Bound by limits
dictated by society, Art Historian
Nicolas Halstead lived a guarded life until a tempest in the form of Elenora Schwaab blew into his world. At
first Nicolas can’t decide if the audacious American is simply mad or plotting
blackmail for not only does she declare knowledge of his homosexuality, she
offers him a marriage proposal.
After Ellie tells
him of a previously unknown work of Leonardo da Vinci, a book of erotic love
poems and sketches dedicated to the artist’s long-time lover Salai, Nicolas
joins her in a race to save the book from destruction. Along the way they
encounter Historian Luca Franco and discover a comfortable compatibility that
comes to redefine their long-held notions of love.
The trio embarks
on an adventure of sensual discovery, intrigue, and danger. Little do they know Leonardo da Vinci’s book
is far more than meets the eye.
Teaser:
Nicolas has an encounter aboard ship and Ellie wants
details.
I’d just returned when
Ellie entered our stateroom and informed me she wanted to take that bath she’d
missed earlier. I watched her gather this and that and close the door behind
her. That I experienced a sudden wash of guilt over my romp with the fair
Dutchman came as a surprise. I didn’t like that feeling, nor did I care for it
overlaying my angst associated with my newly-realized sexual nature. Pulling
the cord, I waited for the steward.
The man arrived
several minutes later. “How may I help you, sir?”
“Please send ‘round a
decanter of brandy and two glasses if you would.”
“Yes sir, I’ll get
that straightaway.”
I used the time to
dress for bed. I had only the dressing gown as I usually slept in the nude, but
decided for our first shared bed, it was better to be clothed. We’d been
together round the clock for three days but this was our official first night.
Thankfully, we had a lifetime to become accustomed to one another. And this was
a good thing. My nerves were strung taut. I hoped the brandy might help.
By the time she
entered the sitting room smelling of jasmine, I was pouring her a brandy and
having myself a third. I’d always enjoyed the scent of jasmine.
For the first time I
took notice of the little things about her, things that I’d found pleasant
enough as we traveled but now found strikingly beautiful. Ellie had delicately
arched eyebrows and her pink bottom lip was fuller than the top. Unpinned, her
riot of cinnamon curls fell like a cloud to the small of her back and damp
ringlets framed her fresh-washed face. I’d only seen her hair up in pins these
past few days. I had no idea she possessed a lovely mane that would bring about
the desire to bury my fingers in the mass. Art historian I, she reminded me of William-Adolphe Bouguereau’s Venus. She smiled prettily and that Venus transformed into Renoir’s
Little Irene so completely, it made
me blink. I’d found her high-styled and attractive that day she breezed into my
home. I found her no less than a work of art now. Port and brandy loosening my
tongue, I told her so.
She smiled and it lit
her eyes. It wasn’t quite the bold smile she treated me to in my townhome, but
it had that quality I found so appealing. In what could only be described as
having the minds of two men inside my head, I felt my cock thicken, the
sensation instantly squelched by that returning rush of guilt. We had to talk,
and god help me, I didn’t know where to begin. I handed her the glass, took
another for myself, and swept my hand to the settee. “Come sit with me, Ellie.”
She sipped her brandy
and sat beside me. She said, “We don’t have to revisit our conversation, you
know. We can talk of other things.”
I nodded. I had other things on my mind at the moment.
So we chatted about the meal, the dinner company, the voyage in general. Then,
she suddenly thrust at me a point of no return. “He was quite handsome, don’t
you think?”
I blinked. “Who?”
“Our dinner companion,
Jerone Some-such. I don’t remember his last name — you know, the Dutch brother
to the sister sitting with us tonight?”
My heart started to
pound. “Pleasant enough. Why do you ask?” Draining my snifter in one overlarge
sip that nearly choked me, I let the alcohol flame run like a burning fuse down
my gullet.
Eyeing me sharply, she
smiled that knowing smile of hers; a smile that caused me to feel a heavy
presence between my legs. It was everything I could do to keep my robe from
rising like P.T. Barnum’s circus tent.
I couldn’t help but
feel she led the conversation when she said offhandedly, “I assume there will
be men in your life. I might be wrong, yet I’m certain the man is attracted to
you.”
Refilling my glass for
the fifth time, I reached for hers as an afterthought. “You bring up a point I
wish to discuss.”
Realization dawning in
her wise ocean-blue eyes, she drained her brandy in one astounding swallow.
Those same eyes watering, she handed me her glass. I saw the dawning
transformation a split second before she burst into a delighted squeal. “You didn’t!”
I opened my mouth to
speak and absolutely nothing came forth. I couldn’t think of what to say for
myself. My silence condemned me.
“You did!”
Ellie’s eyes were
bright and her color high, either from spirits or the request forming in her
mind. “Will you tell me about it?”
Her assertiveness
appealed to me, no question about it. However, I wasn’t sure this was a topic
one had with a wife. “I don’t think…
”
“Fiddlesticks. If my own
husband can’t talk to me about his lovemaking, then who can?”
My quickly-downed libations
were affecting me. I didn’t know what words to use, where to begin, or even what to say. But that didn’t stop her
interrogation.
“I’m assuming the two
of you had some sort of encounter… ”
Seeing the blushing
excitement before me, my heart fluttered unexpectedly. My Yank was desperate to
know the act. The thought she’d want me to describe it left a heavy presence
between my legs. In for a penny, in for a pound, I asked, “And what would your
feelings be if I had?”
My eyes searched the
whole of her for clues as to what she was thinking in that moment. My god, she
was a lovely thing. Free of her blousy clothing, she also had small pert
breasts in the gossamer folds of her dressing gown. Her nipples were hard.
Wondering why, I reached for the decanter.
Her hand on my arm
stopped me. Inserting the glass stopper in the bottle, she set it and snifters
aside. “Nicolas, we’ve only recently met. And while I grow fonder of you by the
day I’m not feeling jealousy, if that’s your concern. I do understand that you
have needs that must be seen to. Homosexuality exists in the natural world,
therefore is a natural chapter in the book of life. Don’t you agree?”
I nodded. In my
inebriation, she might have said Father Christmas was a hedgehog who took tea
with the Queen and I would have agreed.
I watched her absently
twirl a cinnamon curl around her finger as if she saw what had occurred between
the Dutchman and me. Her next words should have surprised me, but they didn’t.
“I find the idea of my husband having male lovers a fascinating concept. And
besides, how else will I learn about you
if you don’t tell me?” Dropping her
curl, she laid her hand on my knee. Her touch was warm through the brocade of
my dressing gown. I could see the sincerity in her pale eyes when she added,
“Please Nicolas, trust me with this aspect of your life. You’re safe with me.”
After three days of
non-stop companionship I found myself thoroughly loving how her sharp mind
rationalized things. What’s more, an assurance of safety struck a chord in me.
I felt myself relaxing, or perhaps this was the work of the liquor. The latter
proofed when I heard my own words come out in a slur, “What would you like to
know, my dear?”
That gamine smile
widened and seeing it, my cock started to thrum to my heartbeat again.
“All of it, of course.
I’ve never had a man in my bed, but the mechanics of man and woman are down
well enough in my mind. Though try as I might, I can’t fathom how two men come together.”
Bold-as-brass, I said to myself. My Yank was consumed with questions and responsible
for a rather stiff cock to boot. I felt a sticky dribble soaking into my robe
front. What an astounding notion my attraction was.
Covering her hand with
my own, and taking her at her word, I explained my encounter in the young man’s
cabin.
Her brows went
together as she worked a maiden’s piecemeal imaginings into information.
“Wouldn’t he choke? I mean it’s rather large, isn’t it?” Her eyes went to my
crotch while my heart pounded loud enough for me to hear. The fabric of the big
top began to rise as the center pole lifted. Sure enough the small hand slipped
from under mine in a tentative climb. Pausing, she met my eyes. “May I see?”
I couldn’t fully
comprehend my case of anxiety. In many ways, I too, was as untried as she. I
might have had my male lover since the age of seventeen, but I’d never shared
an intimate exchange with a woman before this moment. It wasn’t the lesson in
futility I’d always assumed such a chance meeting would be either. I eyed the
decanter again but decided I’d had more than enough and was likely sound asleep
and dreaming the encounter anyway. Untying the sash, I experienced a peculiar
disconnect between my sotted brain and the quavering hands at the ends of my
arms. Swallowing nervously, I folded back the sides of my robe and exposed
myself to her.
“That’s amazing.” She
looked from my cock to my face as if expecting me to concur. Clearly
deliberating how to proceed, she worried her bottom lip as questions filled her
mind. “It is fully engorged, isn’t
it? I mean, you’re much larger now
than when you finished your bath.” Her eyes met mine. “Are you thinking of him
now?”
Damn me if her
unabashed words didn’t fill the last inch. Seeing that, she drew a sharp
breath. The strange thing is, I wasn’t thinking of the Dutchman in the least.
Noticing the unconscious flexing of her fingers in a tentative itch to feel my
length, I heard a voice come out of my mouth. My drunken brain could scarcely
credit it was I who suggested, “Touch me if you’d like.”
Though her reaction to
my words rivaled finding the lucky bean in her Twelfth Night cake, her reach
was at once hesitant yet curiously eager. Her fingertips found me first. They
traced the knots of veins just under my skin.
“Oh, you’re much
warmer than I imagined, and unbelievably firm. I never imagined that, nor did I
think I’d be able to feel your pulse down here.”
My breath caught as
small soft fingers closed around me then eased my foreskin down until the crown
of my cock lay fully exposed. She released it and my sheaf resumed its natural
position. Like a child with a new wind-up toy or a scientist on the verge of
discovery, she tested my flesh again. Over and over she plied me until her
comfort in touching me grew. I imagined her picturing the Dutchman and me; and
I half expected her to try to swallow me like he had. The heady thought brought
about a shiver that raced through me from head to toe.
Apparently she hadn’t
missed the sexual tremor that seized me. Her exploration halted, those eyes met
mine but her hand stayed put. Somewhere in my haze I recalled I’d found them
pretty just that morning, but good god they were lovely. For the first time I
noticed her irises had dark olive green rings around the blue and small gold
flecks in a corona around the black center.
Holding her gaze, I
covered her little hand with my own and slowly stroked the length with her. To
my surprised delight her slight grip tightened on its own. For all the
sensation was different, I enjoyed this soft intimate caress as much as I
enjoyed Thomas’ rough and firm hand.
She moistened her lips
with her tongue and her left knee began to swing to and
fro with tensile energy. Even in my
inebriated state I recognized these small gestures as those normally reserved
for when her focus was piqued by some thought. Whatever that mind of
hers was thinking, it was evident my wife very much liked this imagery of hers.
Her next words broke my trance, “I find
myself envious.”
The slow soft stroking
and my over-indulgence of spirits were muddying the waters of my comprehension
of the moment. I could only imagine what that detail-hungry mind was thinking,
for I was having trouble following the thought. My voice sounded dull to my
ears when all I could do was repeat her.
Her next words had a
breathy quality. “Yes, envious. I imagine what having a
blade like this might feel when sinking into the heat of a lover’s body.”
For a moment it felt as though my heart had stopped, and
I forced a breath to be sure it was still engaged. I’d once seen the marble
statue of the androgynous Hermaphroditus: the bisexual offspring of Aphrodite
and Hermes, sleeping in the Louvre.
Lost in the erotic thought of her having a cock along with the rest of her fair
attributes, the breathtaking notion enhanced by her softly stroking hand, I
closed my eyes and immersed myself in the fantasy. What glorious imagery it
was.
And while visions
danced behind closed my lids, the effects of nerve-dousing brandy and travel
fatigue coalesced. My new wife gently examined every male detail that made our
bodies differ, and damn me if I didn’t miss most of it. Done in by drink and
her gentle touch, I went off to sleep in the arms of Morpheus.
***
I woke sometime in the
night to discover myself half on the settee and under the spare coverlet from
the bed. For a moment I didn’t know where I was. At last the details of the
evening came in from the sides of my mind. I lifted the coverlet. That my cock
was glued to my thigh was a mystery. I couldn’t remember past Ellie’s novice
exploration of my privates.
One thing was certain
however; the copious brandy to settle my nerves had kicked me right between the
eyes as surely as a mule. I felt plain awful. Trying hard not to wake her, I
quietly went to the commode where, hugging the throne so to speak, my body
expelled the evening’s spirits as quickly as I’d taken them in. I poured myself
a glass of water to rinse my mouth then hied myself back to the settee where I
curled into a miserable ball and promptly fell back to sleep.
***
The next morning when
I opened my bleary eyes, I felt a little better thanks to my midnight purge.
Experience told me my queasy headache would last for several hours. In the
outer room, an ungodly loud rap on the door was answered by the pleasant voice
of my new wife. I heard her say, “Thank you. No, I’ll take it from here.”
A moment later she
brought a wait cart into the sitting room. I greeted her groggily. There were
covered dishes and carafes, but I could easily determine the menu by the savory
scent of bacon and kippers, and sultry aroma of butter and cinnamon. My sour
stomach told my nose to ignore it all.
She smiled. “I thought
you’d prefer breakfast in here this morning.”
Needing to atone for
my poor behavior, I offered, “I very much regret last night, Ellie. Please
accept my ap—”
She cut me off, “We
drank a rather lot last night, you and I. I must say I… ”
I listened to her
dismiss the fact I’d acted like a dreadful sot by including herself in my solo
drunkenness. That she’d seek to protect me from embarrassment by sharing the
blame touched me deeply. I gave her an appreciative yet apologetic smile.
“You’re kind. But it falls on my head, and believe me my head feels my remorse
acutely.”
Laughing lightly, she
handed me a dry biscuit. She tsk-tsked, “You poor thing. Here nibble this… slowly.”
She poured me a cup of
coffee, adding cream and sugar lumps, presumably to her taste. “Coffee helps
the morning-after head far better than tea. And this helps even more, believe
me.” To my surprise, she splashed a tot of brandy in the cup. After my
early-morning episode with the commode, I admit the sight of the decanter made
my stomach lurch. I found myself wondering how she knew the hair of the dog remedy for a drunkard’s
hangover. I asked her.
Laughing, she confided
she’d “learned the hard way,” explaining vaguely that progressive Americans
much enjoy their leisure, though they occasionally must pay the piper like
everyone else. She also asked I please not mention that to my new
father-in-law.
I gave a
head-splitting laugh and promptly quelled it in an act of self-preservation.
That sentient smile played over her lips, and once more the notion of
familiarity came to me and then it was gone. Instead, I was reminded of a
comment Mrs. Fletcher once made after catching her nephew and I kissing in the
buttery. “It is wise to conceal that which cannot be disclosed, and disclose
that which cannot be concealed. Now go find yourselves a private place to test
the waters or tongues will wag, and Master Nicolas, you don’t want that, dear.”
Handing over the
steaming cup, Ellie met my eye, “Trust me.”
Damn me if I didn’t.
Loving Leonardo on Amazon:
Rose Anderson
– Love Waits in Unexpected Places
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