Authors: Nina Lane
“Why did you want me here?” she whispered. “Of all women, why me?”
“So you would finally learn who you truly are.”
Lydia sat up slowly, wincing as her reddened flesh throbbed in protest. “How do you know who I am?”
“Ah, darling. I’ve always known,” Preston said. “You may have thought you were so well-bred, so proud, but really all you ever wanted was to give up your authority. Think about Cassie, how she lured you into discovering the pleasures of feminine flesh. You never would have learned if she hadn’t been bold enough to kiss you or ask you to take off your clothes.
“And Alex Walker. After Cassie, you began to realize the power of your lovely body, didn’t you? You became so assertive with your sexuality, toying with boys who wanted nothing more than to get into your panties, who would have groveled at your feet for just one glimpse of your breasts.
“Did you expect Alex to do the same thing? He turned the tables on you, showing you exactly how exquisite it feels to be subjected to the authority of one more powerful than you. You never forgot that, did you? You remembered every aspect of it, everything he made you feel.
“They were your real lovers, Cassie and Alex. They were the ones who introduced you to your true nature. You forgot about it, though, when you went to college and then started work. You continued your role of the proud, confident, savvy woman when all the while you secretly longed for someone to take you imperiously in the ways that Cassie and Alex had.”
His hand stroked through her hair. “For one so strong, you needed someone stronger. For one so in control, you needed to be controlled. And for one who was so accustomed to dispensing pleasure and pain…oh, yes. You didn’t know that? You caused people pain with your rejections, your taunting laugh, your harsh demands. When all the while, you needed to be the recipient, needed to feel it yourself.”
Lydia stared at Preston in shock, unable to fathom the truth of his words. She had never imagined that her early sexual experiences might affect her to the degree that he had just exposed.
“And that’s what you always wanted to do, isn’t it?” she whispered.
He smiled. “I have often dreamed of nothing else.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Preston stepped into Lydia’s bedroom. Her bed was rumpled, a cotton dress lay discarded on the floor, and her dressing table was strewn with lotions and powders. A Mozart sonata lingered in the air from the media player in the corner. The door to the bathroom was partially open, emitting a misty cloud of fragrant humidity.
Smiling to himself, Preston went into the bathroom. Lydia was lounging in the tub with her eyes closed, her head resting against an air-filled pillow. Peach-scented bubbles covered the surface of the water. Her creamy skin was flushed pink with heat and moisture, making her look as edible as a soft, scrumptious cake.
“Enjoying yourself, darling?” Preston asked.
Lydia’s eyes flew open. Her face pinkened further, which rather delighted Preston. He had thought that after her self-discovery several nights ago, she might have lost her modesty in front of him. He was pleased to discover that didn’t appear to be the case.
“I hope you’re not doing something naughty underneath all those bubbles,” Preston mused as he sat on the edge of the tub.
“I’m not quite that insubordinate,” Lydia replied.
“Aren’t you?”
She eyed him somewhat warily. “You still think I am?”
“I still think you’re capable of anything,” Preston admitted. “Although I cherish the fact that you’ve discovered the truth about yourself, I know these things take time. There are ebbs and flows to everything, including self-discovery.”
He took a washcloth from a rack and dipped it into the hot water, instructing Lydia to rise to her feet. She looked at him with a glimmer of trepidation.
“What for?”
Preston clucked his tongue. “Now, darling, don’t forget yourself already. On your feet, please.”
She rose from the tub in a waterfall of perfumed water and soapy bubbles. The water and foam glided from her rounded body, bringing to mind a mermaid rising from the ocean.
Preston’s member tightened in his trousers almost instantly at the sight of her wet, naked body. He took the washcloth and began stroking it over her, creating a lathery coating.
Intent on his task, Preston rubbed the cloth underneath the juicy crevices of Lydia’s breasts, over the erect, little sprouts of her nipples, the smooth crescendo of her waist and hips, and down to the sleek length of her legs.
Lydia’s breathing became audible as the rough cloth moved with leisurely ease over her, stimulating her blood. Her skin glowed with a rosy hue made all the more enchanting by the cascades of froth slipping from her body.
Preston slid the cloth between her legs, slowly rubbing it against her inner thighs. To his amusement and approval, her legs parted to allow him access to the fissures of her sex. He stroked the cloth into the soft creases, noting that her vulva was beginning to feel rough with stubble.
“Hmm,” he murmured. “I see you’re in need of a shave.”
Lydia’s thighs tensed. “I was going to—”
“Hush,” Preston said. “You’ve been very good about keeping yourself shorn, but this is not acceptable, is it?”
Lydia’s teeth bit into the fullness of her lower lip. “Of course not.”
Preston stood and went to the bathroom cabinet to remove a razor. Apprehension lit in Lydia’s eyes.
“Preston, I can do it,” she said quickly. “Really, I was going to—”
He frowned. “I don’t appreciate your tone, Lydia. Go and lie on your bed.”
She looked as if she were about to protest further, but then lowered her gaze and reached for a towel. Preston promptly grabbed it from her hand.
“Go,” he ordered sternly.
Lydia hastened from the bathroom, leaving a trail of fragrant water and bubbles streaming behind her. Preston filled one bowl with warm water and another with shaving lather before following her.
To his pleasure, she was stretched out on the bed in the proper position with her knees bent and her legs spread, although she was reddening from embarrassment rather than heat from her bath.
Her skin still glistened with little beads of water, making Preston want to lick them up with a sweep of his tongue. He positioned himself between her legs, examining the fullness of her intimate lips. He was not surprised to feel her dampening already as he began smoothing lather over her mons. Her arousal was still quick and strong in spite of her shame.
Entirely pleased with Lydia’s reaction, Preston began scraping the blade over the offending whiskers sprouting from her mons. Lydia’s thighs tensed in reaction to the cold metal, her hands clenching at her sides as she fought her natural instincts to jerk away from the razor. A musky scent rose from her sleek folds, mingling with the fragrance of peaches and shaving lather.
Preston enjoyed his task thoroughly. He pressed his hands against Lydia’s soft inner thighs to indicate she should spread herself more fully. Her bottom cheeks cleaved apart to allow him access to the prickly down beginning to grow below her sex. After rinsing fine hairs from the razor, he maneuvered it around her little ring, amusing himself briefly by pressing his pinkie finger into the puckered hole.
Lydia gasped in shock, which was the reaction he expected. She was still not accustomed to even mild penetration in that particular region, which Preston did not find troublesome. There was still plenty of time to introduce her to the infinite varieties of sensual pleasure. In fact, they had nothing but time.
Preston smiled again, thinking he could not have planned this entire scenario more to his satisfaction. Carefully, he stroked the blade over Lydia’s intimate peaks and valleys until her nether regions glistened with smoothness. Then he rubbed a few drops of oil into her shorn skin, smiling at the evident twitching of her clitoris as his fingers brushed against the burgeoning nub.
He considered manipulating her to orgasm, but decided against it. It was, after all, important for her to remember they would not allow her to climax during every sensual interlude.
“All right, my dear,” he said, wiping his fingers on a towel. “You are once again sufficiently exposed.”
Lydia’s skin burned as she rose, reaching automatically for a robe to cover herself. She met Preston’s gaze for an instant before looking away.
“You thought it would become easier, did you?” he asked knowingly as he returned the items to the bathroom. “It might, someday. But you are still too fresh, Lydia. Too raw and untrained.”
She looked at him curiously when he came back into the bedroom. “What made you choose the name Lydia?”
“Ah.” Preston lowered himself into a chair across from her, crossing his leg over his thigh. He gazed at her, delighted all over again at the notion that she was his to command.
Years ago, he would never have imagined they would hold these respective positions. Indeed, such a scenario would have existed only in the depths of his fantasies where all his lecherous, erotic thoughts of the young Lydia had taken root. Only now were they truly blossoming.
“Lydia was an ancient region, actually,” he explained. “Located on the coast of Asia Minor and ruled by the wealthy King Croesus. The king once consulted an oracle regarding what he should do to live a happy life. The oracle responded, ‘Know yourself, Croesus. Thus you will live and be happy.’ While Croesus found that to be a difficult task, here at
La Nouvelle Vie
, you can do nothing else. Everything we do is intended for the purpose of knowing yourself.”
“Lydia was also the home of Arachne,” he continued. “A young girl who was such a skilled weaver that she challenged the goddess Athena to a competition. Athena, although enraged by the girl’s conceit, eventually agreed to the challenge. She wove a magnificent tapestry of her contest with Poseidon for the patronage of the city of Athens. Although everyone doubted that Arachne could create anything as beautiful as Athena’s work, the girl sat down at her loom and began to weave.
“For her theme, Arachne wove a tapestry of the love affair of the gods, who were engaged in wanton acts with mortal women. Athena grabbed the tapestry and tried to find flaws in Arachne’s work, but the girl’s weaving was utterly flawless. Angered by the subject matter and furiously jealous, Athena tore the tapestry to pieces.
“Then she changed Arachne into a spider, condemning her and all her descendants to a life of eternal weaving. Again, this is a vastly important aspect of living here. Life here is an endless array of spinning fantasies, weaving beautiful scenarios to create tapestries of visual and sensual pleasure.”
Preston thought for a moment, then added, “Oh, yes, and Lydia was also the home of Tantalus, a rather unfortunate king who tested the power of the gods by serving them a stew with the massacred remains of his son to see if they could determine what he had done.”
“Good lord,” Lydia muttered.
“As punishment, he was condemned to reside in the Underworld,” Preston continued. “He was placed in a pool of water beneath abundant fruit trees. When he bent to drink, the water would recede, and when he reached for a fruit, the wind would push it out of his reach. He also had a huge boulder hanging over his head, which constantly threatened to fall and crush him.”
“Well, that’s not very pleasant at all,” Lydia said.
Preston chuckled. “Not at first glance, but think about it. The word ‘tantalize’ comes from Tantalus, and we love all things tantalizing here. The difference is that while Tantalus is forever hungry, our desires are sated. We actually reach the succulent fruit and drink the cool water. Of course, we become hungry shortly thereafter once again, so draw your conclusions of that.”
“And there are metaphorical boulders threatening to fall on all our heads,” Lydia retorted.
Preston gave a shout of laughter, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Ah, darling, you are a sharp one. I hadn’t thought of that, but I suppose it’s true to some extent. But rest assured the boulder never falls upon poor Tantalus. Nor will it fall upon us. Ever.”
He rose and crossed the room to her, bending to press his lips against her head.
“She was reigned over, Lydia was,” he murmured. “And my own ruled Lydia should take the advice of King Croesus’s oracle. Know yourself and you will be happy. I believe you’re already on that path.”
Lydia stretched her arms above her head as a breeze whispered through her hair. The hammock swayed languidly, rocking her in gentle comfort. She pressed her feet into the soft grass and rubbed them back and forth, feeling the blades tickle her soles.
She lifted a hand to shade her eyes as she saw Gabriel approaching from the mansion. She liked watching him move. The slow, easy rhythm of his body reminded her of animal grace—the flight of birds, a cat’s predatory walk, the supple cadence of a swimming dolphin.
Lydia thought Gabriel had missed his calling. Instead of living in the corporate world as she had, he seemed to belong in nature. He would fit in perfectly walking among fragrant trees, feeling the breeze of the pulsing ocean, stretching out underneath the deep blue sky.
Lydia smiled to herself. Maybe Gabriel’s own situation at the plantation was also a strange blessing in disguise. As with her, he had slipped away from a world of business suits, lengthy contracts, portfolios, mergers, and meetings and into a world of sheer natural delights.
La Nouvelle Vie
was certainly a place to which Gabriel belonged.