to him.

‘I can always tell is an English man …’ her accent was Italian, strong, but her English sounded good enough. ‘You are in the restaurant …’

‘Yes …hello.’ He felt tongue-tied, a little awkward, barely able to get the words out.

‘You wish to join with me?’ she smiled at him, displaying her neat white teeth, her thick lips parting provocatively as she patted the space next to her.

Lance hesitated for a second and then gave her a wide grin, his earlier brief moment of self-doubt evaporating like morning mist over the sea. He suddenly felt pathetic for ever having doubted himself.

‘As the lady wishes,’ he replied with a lascivious grin.

‘Violetta,’ she placed her slim, manicured hand in his and he duly kissed it. A little old-fashioned maybe, but women responded well to it.

‘You are alone?’ she enquired, removing her oversized shades, dark eyes scanning his.

‘Looks that way,’ he answered carefully.

‘Where is your wife?’

A small part of him deflated at the mention of her name.

‘The woman I see you with …’

‘How do you know she’s my wife?’

She laughed then.

‘A woman can always tell …’

‘They can?’

‘Of course …’

There was a moment’s silence before she abruptly stood up.

‘You wish to walk with me?’

Sit down, stand up, walk … he didn’t mind if it meant being in this incredible creature’s company.

‘I’d be delighted to.’

‘This is good … er..’

‘Lance …’ he apologised profusely at such an oversight, ‘Lance Spencer.’

She smiled, collecting her things efficiently and he felt a stiffening inside his chinos as she bent over in front of him.

‘So you’re Italian then, Violetta?’

‘Si.’

‘You are a very beautiful young woman …’

‘Grazie …’ she replied as if such compliments were like air to her.

‘A very beautiful woman indeed …’

‘You are here on vacation … with your wife?’

‘Yes … the cruise liner.’

‘I have seen down at the marina … is very big … impressive.’ Her words had sexual overtones, he felt sure of it.

Lance swallowed.

‘Impressive indeed,’ he said, holding it together. ‘The man you were with at the restaurant …’ he enquired. ‘You were arguing … your boyfriend?’

‘Pah!’ she threw her head back, displaying her slim neck. ‘He would like …’ she turned to him, met his eyes with a squint. ‘He is just some guy I am fucking. I am done with him now. He is … how do you say, boredom?’

‘Boring.’ There was a catch in Lance’s throat as he corrected her and he knew she had heard it.

‘So now he is mad with me …’

‘I see,’ he managed to say. He was shaking now. How ridiculous was that? Lance Spencer, lothario and player, unnerved by the beautiful young woman’s directness.

‘I need a new lover,’ she announced as if only just coming to this realisation herself. She turned to him. ‘You see, Lance, I like to fuck.’

‘I see,’ he repeated, suddenly aware that he was sweating, tiny droplets stinging his eyes.

‘Come!’ she said, suddenly breaking into a run. ‘There is somewhere I want you to see.’

Instinctively he went after her.

‘Where are we going?’ he called out to her as she sprinted ahead, her perfectly round, high backside calling to him, like a dog chasing a stick.

‘Keep up, or you will not find out,’ she called behind her as she ran ahead. And her voice sounded like a song.

*

Soledad Spencer had the look of a woman who’d just completed a successful afternoon’s shopping on her husband’s Amex. Flipping her Ray-Bans over her eyes, she made her way from the piazza square with a childish spring in her step. All that purchasing had made for thirsty work so she decided to stop at a small but chic little side café and ordered herself a white wine spritzer. Sipping on it satisfactorily, she looked down onto the marina below at the impressive yachts that were moored on the aquiline clear water and thought how she could very much get used to this. She was going to enjoy spending money. Maybe even have her own boat one day, maybe soon. Reaching for her phone, she took a generous slug of her spritzer and began to read her text messages with a smile. Soon she would go down to the beach to surprise her husband. But first she would finish her drink.

*

Lance Spencer could not quite believe what was happening to him. Violetta had led him to a group of secluded rocks, which, even though barefoot, she had proceeded to navigate like a pro-climber. He had struggled to keep up with her, sweating profusely as he was in his lunch attire of chinos and polo shirt.

‘Strip,’ she had commanded once they had reached a secluded and relatively level clearing. And she had spoken with such command that instinctively he had begun to undress, hopping haplessly on one foot as he clumsily attempted to discard his trousers.

‘Impressive,’ she said with one arched brow, as he stood before her naked and already fully erect at the impending thought of what was clearly to come ‘… like the boat …’

Fully absorbed in the moment, Lance took in the goddess before him. She was naked now herself, her body a bronzed statue of sheer perfection, breasts glistening with oil in the low illumination of the sunset, wearing only a seductive smirk.

‘My God, you’re perfect …’ was all he could say as he touched her for the first time, groaning as his lips met with one pert, shiny nipple.

‘Fuck me, Lance,’ she commanded as their bodies clashed together almost violently, and for a moment he thought he might actually be dreaming. ‘I need to be fucked.’

Lance suddenly felt very pleased with himself. Whatever it was that he had that women liked, he had most certainly still ‘got it’. No protracted introductions, no long-winded seduction techniques required. Just a straightforward request for no-strings delightful sex with a nymphomaniac; it was every man’s fantasy made real. Soledad would never know. She was probably still hammering his plastic in some overpriced boutique on the harbour. And good luck to her. He didn’t mind a jot. She had been the least greedy out of all his wives so far and he was happy to indulge her. Besides, this was far too good an opportunity to pass up on mere moral grounds. It would simply be a once in a lifetime encounter leaving him with a beautiful memory that he could take out and mentally examine every now and again when the desire took him.

‘Well,’ he said, taking her in his arms and laying her down gently upon the rocks, ‘seeing as though you asked so nicely …’

*

Laden with designer shopping bags, Soledad made the winding descent down towards the beach in anticipation of finding her husband – she couldn’t wait to see his face. It was a little treacherous navigating the narrow winding footpath that led directly to the beach below, not least in strappy sandals and weighed down as she was with her purchases: two delightful dresses from D&G, a pair of matching shirts from Versace, two pairs of candy-coloured denim Armani shorts, two of everything in fact …

Eventually she reached the three-quarter mark and stood on the rock’s edge for a moment, taking in the stunning ocean view, the sun setting, slipping behind the sea, displaying nature at its most sublime. Taking her phone from her tote, she took a quick snapshot of it. She wanted to capture this moment forever so that when she was older she could look back and remember how beautiful it was.

Hers had not been an easy life, contrary to what she’d had her husband and his mother believe. Far from idyllic, it had been blighted by abandonment, abuse, poverty and pain. But Soledad was smart, and she was beautiful, and she had put these two saving graces to exceptionally good use, not least by disguising her true provenance and rewriting her history. She smiled as she took the picture. She was looking forward to her future.

Leaning forward, Soledad peered down on the rocks below. When she saw the lovers upon them, a man and a woman, naked, enjoying each other from every conceivable angle, she could not help but smile and watch. The woman was on top of the man, her incredible body arched in pleasure as she rode him furiously, their moans almost audible she thought, or perhaps it was simply her imagination. What a perfect picture setting she surmised, sighing, overcome with the compulsion to take a picture of the copulating couple below her, oblivious to her clandestine voyeurism as they devoured each other with unbridled alacrity and animalistic passion.

Mesmerised by the scene taking place before her, Soledad positioned herself further along the cliff, ostensibly to afford herself closer inspection of the couple. Admittedly, she found the sight of them quite arousing. The woman was on all fours now, the man kneeling behind her, his expression one of … oh but hang on a minute! The man!

Soledad sprung forward, her heart beating a song against her ribs. Dropping her shopping bags and kicking off her sandals almost instinctively, she began to navigate the rocks, their jagged edges tearing into her soft flesh as she made her way down towards the clearing below to where they were, their ecstatic moans becoming increasingly louder with every clumsy step.

*

Lance Spencer couldn’t hold back much longer and he knew it. He had been willing back his orgasm from the moment he had touched her and now it was pushing through his body with all the force of a tsunami. For the first time in his life he was actually scared of his impending orgasm, such was the intensity of the build-up. Never in his life had he felt so turned on by a woman. Soledad had come close on occasion, but this woman he was sliding himself into … so firm and juicy and young and beautiful, her body tight and willing, accepting his with such abandonment and enjoyment. It was coming now and this time no amount of will was going to stop it crashing to the fore.

‘Oh God, you’re soo … so beautiful …’ he began to moan, as she drove herself down onto him over and over again, her soft moans accelerating into loud cries in time with his own.

‘Oh God … I’m going to co …’ Lance felt his orgasm rush to the surface like a runaway freight train and squeezed his eyes shut, teeth clenched. As he opened them again he saw his wife standing in front of him. ‘Soledad!’ he said, as he finally came.