Roland DeForrest - The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

By the dessert, raspberries with crème fraîche , Honey was also feeling the heady effects of all the scrumptious wines, but her impatience had grown because the Marquise had yet to bring up the subject of the missing Kolina. Even though the lovely older woman had drunk just as much as her son and honored guest, she remained alert, loquacious, witty, and decidedly charming. It was not until the rich, black demitasse coffee was served that the Marquise inquired of Yves if he had been aware that Kolina was missing from Bon Coeur.

“ Mon Dieu ,” he cried, with just a shade too much shock. Abruptly his flushed cheeks drained of color and he reached for a newly opened bottle of champagne. Pouring a healthy glassful, he looked across at Honey, who was eyeing him suspiciously. “Tell me, Miss Wildon, why are you involved in this messy business?” His words were slurred, his tone cool.

She smiled as best she could. “I am a friend of her sister, Barbro,” she lied. “She asked me to help, as the authorities are getting nowhere with the case.”

“Ah, Barbro,” he muttered, and nodded into his wine. “Kolina showed me her photograph once. Is she still shaking her belly in Lima?”

“Cartagena,” Honey furnished, not trusting the man’s responses. She proceeded to question him about his relationship with Kolina, and about the last time he had seen the girl. Although all his answers agreed with those of the Marquis, Honey had the distinct impression he was witholding something. Her many years as a seasoned journalist had helped her develop a keen sixth sense-“a built-in shit detector” was how she termed it-and it now warned her that Yves Bouscaral knew more than he was letting on. The scent of the hunt quickened her blood, but she feigned sleepiness and, thanking the Marquise for a lovely meal, bade her bonne nuit , to retire upstairs to her turret room.

Naked, she lay between the cool silk sheets of the large canopied bed, thinking back over Yves’s evasive responses and waiting patiently until the chateau was silent. Not until the nearly full moon was high in the sky, flooding one side of the round room with a ghostly white light, did she deem it safe to follow through on her plan. Quickly she slipped out of bed. Pulling on an almost gossamer robe, she padded barefoot down the steep, winding stone stairs of her separate bedroom tower. Moving swiftly down the darkened hallways, she made her way to the west wing. As she passed through the all-glass solarium connecting the wing to the main building, her luscious curves were silhouetted starkly against the moonlight.

Reaching the door to Yves’s suite of rooms, she paused long enough to fluff her waves of titian hair off her face, then tried the doorknob. Damn, the door was locked from the inside. Undaunted, she tapped with her knuckles and pressed her ear against the hardwood. She could hear a startled male voice whispering, then the sound of an inner door closing. Honey smiled to herself-the chateau was even more alive at night.

Momentarily the door opened a crack and Yves’s pale face poked out. His jaw dropped in surprise. “ Qu’est que c’est ?” he croaked.

“ Mon cher , I cannot sleep,” she purred, and leaned against the door, shoving it open easily. As he stood aside reluctantly, she slipped by him and shut the door quietly behind her. She leaned against the door, one knee slightly raised, a rounded thigh shaping her sheer robe, her full breasts straining at the loosely tied bodice. “Perhaps you could give me something to make me sleepy,” she suggested.

Even in the flickering light of the single fat candle by his rumpled, king-sized bed, she could see Yves blush deeply. His embarrassment touched her and she thought perhaps she might have misjudged him. He seemed so disconcerted, standing there fidgeting with the belt of his heavy, full-length robe. She crossed to him to ease his worries, and placed a cool hand on his fevered brow. “Relax, my pet,” she said softly, while pressing her heavy breasts into his chest. “I’m sure that with the proper care my insomnia will be cured. Just hold me for a moment.”

She waited for him to put his arms around her, and was disappointed to feel him shrinking from her. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him gently, smelling the wine and a lime-scented cologne. Still, he did not respond as planned, and she pulled away with a little pout. “Pardon, Yves, I was just feeling a little lonely… what a lovely big room this is.” She made a slow tour of the room, pretending to be admiring the heavy antique furnishings and the suits of shining armor in the corners, but the whole while trying to decide behind which door leading off his bedroom stood the hastily banished bed partner. She also used her expressed interest in his room as an excuse to display her lightly covered body to its best advantage.

Breasts pointed to the ceiling, she stretched up to touch the cold nose of a boar’s head hanging on the wall; she bent, ass projected at him, to rub the fur on the head of the polar bear rug, and near him, she leaned gracefully over his writing desk to study the first edition of Flaubert’s Madame Bovary thus “accidentally” showing a copious amount of snow-white bosom. She managed to get her robe caught on the corner of a chair and it parted briefly to the waist, flashing the red beacon of her loins before she hastily covered herself. She ended up sinking onto one hip on his bed and looking back at him seductively over one shoulder.

He wasn’t even looking at her! He had crossed to the window and was staring out as if the moon were more attainable than she was. “Yves,” she called softly, and when he turned, she added in a husky voice, “Come here, at once.”

Obediently he did so, and stood beside the bed. She reached up and, taking one of his hands, pulled him to a sitting position. “Yves, I know you think me terribly brazen and forward,” she began, all contriteness. “And I admire your sensitivity. Forgive me for forcing my attentions on you. You are so terribly attractive, and my stay here is so brief… I couldn’t resist the temptation.”

He smiled nervously. “Miss Wildon…”

“Please, call me Honey.”

“Honey… you are too beautiful and too intelligent to choose me indiscriminately. What is the real reason you seek my attention?”

“ Touché , Yves,” she said good-naturedly. “Very perceptive. I’ll be just as direct as you are. You’re holding something back about Kolina. I want to know what.” She smiled genuinely. “But if you want to fuck all night, that’s okay too.”

He laughed. It was open and unforced, and elicited a similar one from her. Warmly he put his arm about her. “I like you, Honey.”

She snuggled into his shoulder, finding the feeling mutual. “Well, then, do you want to talk first or after we get it on a few times?”

He grew serious again and withdrew his arm. “To be perfectly honest, I would prefer neither. But since you are here and since I am disturbed about the news of Kolina… I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll give you what you want and you, in return, give me what I want.”

“I’m game… if I’m capable of returning the favor.”

He smiled mysteriously. “Oh, I’m quite certain of that. Is it a deal, then?”

She studied his face, trying to determine just how kinky he was. Well, she decided, whatever it was, it most likely wouldn’t be the first time for her. She figured she could handle anything he had up his sleeve… or anywhere else, for that matter. She smiled widely. “It’s a deal, Yves. You talk. Then I’ll see what’s on that twisted little mind of yours.”

Instead of expressing pleasure at the bargain, as she was expecting, he became somber-faced again and stared toward the moon-drenched window. “What I am about to tell you is only speculation. I have no way of knowing if it could be true. But I always suspected Kolina would run off one day… with some man.” He swiveled his gaze to her. “She was quite precocious, I’m afraid. She proudly told me once that she had been sexually active since she was twelve.”