Lonely in Paradise
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2015 by Renpet

Erotic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The cure for loneliness may be right in front of you. If you're lucky the cure is more adventurous than you can ever imagine.

Caution: This Erotic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   Fa/ft   Consensual   Fiction   Incest   Mother   Daughter   First  

THAT FEELING OF DISSATISFACTION came back, unwelcome and distracting. I stopped working and stared out through the open dark wood shutters and across the wide veranda. The view, a vista of succulent tropical trees dropping in a carpet of rich glossy green to the startling aqua blue water of the bay, its water so crystal clear I could see the undulating sandy bottom even from this distance, did nothing for me. The lazy ceiling fan stirred hot air with its wide wooden blades, just enough to cool sweat at the nape of my neck. A sea breeze, fragrant with the scent of blossoms, touched my skin like soft silk.

Trading precious metals may have brought moderate wealth, but it didn't bring happiness or fulfilment. Living in the paradise of Sainte-Lucie, better known as Saint Lucia, had, at first, brought excitement and a sense of accomplishment. Being able to live on my dream island and not yet thirty years old - six months shy of it - should have brought pleasure and a feeling of achievement. It didn't.

I stood, pushing the solid wood chair back from the desk with a slight screech. Restlessness made me itchy and unfocused. Walking out onto the veranda, I leaned on the railing and stared at paradise - Marigot Bay. Life hadn't panned out as I'd expected. I'd been naïve assuming money would fill my need and banish the emptiness inside me.

"Je suis fini, Monsieur Nuit," a rich musical voice said behind me.

Glancing over my shoulder I smiled at Marie. "Trez be-in," I replied, mangling French deliberately.

"Your dinner is in the oven. Don't forget it," she admonished. "À demain," she added, a smile flashing bright white teeth at me before turning and leaving.

Marie was my housekeeper. I'd hired her nine months ago, six months after buying the house. My dream of owning a property had dissolved in a complete disaster when keeping the place clean and orderly proved beyond my capabilities, due to either ineptitude or, more likely, a lack of motivation. And, as mess accumulated inside the house and perfect tropical gardens grew out of control, my mood darkened. Martin, a local bar owner, had, when hearing me bemoan my plight over a cool beer, suggested a housekeeper and given me Marie's name. Two days later she was hired. Neatness and cleanliness were restored in my small corner of the world in remarkably short order.

I loved Saint Lucia. It was an interesting island full of history. It had been ruled by both France and Great Britain so the population spoke French, English, and even Creole. Marie spoke them all fluently but a subtle sense of humour had emerged when she heard my name was Sylvan Knight, and, pretending not to understand English, had called me Monsieur Nuit - Mr. Night. It had stuck. Not one to lose, I'd retaliated by mangling French when speaking to her, getting great pleasure from seeing her wince every so often until she caught onto me and understood I was kidding. But it had stuck. It was the way we communicated.

"À demande!" I called after her.

A rich laugh floated back to me and made me smile briefly. The front door closed.

Turning back to the view, I tried to understand my plight. By all rights I should be a happy man. Having graduated from the London School of Economics and finding my calling in margin trading of precious metals, a talent I was remarkably skilled at, I'd achieved my dream of escaping the poverty of Birmingham, the council estate I'd been raised in, and a bleak future as a labourer in some Public Service union. I'd escaped halfway around the world.

The sun blinded me as it slowly dropped towards the horizon, four hours until sunset, and still blazingly hot. Shielding my eyes, I watched pure white yachts sail into the bay after day-long cruises. Over the distance the faint sound of luxury cruisers' motors reached me as they returned to their berths. The tropical breeze cooled perspiration on my forehead.

I was restless. I wanted a beer.

The scent of lamb stew hit me when I walked barefoot into the kitchen. Hardwood flooring cooled my feet. A blast of beautifully cool air washed over me when I tugged the fridge door open and grabbed a Carib beer. The bottle popped and hissed with escaping gas when I pried off the beer cap. Beer gurgled enticingly, a rich amber filling the glass and a head of foam developing as I poured. I paused, contemplating the glass, enjoying the way condensation developed on the outside; a frosty promise of ice-cold hops and malt awaiting me.

Leaning back against the counter, I took the first sip, the perfect sip, foam on my upper lip, cool elixir sliding down my throat, coolness hitting an empty stomach. Flavours of hops and malt and yeast lingered after swallowing. I closed my eyes and sighed; a small pleasure in life.

The second beer was consumed over dinner, eaten on the veranda with a setting sun. The stew was rich and thick, melt-in-your-mouth chunks of lamb spicy and delicious with hints of rosemary, and gravy-soaked hunks of potato. Marie had outdone herself, again. I debated heading down into town. Maybe stop at Chez Jacque, a popular restaurant, bar, and dance establishment on the main street. However, surrounding myself with strangers didn't appeal to me.

I wasn't happy. In the lap of luxury, living in Paradise, I was lonely. Loneliness was at the heart of the dissatisfaction that plagued me. Selfish devotion to myself hadn't brought joy. Dedication to the art of creating wealth hadn't brought satisfaction.

Perhaps I was depressed, too.

There were cures: go out, mingle, re-involve myself with island social life, communicate, connect. Yet I'd tried before and bored of it. I could try again and boredom would no doubt follow. It astonished me how different social life was on a Caribbean island when you were a resident, not a vacationer. I'd experienced the unique position of being neither. As a resident I had not been welcomed into the social circles - I had no one to introduce me, to be my guide, my entry ticket. As a resident I had no interest in fleeting relationships with single or married women who were seeking temporary validation of their sexual attractiveness while on vacation.

Sighing, cleaning up the dinner plates, I found a book and took it to bed. Had I sacrificed companionship in my all-consuming drive to be independent? Was this all there was in my future?


Morning brought cool breezes through the open veranda double doors. Sun from behind the hill sparkled off the ocean far away. The single sheet over me was soft and cool. Above, in the vaulted ceiling, a lazy fan turned silently, its wide wooden blades circling with a mesmerizing regularity. The pillow was soft under my head. What day was it? Loneliness, my faithful and unwelcome companion, returned.

There was no one to wake up to. No one to look forward to seeing. Nothing exciting to stir my blood or edge my pulse above its morgue-like tempo.

The sound of the front door closing reached me. I listened to the sound of productivity: the rattling of dirty dishes, water running, pots clanking. An aroma of coffee percolating through the air finally made me move. Showered, not shaved, with jeans, bare feet, loose T-shirt - my daily uniform - I entered the kitchen.

"Ah. Enfin. There you are," Marie said with a smile, pouring me a mug of coffee and placing it on the counter in front of me.

I grunted my thanks and sipped, the elixir of wakefulness burning its way down my throat, and studied Marie as she continued washing dishes.

Marie was of East Indian descent; a true islander. She was tall, a few inches short of my height, willowy and slender hipped. She had the most amazing skin colour; a stunning mocha that glowed with a sheen of health. Yet in bone structure she was almost Caucasian. Her nose was small and slender with a slight up-turn, her chin sharp, her eyes an exotic dark mahogany. She had an easy smile that, with her colour, made her teeth look brilliant white, her smile lighting up the room.

I watched her move, her long, mid-shin loose cotton skirt swishing and moving. She had narrow ankles, on the right one a thin gold chain. Her simple leather sandals were flat and open. Her skirt and blouse were a riot of colours, her hair - a long wild mop of very dark brown soft waves - was gathered back in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, strands escaping to frame her face. I knew she was about my age, just not her exact age. It wasn't something I was willing to ask, either. It seemed too personal.

Sipping coffee and watching her clean the kitchen was relaxing. I enjoyed her presence. Caffeine slowly seeped into my bloodstream and woke up my lazy heart. A breeze flowed through open windows cooling the interior. I wondered why I hadn't really seen Marie before. She was actually a very beautiful woman. I noticed the sensual swell of her compact rear under the skirt, the shapely curve of her back, her slender arms. She was delicate and almost coltish, yet full of energy and fluidity, moving with the grace of a dancer.

Almost a year and I hadn't actually seen her? Where had I been living?

"Arrêtez, alors. What are you staring at?" Marie asked in a chiding voice, jolting me out of my rather rude inspection.

MARIE TURNED TO LOOK at Sylvan. He was sitting so quietly, unmoving and watching her clean up. While not to-die-for handsome, Sylvan was unusually attractive, extremely masculine. She hadn't figured it out yet. When she looked at his chin it appeared too large and firm, the cleft too obvious. His nose was slightly too large, his brows heavy. When she studied his wide mouth, his lips seemed slightly too narrow. He had eyes that penetrated, a sky blue, unreadable. His dark tanned complexion and dark, dark hair made his eyes shine bright and disconcert her at times.

Each element of his face, in and of itself, was not particularly handsome, but when put together ... she wondered if he was aware of how devastating and intimidating it was. Sylvan was intensely male. He was slender and lanky, perhaps three inches taller than she was. That would make him almost six feet tall. He moved lazily, loose-limbed, as if in no hurry to go anywhere, relaxed. He made her uncomfortable at times when she couldn't read him.

Life on Saint Lucia was far from the paradise people thought it was. Life was hard. Wages were meagre, food expensive. She'd struggled to make ends meet, taking two jobs at once just to afford the tiny apartment. She'd come close to being evicted, too, when one job was eliminated, the bar she had waitressed at folding in bankruptcy.

Sylvan Knight had saved her, even if he didn't know it. For the first time since she'd been a teenager and alone she could breathe. She didn't worry about the rent cheque and could splurge on a nice cut of beef for dinner on the weekend. Every time she paid a bill she said a silent thank you to him. He was a quiet boss, fair and, occasionally, a very funny man. She didn't know what he did for a living and didn't care. She'd found a job she loved. He was an easy man to look after, astute, undemanding, and easy to please.

But.

There were times like now when he'd have a lost look in his eyes. She didn't understand why. He had everything; a beautiful house in the hills overlooking the bay, a crystal clear swimming pool, lush tropical gardens, food on the table, money ... freedom. By all rights he should be happy, have a girlfriend, party the nights away, and suffer hangovers. She knew he was a year older than she was, twenty-nine. That was still young, so why wasn't he all those things?

"Vous êtes..." She paused. "You're still staring at me," she said.

I LOOKED UP AT Marie's eyes. "Sorry. Did you know you're a beautiful lady?" I asked.

She frowned at me. "Now you're joking?"

"No," I insisted. "You really are quite exceptionally beautiful."

She snorted in derision. "Are you feeling ill? Where did this come from? Ce qui se passe?"

"Nothing. Rien. Thanks for the coffee," I said, slipping off the stool and retreating to my home office, feeling a bit embarrassed for being so personal with her.

Work absorbed my morning. Gold dropped to below USD $1,350. Good. I bought six-month options. The price would climb as Syria proved difficult in eliminating chemical weapons. By buying now I was playing the spread, betting the actual price of gold would be higher than the future price quoted, the difference between the two pure profit.

Absorbed in tracking my trades, Marie's interruption when she called me for lunch surprised me. But, what surprised me even more was myself. Sitting on the large veranda at an outside dining table, shaded by the overhanging roof, when Marie placed a plate of cold cuts and cheeses in front of me and a basket of fresh-baked bread, I glanced up at her.

"Have you had lunch?" I asked.

"Non. Not yet," she replied, laying cutlery next to my plate.

"Would you eat with me?" I asked.

She looked shocked for a moment. I'd never invited her before, but loneliness was haunting me. "S'il vous plaît?" I added when she hesitated.

Her smile was warm and bright. "D'accord. If you're sure."

"I'm very sure," I insisted. I wanted company.

Rising, while Marie fetched a plate for herself, I found a bottle of ice-cold white Chablis in the fridge and uncorked it, pouring two glasses just as she returned. She glanced at the wine, then at me.

Lunch started out a tad stiff, neither of us having dined together before. Relationships, boss and employee, were hurdles the wine slowly eroded with every sip and I discovered a perfectly charming woman underneath. Her laughter was deep and husky and heart-felt. She talked about growing up on the island, the class differences between native Saint Lucians and tourists, and other small inconsequential things. I lost myself in her sparkling, exotic mahogany eyes and the dainty way she ate, small mouthfuls carefully chewed as if relishing every bite. She was a graceful woman.

She asked questions and I answered, honestly. And somehow lunch dragged on into afternoon until, with an exclamation of shock, Marie noticed it was five o'clock, her normal finishing time.

"Ah! Mon Dieu! Look at the time! I haven't even done the laundry," she exclaimed, jumping up from the table.

"Forget it. I have lots of clothes," I said, not wanting the magical moment to end. "Would you let me buy you dinner in town?"

Marie paused, bent over while collecting plates. Dark eyes studied me. She smiled ruefully. "I'd like to but I can't."

"Sure you can," I insisted. "Just leave the plates and we'll go."

"Sorry. I really can't. My daughter is waiting for me."

That brought me up short. I'd never known she had a daughter. "Who's looking after her?" I asked, picturing a five-year-old girl.

"She is. Sophie can look after herself."

"Her name's Sophie?" Man what a stupid question, I thought immediately after blurting it out. To cover, I suggested Sophie join us for a casual dinner.

Tropical evenings in Saint Lucia were full of dark skies and stars and sounds of busy streets and tourists and music spilling out from bars. There are two types of evenings: one full of charm and relaxation when the evenings are shared, the other lonely in the midst of crowds when alone. I was used to the latter so experiencing the former was thrilling.

We picked Sophie up in my Moke, an ancient British Motor Corporation contraption that one could only describe as a Land Rover re-envisioned by the makers of the tiny Mini Cooper and interbred with a dune buggy. It lacked doors, comfortable seats, working springs, and power - it was the perfect vehicle for island transportation.

Dinner was eaten outside on the patio behind Chez Jacques overlooking the bay. Moonlight reflected off small waves and a gentle breeze cooled. Christmas lights were strung up around the patio in a chintzy effort at adding charm. It didn't matter. Food was excellent and very French.

Dinner started slightly stilted. Some of the magic I'd had with Marie was lost in the trip. But another bottle of a bright and fruity Chablis helped. Marie's daughter, Sophie, was perfectly charming. She was a young Marie, slender and coltish, taller than I'd have expected a fourteen-year-old to be, with the same stunning mocha skin, the same exotically shaped eyes of dark mahogany that, at night, appeared almost black. The only difference was a couple of dimples that emerged with each bright smile.

We chatted. But it was Sophie's open questions that brought easy comfort to our dinner. It started with a remarkable comment.

"Maman says you live alone. What do you do?" Sophie asked.

I smiled and answered, "I trade precious metals."

Fully expecting her to ask what that meant, I prepared my answer.

"You're handsome," she said. "Are you and Maman lovers?"

"Sophie!" Marie gasped.

Sophie, exhibiting no discomfort at all, said, "Quoi? He's handsome and you don't have a boyfriend."

"Sophie! He's my employer."

"So? You said you thought he's handsome." Sophie tilted her head and studied me. "He really is, too."

I never explained what trading precious metals involved. Dinner arrived providing a welcome distraction. Yet I noticed Marie's slight smile and it looked good on her. I also watched a rather remarkable relationship. Marie chatted with her daughter as if Sophie was an adult. She never talked down to her, dismissed her, or ignored her. The result was evident. Sophie was amazingly articulate with no shyness or hesitancy. She contributed to the conversation and made me smile, then laugh.

Through it all, Marie's eyes kept drifting towards me. When my eyes met hers she smiled gently, pleasure dancing in her eyes.

It was a wonderful dinner, perhaps the best I'd had in years. Without realizing it I was happy. But it was more than that. Attraction is a strange phenomenon. It starts with a separate part of your brain that processes things differently. While carrying on a conversation, participating and laughing, that part of your brain notices small things.

Mine did. I noticed how beautiful Marie's smile was and how it was reflected in her eyes. I liked it. I noticed her subtle smile, too. It was a soft curl of lips, a private smile knowing I was studying her. I noticed how long her fingers were and how they moved with elegance, her well cared for nails free of nail polish.

I noticed the small interlocking dolphins ring on her finger. I noticed how her silky top, a multi-coloured print, draped on her revealing very small breasts that seemed to suit her slender body.

Under the dark tropical sky, with music floating to us from inside the restaurant, and a view of the moonlit bay, with wonderful food and marvellous company, I had the best time I'd had since moving to Saint Lucia. It was magical.


She filled my mind when I woke up, morning sun bright. I was up, showered and shaved, when Marie let herself in the front door. The shyness I felt when I emerged from the bedroom surprised me.

"Bon jour, Monsieur Nuit," Marie greeted me with a smile, turning the coffee maker on. "Thank you again for last night. Sophie really enjoyed it."

"Did you?" I asked, climbing onto the stool at the counter.

"Mais oui! It was wonderful not to have to cook dinner."

Disappointment at her comment vanished when I saw her smile. She was having me on. I grinned. "Then, we must do it again sometime."

Over the next two weeks Marie and I entered into a strange relationship. We were still employer and employee but a friendship emerged. I found myself seeking her out during the day and chatting with her. Marie took to eating lunch with me every day and our conversations were wide-ranging; world events, island politics, raising a child. We talked about Sophie, and Marie's pleasure and pride was evident when I told her how impressed I was with her daughter.

Things evolved. It wasn't blatant. Over time we stood slightly closer to each other. There was no awkwardness when either of us would brush against the other when manoeuvring in the small kitchen. Marie's laughter was freely given, deep and contagious. Her hand would occasionally touch my forearm like a butterfly when making a point or drawing my attention.

Over those two weeks I became conscious of her. She wore a subtle jasmine perfume that seemed to touch my nose when she moved. Her colourful blouses and patterned mid-calf skirts hinted at her gazelle-like stature. Her skin glowed with health, a beautiful mocha, silky and flawless.

It took me two weeks to build up the courage to ask her out to dinner again, pre-empting her refusal by including Sophie in the invitation.

Marie studied me with her beautiful eyes, her expression neutral. Her lack of an immediate response wasn't good. But she knew. This time it wasn't an employer asking an employee to eat dinner together. This time it was a guy asking a remarkably attractive woman out; a woman he found fascinating. This time it was different, there was an implicit romantic aspect to the invitation. This time I was asking her out on a date.

Nerves built with each passing second of her silence. Then she graced me with a broad, bright smile.

"D'accord. I think I'd like that."

I was to pick her and Sophie up at seven.


MARIE STUDIED HERSELF IN the bathroom mirror, condensation still coating the edges from her shower. She smoothed her hand over her cheeks and searched for wrinkles with an eagle eye.

"Maman, where is my blue skirt?" Sophie yelled.

"In your closet," Marie called out, studying tiny crow's feet.

"No it isn ... Oh. Got it."

Marie smiled and turned the hair drier on, drying her hair with practiced precision. Her mind played over the past few weeks with Sylvan. He was such an unusual man, unlike those she'd known before. He was so gentle and relaxed in his skin.

It wasn't a weakness. He seemed to know exactly what he wanted. He wasn't shy about asking her to do something and was firm with the gardeners when he noticed something being overlooked. But his manner was gentle, considerate. She couldn't remember him treating her with anything but respect.

She pictured his blue eyes. To her it felt like he could read her, see inside her. They were very sexy. Marie's little voice sounded alarm bells. Sylvan could seriously hurt her if she let him close.

So what am I doing going out with him?! Am I folle? Crazy?

Yet, in his easy, laconic way Sylvan was very attractive. She just knew he'd never deliberately hurt her and that's what would hurt. He'd be too easy to fall for.

With her hair dry, Marie started adding a trace of makeup to her eyes. Getting involved with Sylvan, she decided, was too risky. She'd tell him tonight and steer the relationship back to a formal one before it was too late.

"So, what do you think?" Sophie asked from the bathroom door, striking a pose.

Marie studied her daughter, the simple pleated blue skirt, colourful blouse, hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Tres belle," she said with a smile. "I have competition."

Sophie laughed with pleasure. "Hurry up. It's almost time. Is Sylvan taking us to the same restaurant?"


THE HOUSE WAS DARK. A gentle breeze wafted through the open windows and across me. The cotton sheet felt light and soft on my body. An owl hooted. Despite the late hour faint sounds of music and laughter floated up to me from the town below.

My mind was full and busy. I'd been treated to another wonderful dinner under the stars, full of easy laughter and sparkling eyes. I'd been charmed by a fourteen-year-old who possessed the awareness and intellect of a young lady much older than she was.

I'd been gifted to watch Marie and Sophie jest and chide and joke; an amazing relationship. And I'd seen soft smiles from Marie when I'd laughed with Sophie. Throughout one of the best dinners I'd ever had, Marie's eyes had assessed me.

But, perhaps best of all, when dropping them off, that moment had arrived; the moment when things end or progress, the moment of statements, of intent, acceptance there was more to the attraction or not enough.

After Sophie climbed out of the Moke, I'd leaned over towards Marie. Marie didn't ease away, her beautiful mahogany eyes sparkling in the night, dark, exotic, and full of mystery. Some sort of decision was made. She leaned towards me with a gentle smile and our lips brushed against each other. Her jasmine perfume filled my senses. Her lips were silky and warm and soft.

"Bon nuit, Sylvan," she whispered, her hand caressing my cheek. "Thank you for a wonderful dinner."

"À domani," I said as she slipped from the car.

"Ooh-la-la!" she exclaimed. "Demain, not domani!"

Sophie's peal of laughter followed me as I drove away with a big smile on my face.

I stared up at the dark ceiling, the circulating fan barely discernible. Where was this relationship going? Was it even going? Could it? I felt like Marie had made a decision during dinner but what decision? And had that kiss been a "you're a nice guy but sorry" kiss? It had been so long since I'd done this I couldn't remember what the signals meant. What if I misinterpreted and embarrassed her? How awkward would that be!

Sleep was slow in arriving and restless in its visit.


MARIE SAT ON THE decrepit bus as it made its way up the steep road, her purse in her lap. The engine complained, straining, gears crunching as the driver downshifted. It was already warm, the breeze fresh.

Her nerves tingled, heart beating slightly faster. Last night she'd found herself relaxing and simply enjoying Sylvan's company. She loved his easy-going way with Sophie and noticed how happy her daughter was. Somehow that simple relationship made Sylvan even more attractive. Why?

She'd planned to discourage Sylvan and everything had backfired. Somehow she'd not just let him kiss her, but that gentle brush of lips had struck her hard. She'd felt it deeply and all her plans to steer their relationship back onto an impersonal track vanished.

What now?

The bus slowed. She stood and, when it came to a halt, Marie stepped down. She walked up the final fifty yards to his house, her mind wondering what she should do.

"Bon jour!" she called out as she entered his house. Out of habit she dropped her purse on the hall table and glanced around, immediately planning her day. The hall needed a vacuum. She should do the living room, too.

Entering the kitchen, she measured coffee grinds and started brewing. With no dirty plates to clean she puttered around. An omelette today.

The scrape of a stool made her turn. Sylvan smiled quietly, his hair damp from the shower, bright blue eyes searching hers. Awkwardness emerged. "Bon jour. Comment allez-vous?" she asked, a small shiver of attraction hitting her.

Sylvan nodded as if thinking. "Okay, I think."

"Would you like an omelette for breakfast?" Marie asked.

"Okay."

Awkwardness was a physical presence in the kitchen. Marie studied Sylvan and knew. She understood his hesitancy wasn't driven by a lack of desire. The twit was worried about how she'd react or concerned he'd do something wrong. Maybe he didn't understand her implicit message last night.

Either way, this was too awkward, too uncomfortable. She couldn't stand it.

"Bon," she exclaimed. Walking around the counter to his side, she turned his face towards her. His blue eyes were watchful as she brought her mouth to his. He watched her as her lips touched his. She saw them soften and twinkle, her lips pressing harder. She liked his expression - delight.

Somehow he turned and wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands caressing her back. Somehow he drew her in, her body pressed to his. Then the kiss deepened.

Marie tilted her head, her arms slipping around his neck. She felt the tip of his tongue touch her lips and, with an unheard moan, her tongue touched his. Dizziness set in, tongues teasing lightly. Her nipples tingled, arousal flowing in.

Ending the kiss, she rested her cheek on his shoulder briefly. It was too much, too fast, the power of her response to him too strong. Disengaging herself from his gentle hug, she turned her attention to making breakfast, her heart racing. It made her smile. She felt like a sixteen-year-old again and boy did he know how to kiss!

I WATCHED MARIE MAKING an omelette. My erection was still strong, tightly confined in jeans. My lips still tingled from the kiss, my senses still full of her clean scent and her jasmine perfume. I could still feel how slender and wonderful she'd felt in my arms. I could still feel where her breath had wafted against my neck when the kiss ended and she'd rested her head on my shoulder.

Marie moved fluidly, competent and at ease. There was a brightness and bounce in her that made me smile. I'd done that. I'd made her smile so brightly. It felt good.

"You'll eat with me?" I asked, sipping coffee.

"Non. Merci. I ate breakfast with Sophie."

"I like your daughter. She's a mini you; just as pretty and with the same sense of humour."

Marie smiled. "She likes you, too." Taking a plate, she slipped the omelette onto it, added buttered toast and slid it across the counter to me.

I ate and watched Marie begin washing dishes. She gazed out the window, water running into the sink. I studied her closely. My mind teased me, wondering what the swell of her compact rear would feel like to caress. I wondered what her lovely mocha skin would taste like and what her small breasts looked like. What type of lingerie did she wear? Plain? Sexy lace? The fork paused as I tried to picture her in a bra and panties with an apron on washing those dishes. My erection strained.

I knew what I wanted - to kiss her again and tumble into bed, get hot and sweaty with her and shower together. My imagination was inventive and very visual, my desire exquisite in its intensity. Yet I didn't know how to proceed.

Should I grab her and kiss her? Would that be too forward, too soon? Did she want me to initiate actions? Was she waiting for me to move or was she happy with the promise in the air between us, that yearning ache and excitement at possibilities?

Whatever it was, I decided to take no chances. I didn't want to derail our budding relationship. It was too exciting, something I hadn't felt in a long, long time. Besides, I was feeling a bit insecure.

Work occupied me through the morning. Time passed quickly. When Marie called me for lunch it felt like only minutes had passed since breakfast. She'd prepared a cold cuts lunch, fresh baguette, and a chilled black bean salad. It was wonderful. Conversation flowed as we ate. We covered everything and anything except our developing closeness.

To me it was something physical in the air, as if nature was holding its breath. The change in our relationship was on the cusp, interest ready to become familiarity and intimacy. That possibility hung there. I thought it might be only me feeling it, but when Marie placed her glass of water down and stood, instead of clearing the table she moved to my side.

It was the most natural thing in the world. I guided her into my lap sitting sideways. She dazzled me with a sensual smile and sparkling dark eyes. She was surprisingly light in my lap. I loved how her soft, cool hand cupped the side of my face. My hands found her back and her waist. Her head bent.

The kiss was stunning. It was slow and gentle, lips parting, tongues caressing, exploring, probing. It was intense and beautiful and arousing. And when I stood, lifting her with ease, Marie nestled her face to my neck. Her hand caressed my jaw. Her breath was warm and clean. Jasmine perfume wafted at me.

In the bedroom, windows open, a breeze bringing coolness and the scent of flowering blooms, I put her down. We stood holding each other. My body trembled. Intimacy had been a long ago memory to me.

"Are you sure, Sylvan?" she asked, her arms around my waist, her slender body pressed to mine.

I liked that she asked. "Yes. Positive," I replied.

There was no frenzy, no desperation, no stripping and tumbling into bed. My hands slipped up under her blouse when we kissed again, gliding up her slender back to touch her bra and shoulder blades. Marie's hands slipped down from my shoulders, down my back and onto my butt. Her tongue became frisky as she pulled my groin to hers, pressing against the lump in my jeans.

When I started lifting her blouse our kiss broke. Marie smiled, exotic eyes shining, and lifted her arms for me. The blouse fell from my fingers. I looked down. It was lacy blue, a half-cup bra. Mocha swells mounded gently, her breasts small, sensual, and beautiful.

I raised my arms for her, the Polo shirt pulled up and off and dropped to the floor. She studied my chest, fingertips trailing through fine, sparse chest hair. Drawing her in, her lacy bra pressed to me. We kissed again, soft and sensual, tongues playing. My erection ached.

"Take them off," she urged, unbuttoning the front of my jeans.

While I unzipped and drew them down, Marie unzipped her skirt. It fell to the floor collecting at her feet. She stepped out of it. I didn't notice her studying me. I was too wrapped up in her glorious body.

Marie was slender, her hips narrow. Yet she was full of delicate, sexy curves. Her mocha skin glowed silken in the afternoon light. Soft swells filled her bra, petite and alluring. Her stomach wasn't flat. Below her navel it curved slightly in a gentle, feminine way. Blue panties hugged her, the front curved by the press of her mons.

Her legs were breathtaking. They were slender and endlessly long with a sensual gap between them. Thighs curved, slim and silky. A delicate gold chain hung on one ankle. Marie quite took my breath away.

It wasn't until a gentle hand brushed against my tented erection that I looked up. Marie smiled.

"You're spectacular," I said.

"Merci."

"No. I mean you're spectacular," I said again.

"So you said," she replied with a smile. Her hands reached behind her. The demi-tasse bra fell loose. Her arm teasingly held it in place, dark, beautiful eyes studying me.

She waited for me. She waited until I raised my eyes from her chest and looked at her. With a soft smile she dropped her arm. Like a powerful magnet my eyes were drawn back. The sound of my sharp inhalation was loud.

God they were perfect; small yet sensual with perfect shape, seemingly full with dark, almost black areolae and firm nipples. The undersides curved, top sides sloped. Her breasts sat proud and firm. They were perfect.

Moving into her, our bodies touched, her firm breasts pressing against me, my erection pressing against her. We nuzzled and hugged and lips sought each other out. The kiss was intense and insistent and hard. My hand cupped a sensual pantie-clad buttock and we tumbled back onto the bed.

Senses became full and disjointed; the flare of a slender hip, the swell of a succulent buttock, firm and beautiful. A sexy body pressed against me, moving and undulating. Murmurs disoriented me. Panties slipped down to reveal gorgeous, firm buttocks and silky café au lait flesh. Long legs pressed between mine, a knee easing up to press against my groin. A delicate hand eased into my boxers and fingers wrapped around my erection. Her moan washed away all rational thoughts.

It wasn't my best. It wasn't even close.

I was too overwhelmed. Long, long legs caressed my thighs. A hand urgently shoved my boxers off and, somehow naked together, we pressed against each other, my erection aching, her fingers caressing me, driving my arousal even higher.

I touched her. Silky, sexy, tightly curled dark pubes combed through my fingers. Her legs eased apart and I cupped her pussy, full, a beautiful palmful. She was moist, labia hugging my finger. Our kiss was deep and demanding when my fingertip found her entrance nestled at the base of her cleft. Her hand gripped my erection. Marie's knee edged under my legs. Her hands urged me up and over her, her knees rising to cradle me.

Looking down at her I saw an exotic Goddess, breasts pert, exotic, and below, trimmed curly pubic hair covering her mons. Her mocha skin made my erection seem pale. I looked into her eyes.

"You're beautiful," I whispered, bending to kiss her.

Her lips opened to mine. A murmur broke the silence and her hand gently held my shaft. The tip of my erection brushed along her cleft, the moist sensation making me gasp and end our kiss.

Rising on one arm, my body held off her, I bent and kissed her breast tasting salty perspiration, my tongue feeling the crinkles of her dark areola and her turgid nipple. Sealing my lips to her breast I sucked gently.

Marie moaned, her hand holding the back of my head pressing my mouth to her breast. She curled her pelvis and slipped the tip of my erection along her silken cleft. Labia parted. Moisture, slippery, warm and welcoming, greeted me.

The next moan was mine.

Hunching, a snug, moist, velvet pussy eased over my crown, the feeling exquisite. I couldn't stop my reaction. Groaning, I thrust gently and drowned in the sensation of being taken in, held in a tight grip, surrounded by silken heat. My cock pulsed and throbbed. Marie's pussy nestled into my groin. Thrusting again I was in, buried in perfection.

Her arms pulled me down onto her. We paused. My cock flexed inside her. Her thighs cradled my sides, hands caressing my back.

First time intimacy is hesitant. Each movement is made with delicacy and the partner in mind; does it feel good, does she like it, am I bringing her pleasure? But occasionally, when it's with the right person it can be funny and exciting and worry free. That was how it was with Marie.

It started with me remembering belatedly about birth control.

"We should stop," I said.

"Already?" Marie asked in surprise.

With a smile I said, "I don't have condoms."

"Yes. I can feel it," she replied, giving my erection a little hug with her snug pussy. "It's okay. I'm safe."

"But..."

"Shush. We're fine," she insisted.

"Okay."

Smiling, watching her expressive eyes, I kissed her gently. She caressed my back, her hands finding my buttocks and pulling me into her gently. Her hips undulated slightly scraping her clit against me. My erection swelled and strained making her feel tighter, beautiful, pure heaven.

A wave of pleasure washed over me, it felt so damn good to be buried inside her.

"I should mention it's been quite a while since I've done this. I might not last," I warned, another stronger wave of pleasure hitting me.

Marie smiled broadly. "Je sais. I know. I change your sheets. It's been more than a year. It's okay. It's been a long time for me, too."

She curled her hips away, my cock partially withdrawing. Reversing, I sank into her again, deeply penetrating her.

"I just thought you should know that this time might not be representative of my usual stamina," I advised her, and groaned when she laughed, her pussy clenching.

"Mon Dieu! Do you always talk so much?" she asked, her beautiful eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Generally no," I claimed, slowly withdrawing from her warm clasp and, as my crown almost emerged, reversing, slipping smoothly into her, my groin knocking against her clit. "Usually I let my actions speak for themselves, but I'm worried they might send the wrong message this first time."

Marie laughed, deep and amused. She undulated underneath me. My tip nudged into her deepest part, touching her end. When I moved my hips in a circular motion her eyes narrowed. Her pussy gripped me sending shudders of pleasure into me.

Stroking her side, my hand found the sexy curve of one buttock, silky and firm. The thumb of my other hand teased one of her nipples. She moaned quietly.

"Aaah, c'est bon," she murmured, her hips hunching.

Still not stroking into her we teased, rubbing our groins, moving gently against each other. I kissed her again, her breath wafting against my cheek. Tongues played.

Suddenly her hands gripped my buttocks. She snorted as we kissed. Her body jerked lightly and through my erection I experienced her rhythmic clenches, each accompanied by a snort of breath and a body twitch. The kiss broke.

"Sylvan," she gasped quietly.

I felt every part of her sudden climax. I felt her buttock flexing, body undulating and pussy clenching with each wave of pleasure hitting her. I felt her thighs tighten against me and her hands grasping my buttocks. I felt her chest heave as she gasped for breath. And I heard her little cries of pleasure. It was a beautiful climax, thrilling, enchanting.

Like any man I was delighted I'd brought her such pleasure and, for the minute or so of her climax, I completely forgot about my own needs, lost in her ecstasy. But, when she calmed, her deep mahogany eyes opened, and she gifted me with one of her dazzling smiles.

Mistakenly I thought she was done.

Her hands prevented me from withdrawing. "Non. Now it's your turn," she said, her tight pussy easing off and reversing. She pulled me into her, my erection slipping deep, so deep, her pussy moist and snug.

I withdrew and pressed back in, sliding deep, my cock swelling, her velvet grip so erotic. Marie wrapped her arms around me and pulled me down, my face finding her slender neck and ear. I nibbled and inhaled her wonderful scent. She trembled. We fucked slowly, easily. There was no rush, no hurry, just slow deeply pleasurable strokes. Her beautiful pussy welcomed me again and again, moist and sensual, snug and erotic. We moved languidly in the warm afternoon heat, perspiration coating my body. It was fantastic. But then it got better.

"I'm cumming, Sylvan," she whispered. "Cum with me."

This time I recognized the signs and, as she climaxed again my orgasm came thundering towards me. "Oh God," I managed to gasp, pressure building. My erection swelled. Aching started. For one exquisite moment I almost felt pain and then, with a firm thrust into her beautiful pussy, burying myself deeply, I exploded, bliss crashing down over me, semen erupting, pulsing, pleasure, pleasure. Withdrawing, I thrust again, exploding, semen spurting, utter bliss. Eyes closed, panting, I thrust and came, thrust and came, spurting deep into Marie, flooding her, straining, aching with pleasure. I chased my climax, hunching and cumming until with a final deep groan, a final agonizing pulse, I collapsed, drained, done, empty, my heart racing.

Stirring, I slipped off Marie to her side. She rolled to face me giving me a smile.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Men!" she exclaimed with a grin. "Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be? Sex is wonderful, non?"

With a grin I asked, "Is cuddling good, too?"

Marie moved closer into my side, her fingers playing with the hair on my chest. I hugged her with one arm, caressing her back, her side, and her amazing buttocks. Above me the ceiling fan turned lazily. My eyes closed.

The next thing I knew Marie was scrambling up. "Mon Dieu! Look at the time!" She dressed quickly, a sexy reverse of how she'd gotten naked in the first place; panties, bra, skirt, blouse. I lounged naked and watched her enjoying the sight of her beautiful slender body, her amazingly perfect skin colour so attractive.

"Don't you want to shower?" I asked.

"No time. I'm late. Sophie will be waiting."

"Can I drive you?"

Marie bent and kissed me. "Non. Merci. À demain."

"Oh river," I called out as she disappeared, my version of 'au revoir', goodbye.

Marie let out a loud laugh, the front door closing behind her.


SOPHIE GLANCED AT HER mother as she made dinner. She was smiling and humming to herself. She'd also been late when she got home giving some lame excuse.

Sophie puzzled the situation. She hadn't seen these signs together before. Humming, yes. Smiling, yes. Lame excuses? No. What was going on? Rising from the small kitchen table she moved close to her mother planning on interrogating her. She picked up a scent. Leaning close she sniffed.

"What are you doing?" Marie asked.

"You smell different," Sophie said taking another sniff.

"Stop it," Marie said. "I'm going to shower before we eat," she added, her cheeks warm.

Sophie sat at the table and pondered the mystery.

IN THE SHOWER MARIE washed herself carefully. She was still blushing at Sophie noticing a different smell. Sex always left a different aroma on your body. It was something to do with pheromones.

She knew she was in trouble. She'd been afraid of it, too. Sylvan was a wonderful lover, funny and sexy and intense and gentle. Yes, she was in trouble. He was going to hurt her deeply.

Marie still couldn't believe she'd cum twice. That had never happened before. And he had a beautiful cock, circumcised, thick, straight and hard, so hard. He fit her perfectly, filling her beautifully.

Blushing, she wondered if it was because he hadn't had sex in so long. He'd had so much semen it had leaked into her panties and even left a damp spot on her skirt when she'd sat in the bus. She loved it.

Rinsing herself, Marie knew she was in trouble. Sylvan had the potential to really hurt her. What should she do? End it now before it was too late? Could she keep the job?


Marie puttered in Sylvan's kitchen. She was nervous. Seeing him after having had sex with him would have been nice except she'd decided the sex had been a mistake. It left her too vulnerable. She was too scared of the hurt. Now she'd have to find a way to go back to how things had been.

"Bon jour, Marie. Comment ça va?"

Turning from the sink her heart thumped. Sylvan had a lazy welcoming smile on his face that she felt all the way to her lower parts. Crystal clear blue eyes smiled at her making her heart skip. He was just so damn handsome.

"Morning. What do you want for breakfast?"

"You."

Marie's resolve wavered. Her light laugh sounded weak in her ears.

"Come," he said extending his hand.

She took it, surprised when Sylvan didn't lead her to the bedroom. He led her out the front door, grabbing and passing her her handbag. Five minutes later the Moke was carrying them along the rising and plunging road, the Caribbean flashing by on the right, hills rising on the left, tropical trees lining the road.

"Where are we going?" she asked over the loud engine.

Sylvan smiled. "I'm taking you to lunch."

For the next thirty minutes she swayed in the seat as Sylvan negotiated the narrow twisting road. They emerged high above Soufriere Bay and descended into the small town. Parking, he surprised her again, taking her hand and strolling along the waterfront.

He started talking. He asked no questions. He talked about growing up, Birmingham, rain, council estates, hopelessness. He talked about working to put himself through the London School of Economics. He talked about being driven and success and unexpected loneliness.

Holding her hand, walking slowly along the beach front, with motorboats and sailing boats at anchor bobbing in the gentle swells, he talked about her, how he felt, his attraction to her, her beauty. And with every word Marie's resolve faded.

Over lunch he had her laughing. Over coffee he had her feeling warm and beautiful and desirable. And by two-thirty she couldn't wait to get back to his house.

Second time sex is always better. Nervousness is gone, your partner's body familiar yet still new, and shyness no longer inhibits actions. Sex with Sylvan was much much better. He brought a rambunctious energy, laughter and naughtiness, and mixed it with adoration that just took her breath away. He was pure, uncomplicated and generous, and the best lover she'd ever had.

His playfulness emerged as soon as she entered the house. He grinned, his eyebrows moving up and down. "Wanna mess around?"

Marie had been carrying horniness with her since lunch, his acute attention a physical caress over the long meal. She'd studied his strong face on the drive back, how he smiled so brightly and without reservation. She'd studied the shape of his mouth and remembered kissing it. She'd admired his lanky, easy way of moving and remembered how wonderful his erection had felt, how it filled her so perfectly and brought so much pleasure.

Marie had physically reacted to Sylvan. Her small breasts felt heavy, full, ripe, her nipples sensitive and calling out to be caressed. Her pussy ached for a touch. Her body remembered strong orgasms and wanted them again. She was just plain horny.

In answer to his twinkling blue eyes, his offer to mess around, and the boyish grin, Marie set her purse down, smiled and slinked up to him. Her hand found his hip. She leaned in, her lips near his ear. This close she smelled him; the faint trace of soap mingled with an intense male scent. Her other hand brushed against the lump of his erection. She whispered, "Oui, I would very much like to mess around."

His sharp inhalation made her smile. She felt his erection throb through his jeans. She caressed, loving its shape, thick, and promising untold pleasure. Still close to him, breathing against his neck, her fingers found the brass button and popped it open. When his hand reached for her breast she brushed it aside.

"Non. Wait."

Marie lowered his zipper and carefully eased her fingers inside, under his boxers, down, seeking and finding his thick erection. "You have a beautiful erection, Sylvan," she whispered, slowly gripping the shaft.

He moaned quietly making her smile.

"I'm very horny," she whispered, her thumb caressing the crown. She shivered when slippery precum spread. Feeling very sneaky she added more briskly, "But I have chores to do. This will have to wait."

She withdrew her hand and held her breath.

Sylvan growled deep in his chest. She smiled when his hand grabbed hers. He dragged her to the bedroom with determination and, when he turned her and pushed her back onto the bed, Marie started laughing.

Her heart skipped at the sight of sparkling blue eyes and a big grin, his jeans partly open. When he drew the hem of her skirt up, brushing her protecting hands aside, she laughed again. Her laugh died away at his touch, his hand slipping up her thigh to press against her panties, caressing her mons.

He leaned over the bed, his face close to hers. The kiss was tender, soft, sexy.

"How horny are you?" he asked, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Very, very horny," she answered, squeezing her thighs together, beautiful pulses of pleasure radiating from her clit. Her arousal was demanding attention. She needed sex, needed to feel him filling her again. She needed to cum badly.

Sylvan surprised her. In a sudden move he flipped her over onto her front as if she was weightless. His hands slipped up under her skirt and along the outside of her thighs. They reached up higher to hold her hips. She felt him pull the waist of her panties and, shaking with raw excitement, she let him pull them down, lifting her hips to make it easy.

Glancing over her shoulder she saw Sylvan grin and shake her pale pink panties at her, a look of silly pride on his handsome face. He dropped them and reached for his jeans. Marie didn't move. She studied his boxers and a wave of heat hit her when his erection popped out, his boxers pushed down. It was just as she remembered, thick, long, rigid, the crown flared. Her pussy pulsed with desire.

Marie didn't stop him when he grabbed her ankles and pulled her back on the bed, her legs falling over the edge. She let him draw her skirt up to her waist and caress her buttocks. She let him bend and kiss each buttock, his fingers teasing her by caressing inside her thighs but not touching her aching pussy. She let him stroke her ass and heard him whisper.

"Magnificent. You have a gorgeous ass."

Horny to start with, when he bent over her, his face next to hers, kissed her cheek and said, "I have some work to do. This will have to wait," she burst into laughter, her whole body shaking.

Serves me right, she thought. Then the slippery tip of his erection grazed the valley of her buttocks teasingly. Arousal slammed into her. Laughter died. Her heart raced. She tried to reach behind her and Sylvan grabbed her wrists, holding them to the bed and preventing her from moving.

Determined, she wiggled her butt, teasing the tip of his erection, and smiled with success when he moaned.

No words were spoken. Sylvan pressed his erection at her, the tip pressing between her buttocks, still holding her wrists pinned to the bed. Marie moaned and wiggled her butt, moving so the moist tip slipped down to nestle against her cleft.

Sylvan pressed his erection at her again. She sighed, sparks of pleasure beginning.

She felt herself. She felt her labia, slippery and moist, slowly part to welcome his thick crown, her heart beat hard. She wiggled her butt again, shuddering as his erection eased deeper to touch her entrance. Marie was wet, very wet. She eased her legs apart, angled her butt and whispered, "Now, Sylvan."

Sylvan's face was next to her cheek, his breath hot. Her eyes closed at the exquisite sensation of being stretched, of being penetrated, his cock so wonderfully thick.

She squeezed her buttocks then curled her back, his erection suddenly slipping into her, stretching her, filling her. With one stroke, one sensational stroke, Sylvan filled her, his cock touching her deep, his groin pressing into her buttocks.

"Mon Dieu, c'est bon," she moaned.

His weight settled on her back, heavy and wonderful as it pressed her to the bed. Their fingers intertwined. For a few moments only hearts moved, Marie lost in the erotic sensation of fullness, her pussy aching, the teasing promise of ecstasy thrilling her.

"You feel fantastic, Marie," he whispered, his cock swelling, pulsing, alive inside her.

"Sylvan," she whispered.

Her gentle clench, buttocks flexing, started the movement. Soft clenches were matched by Sylvan's micro movements, just a teasing hint of a stroke, just his large crown moving deep within her. Marie moved, rubbing her breasts on the bed, sparks of pleasure blossoming in her areolae and nipples. She breathed deeply inhaling his scent.

Micro movements gained strength slowly, teasing her, his big erection titillating her with promises of pleasure. Her body thrummed with desire and need. She clenched her pussy tightly, rewarded by a sharp inhalation and sudden thrust, the tip of his cock nudging against her deepest part, so full, pleasure rolling through her body.

The next move was longer, his erection easing out of her pussy leaving a feeling of empty loss, regret, need. He thrust in firmly, her breath exploding, his cock shoved deep, filling her, filling her. Marie clenched her pussy, clit now tingling hard. Sylvan responded, withdrawing slowly and thrusting in again, deep and hard, her buttocks bouncing.

"Oui. Comme cela," she breathed.

Fingers intertwined, his breath hot against her cheek, Sylvan started fucking her, filling her beautifully, empty, filling her, her clit aching. Marie's eyes closed, her world narrowing to the sensation of being fucked, his cock so thick, so wonderful. Perspiration emerged. The bed started jiggling with each solid thrust; harder, deeper, pleasure radiating through her body, tenseness building.

It came suddenly and viciously. One moment she was drowning in the sensation of being penetrated deeply, filled and stretched, and the next her breathing stopped.

Marie's climax slammed into her with the force of a hurricane. It erupted, her pussy clenching uncontrollably. Pleasure radiated up to burst inside her. She grunted as a full body cramp assailed her, her body freezing. Sylvan fucked her hard and another wave of ecstasy slammed into her making her body writhe, buttocks clench. She gasped and grunted again, another overwhelming wave of bliss washing over her, disorienting and overwhelming.

Vaguely she heard Sylvan cry out. She sensed his hard, deep, desperate thrusts and, in the middle of her climax, she felt warmth flood her, her pussy become slippery. Sylvan was cumming!

Short, hard, desperate strokes shook her body. Marie came hard, a full body climax that crashed over her leaving her drained and panting and weak, bliss permeating her. Sylvan's heavy body settled on her back. Peace arrived, sweet peace.


Marie's guard was down. For the next week and a half she revelled in Sylvan's attention. She truly enjoyed his company, too. He was bright and funny and smart. She loved sex with him. He was a thoughtful lover and let her take charge whenever she wanted. She loved being able to drive him crazy to the point where he'd dominate her, never hurt her, just dominate her and seek pleasure. Marie quite forgot about the potential to be emotionally hurt. But it came back to her on a Friday almost two weeks later.

It was payday and when Sylvan handed her the envelope with her paycheck it hit her. It felt wrong. It felt dirty. Accepting her wages after having a two-week-long affair with him made her feel ... just awful!

"Sylvan," she said, reaching for his hand. She couldn't do this. Either the affair had to stop or she had to find work somewhere else.

When a sparkle emerged in his clear blue eyes, a sparkle of delight and mischief, she was suspicious. When he dug into his jean pocket and withdrew a box of matches she was confused.

I STUDIED AT MARIE. She seemed so down for a moment. Pure confusion animated her beautiful eyes. I wasn't sure if I was in love, never having experienced love before. But I knew without reservation I was a happier man with her in my life. She was a wonderful, inventive lover. But more importantly she was a constant source of pleasure, dryly witty, observant and knowledgeable. I loved her company and wanted more.

That's what the matchbox was - more.

"Here. Before you say anything, please take a moment to think," I said handing it to her.

It rattled.

Long graceful fingers slid the box open. Her confusion grew at the sight of a simple brass key. Lovely mahogany eyes glanced up at me full of questions.

"Marie, you know how much I like you. I'm alive when you're around. My life is being with you and waiting to see you again, nothing more. I'd like you to move in. Live with me. Sophie can turn the guest room into her own. Please live with me."

Marie looked stricken. "I can't, Sylvan. Sophie doesn't know about us. I don't know how she'd react."

"Ask her," I pleaded. "I want you both here. We'd be a family. Please, Marie."

Her gentle kiss on my cheek before leaving did not reassure me. She looked conflicted.


LOWERING HERSELF INTO THE worn couch, Marie said, "Sophie, turn the television off, please. We need to talk."

"Sophie?" she asked again when her daughter didn't respond.

"Okay, okay," Sophie said, aiming the remote. The television fell silent. She'd put it on mute. "What's up?"

Taking a deep breath, Marie said, "I need to tell you something about Sylvan and..."

"What? That you're lovers?" Sophie interrupted. "I've known that for a while."

Shocked, Marie probed and, cheeks warming, her daughter told her about the humming and smiling and that one occasion she'd smelled something different on her. Sophie, all fourteen years of her, seemed pleased and, shocking Marie even more, began probing about what sort of lover he was.

The conversation became involved, television ignored. And when Marie mentioned Sylvan inviting them to move in with him, Sophie grinned with delight, enthusiastically agreeing.

" ... and he has that swimming pool. Do you think I could have friends over for a pool party, Maman? Just wait until I tell my friends. They're gonna be so jealous!" Sophie enthused.

Marie was quite shocked that the discussion continued as if the decision had already been made. It hadn't. Not by a long shot.

Being around Sylvan was an all-consuming experience. It left nothing over, no room for anything but pure enjoyment. It wasn't until she was away from him that she became aware of how powerful the experience was. It was being away from him that let her appreciate the potential danger he represented. Marie was falling in love and she didn't want to be in love. She'd been in love once before and, even though she'd had Sophie as a gift of that love, the breakup had almost killed her. Could she really risk that again?

What if it didn't work? What if this was all just a fling, an infatuation?

"Maman? Maman! Where did you go?" Sophie asked, eyes studying her.

A conversation ensued that went into late evening. Marie was shocked and brimming with pride, too. She talked to her daughter honestly, as if she was a mature young lady, and she was. Sophie stunned her with insights, with strong opinions, and with startling honesty.

In one night Marie's relationship with her daughter completely changed - another example of the power of Sylvan.

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