The Erotic Light Page 3

  Lydia steeled herself, fully expecting him to rise and approach her, but instead he snapped his fingers and ordered her to come to him. Her legs trembling, Lydia did so, hearing the sound of Gabriel’s fork hitting his plate. Kruin lifted his head, his dark eyes watching her as she approached Preston.

  At Preston’s order, she shed her dress, leaving her body bared to the gazes of all three men. She felt the heat of their looks, sensed their own bodies begin to stir, and an unmistakable pleasure went through her that she was the cause of their desire. She felt their eyes roam over her curves, her full breasts topped with rosy nipples, the slope of her waist and the pert, plump roundness of her bottom.

  She expected Preston to order her to crouch beneath the table at his feet and suck him to orgasm while he continued eating his jambalaya. Instead he swept his arm across the table, sending his plates and glass crashing to the floor in a mess of broken china and half-eaten food.

  Startled, Lydia stepped back. She swung her gaze to Kruin, who lifted an eyebrow at Preston in inquiry.

  Preston smiled and patted the shiny glass dining table. “Up you go, my dear.”

  Lydia groaned inwardly, but hitched herself onto the table facing Preston. She rarely had any idea of what sort of indignity he planned to bestow on her, but she’d learned that he liked it that way. Not knowing kept her on edge, off-balance, while he remained firmly in control.

  At his instruction, she lay back against the table, watching the evening clouds skitter across the sky through the solarium windows. She waited for Preston to issue an order or move between her legs, but instead he simply looked at her, his eyes cascading over her body.

  “So lovely,” he breathed, the light of possession sparking in his expression as he covered her breasts with his hands. “I always knew one day you would be mine. My only regret is that it took so many years. And, of course, that I have to share you.”

  A flare of anger lit in his eyes before he smiled, skimming his hands over her torso, following the curves of her waist down to her thighs. His touch was butterfly-like, drawing heat to the surface of Lydia’s skin. Her pulse ratcheted up a notch as Preston’s hands flitted down her legs, along the tender flesh of her inner thighs and calves before moving back up her body again. He paused at her breasts again, squeezing and massaging the plump globes, pinching her tight nipples.

  Lydia began to get hot. She was aware of Kruin and Gabriel on either side of the table, felt their own lust begin to pulse through the air. Her mind fogged with anticipation and eagerness. The ever-present hint of fear she experienced with Preston was mitigated when Gabriel and Kruin were in the room, for while the other two men never intervened to stop Preston’s treatment of her—indeed, they always took great carnal pleasure in it—Preston’s cruelty was softened by their presence.

  Though Lydia suspected Preston didn’t know that. And if he did, he would lash out in a rage at the thought that Kruin and Gabriel had any influence over him whatsoever.

  She shifted backward, settling her buttocks on the smooth table as Preston unzipped his pants and took out his flaccid penis. Accustomed to what would come next, Lydia reached out and wrapped her tapered fingers almost delicately around the base of his shaft. A few strokes, and his erection began to swell, the compact stalk pulsing.

  Lydia waited for him to tell her to stop before she released him. She was prepared for whatever command he might issue—she would open her mouth, part her legs, turn over—but Preston climbed onto the table and straddled her torso, hovering over her with his erection sticking out over her breasts.

  “Squeeze your pretty tits,” he whispered, his voice throaty and his eyes glazed with lust.

  Lydia grasped her breasts and pushed them together, creating a snug little hollow where Preston could push his shaft. He had done this many times before, and of all the potential acts he could commit on her body, this was perhaps the most bearable. While Lydia almost enjoyed the sensation of his damp cock thrusting into the valley of her breasts, her more sensitive regions weren’t directly stimulated and so she was able to retain control of her arousal.

  Preston grunted, thrusting his hips forward, his testicles slapping against the undersides of Lydia’s large breasts. Fluid dribbled from the tip, wetting Lydia’s chest into a glossy polish, the hard knob peeking intermittently through the fleshy cavern in which it was embedded. Preston’s hair-roughened thighs abraded her tender skin. Lydia squirmed a little, but she knew well enough to simply follow his commands and let him do as he wished.

  He slipped away from her, his penis still rigid and his chest heaving above her. He grasped her wrist and brought her hand to his shaft, ordering her to massage him again. Lydia did, her eyes wide with a trace of fascination as she realized she had never masturbated him in this position before. He loomed above her, his skin damp with sweat and his eyes hot as he watched the rhythmic movements of her hand.

  Before long, he was grunting again and thrusting into the vise of her fist. Lydia swept her thumb over the hard knob in a way she knew he liked, feeling his urgency mounting. Though she was ready for it, she flinched a little when he erupted over her, his thick semen splashing onto her bare breasts and throat. She milked him until the final pulses ebbed, drawing her legs together as she became aware of the pulsing of her sex.

  She thought Preston would move away from her—or that one of the other men would approach, a thought that didn’t exactly cause Lydia any dismay. Her gaze flickered to where Gabriel stood, her eyes drifting hungrily over the heavy bulge pressing against the front of his trousers.

  Without warning, Preston grabbed her face, forcing her gaze back to him.

  A gasp of shock caught in Lydia’s throat. He glared down at her, blue fire filling his eyes, his mouth curling into a sneer.

  “Don’t look at him,” Preston snapped. “I’m the one who brought you here. I’m the one who saved your sorry life. If it weren’t for me, you’d be closed up in a cell block spreading your legs for a prison guard in exchange for cigarettes. You should focus every ounce of your attention on me alone.”

  “Preston.” Kruin’s voice was deep and disapproving.

  “Shut up, you stupid ass,” Preston retorted. “You know she’s mine. Gabriel knows she’s mine. And you have all failed to respect that very simple fact. I will not be made a fool of anymore!”

  He gave Lydia a hard shake, jarring pain through her. At the corner of her vision, Gabriel moved in a blur. He grabbed hold of Preston’s shirt front and yanked him off Lydia, pushing him into a chair.

  “Be careful, Preston,” Gabriel warned, his body infused with tension. “You know what we agreed upon from the beginning. None of us is to lay claim to Lydia. Not to her or to anyone or anything else.”

  “Once we lose sight of that…” Kruin approached, his broad features set with dislike as he glowered at Preston. “… this place begins to crack from the inside out.”

  “You bastards.” Preston vaulted from the chair and grabbed his trousers. He shoved his legs into them, his eyes flashing. “I found her! She’s beholden to me and me alone.” He swiveled and pointed an accusing finger at Gabriel. “And you… What the fuck are you doing sneaking into her room and letting her ride your cock? Much less getting her off while doing it? You know she needs to be controlled, that this isn’t a goddamned soap opera, that she’s mine to do with—”

  “She is not yours,” Gabriel snapped. “She’s never been yours. You’ve just been too blinded by obsession to see that.”

  “And you’d better get control of yourself before you shoot this all to hell,” Kruin added. He grabbed Lydia’s discarded dress from the floor and tossed it in her direction.

  Preston stomped his foot. He actually stomped his foot on the plush carpet, and if Lydia hadn’t been so shocked by the sudden argument, she would have laughed.

  She slipped her dress over her head and climbed off the table, realizing that for perhaps the first time, all three men had forgotten about her.

  �
��Go,” Gabriel ordered Preston.

  “You fuck.” Preston turned and gave Gabriel a hard shove in the chest.

  Gabriel stumbled back, his hands coming up in defense, and for a moment a fight seemed imminent until Kruin stepped between the two men.

  “Preston.” Kruin pointed a finger at the door, his implacable voice brooking no argument. “Get out of here now.”

  Preston shot Lydia a scathing glare, his chest rising and falling with short, choppy breaths, his eyes filled with darkness.

  “Is this what you wanted, you shameless hussy?” he sneered. “You always liked it when those horrible, pimple-faced teenaged boys fought over you, didn’t you? You liked toying with their attentions and playing them off each other. Well, you can’t do that anymore.”

  He strode across the room and grabbed the back of her neck, yanking her to him for a hard kiss that almost hurt. Preston bit down on Lydia’s lower lip before lifting his head to glower at her.

  “You’ll see,” he said, and suddenly his voice was eerily soft and dangerous. “You’ll soon see that I’m the one with all the power. I have influence these two bastards can only dream of. And you, my dear, precious Lydia, will soon answer only to me.”

  With that, he released her and strode away, his back rigid as metal. Lydia blinked past her shock, looking to Gabriel and Kruin for assurances that Preston’s threats were empty, useless, feeble. She waited for them to comfort her, to tell her not to worry, to assure her Preston was merely an egotistical windbag drunk on his imagined sense of power.

  Neither man spoke.

  Then Gabriel came toward her, his smile easing the fear clutching her belly. He rested his hand gently against her cheek.

  “Go and sleep now,” he said. “Preston won’t bother you again tonight.”

  But Gabriel didn’t tell her that everything would be all right.

  Tension wove through La Nouvelle Vie for the next few days. Lydia sensed Preston was silently fuming, and she stayed out of his way as much as possible to avoid being the focus of his wrath. Gabriel hovered around her more than usual, as if on guard.

  Even he, however, was distracted, seeming preoccupied, and Lydia began to have the uneasy sense that Preston’s outburst had wrought more danger than any of the men would admit. Only now did she understand the importance of their unity, for when one man began to dissent, the other two went on the defense.

  All three of them also left her alone, which made her feel oddly bereft. She had grown accustomed to being the object of not only their carnal desires, but also of their attention. Twice she sat on the veranda with her legs closed, not parting them even when she heard the heavy sound of Kruin’s footsteps behind her. Neither time did he order her to part her legs, threaten a punishment, or indeed even seem to notice her transgression. And though Lydia experienced a perplexing surge of hurt at his lack of attention, she told herself that surely this was only temporary, that soon things would return to normal.

  Normal. Yes, this dark balance of power had become normal to her over the past few months. It had become her life, so much so that the woman she’d been before arriving at La Nouvelle Vie had become a shadow, almost a ghost of her past.

  The intensity of the past three months had obliterated her previous life of corporate power and crime, her identity as a fierce businesswoman, her role as the successful daughter of a politician father and philanthropist mother. All of that had slipped away like pieces of torn silk when she had first stepped into the plantation house and disrobed in front of the three men. Her days of power lunches, designer suits, acquisitions, secured term loans, and financial portfolios had vanished into a hazy, dream-like world where the pleasures and control of her body had taken precedent.

  A week after Preston’s tantrum, Lydia woke to the teasing fingers of the sun as it reached through the curtains to her bed. She yawned and shifted, letting the thin sheet slip from her body and expose her nakedness to the warmth. When she’d first arrived at the plantation, Gabriel had instructed her that she was to sleep naked unless told otherwise. Again she had initially balked at the order, but now she could imagine sleeping no other way.

  Her bed rested beside the window, which she often kept open due to the heat. The night breeze swept across her damp skin, stimulating her nipples and sending shivers of pleasure through her. Even in sleep, she often twisted toward its caress and pushed the sheet away to feel the little tickle between her thighs.

  Gabriel came in every morning to rouse her in time for breakfast, but on the days when Lydia awoke before his arrival, she stretched and lounged in the patch of warm sunshine like a lazy feline.

  Her eyelashes fluttered open. She gazed at the quivering branches of the oak tree outside her window, then reached out to push the sash open higher. The moist heat of dawn spilled across her bed, promising a day of unseasonable heat and high humidity.

  Lydia started to slide out of bed, then paused and looked down at her naked body. Already the changes wrought in her soul had manifested in her figure, which was softer and rounder than it had been when she first arrived. Her breasts were large and firm, her waist sloping downward to curved hips and full thighs.

  Experimentally Lydia stroked her hands across the swell of her belly, over her hips. Her fingers brushed against her shaven mons, and the light contact caused heat to rise into her throat. She only touched herself there when she was showering or scraping away offensive hairs with a razor, and then she forced herself to keep her ministrations clinical and practical. Although the men usually left her alone when she was attending to personal grooming, she was often seized by the furtive urge to masturbate in a private defiance of their control.

  Thus far, she had managed to resist that urge—a resistance fueled by her instinct for self-preservation. Though she’d tested them on occasion with their dictate about keeping her legs parted, if one of the men, especially Preston or Kruin, discovered she had indulged in the pleasures of her body without their permission…

  Lydia shuddered and pulled her hand away from her sex. That was not a risk she was willing to take. She swung her legs to the floor just as the door opened and Gabriel entered.

  Lydia’s breath caught at the sight of him, as it usually did. Shatteringly handsome in a navy T-shirt and tan trousers, his black hair brushed away from his forehead, he made her heart quicken by virtue of his presence alone.

  “Good morning.” His green gaze slid like a touch across her body, though his expression lacked its usual warmth, replaced by a darkness that was at odds with his nature.

  Unease twisted in Lydia’s stomach. Gabriel didn’t often lock his gentleness away from her. When he did, it meant he was displeased about something. Lydia could only hope his anger wasn’t directed toward her, but then she remembered Preston’s little speech at the dinner table about her prideful, lascivious nature. Shame flickered in the pit of her belly.

  “Good morning, Gabriel.” She fought the instinctive urge to cross her arms and conceal her breasts. Although all three men had seen her more exposed and vulnerable than she’d ever been in her life, she thought she might never be at ease when she was utterly naked in front of them.

  “Is… is everything all right?” she asked.

  He tilted his head toward the bathroom. “Go and get ready. I’ll choose your clothes.”

  Painfully aware he hadn’t responded to her question, Lydia pushed away from the bed. She crossed the room with measured steps, as if she could somehow prevent calling attention to the bounce of her breasts and natural sway of her hips.

  Even so, she felt Gabriel’s eyes tracking her movements, and the knowledge of his stare caused heat to bloom in her chest. She ducked quickly into the bathroom and left the door open a crack. The men allowed her privacy while she tended to her ablutions, but they’d made it clear she was not to bar them from access should they decide to intrude.

  She stood under the hot spray of the shower, closing her eyes as water cascaded down her face and neck. Then she lathered he
r skin with apricot-scented soap and used a razor to ensure that no coarse hairs marred the smoothness of her legs and sex. She was tempted to stand there for a while, enjoying the pulse of water, but the memory of Gabriel’s apparent displeasure had her reaching for a fluffy towel.

  She dried off and smoothed lotion over her skin before wrapping in a thin robe that clung to her damp body. Returning to the bedroom, her gaze went to the sedate navy dress lying on the bed beside a pair of cotton briefs, a slip, and a plain white cotton brassiere.

  “What is this?” She’d never worn anything so… modest.

  “Your clothes. Hurry and dress, please, Lydia.”

  “But—”

  “Lydia.”

  The snap in his voice startled her, and she hastened to obey. Fingers trembling, she untied the belt of her robe and let it fall to the floor.

  Gabriel leaned against the bedpost, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

  Lydia pulled the briefs over her legs and hips, a band of elastic digging into her waist. Her hands shook harder as she slipped her arms into the bra straps and tucked her generous breasts into the cups. When she fumbled with the clasp between her shoulder blades, Gabriel stepped forward to fasten it for her, tightening the strap with a twist of his adept fingers.

  While Lydia had worn bras several times in the course of the past few months, the garments were always of the provocative lacy variety that often showed more than they concealed. This, however, fully encased the curves of her breasts, and a thin padding covered even the taut peaks of her nipples. The straps were wide and practical, the underwire excruciatingly supportive. It was the most uncomfortable thing Lydia had ever worn.

  She pulled on the full nylon slip, then eased the dress over her head and fastened it.

  The moment she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her unease ripened into outright fear. The polyester dress fell to her calves in an unrelieved sea of dark blue. A wide belt cinched the material at the waist, and large navy buttons marched up the bodice to a little pointed collar. Short, square sleeves encased her upper arms.