The Seduction Of Ellen

Endeavoring to sound nonchalant, Ellen said, “Mmm. Who is she? Do you know her, Aunt Alexandra?”

“I know of her,” sniffed Alexandra. “She is Mademoiselle de Puisaye, a rich, spoiled French beauty who does exactly as she pleases. They say all the eligible bachelors on the Continent are after her.” Alexandra clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Looks like she is enjoying the dance with Mister Corey a bit too much.” She shook her head and exhaled loudly, “What could any sensible woman see in that rude, scowling man?”

“I can’t imagine,” said Ellen.

And then she felt her heart squeeze painfully in her chest as the music ended and the French beauty whispered something to Mister Corey.

He nodded.

She laughed.

And the couple hurriedly left together.

Waiting just long enough to make certain she wouldn’t bump into the pair, Ellen claimed a raging headache and escaped to the stateroom she shared with her aunt. Inside, she paced about, restless and edgy.

And wondering, miserably, if Mister Corey had only seen Mademoiselle de Puisaye to her stateroom where he had said a gentlemanly good-night. Or had he gone inside?

Instinctively, Ellen knew the answer. She sighed and sank down onto the edge of the bed.

Just a few doors down, in the well-appointed stateroom of Mademoiselle de Puisaye, Mister Corey and the French beauty sank down onto the edge of the bed.

“I saw you the minute you walked into the dance,” said the confident Gabrielle de Puisaye, “and I said to myself, ‘That man is going to make love to me tonight.’ You are, aren’t you?”

Mister Corey leaned down and placed a kiss on the bare swell of her breasts above her low-cut bodice.

“Tonight. In the morning. Tomorrow afternoon. Whenever. Whatever you want.”

“I want you to undress me and I want you to tell me your name.”

“Mister Corey,” he said, urging her to her feet before him.

“I know that,” she said. “I mean your given name.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said as he turned her about and began to deftly undo the tiny hooks going down the back of her lush satin evening gown. He urged her opened dress down to her waist and was amused to see that she wore absolutely nothing beneath the gown’s bodice. Curious, he pushed the dress to her hips and revealed her naked backside. “My, but you’re a brazen lady, Gaby. No underclothes of any kind?”

Giggling, Gabrielle shoved her shimmering eggshell gown to the carpet, stepped out of it, kicked it aside and turned to face Mister Corey. Naked, save for her shoes and stockings, Gabrielle quickly discarded her dancing slippers, peeled the stockings down her legs, and tossed them aside. She sank to her knees before him and quickly removed his shoes, but not his black stockings. She then rose to her feet, bent to him, kissed his lips, then eagerly climbed astride his lap.

“I’m not brazen, I just plan ahead,” she told him, running her hands through his hair and tracing the long white scar down his cheek with a red-nailed finger. “This way you don’t have to fuss with all that cumbersome silk and lace to get to the real goodies.”

“I do admire a woman who is well organized,” he said, his hands spanning her bare waist. “Now, if you’ll just give me a minute, I’ll get undressed.” He started to lift her up off his lap. She resisted, clinging to his neck.

“No, not yet,” she begged. “Do it to me while you’re still fully dressed. I like it that way. It’s so…naughty and exciting.”

Her hands went to the waistband of his dark trousers. Looking into his cold black eyes, she promptly freed his throbbing erection and said, “Oh, God, I knew it. You’re so big and hard and hot. Put it in me, Mister Corey. Hurry, hurry, I can’t wait to feel you moving inside me.”

Mister Corey willingly obliged.

“Ahhhh,” Gabrielle moaned with delight as he slowly impaled her on his hard, pulsing flesh.

With his hands on her firm thighs, he guided her, lowering her soft, yielding body down onto him until he was buried in her.

She loved it.

Gabrielle immediately began rocking and thrusting her hips and Mister Corey quickly caught her rhythm. Her bare, full-nippled breasts pressed against his dark face, the Frenchwoman murmured teasingly, “You’ve done this before, Mister Corey.”

“As have you, Gaby,” he replied.

Unashamedly experienced, needing no extra time and mindless of her partner’s stage of arousal, Gabrielle quickly climaxed, letting herself go, crying out in her ecstasy. Damp with perspiration, heart pounding beneath her naked breasts, she collapsed against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and clutching his sides with her knees. She was aware that he’d not yet attained release and she was glad.

She wanted more.

Sighing, smiling foolishly, Gabrielle finally sat up, looked him in the eye and said, “You’re still hard, Mister Corey. Soooo deliciously hard.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Do you like games?”

“Try me.”

“Let’s see if we can manage to get all of your clothes off while you’re still inside me. Wouldn’t that be an enjoyable challenge?”

It turned out to be just that.

The couple tumbled about on the bed, rolling to one side so that Mister Corey could get his arm out of a jacket sleeve. Gabrielle busied herself with the buttons on his white ruffled shirt. Working furiously, Gabrielle laughing all the while, they contorted their bodies, reaching around each other, tugging at clothing, taking care to not come apart.

Finally Mister Corey was as naked as she, except for his dark stockings.

“Here’s how we’ll do this,” he said, lying on his back with Gabrielle seated astride him.

He slowly rolled up into a sitting position facing her as she drew her legs around his back. Checking to see if she was comfortable, assured that she was, he bent his right knee and brought it up close to his side. Immediately taking her cue, she twisted about, reached out, and peeled off his black stocking. She tossed it to the floor and said, “Now give me your other foot.”

“We did it!” Gabrielle cried jubilantly, when the last black stocking came off. “Now, let’s do it.”

Five

“Good morning, Miss Cornelius. May I join you?”

Ellen turned from the ship’s railing to see Enrique O’Mara approaching.

Nodding, Ellen said, “That’s Mrs. Cornelius, Mr. O’Mara.”

He laughed and said, “That’s Ricky, Mrs. Cornelius.”

His warm, friendly manner and infectious grin disarmed her. She laughed too and said, “That’s Ellen, Ricky.”

“Ah, sí, Ellen,” the good-natured Ricky replied as he stepped up and rested his muscular forearms on the railing beside her.

Spanish on his mother’s side and Irish on his father’s, Ricky O’Mara possessed the good looks and fiery spirit of both parents. He was one of those rare individuals who enjoyed every minute of his life, no matter where he was, who he was with, or what he was doing. He took genuine delight in things others hardly noticed. To him, a spectacular sunrise was cause for celebration. As was the dazzling sight of the vast Atlantic Ocean stretching before them. He found joy all around, which made him a joy to be around. People liked Ricky O’Mara because he liked them.