My heart pounds as I leave Veronique's room and move swiftly down the hallway through the darkened halls of the centuries-old villa. I feel exposed, like a hunted man making a run for it across an open field. It's a reckless, high stakes game I'm playing. Still, I feel I have no choice.
The next step of my plan in place, I make my way downstairs and pause at the door of my room. Inside, I hear the grunts and groans of two people in the throes of sexual passion, the bed pounding against the wall, bodies slamming together. I can hear Justine moaning and Peter growling. They're really going at it.
"Oh Jake," she moans. "Je viens! Je viens!"
I just smile and move on down the hall. He's enjoying this 20-something hottie who thinks she's enjoying me. Go figure.
When I get to Isabelle's room, I knock lightly on the door. A moment later, it opens. Isabelle is standing before me in jeans, a t-shirt, and bare feet. She's removed her makeup entirely. To my eyes, she's never looked more beautiful.
"May I come in," I say, leaning on the door frame.
"Of course."
She opens the door and I enter, realizing this is the first time I've been in her room. I take my time looking around. At the art on the walls. At the books on the shelves. She's got a good collection; she obviously has a discerning eye and an inquisitive mind.
I turn to her and she's leaning against a large drafting table which seems to serve as her desk.
"You doing okay?" I ask, softly.
"Yeah," she says quietly. "Better now."
"Do you feel like talking about it?" I ask, wondering how I can help.
"No. It's something I have to work out for myself."
She gives me a plaintive smile. I notice an overnight bag half packed on the divan.
"Going somewhere?" I ask. She stands and crosses the room.
"I'm leaving," she replies, matter-of-factly. "I'm leaving this house and I have no intention of coming back."
I watch her as she places a couple of books into her bag. She continues explaining.
"I'm sick of the hypocrisy. My Mother badgers me to be proper and then I discover she's taken Charles to her bed. My father complains about the state of the world but he doesn't do a thing about it. I don't want to spend another day being....infected by their way of thinking. It's like the girl in your story. She had a chance to escape, to live her life, but she squandered it. Well, this is my chance. And I'm taking it."
"Where will you go?"
"I'm not sure. To Paris perhaps. I have an aunt there who likes me. I'm sure she'll put me up for a bit. Then, who knows? Maybe London. "
"Paris will be lucky to have you. London too. I'm proud of you, Isabelle."
She looks at me for a moment, then stands and walks over to me. She raises herself on her tiptoes and kisses me on the lips.
"Thank you, Jake."
"For what?"
"For everything," she shrugs. "For being here... For inspiring me... For socking Charles in the nose."
"The cheek, actually."
She chuckles.
"Excuse me. The cheek."
She sits on the bed. She pats the spot next to her. I sit next to her.
"And for this afternoon," she adds. "At the waterfall."
I nod.
"Yeah. That was pretty special."
She turns to me, earnestly.
"Wasn't it? I mean, it was more than special. It was truly unique. For me, anyway. A once in a lifetime experience."
I look deep in her eyes. She really means it.
"It was that way for me too, Isabelle."
She looks in my eyes and places her hand on my cheek.
"I'm so glad."
I look down at my feet.
"You know, Isabelle. I have to tell you. Your mother's been...pursuing me ever since I got here. I want you to know that. After what happened with Charles."
"I know that," she answers. "I have eyes. I saw her at dinner. Heard her stupid double entendres. You know, it's not that she's a bad person. She's just...sad. She's like a little girl, lost in a way. She defined herself by her physical beauty for so long, she has nothing else. And she's frightened.
"Frightened of what?"
"Frightened of growing old. Frightened of being alone. Charles, too, acts the way he does because he's afraid. He acts superior because he's afraid he's inferior. How can you respect others if you don't respect yourself? But you're different. You respect yourself. You have....character. You would never behave like that."
I look at her and think about how wrong she is. I'm not different. I feel afraid too. I doubt myself. Too often I follow my cock and whore around. No, I'm no better than Charles. Or Veronique.
"All of us have weakness," I say quietly. "We're human. We're flawed. I'm trying to learn that and accept it. In myself and in others."
She looks at me and nods. I feel so close to her right now. I lean in slowly and our lips meet.
We kiss, deeply. Passionately. Our tongues find each other. Our arms embrace, our hands touching, squeezing. I hold her tight in my arms and kiss her neck. She presses against me, running her hands through my hair.
"Oh Jake," she whispers. "I feel like celebrating. Celebrating my new freedom. What shall we do?"
I feel like inviting her to get naked with me and fucking until we pass out. But I'm trying to reform myself.
"Whatever you want. I'm game."
"Let's go swimming in the lake!" she says, excitedly. "I'll miss that so much when I'm away."
Is she nuts? It's something like 1:00 in the morning. But I don't want to come off as a stick-in-the-mud.
"That's a great idea!" I answer. "Let's do it!"
The next thing I know we're headed down to the lakeshore. The moon is near full and it casts a eerie glow on the lake and the trees around us. It's cool, but not cold. The lake is calm and the moonlight shimmers on the surface.
"Let's get naked," she whispers. "I want to be naked with you."
I think, "twist my arm" and start to unbutton my tuxedo shirt. She's pulling off her t-shirt and unbuttoning her jeans. I watch her slip her jeans over her hips and she's wearing the most delicate bra and the skimpiest thong. I feel my heart leap and my cock stiffen as I see her body once again. I start to unbutton my pants and she looks over at me.
"Here. Let me help."
She kneels down to remove my shoes and socks. She unzips my trousers and carefully pulls them down. Seeing her gorgeous body and having her so near has caused my cock to stiffen. It's pressing hard against the cotton fabric. She pulls my pants off each foot and then looks up at me, her face right at my crotch. My cock is filling out my briefs as if they were three sizes too small. She looks up at me with raised eyebrows.
"Shall I continue?" she asks playfully.
"Be my guest," I answer, trying my best to sound non-challant.
She reaches up and takes the waistband of my briefs between her fingers with both hands. Slowly she pulls down the fabric revealing first a tuft of hair, then the thick base of my cock. She pulls it further down, inch by inch, and my hardening cock is pressed straight down. Further she pulls it, down the length of my growing cock. Having her face so close to my cock just makes it harder, and thicker. My heart is thumping. Finally, she gets to the head and she ever so slowly pulls the waist over the ridge and then the tip. It springs forward and smacks her in the cheek. She lets out a raucous laugh.
"Come," I say. "Stand up. Your turn."
She jumps up and turns around so I can unfasten her bra. She turns to face me and holds the cups of her bra against her breasts, looking up at me through her lashes. She licks her lips and rolls her hips and rubs her breasts with her hands and bra. She arches back and slowly lowers her hands, letting the bra slide slowly over her breasts. I see the tops, then the pink aureoles, then the upturned nipples, stimulated by her rubbing. She lets the bra fall to the ground and rotates her shoulders back and forth showing me her perfect breasts. They look incredible in the moonlight.
I lower myself to my knees and grasp her thong in my fingertips. I slowly pull them down and am struck by the tightness of her ass and the shape of her hips. She's a ballet dancer, sure, but this body is beyond fit. It's extraordinary. I pull the thong over her feet and take advantage of my proximity to nibble on the inside of her thigh. She giggles and takes my head in her hands. She lifts one leg and rests it on my shoulder, guiding my face between her legs. I taste her pussy. So sweet. So wet.
As I stand, I wrap my arm around her ass and lift her so that her body is pressed against my chest. She wraps her legs around me and, as I slide her down, she rubs her breasts in my face. I lick her nipples and suck each one into my mouth.
She lets out a satisfied moan and says: "Come. Let's swim out to the raft."
A swimming platform floats some 25 yards from shore. She takes off running and dives headlong into the water. I follow right behind her. The water envelopes me with a visceral shock. I surface and see her swimming ahead of me. With a few strokes, I catch up.
Swimming alongside her, in the vast lake at night, is surreal. I've swum in lakes at night before, as a kid, and there's an eeriness that accompanies the experience. A sense of being at risk, of venturing out into the void. It's exciting and invigorating, yet unnerving at the same time.
Isabelle turns onto her side facing me and swims a sidestroke. She's quite a natural swimmer. She looks good in the water. Hell, she always looks good.
I swim close to her, breast-stroking to match my speed with hers. The wide sweep of my arm causes my hand to brush against her body. She kicks her legs out to tangle with mine. Then, we're suddenly embracing, floating in the water.
We swim around and over each other, our arms and legs intermingling. Her skin feels ultra soft in the water and her body firm and supple. I feel her feeling my shoulders and arms, her legs wrapped around mine. It reminds me of our encounter on the mossy banks of the waterfall.
It's hard to believe that was earlier today. So much has happened. Thinking of how beautiful she was, laying naked on the verdant shore, arching her back in the afternoon sun while I made love to her, well, suffice it to say my body is readying itself for another session.
