"I think I will, at that!" Lewrie exclaimed, reaching for one of the bottles on the sideboard, now enthused and inflamed by thoughts of pleasures to come, and filled with a boisterous, expectant bonhomie. He was relieved, too, that his sport would be the private sort and not a public spectacle, with Cashman or Vivienne deducting points for awkwardness. Fond as he was of that harem fantasy, it had always been him and a round dozen wenches, with not even a sleeping eunuch as witness. "God… ain't it grand?" Cashman snickered with delight as he hoisted his glass to be refilled.
"Not too much, though, good as the wines are," Lewrie cautioned. "Ah, plus tard, hey? Can't take yer jumps if foxed blind." "It did come to mind," Lewrie happily rejoined. "Yoicks… tallyho!" Cashman crowed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Henriette was incredibly kind, upstairs in an airy room lined with wide-shuttered doors and window coverings that let in a blissful breeze of much cooler air, down off the high mountains to the east.
A lone trio of finger-narrow candles lit the chamber, barely illuminating anything beyond the bedstead, yet throwing mesmerising shadows against the walls and shutters with each mild gust. Up that high above the fouled and littered streets of Port-Au-Prince, it was refreshing to escape the miasma of too much garbage, and the reek of too many people. And those gently flickering candles threw such enchanting highlights and shadows over Henriette's fine body, too, limning a chiaroscuro portrait in ambers and black hollows, making her even more exotic than she already was.
The sheets were clean, if "wormed" with small seams of repairs, and were redolent of soap and sunlight. The candles were local-made, scented with flowers, almost as sharp on the nose as Chinee joss-sticks or very High Church incense. Henriette had dabbed on fresh scent, too, after they'd locked and barred the door, and that was all over the bedstead, the pillows, and him, by then; for, cool as was that breeze, it was still a warm and humid tropic night, and they had perspired… oh, how they had perspired, in the throes of lust! The more common term of "sweated" came to Lewrie's mind; sweated like coolie labourers loading cargo on Jackass Point in Canton, or Hindoos up the Hooghly River! But more than worth it, he smugly decided, stifling a yawn as he sprawled beside her, getting his breath back, and watching the candle patterns dance on the overhead canopy of the bedstead.
There came a stronger gust of wind, a cooler and welcome zephyr.
"It rains," Henriette whispered. Sure enough, the zephyrs were followed by the faintest plashing of raindrops on the balcony. There was a basso rumble of faraway thunder, and an eyeblink's flicker upon the shutters from a fork of distant lightning, the wide wood shutters thrown in blue relief for a second. "Mon, Dieu, merci. "
Lewrie sat up and groped to the foot of the bed for a discarded sheet, to fan it and lift it to trap the cooler air, to let it fall slowly and drape over them, then fan it to soar and hang, again.
"Merci to you, too, cher Alain." She smiled, getting up on one elbow to face him and reward him with another token of kindness on his lips. "I have the basin… you wish me to sponge you? You are trиs hot? I cool you?"
"Better I get to sponge you, Henriette," he chuckled, reclining once more with his hands under his head and the pillow. "I don't wish t'get too cool. A certain… heat… is required, ain't it? Uhm, l'ardour? La passion?"
"But you were born with the passion, mon amour, " she told him. "Mon Dieu … so formidable^"
Whores ' lies, he thought; but… so pleasin'!
She slid out of bed on the window side, all those delectably shadowed hollows and sweat-sheened bright spots awakening his interest anew. Lean waist, long slim neck and arms, with entrancing hollows at throat and collarbones… firm, round and jutting young breasts that nearly defied Newton 's laws of gravity, a bouncy round and firm bottom, strong-thewed thighs… with such a seductive dark hollow between.
She peeked flirtatiously over her shoulder as she walked to the windows, rolling her hips, chuckling over the effect she knew she had on him. At the nearest window she posed herself, drew open the shutters and stood silhouetted, feet apart and arms widespread. With a theatric sigh of contentment, she threw back her head to savour that cooler wind, began to run her hands over her body as if smoothing in a lotion made of raindrops, or the night's magic, with her back to him.
Well, he wasn't having any of that! Lewrie sprang from the bed and crossed the room to snuggle in against her from behind, to "help" her enjoyment. His hands roamed, and made Henriette softly groan deep in her throat; over her waist and belly, the tops of her thighs, then up to cup her bounteous breasts and circle her large, dark nipples and areolae with his thumbs. Up to the tops of her shoulders, then butterflying downward over her breasts again, and she stiffened with delight and parted her feet more widely as he softly traced down either side of her stomach, down to her prominent mons and the pouty lips of her vagina. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, raised her arms over her head, and juddered her luscious bottom against his groin.
A moment more, a groan more, and she stepped quickly away, over to the wash-hand-stand for the sponges and the basin of cool water, so she could return and do the same for him. Working her way down, down, 'til she knelt before him, teasing her hair over his member, now hard as a marling-spike. A look up into his eyes, a teasing smile upon her face, then she half-lidded her eyes, took hold of his manhood, and put her lips over the cap.
"Pour vous, mon amour formidable, " she whispered, pausing for a moment before lowering her head once more to her ministrations.
The distant thunder seemed to rumble 'twixt his ears, steady as the excited pulse of his heart. He threw his own head back and let out a low moan, put one hand on the back of her head and gripped a shutter with the other.
Whores, by God! he exulted to himself, looking down at last to watch her, and him, work together. Wives never know this, now and then maybe a mistress, but… go it, darlin'. Tonight you're mine t'do ev'rything I want… bought an' paid for, and by God, it feels fine!
The novelty of having a woman so casually, of using her as much as he wanted, any way he wanted, then discarding her without a backward glance-though with a japing, teasing friendliness, a "fond" parting kiss, and extra shilling or two-it was so damned beguiling, so alluring, that he wondered why he'd eschewed whores all these years!
Wasn't for the Navy, I'd've most-like become a pimp! he recalled from his early days, the chuckle in his throat higher this time, almost a cackle of mirth.
Thud-thud-thud-thud, went the far-off thunder; thud-thud…
No, it wasn't thunder, he decided after a moment of coherency in the grip of mindless pleasure. And it wasn't his heart, either, those regular thuds, for they were in counterpoint to the beat in his chest.
Henriette stopped and sat back on her heels, suddenly looking forlorn and frightened, clamping her arms over her breasts.
"Here, now…" he began to say, irked that she'd quit before the "melting moments."
"L'Ouverture!" Henriette squeaked. "The drums!"
"Drums? Oh!" Lewrie gawped, going to the window. "So that's what that sound is. Like… like Muskogee Indian drumming. Sort of."