A Boating Incident at the Chateau

Arnaud's secretary had arranged for two limousines to pick us up at the Charles de Gaulle airport to take us to the town of Rambouillet, which was about an hour southwest of Paris. To get to the Goncourt family's chateau, one entered through an imposing gold-tipped black-iron gate that opened electronically. Once through the gate, we drove down a long tree-lined alleyway, through a large, beautifully kept, walled-in park. There were large groves of majestic old trees, lawns flanked with statues of Greek gods and goddesses, and a wide graveled driveway in front of the chateau. I felt like I had stepped into an episode of Downton Abbey because Daniel's brother Gilles, his wife Pauline, and their son Victor, were all waiting for us by the front door, as well as four household staff in uniform, who were formally lined up next to them.

Though they barely knew me, they were so charming and we all kissed twice in the French style. Though he was a good thirty five years older than me, Gilles gave me that look that I get from most men (the straight ones anyway) when they meet me, where they seem to be thinking,

if only I could put my hands on her.

He exclaimed , "

Mon Dieu

, Katie! You are all grown up now, and a famous supermodel too!

Incroyable

! Come in, come in, we have a little snack prepared for you."

They ushered us into the main living room (which they called

le salon

) for some coffee, croissants that were still warm and had just been brought over from the village's bakery (or

boulangerie

), and an assortment of cheeses and cold meats, while their butler and gardener brought our bags up to our rooms for us. I was a little awestruck by the richness of the furnishings and centuries-old architecture, with all sorts of paintings, stucco ornamentation and sculptures everywhere. Most rooms had double doors that were a cream color with gold trim and knobs, as well as glittering chandeliers and rich, carmine window dressings. Not only was the chateau magnificent and huge, but Victor was one of the most beautiful men I had ever known. This was a little more appropriate as he was only about eight years older than me. He had given me an interested but sardonic look when we greeted each other at the front door.

I wonder if he's single

, I thought, a naughty shiver going through me.

The tea was refreshing after the long trip and our hosts were charming. Gilles announced, "The funeral service will be tomorrow morning at ten at the church in Rambouillet. We will have cars for the family so you do not need to worry about anything. Today you should just rest and recuperate. But if you want to go spend the day in Paris, we have a car and a driver you can use." The story was, by the way, that my mother had killed herself about a year, and now her boyfriend had died too (because of me), but he had left me a nice inheritance in equal amounts to that which his daughter Caroline and his son, Ryan, received. They weren't exactly my step-siblings, but almost.

Caroline jumped at that option, and said, "I would love to do a lap of the Faubourg Saint-Honoré stores. It will take my mind off things." She turned to this French hunk whose spell we were both falling under, and a seductive smile appeared at the corner of her lips, "Victor, would you want to accompany me and be my tour guide?"

Victor demurred, "I'm afraid I have a polo practice session this afternoon that I cannot miss. We have a big match coming up on Saturday against a world-class team from Argentina, and we have to sharpen our tactics." Then he teased her a little, "I wish I could—I can't think of anything more fun than going boutique-hopping with you." She punched him on the arm, saying, "Shut up, Victor, you would have the

best

time!" and he winced and laughed. That was the first time I had seen Caroline being cute and normal since the death of her father, Daniel.

I got up from my chair and walked over to one of the walls where I noticed a very large Italian renaissance painting of the Greek goddess Venus tying a blindfold on Cupid, accompanied by two of her nymphs who held a bow and a quiver of arrows. It looked a lot like a Titian. Victor came over to join me in front of the majestic, stunning canvas, and stood just behind me and whispered into my neck, "Yes, it's a real Titian." I had put my hair up and his breath on the little hairs on the nape of my neck sent another little shiver through me.

I gasped and my eyes probably looked like saucers. This magnificent yet erotic masterpiece was worth a fortune. "How does anyone own a Titian?"

He nodded. "My grandfather bought it during the war. The one that is hanging in Rome in the Borghese Gallery is a good copy. The Italians were about to lose the war, the mayor of Rome was desperate for funds and had a fire sale. My grandfather paid for this with gold bars he kept in his Swiss bank in Geneva."

I whispered, "I love it. I love Titian."

"He's the master."

"The fact that Venus is blindfolding Cupid is interesting."

"Blindfolding is always interesting."

"I agree." I turned and looked at him and he grinned at me wickedly. Victor's approach was smooth and powerful, just the way I liked my men. Arnaud approached us. Was he jealous? Could he tell Victor was putting a move on me? Arnaud touched my forearm with his fingers, perhaps trying to indicate to Victor that I was already taken, and said, "I will go do some work and then take a nap. Isn't that Titian incredible? You are now one of its owners."

It was hard to fathom that and I whispered, "Oh, my God, really?"

Arnaud gave me a look, almost as if he were warning me off Victor, but then he walked off and left the room, leaving me to my own devices. The others had started to get up, the gathering dispersing, when Victor touched my forearm with his hand and said, "Would you like to go for a walk on the grounds? I can give you a tour of the property. You've never been here before, have you?"

"No, I haven't. I would love to, Victor."

Caroline was walking out with Gilles and gave me a pissed look. Victor had blown her off, yet he was all over me. I wondered if they had ever been kissing cousins when they were growing up. I imagined yes.

As we walked out of the living room, which was decorated with several large paintings, most of which had an erotic theme, another painting caught my eye. It was of a blindfolded girl outside in a garden, being teased by a young man who was tickling her cheek with a piece of hay. I pointed it out to Victor. "Who is that painter? I love that one too."

"That is Fragonard. It was painted just before the French revolution. What do you like about it?"

Hmm,

I thought,

he's checking me out.

I nodded, "It's a beautiful fantasy of playing the game of love in a lush country bower. So French and hedonistic. You seem to have a theme going here with the blindfolds."

He smiled and winked, "They're part of a long tradition in the game of love, here in France. What do you think they represent?"

I gave him a naughty smile, "I guess trust. And allowing yourself to let go, to play the game and be surprised by someone else's choices and desires."

He nodded, "That's a good answer. We French are more sensualists than romantics. The blindfold is a very sensual experience." I tapped my lips with my finger as I thought about that, and all of a sudden the twinkle in his eye became an intense stare. I smiled inwardly as I contemplate his wicked thoughts. I was having them too, and said, "So... You said something about the Chateau's grounds... Are you going to give me that tour?"

Victor nodded, "I would love to take you around. Let's go." I pointed to my feet. "Should I put on more athletic shoes?"

My travel outfit had consisted of black Chanel ballet flats and a silver Versace metallic mini dress. I had wanted to wear something pretty for this reunion with Daniel's brother and his family, although I probably looked like I was trying too hard. I would learn that the French aristocracy are all about being

chic

, but understated.

"Your shoes are fine," he said. "We are just going on a stroll, we won't be jogging."

* * *

We walked down elegant, tree-lined alleyways. It felt good to be outside, breathing fresh country air and admiring the lush gardens and soothing greenery. The further we got from the chateau, though, the wilder and denser the vegetation became and soon the paths took us into a small forest. The white-graveled path narrowed and was dappled with shafts of sunlight. We heard a bird singing intermittingly, and otherwise it was very quiet. The breeze would occasionally rustle the leaves of the majestic old trees lining the path. We had left the stress and noise of the modern world behind, and had gone through a looking glass into an enchanted oasis of nature. The path curved, and as we turned the corner under a canopy of dense foliage, we suddenly found ourselves in a large open area surrounded by lush oak trees in the middle of a large, rectangular stone-lined basin filled with water. The water had a silvery sheen to it and was so calm it looked like a mirror, reflecting the clouds in the sky. It was in the shape of a large rectangle and must have been at least two hundred yards long, by one hundred wide. At one end there was a pretty stone and red brick boathouse.

My breath caught in my throat as I had never seen anything like it, and I whispered "Oh, my God, Victor, it's beautiful." He took my hand and we walked toward the boathouse. It was not a traditional pond like you might see at a country home in the U.S. or England; it was much more formal and refined. The white graveled paths were lined with stunning white marble statues of Greek nymphs, satyrs with wicked faces, goat feet, and snarling lions facing off against naked Greek warriors wearing only a helmet, a spear and a cape furled around an arm. The old stone walls that lined its edges were elegant yet weathered, and in some places carpeted with a plush green moss. It was an utterly peaceful, magical place; hidden by the surrounding forest, and I felt like I had been transported back to some other era, an earlier century that had not yet been encroached by the frenetic pace of our modern lives. Victor smiled at me, sensing my astonishment at how beautiful this place was. It was heaven. His expression was softened, and I saw another side of him that was less sardonic and more innocent.

Victor led me into the charming, old boathouse and there he produced a bottle of a French

liqueur

called Aperol from an antique wood hutch, as well as two small glasses, and gestured for me to follow him. We were on a mission, or preparing for an expedition to some faraway emotional destination, and there was no need for any more small talk. He led me through a door and we entered a dark vaulted room that had several bays in which old, wooden rowboats were floating in ink black water. The bays were connected to a covered channel that let out onto the pond. The only light came from two small round windows and the opening of the tunnel that was about thirty feet away. The shape of the boats were a little different than the ones I was used to. They had square ends, flat bottoms and were painted a dark hunter green. They looked like the boats in 19th century paintings by Manet or Renoir, in which bearded men wearing straw boaters and old-fashioned tank tops enjoyed sunlit afternoons on placid rivers with their lovers.

Victor apparently had something similar in mind for me. He held my hand as I clambered into one of the boats. Once I was seated and the boat settled, he handed me the bottle and glasses. Next he inserted antique oars that he had retrieved from a rack on the back wall into the brass oarlocks and after untying the boat's rope from a cleat on the dock, he sat down facing me. I held on to the sides of the boat, slightly nervous as it bobbed and wobbled a bit. Victor on the other hand, was completely nonchalant, having done this all his life. Folding the oars in and pushing against the wall next to us with his hand, he guided us out of the boat's bay, into the dark tunnel that was lined with ancient columns sculpted in the form of wood nymphs and out into the lagoon. I was briefly blinded by the bright sunshine as we emerged from the darkness of the boathouse. I had never experienced anything so dreamy. I had that feeling again of being in another world—an older, more cultured, more elegant era.

It was almost like being high; everything was extra vivid—the water glinting prettily in the sun, the lush foliage of the majestic trees reflected in the dark, rippling, mirror off the pond. I also loved watching Victor row, his arm muscles rippling, and yet making it look effortless. As we reached the pond's center, a couple of hundred feet or so from either side, Victor pulled in the oars, arranged some red velvet cushions lined with gold braid on the deck of the boat, and gestured for me to come lie down next to him.

"

Viens ici, Katie

," he said in French.

Whoa

, he moves fast. For a moment, I hesitated. Was I this easy? But he was a very confident man, used to getting his way and I found his poise intoxicating. So I got up, trying not to drop the bottle and glasses, and carefully clambered over a bench to get to him. I was conscious of the fact that I was wearing a short mini dress and was flashing him the lower part of my ass, and maybe more, as I climbed over the bench. I sat down on a cushion, smoothing my dress down to be decent again and he poured us each a glass of Aperol and we clinked glasses to toast the moment. The liqueur was made from oranges and was sweet and delicious, and after taking a few sips, I settled back into the cushions and looked up at the cerulean blue sky with white puffy clouds slowly floating by. I murmured, "Thank you, Victor. This is really lovely." Any stress I had been feeling had melted away and I was strangely comfortable with this man who I barely knew.

"You're welcome," he answered softly. "I wanted to show you my favorite place."

I smiled, "It's now my favorite too." It was. This pond, the chateau, the forest—I had never seen anything like it. It felt magical. And I've been places. It also didn't hurt that he was stunningly good looking, rich and a polo player. Any girl would lose her head over this man in a second, and I was no exception. I was

especially

pleased that he had picked me for this little excursion over Caroline. So I decided to tease him a little, "Not a bad place to take a girl if you want to get in her pants."

"I don't just bring any girl to this place, Katie. You and I are..." He paused, not sure of what words to use. I suggested, "Enjoying each other's company?"

He shook his head. "No. I think we have something. Um, something..." He stopped again, unsure of what he wanted to say for the second time. Then he surprised me by quickly leaning over and stealing a kiss, causing the boat to rock and wobble. He let his lips linger for a moment on mine, but then didn't push it any further. I didn't resist. How could I? He had just taken me to his secret place and offered up a blissful escape from the hustle and bustle of the world. The July air was balmy with the whisper of a warm breeze and the drifting of the boat, the occasional buzz of a bee or a dragonfly skimming the water was seductive and soothing. I felt like I could lie there, next to this handsome, hunky guy, forever. I sat up a little, sensing a movement in the woods to one side of the pond, and saw there was a shadowy figure moving there among the trees. He was hiding and observing us. I nudged Victor and he sat up and looked too.

"It's my cousin. Your almost step brother." He didn't sound thrilled. Ryan's intrusion was threatening to shatter the dreamy tranquility of our boating tryst. But Victor was right; Ryan appeared to be spying on us, hidden somewhere in shadows of the surrounding forest.

God, why did he have to act like an idiotic teenager now of all times?

I decided the best tactic was to ignore him.

"Don't worry about him," I murmured. "Ryan's harmless. He's just bored and came out to explore the grounds."

"Let's hide, and hopefully he'll just go away," Victor replied in a conspiratorial voice. He lay back down on the bed of cushions he had made on the floor of the boat, and pulled me down too so that we were hidden from view to anyone on shore. He placed his hand on my bare knee, and slowly stroked my leg. I put my hand on his before it got too far up my thigh, and tittered.

"Victor, behave yourself. We just met. I don't put out on the first date."

"Shhhh."

He kissed me and I couldn't resist kissing him back. His tongue felt so sensual in my mouth, I immediately felt stirring in my core. I was turned on. I wondered if he knew that I had fucked Arnaud, his uncle's best friend and executor, the first time I met him. It was the first time I had done something like that, been so casual about doing it with someone.

Did men talk of these things? Did I have a reputation now in this small circle of rich French aristocrats?

I took my hand off his, tacitly allowing him to resume his naughty caress up my legs. My mini dress left my long limbs; exposed all the way up to my ass, and he took full advantage of the access to burrow his fingers between my thighs. His hand was like a mole pushing through a narrow underground tunnel, seeking to get to my secret place. I was getting so aroused by this brash polo player with his broad shoulders, square jaw and sensual mouth chewing on my lower lip. Did he have a girlfriend, or a wife for that matter? I had no idea. He hadn't bothered to check in on my relationship status either. He had felt an attraction, and had acted on it. These French men were too much, they really had no shame! His fingers found what they were looking for, as I relaxed my thighs and let them both open a little. His fingers slipped inside the g-string thong and into my wet folds. It felt delicious and arousing. His fingers moved back and forth, slowly, and then he adjusted his fingertips so that he could also massage my throbbing clitoris. I tried to stifle a moan. This was sweet torture, made all the more sensual by the fact that we were outside, in a boat, on the grounds of a French castle. And I couldn't be too loud because my stepbrother was lurking somewhere on shore nearby.

Victor unbuttoned his pants, and then took my hand and guided it inside his underwear, where my fingers encountered his thick erection that was throbbing like some caged animal. I lightly touched it, teasing him with my nails. I was hungry for it, and he was driven a little wild by my caress, losing all sense of decorum.

"Oh my god, Katie," he murmured, "I have to fuck you. I have to fuck you right now! You are so goddamn hot, I can't wait any longer!" The thought crossed my mind,

oh wow, he's going to do me right here in the boat!

He wanted me bad, and from what I could tell, he was not used to taking no for an answer.

"We can't do it here!" I exclaimed. I got up on an elbow and looked over the edge of the boat to scan the surrounding forest. Was Ryan still there, spying? I couldn't see him. But he easily might have moved to a different spot. For all I knew, he had climbed up into a tree and was looking down at us.

While I was distracted looking for Ryan, Victor took the occasion to insert a finger inside of me making me swoon with pleasure as his thumb simultaneously massaged my engorged clitoris. He knew what he was doing and I was dying at this point to have his thick cock replace that finger and let him have his way with me. His mouth covered mine and his tongued snaked in and caressed mine and I drank in his breath, mixing my saliva with his, wanting to inhale his essence. We were both becoming drunk with desire and lost ourselves for several minutes in the kiss, while his fingers kept up their heavenly stroking of my vulva.