Sudden Legacy (21 page)

“Y-you!” was all I could manage as he drew the tip of his erection across my wet opening. Feeling naughty, and just the right amount of dirty, I panned down his beautiful torso and focused on his manhood gripped tight in his fist and rubbing lazily against my labia. I watched his member go in and out of focus on the little viewing screen until the camera found the right depth of field.

He continued to tease me, rubbing and gently pushing against me, letting just his tip breach my opening, and then taking it away again. My arms were beginning to shake holding the weight of the camera at such an awkward angle. “Please...” I begged.

“Hold it steady,” he instructed, supporting the weight of the camera with his hand on my wrist. He was delighting in watching my extreme concentration as I willed him to enter me fully while trying to keep the camera still like he asked. He rewarded my efforts by slowly pushing into me. I moaned in ecstasy as his considerable length filled me to capacity.

It was such an incredible turn on to watch him pump in and out. I had never understood why people would make sex tapes until this moment. It was so erotic. So taboo. My arm began to give out as I neared climax. The viewing screen showed our joined flesh begin to shake and blur as if an earthquake were taking place. Finally I couldn’t hold it any longer. Julien took the camera from me and moved as if to set it away from us on the bed. “No,” I said, panting. “I want to see.”

My whine enthralled him. “You want to see, Lara?” he asked with a wicked smile.

I nodded enthusiastically, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

“What do you want to see?” he asked while keeping a perfect rhythm.

He wanted me to say it. I was too aroused to be embarrassed at this point. “I want to see you cum!” I said. A small part of my brain thought I should be scandalized by the words coming out of my mouth, but it was quickly forgotten as my climax hit, rocketing over me and sending me into paroxysms of rapture.

I barely registered him pulling out of me in that instant just in time to spill himself atop my abdomen and amid the tight curls on my pubis. As his spasms slowed, he rubbed himself against my tingling flesh, causing me to jerk a bit at his touch. Then he pushed back into me again, pumping once, twice more, and falling still.

He leaned in then and kissed me, still holding the camera. “An Oscar worthy performance to be sure
mademoiselle
.” He chuckled against my ear.

“They have the Oscars in France?” I asked as he trained the camera back on my face.

“We have the European Oscars,” he answered. “They’re pretty much the same thing, only our statues are silver phallic women as opposed to golden phallic men.”

“Hmmm. I’d like to see that,” I said, more out of wanting to drag out this moment of afterglow than an actual desire to see a European Oscar statue.

“Then you must come back in December. I will take you.”

I smiled lazily up at him, wishing he were serious, and that we had the means and ability to visit each other as often as we wanted. Thinking about my impending departure made me sad, and I wanted to change the subject. “Perfect. We’ll watch the European Oscars in December, then you can come to the states and watch the American Oscars in February.” I put my hand over the front of the camera lens and pushed it away to indicate my boredom with our toy. I flexed my Kegel muscles causing my walls to tighten around him and I felt him twitch and harden again. “This will be one of those times where the sequel is better than the original,” I teased, raising my hips in encouragement. Julien’s laughter rumbled deep in his chest as he lowered his lips to mine.

The crescent shaped needle pierced through Julien’s skin one last time.
Skin is definitely tougher than you would think,
I mused. I watched in fascination as Nan made the fourth and final knot, then snipped the last of the nylon with her suture scissors. She had done a tidy job of it. The tiny black knots sat in a neat row like a mini railroad track across Julien’s otherwise beautiful upper arm.

Julien sagged against the back of the couch in relief as Nan began to dress his wound.

I wiped a cool cloth across his damp brow and he smiled at me in thanks. Pops came over with a glass of water and put two ibuprofen pills into Julien’s good hand. Julien tossed them to the back of his throat, and accepted the water from Pops. “
Merci
.”

Martin began threading his belt back through his pants, drawing my attention to him.

“You never said what the second possibility was,” I said.

He didn’t hesitate to answer, knowing exactly to what I was referring. “Oh, yes. Well, if it’s not Omniteq, then the next logical conclusion I can draw is that it’s a cousin - or someone else who doesn’t want Julien claiming his birthright. Does that about sum it up, Baldovino?”

Baldovino perked up at being addressed. He had watched rapt as Julien endured Nan’s ministrations without so much as a groan. Now he nodded in apology and answered in his thickly accented English. “There are men that would prefer you to have stayed missing,
il mio re
.”

We had never been aboard a private jet before, Pops, Nan, Alex and myself. I caught myself about to laugh at Nan’s gap jawed look of wonderment before I realized I was probably making the exact same face. I quickly snapped my mouth shut and discreetly glanced around, wondering if anyone had noticed.

It had been easy to forget the fact that Julien was a billionaire while he had been at the ranch, sleeping on the lumpy fold out couch in the solarium. He had seemed perfectly comfortable living among us mere mortals, cooking crêpes, playing on the floor with wooden trains, and being thrown up on.
And making incredible, passionate love to me,
my inner voice added smugly.

Julien’s jet was not your regular luxury aircraft - or maybe it was - what did I know of such things? Regardless, it didn’t have rows of seats the way commercial planes did. Instead it was divided into five distinct areas. The flight deck and galley made up the first area, then a set of four lounge type chairs facing each other for easy conversation. Past the chairs was a large dining table to the right of the aisle and a couch on the left. Behind that section was another sitting area composed of two long couches facing each other across the aisle, and finally the farthest most area was the bathroom.

Alex immediately launched himself out of my arms and made a break for the flight deck. “I’m on a airpane!” he said to the flight attendant.

His fever had broken late the previous afternoon and another dose of children’s ibuprofen had him feeling good as new.

The flight attendant knelt down to Alex’s level. She was young and attractive with a seemingly cheery disposition. “You most certainly are! Would you like to see the flight deck?” Off Alex’s excited nod she rose and took his hand. She smiled at Julien and said softly as she passed, “He looks just like you, sir.”

Julien nodded in polite acknowledgement, but I was happy to note he didn’t seem all that interested in making small talk with the pretty blond.

“Should I go with them?” I asked, not wanting Alex to push any important buttons.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Pops volunteered. He had a twinkle of excitement in his eye and I remembered he had flown as a hobby in his youth. Mostly crop dusters and the like, but I could well imagine his delight at getting a good look at the cockpit of a plane such as this one. “Thanks Pops.”

Julien led me to the couch across from the dining table and indicated I should make myself comfortable. It was a half full flight with, in addition to our little family of five, Mr. Martin, Signore Passarelli, two men I had never seen before, and the crew.

One of the unknown men turned out to be a doctor. Dr. Fleischman inspected Nan’s handy work, complimenting her on her precise stitching, then he gave Julien some antibiotics, instructing him to take them three times a day. When Julien joined me on the couch I couldn’t help teasing him. “Does your personal physician always travel with antibiotics?”

“He does when I call him ahead of time and tell him I’ve suffered a gunshot wound,” was his glib answer.

I didn’t like being reminded how close Julien had come to being killed. My playful demeanor quickly soured. He noticed and tried to placate me. “Why the sudden shift in mood,
Chérie
? I am only teasing.”

“But you’re not, Julien. You really
did
suffer a gunshot wound. A gunshot wound from a gunman who, I would like to remind you, has yet to be found.” I shivered a bit and wrapped my arms around myself for comfort. Julien quickly pulled me against him, settling me in the warmth of his side. Cupping my jaw with his far hand, he kissed me softly and huskily replied, “There is nothing to be afraid of
Chérie
. I wont let any harm come to you.”

I so wanted to believe him. I knew he would do everything in his power to keep us safe, but he was just a man, and therefore fallible. Someone wanted him dead, and that someone had come far too close to accomplishing their mission.

I felt eyes on me and pulled away a bit, shy to be engaging in public displays of affection in front of Nan. When I looked up Nan was carefully studying her fingernails.

“I’ve arranged a car to take you to the airport. It’s only fourteen kilometers from here.” Julien looked down at me from his vantage point, propped up on his elbow as I lie beside him in supination. I nodded my head, not trusting myself to speak without tearing up. He bent down and kissed me softly. “Stay, Lara.
Reste avec moi.
”

My heart broke at his pleading tone. If only life were so simple that I could take up living on a yacht with this wonderful man. I was so enamored of him it was tempting, despite his angry mistress staring daggers at me at every turn. “You know I can’t,” I answered thickly.

We were docked somewhere near Marseille at the very end of a long dock. Marla’s super-yacht was too large to dock any closer. It was our last night together as my plane left early the next morning. Suddenly Julien’s cell phone began buzzing email alerts. His cell phone got limited reception at sea, and he usually only checked his email when we docked. It had become a joke between us. We always knew when we were close to docking by the buzz of his phone receiving a backlog of messages. “That reminds me,” he said, reaching for the vibrating phone on the nightstand. “I need your contact information.”

I scoffed at his formality. “‘Contact information’? You sound like such a business man.” He ignored my teasing, concentrating on typing my name into his contact list, then he handed me the phone so I could type in my number. He studied the number when I handed his phone back. “Is this your home number?” he asked.

“No,” I answered. I had a cell phone back home. I hadn’t brought it because I didn’t trust myself not to rack up a million dollars in international calls. “It’s my cell.”

“Good,” he said, pressing the call button. He hung up just as my voicemail greeting finished. He smiled at my cheerful tone in my out-going message. “Now you have my number.”

“So mine will be among the many missed messages that beep in when you come to port?” I said, trying to make light of the situation when what I really wanted to do was cry myself to dust.