Chapter Eight

Drinkwater

 

After our hands-off romp in the ballroom, I batted my eyelashes and told Drinkwater I was off to bed. He nodded, gazing around the ballroom like he either hadn’t heard me or didn’t care. Not exactly what I was expecting, after what Imelda told me about his free-loving nature. What a strange man. He sent such mixed messages that I had no idea where I stood with him.

As I turned to leave the Versailles behind, I realized I had no way of accessing my suite. Had the porter perhaps given me the key when I was, shall we say, incapacitated? Where would I have put it?

The moment I realized I’d left my purse up in the room, the heat of Drinkwater’s silk-clad body sizzled against my back. Holding up a key-card, he told me, “I have some business to attend to, but I shall be up in good time.”

His achingly attractive British accent rendered me weak-kneed. When he slipped the room key into my palm, our hands touched for a brief moment and my stomach fluttered with anticipation.

I think I said, “Okay,” but who knows? My mind raced with every possibility of what the infamous mogul might have planned for us. Although, if he was so interested in me, why did he lift my hand from his thigh at dinner? Maybe he didn’t approve of public displays of affection.

By the time I slid my key card into the slot, I’d become so engrossed in my little quandary that I walked—thunk!—straight into the door frame. Thank God neither Gavin nor Drinkwater was there to act as witness.

Rubbing my forehead, I knocked the door closed with my butt. Was there something wrong with me? It wasn’t the klutziness I worried about—that, I’d come to terms with. My main concern was that I’d developed massive crushes on both Gavin Drinkwater Junior and Gavin Drinkwater Senior. Wasn’t that a bit strange? There had to be twenty-five years between them. Yes, I was peeved about the misunderstanding with young Gavin, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he really and truly liked me. His dad seemed to like me as well, but he was equally enigmatic. Like father like son, I suppose.

Strange or not, Drinkwater planned to come up to my room that night. I wasn’t sure exactly when, but felt no bitterness. In fact, the delay in his arrival was fortuitous, as it gave me a chance to wash my face in the luxurious salle de bain with dark marble countertops and recessed lighting. Most of my kitchen at home could have fit inside the Jacuzzi tub. Though its eight jets were calling my name, I resolved to I remain in my lovely period costume until Drinkwater’s arrival. No man could resist me, looking as I did that evening.

Stepping into the lounge, I ran my fingers along the exquisite period—or more likely reproduction—furnishings, all in subdued shades of blue, cream, and gold. I’d never stayed anywhere so luxurious. How much would that room have cost me if Drinkwater wasn’t comping my stay? Whatever the rate, I certainly couldn’t afford it.

Three sharp raps sounded at the door. Drinkwater! My heart leapt and I ran to let him in.

“Hello again, Ms Fon,” my friendly neighbourhood porter said with a cheeky grin.

He might not have been the man I was expecting, but at least Drinkwater remembered his promise to have extra dessert sent to my room. A man who kept his word was a rare commodity.

“Back for more?” I laughed as the young man wheeled in a cart dressed with freshly brewed tea and coffee, its accoutrements of bone china cups and silver spoons, milk, cream, lemon, and sugar, and an entire chocolate mousse cake.

“For sure,” the porter teased, slicing into the cake and lifting a large piece onto a small plate. “I can’t believe I didn’t spank you when I had the chance. I’ve been beating myself up about it all night.”

Falling into a sumptuous chaise, I covered my face with my hands. Hey, my purse! I pulled it out from under me, saying, “Oh, thanks for reminding me! I’d completely forgotten about that.”

The china plate pinged as he set a fork beside the slice of cake and presented it to me. “Tea or coffee?” he offered.

“You don’t have to do all that,” I replied without getting up. “I’m a big girl. I can get my own tea.”

“Tea it is,” he said with a smile. “Milk and sugar?”

“Well, yes,” I began, digging into the chocolate shavings around the perimeter of my mousse cake. “But at least sit down and join me, will you? I hate being fussed over like this.”

Smiling, the boy replied, “Now that I don’t believe for a second.” Lifting my dainty teacup in its gold-rimmed saucer, he asked, “Is there anything else I can get you before I head out?”

“Do you have to go? I don’t know how long…” I cut myself off when I realized I was about to disclose Drinkwater’s intention to spend the night with me. I just thought it might be nice to have some company until his arrival.

The porter stood in waiting at the door.

“I’m sorry. You want a tip, don’t you?” Setting down my cake, I crossed the room, rifling through the purse I’d been sitting on. I had no idea how much to tip a porter, particularly one so kind.

“Please, no,” he replied, putting his hands behind his back.

“What?” I taunted, holding out a folded bill. “I won’t kiss you, I promise.”

Standing perfectly still, he said, “That’s unfortunate, because a kiss is the only tip I could dream of collecting from you.”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious, but since he seemed dead set against taking my money, I gave him a kiss instead. He wasn’t so sloppy about it this time. In fact, as I set my lips against his, a tingle of excitement shot through me.

Smiling, I backed away and thanked him from the bottom of my heart for everything he’d done for me earlier in the evening. “A lot of guys would take advantage. I’m so glad it was you who came to collect me.”

“Thanks,” he replied as he took his leave. “Good to meet you, Evelyn Fon.”

A girl could get used to this sort of treatment. It was a far cry from the tea in mismatched mugs I’d offered Gavin in my garage studio. It’s almost embarrassing to think back on it now: me in my paint-splattered jogging pants, he in his flawless business attire.

He’d asked me about my artistic training, so I told him about the painting classes I took with a flaky instructor at the community centre, and how my parents were devastated when I quit my boring job as a laboratory technician to paint full time.

I suspect the initial appeal of painting large chaotic canvasses was that my day job required such precision and care. When we discussed our favourite works of art, Gavin said his favourite painting was a ballet study by Monet. The poor guy’s cheeks turned bright red when I told him it was Dégas and not Monet who was famous for his paintings of ballerinas.

Like a child, he was so eager to impress.

 

* * * *

 

I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep until a knock at the door woke me up.

For a split-second, I felt a panicked sense of having no idea where I was, but with the lights still on and the porter’s cart near the door, the night before came flooding back. Or was it still night time? Judging by the blackness outside my window, it was very early morning at the latest.

When I managed to pry myself out of sleep and then out of my chair, I opened the door to the man who’d made such an impression on me earlier. Even in the wee hours of the morning, his skin looked taut and youthful. His eyes shone with affection. When he reached his hand up to my cheek, I leaned in, dazzled by his shining smile.

Drinkwater was going to kiss me!

The scent of oranges and bergamot overtook my senses, and I felt like I was spinning in circles on the Rideau Canal. My heart pounded in my chest and my breath drew from deep within as steamy anticipation excited my senses.

Unfortunately, a kiss was not what Drinkwater had in mind.

Scraping a clump of mousse from my cheek, he held up the chocolate glob before licking it from his finger. I’d fallen asleep on my slice of cake. He wasn’t trying to kiss me, only remove my dessert from my face.

What was wrong with me? The clumsiness had to be self-sabotage.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Drinkwater called to me as I ran to the luxury bathroom to dig chocolate shavings out of my ear. “I could come back in the morning if that suits you better.”

“No, no, no! Please stay,” I encouraged after spitting complimentary mouthwash into the sink. I put on my sexy face—the one where I pucker my lips and waggle my eyebrows—to join him in the lounge. “This room is gorgeous.”

“My clients insist on superior aesthetics.” He settled into the chair I’d just woken out of. “As do yours, I’m sure.”

“Actually, before this project, my only clients were the tourists who bought paintings from my booth on Sparks Street.”

“Well, I think you can do better than that and I think I can help,” he said with a broad smile. “That’s why I wanted to talk with you this evening.”

As Drinkwater shuffled through papers in a binder he’d brought along, I sauntered over to him with drowsy boldness. Gazing intently at his white hair and flawless skin, I sat on the chair’s arm, hoping to God it wouldn’t break. My ample skirts cascaded over his legs like a silk waterfall. I ran my hands through his soft hair, drinking in the aroma I already considered characteristic of him. He looked up at me with sharp questions in his eyes, but his scent had me wonderfully light-headed. Nothing could do me harm.

“So you think we would make a good team, do you?” As I slid from the chair’s arm into Drinkwater’s lap, I couldn’t stop thinking about our close proximity during that whispered dinner conversation. He set his binder on the side table, and his eyes settled on my impressive cleavage. He was quiet, so I ran an admiring hand across his noble jaw.

Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I leaned in to kiss the magnificent man. His lips were the softest knolls of flesh I’d ever had the pleasure to caress. As I savoured their satin smoothness, my heart expanded until it was too big to beat in my chest. I couldn’t hold back any longer. I sunk my worshipping tongue into his warm mouth, grasping his hair as I drank in the essence of him.

But I guess Drinkwater and I weren’t riding the same wavelength because, breaking away from our embrace, he rose from the chair and let me spill onto the floor.

When my face landed flat against the carpet, he helped me to my knees, saying, “I’m terribly sorry. I shouldn’t have tossed you like that. I do apologize.”

Too stunned to feel anything more than carpet burn, I looked up at him in a daze. What was happening, here? Did he want me or not?

“I’d forgotten you’ve been talking with my ex-wife.” He sat in the chair as I kneeled before him. “She’s given you quite the wrong impression about me, I’m afraid.”

“I thought…” I began, but insecurity stopped me in my tracks. I thought you liked me? I’d sound like a high school kid. “Imelda said you were all about free love.”

“Yes, I was an absolute Lothario when Imelda and I were married, but I’m not that man anymore.”

“Oh,” I replied with a sense genuine disappointment.

“In those days, people here in Canada found Imelda and I highly appealing because our accents reminded them of the Beatles. It always surprises me that you Canadians can’t tell cockney from Cornish, but there it is. At any rate, we were free-lovers with an explicit agreement not to resist exterior temptations. I know it’s hard to imagine now, but Imelda’s soul was luminous when we made love. It shone through her body, and I absolutely adored her generosity of spirit. I loved that she wanted to share her joy with multiple partners. What sense would there be in jealously guarding my wife, ensuring no one else would ever know what a remarkable lover she was? Well, I’m sure she told you all about our marriage.”

“A little bit. I’m sorry.” It’s a peculiar trait of Canadians to apologize for no reason.

Resting at Drinkwater’s feet, I felt a sort of brilliance radiating from the man. I didn’t want him to leave me.

“As for wives, I’ve had two including Imelda. Christine was the love of my life. After meeting her, I didn’t so much as look at another woman. She meant the world to me. When we found out about the cancer, I took leave from work and spent every waking moment with her until…” Drinkwater’s voice broke and he gazed up at the ceiling.

Unsure what to do or say, I let my cheek fall to his stocking knee, hoping it would make him feel less sad, somehow.

“I’ve been two years without her and I’m still heartbroken,” he said. “It’s a terrible thing, being madly in love with the dearly departed. I tell myself it’s useless to maintain such strong attachment in her absence, but I can’t seem to shake it.”

Drinkwater’s grief made me ashamed for trying to seduce him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s all right. If it’s any consolation, even during my marriage to Christine, my publicist fuelled rumours of my philandering. Infidelity is good for a man’s public image, Coral claims. My presence in your room right now will feed the rumour mill, even though I’m here strictly for business reasons.”

“Are you really?” I asked, still unable to mask my disappointment. In all my years, I hadn’t managed to pull off a single seduction. Every one of my few experiences in this domain occurred when a young man got an idea into his head and I simply went along with it. For once, couldn’t I be the one to successfully initiate a fling?

“I’m sorry for tossing you to the floor. I could have handled that better,” Drinkwater said. His pitiful smile made me feel like silly little girl. Still, his affectionate tone gave me a warm feeling.

“Who chose this dress for me?” I asked, as the thought popped into my head.

“That was my son. He guessed your size perfectly, I would say. Gavin Junior said, ‘I’ll just pick out a dress in the smallest size that exists. Evelyn is so petite.’” Paternal warmth emanated from the magnate as he spoke of his son. “Why do you ask?”

I smiled. “No reason. It’s a lovely gown, that’s all.”

Young Gavin thought about my body! Perhaps there was hope yet.

Drinkwater smiled with a knowing glimmer in his eyes. “Have you checked the bedroom yet? Gavin also chose a pair of pyjamas for you to sleep in.”

“He did?” That meant Gavin thought about my body in bed!

Hopping from the floor, I rushed into the bedroom to find a lovely set of violet-coloured silk pyjamas on top of the duvet. My heart fluttered like a boastful monarch. Closing the bedroom door, I slipped out of the large gown Gavin chose for me and into the silk pyjamas.

“They fit perfectly,” I shouted to Drinkwater through the door.

“I had best let you get some sleep,” he replied. “We can chat in the morning.”

“Don’t leave yet! You promised you would tell me the rest of the story about Ondine.” I negotiated like a child, shifting an armchair into place beside the large bed. “Come on, you’re not tired. You can tell it to me as a bedtime story.”

“Very well, then.” Drinkwater smirked, seemingly dubious of my innocent invitation into the bedroom. “You know, Evelyn, you’re unwittingly making me eager for grandchildren.”

As he tucked me into bed and then seated himself in the armchair, I wondered if that was because I was behaving like a child, or because I might be the one to supply the little darlings.

“Did you and Christine have any kids?” I asked.

“No, we were up there in years by the time we met, and she felt past the age to start a family. It’s a shame, really. She would have made a wonderful mother.” He seemed so very sad that I leaned out of bed to plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. Drinkwater smiled, ruffling my hair like a playful imp. “So what did Imelda tell you about young Ondine?”

I summarized Imelda’s tale, which had concluded at the point when she and Ondine were enjoying regular trysts, the ballerina having accepted the Drinkwaters’ patronage.

Drinkwater told me he was amply aware that his wife had found in Ondine what he would find in Christine years later. Ondine was Imelda’s great love, the love that incenses, sweeps one off the planet and into the heavens. Having an open marriage as they did, Imelda spoke of her pretty ballerina incessantly, like a teenager singing the praises of her first love.

As Gavin Junior grew older, Drinkwater suggested perhaps it was time to be more discreet about their respective affairs. Though he embraced their ideals, he feared their son might view his parents’ philandering as a slight against him, or a sign they weren’t committed to the family unit.

Imelda couldn’t bear to sacrifice Ondine’s increasing presence in the Drinkwater home. Oftentimes people in love act in ways that seem callous to others. Perhaps this was so when Imelda packed young Gavin’s bags and sent him away to boarding school.

It wasn’t an altogether selfish idea, Drinkwater reasoned. The boy would receive a finer education in England than he would at home. At any rate, he should be encouraged to form a relationship with their family overseas.

After young Gavin’s departure from the family home, Imelda lusted after her pet all the more vigorously. Drinkwater was never surprised to walk into the bathroom and find his wife soaping down Ondine, her wet body pressed firm against the glass shower stall. As a bonus, they never seemed to mind if he stayed to watch.

On one occasion, Drinkwater arrived home from the office to find his wife spread-eagle on the breakfast table with the girl’s dark head between her legs. Ondine turned to him, her chin glistening with Imelda’s juice. A familiar tingle ran through his groin as the ballerina inquired, “Will you join us, monsieur Drinkwater?”

This was the stuff of fantasies: his buxom blonde wife lying on the table, naked but for a red kimono, having her pussy licked by a gorgeous femme. His cock surged. Weeks he’d been hoping for precisely this sort of invitation.

Ondine was not nude. She wore a loose blouse, which fell forward to reveal her sweet round breasts each time the girl bent between Imelda’s legs. Her nubile tits were delightful to behold, but Drinkwater still preferred his wife’s impressive rack.

To complete the ensemble, the girl wore a pleated tartan skirt so short her plain cotton panties peeked out as she bent from the hip. Strutting to the ballerina, Drinkwater ran his hand between her straight legs, cupping her mound with his palm. When she pushed back against him, he sunk his hand beneath the cotton panties, pressing back and forth on her warm pussy lips.

“Do you like that?” Drinkwater asked. He’d never shagged Ondine before, so how could he know what she liked? His only familiarity with her preferences came from Imelda’s incessant discourse on the topic.

“Ohhh…” Ondine offered by way of reply. “I love that!”

Imelda shot him a scathing glare.

“Would you have me leave, dear heart?” he asked his wife. Of course, his preference would be to stay and shag her little pet, but if Imelda asked him to go, he would.

“Please don’t leave us, monsieur!” Ondine whined.

Imelda’s expression softened, and she cast a smile over her husband. “Stay, dear one. You’re bound to enjoy this.”

He pulled off Ondine’s panties and traced his hands down her firm flesh, allowing the white cotton to fall to the floor. The sight of her tight pink pussy made his cock strain forward like a heat-seeking missile. Allowing his trousers and underpants to drop to his ankles, Drinkwater guided his erection into Ondine’s wetness.

Judging by the sheer quantity of juice, Ondine was every bit as eager to be penetrated as he was to enter her. Her slit was absolutely dripping for it, and clenching like a vice around his pounding tip. He grabbed the girl by her slim hips and thrust into her, savouring the warmth of her tight pussy.

“Fuck me,” Ondine shouted, lunging at Imelda’s cunt. “Harder!”

The vibrations obviously pleased Imelda, because she responded by grabbing Ondine by her long ponytail. Wrapping it around her hand, she forced the girl’s mouth against her cunt and cried out with the pleasure of a warm tongue.

As Drinkwater thrust with yet more fervour, he grabbed Ondine’s supple thighs and let her milk him with her pussy muscles. He watched his cock pounding the girl like it was something outside himself. As he thrust into Ondine, she fell forward against Imelda. His wife’s big tits undulated with the motion he’d started by ramming Ondine.

With her pussy muscles clamping his cock, he tossed the girl’s pleated skirt up to get a full view of her posterior. Running his hands over her luscious backside, he became mesmerized by the beckoning undulations of his wife’s bountiful breasts. Drinkwater ploughed Ondine’s pussy. The faster he thrust, the more violently Imelda’s breasts heaved.

Imelda closed her eyes, which meant she was in the vicinity of orgasm. Was there anything he didn’t know about his wife? As her body surged under the spell of her pet’s expert tongue, Drinkwater became absorbed by the idea that the motion of his hips caused his wife’s breasts to sway. Even with Ondine’s body between them, his lust impacted her. He thrust, Imelda reacted, and they weren’t even touching one another. There was some deeper meaning in that, but with all his energy flowing straight to his cock, he wasn’t able to decipher it.

Drinkwater gazed at the blissful woman on his breakfast table. “Darling, have I ever told you you have the most marvellous tits?”

Imelda’s eyes sparkled with conjugal love. Had it really been so long since he’d offered her a compliment? She’d always been proud of her breasts, and he knew not to take them for granted.

Raising a leg over Ondine’s head, Imelda slipped off the table and onto a chair. “Come here, my darling.” She squeezed her massive tits together.

“If you insist,” he laughed, catching the double entendre.

Ondine didn’t seem to understand their joke. She sat in Drinkwater’s chair, watching as Imelda enveloped his proud cock. Slathered in the ballerina’s pussy juice, he thrust between his wife’s massive breasts. Placing his hands beneath the soft weight of her tits, he helped her press them together. He knew very well Imelda enjoyed anything that both stimulated and focused attention on her bountiful cleavage. She was convinced she could orgasm from this alone.

Squeezed so firmly together, Imelda’s tits felt even tighter than Ondine’s young pussy. It didn’t take much thrusting before Drinkwater’s toes clenched. As a familiar tension moved up his legs and whirled through his balls, his calves began to shake.

He shagged his wife’s tits like a madman, his cock so firm and powerful he was convinced he could take on the world. Ready for release, he buried himself between her breasts. He was so full of cum he could hardly bear it. He couldn’t contain the pleasure any longer. When it shot through his cock, the explosion felt volcanic, destroying his sense of time and place until he was floating high above the breakfast table.

Imelda smirked, rubbing spurts of hot cum around her massive tits, tweaking her nipples until they shone. She stood to kiss him. Just a soft peck on the lips, but it meant any animosity she’d felt was now forgiven. Leaving Ondine alone in the breakfast nook, they went off to take a blissful shower together.

After expending so much energy with Imelda and her pet, Drinkwater needed sleep. When he awoke from a short nap, his wife and Ondine were speaking in hushed tones in the front foyer. Curious, he stood at the top of the main staircase and listened in on their conversation.

“I just don’t bloody well understand,” his wife whispered. Her voice was firm and tinged with jealousy. “You told me you would be quite happy if you never had sex with another man, and now you’re inviting my husband to shag you? What was that all about?”

Ondine was obviously thinking on her feet. “It was for you I was aroused. It’s only you who attracts me. I thought it would make you happy if I invited your husband to join us.”

A momentary silence fell over them, until finally Imelda gave in. “Well, yes, that was rather fun, wasn’t it? And I really don’t pay Gavin the attention I ought. I assume he can take care of himself and I wind up devoting all of my energy to you, my pet...”

Their conversation continued too quietly for Drinkwater to overhear. Or perhaps they were kissing. Their faces were awfully close…

After Ondine left the house and Imelda retreated to the library, Drinkwater returned to collect his trousers from the floor of the breakfast nook. On a hunch, he took his wallet from the back pocket and looked inside. Every last dollar was gone.