Faye's Story Read online

  Second Chance at Love 3

  Faye's Story

  Young widow Faye Smythe’s life is turned upside down when Radburn McSwain and Dirk Boyd, two of London’s most notorious rogues, enter her life, reawaken her passion, and take control of her destiny.

  Inheriting her husband’s shipping company after his untimely death means Faye is one of London’s few female business executives. But her grasping in-laws, having spent their share of the inheritance, are insisting that Faye marry her deceased husband’s younger brother, which would effectively give him control of her finances.

  When Dirk and Radburn, who are best friends and business partners, learn of Faye’s predicament, they set out to free her from her greedy relatives. On their quest, they free Faye of her inhibitions, inspiring in her a passion she never dreamed was possible. Can Faye really have it all? Money, a career, two gorgeous men to love her?

  Genre: Historical, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

  Length: 32,669 words

  FAYE’S STORY

  Second Chance at Love 3

  Robin Gideon

  MENAGE AND MORE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage and More

  FAYE’S STORY

  Copyright © 2013 by Robin Gideon

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-309-5

  First E-book Publication: January 2013

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

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  DEDICATION

  For Keith.

  FAYE’S STORY

  Second Chance at Love 3

  ROBIN GIDEON

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  London, England, April 1895

  “Darling, can’t you stay just a little while longer?”

  The woman’s tone was a carnal purr of passion fulfilled and passion yet to occur. She was Countess Katarina von Kettleburg, and the man who inspired her craving for sensual excess was Dirk Boyd, scion of the Boyds of Kensington, a family that had dominated a rather significant portion of London’s import and export trade for half a dozen generations.

  She stroked his hair and sighed again when he shifted his pelvis and pushed that final, exquisite quarter inch of rock-solid cock into her, filling her completely with an erection the dimensions and indefatigability of which had inspired countless tales of gossip among the ladies of the ton. Some of the stories were true and some were outright hyperbole. All were complimentary and spoken in hushed tones that suggested the speaker would, if necessary, pay serious money to once again be the recipient of Dirk’s sensual expertise. Dirk, however, dispensed his charms free of charge.

  “Work, my pet. I’ve always got work to do,” he said, beginning another long, slow retreat. And then, discordant to the previous sentence, he added, “You’re so tight,” on his invading thrust.

  “But you’ve only been here”—Katarina’s mouth opened as Dirk once again began his downward stroke, but no sound came out. Lush passion flooded her senses—“a few hours.” She sighed and shuddered softly beneath his big, lean, powerfully built body. Then in a tone suggestive of a prayer, she whispered, “Your cock is heavenly.”

  Every minute of those hours, Dirk thought—but discretion dictated he not say—he’d spent satisfying the Countess’s insatiable and highly self-centered passions.

  When he was fully embedded within the countess’s vaginal embrace, she bit her lower lip for a moment, sighed with passion, and lewdly whispered, “If you must leave, go ahead and leave. But can you leave your cock behind for me to play with? It’s so long and—oh, God, that feels good when you move like that—it’s divine.”

  Dirk’s pelvis was tight against the countess’s, his cock long and rigid, filling her tight passage. He kissed the tip of her nose then slanted his mouth down over hers, feasting on her lips. As he kissed Katarina, he wondered how many climaxes she needed each morning before she considered herself satiated. He had slept with countless women, many if not most of whom were married, so he was familiar with sexually greedy females. But none, in his experience, could compete with the countess when it came to being self-centered and thoroughly egomaniacal in their pursuit of orgiastic fulfillment. She never seemed to get enough, Dirk concluded, though he admitted to himself with a certain charitable awareness of matrimonial haute monde realities that her insatiability could well have something to do with the fact that she had married a man twenty-five years her senior. Marrying for money, Dirk noted, did have some distinct disadvantages for a blushing, young bride with a considerable sexual appetite.

  A rap of knuckles at the guest bedroom door put an end to Dirk’s kissing, although his lower body continued its smooth undulations—to Countess von Kettleburg’s unspeakable delight.

  “I’m busy!” Dirk called out with a bit more anger than was necessary, just for Katarina’s benefit. In point of fact, he was already becoming bored with the exquisitely beautiful but narcissistic and inexhaustible countess from Regensburg.

  The door opened, and Radburn McSwain, Dirk’s best friend in London and in all the world and for all of his life, stuck his head into the room. “Finish up quickly, my friend. We’re expected at the widow’s office in less than thirty min
utes.” There was good humor in his blue eyes as he looked at the duo on the bed caught in flagrante delicto.

  The countess had flinched when the door opened. Dirk looked down at her and saw that her cheeks had taken on embarrassment’s rosy hue. Pushing the impressive length of his cock fully into her again drew her attention away from Radburn and back to him.

  “Sorry, my pet,” he said with the cavalier ease of a man who had been interrupted in similar situations countless times in the past, “but this has got to be the last one.”

  During his long withdrawal, Katarina sighed, signaling the approach of her orgasm. She turned her head on the pillow and looked at Radburn then extended a hand toward him and curled her forefinger to summon him closer. Narcissism and exhibitionism were first cousins in her world.

  The lifelong friends had traded lovers many times in the past, so it was nothing new for Dirk to be intimate with a woman while Radburn watched or even participated in the bacchanalia, though he always had a woman of his own. Dirk and Radburn had never made love, or participated in any variation of making love, simultaneously with a single woman. Individually, they had plenty of willing lovers, which precluded any need to share a single woman.

  Kissing the smooth arch of Katarina’s neck, Dirk pumped steadily harder and faster, driving the much-rumored length of his cock into the tight channel of her pussy. Each hard thrust was punctuated with a high-pitched gasp from the countess, her slender body almost bouncing on the mattress, the sound of their perspiration-moistened pelvises slapping together echoing off the bedroom walls.

  “Oh, yes! Oh, fuck! Dirk…I’m going to…come.” Katarina gasped, clutching her lover tighter, fastening her arms around his neck, locking her gaze with Radburn’s. “Make me come again.” It was unclear just exactly to which man she was speaking. Perhaps not even the countess could say with certainty.

  Demanding, little bitch, Dirk thought as he plunged his cock deep into her tight sheath yet again.

  On his next thrust, her contractions began, and like the four previous climaxes Countess von Kettleburg had enjoyed that morning through the skill of Dirk’s hands, cock, and tongue, she gave a deafening scream straight into his ear.

  Katarina’s eyes were open, staring at Radburn as she climaxed around Dirk’s thrusting, impaling erection. Two strokes later, just as the countess was beginning her post-climactic descent from the sensual stratosphere, he issued a low, animal growl of carnal excess, plowed as deeply into her as possible, withdrew completely, and unleashed a torrent of semen for the third time that morning onto her stomach.

  Seconds later, he kissed her on the forehead and, with little forewarning, rolled off the sexually greedy yet satisfied aristocrat, wondering whether or not permanent hearing loss was the price one paid for satisfying the insatiable Countess von Kettleburg. She remained on her back in his guest bed, completely naked, her slender body shimmering in the morning light with a combination of her perspiration, and his.

  The countess murmured, “My God…the wet spot is three feet wide.” Her tone held more amazement than censure.

  “I’ve got to take a quick shower. I’ll be with you in five minutes,” Dirk said to Radburn, Katarina already half-forgotten as he switched his concerns from carnal pleasures to business profits. He headed for his private shower. At the bathchamber door, he turned and was about to tell Radburn to have their carriage sent around, but Countess von Kettleburg was in the process of unbuttoning the fly of Radburn’s gray, pin-striped Sevile Row trousers, and it seemed to Dirk that his friend had enough to occupy himself.

  * * * *

  The dowager, Agatha Smythe, leaned back in her chair and glared at the two men in the room with her.

  “I cannot believe,” she began in haughty disdain, several of her chins jiggling with her marginally-suppressed fury, “that there isn’t some legal way of changing my son’s will. It is impossible for me to believe that he was of sound mind when he willed every last shilling to that little cunt he married.” She turned her full attention on her solicitor, Francis Nichols. “You’re supposed to know the law. Get the will changed.”

  Francis sighed, then received a nasty look from Agatha for his temerity in sighing, and said, “Your son’s will is ironclad. Any attempt by you to change it in any way will invalidate you and Derwin from inheriting anything at all.” Clearly tired of this ongoing discussion but well aware of where his money came from, he ran a palm over his bald pate. “You’ve asked for my legal opinion, and I’ve given it to you as plainly as I can. The only chance you have of getting access to your deceased son’s finances and business assets is if Derwin marries Faye. And as you well know, according to the law, once they are married and their marriage night has been consummated, preferably with a reliable witness, Derwin, as Faye’s husband, has full legal right to both her bank accounts and control of the shipping company your son left her.”

  Agatha twisted her fleshy face into a scowl and cast her son a scathing look. “Witnesses to the marriage night? Derwin, you’d better be able to perform on command—and with your mother in the room. I want that money, and if it means you have to marry that slut, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.” Amazingly, her face transformed into an even more unpleasant expression. “If I have to watch you on your wedding night rutting with that bitch, then I will. But I’m warning you here and now, you’d better not let me down.”

  Derwin curled his lips disdainfully while his virility was impugned. “I’ll perform like a stallion. Don’t you worry.” He patted his stomach, which was slightly larger than it had been a few months earlier and was showing no signs of slowing its expansion. “But what if she doesn’t want to get married?”

  Agatha and Francis exchanged a look. Agatha held no illusions about her remaining son’s intelligence.

  “What she wants isn’t important,” Agatha explained, making no effort to hide her condescension. “All we need is a vicar to sign the marriage documents and witness the consummation. I don’t care if Faye’s tied hand and foot. All she’s got to do is be there and get fucked.”

  The barrister flinched at the old woman’s coarseness. In public, she was the personification of prim gentility. Greed and frustration had stripped her of even private civility.

  “Don’t be coy,” Agatha snapped, looking at her legal representative. “You and I both know you’d cut your own grandmother’s throat if you knew you wouldn’t get caught and thought you could turn a sweet profit from it. Find me a vicar who needs some extra income and isn’t too fussy about how he makes it, and we’ll get Derwin and Faye wed.”

  She glared at her London barrister then turned her attention to her son. “Why that goddamned brother of yours left everything to his wife is a damned mystery to me.” When she looked again at Francis, her eyes were bright with greed. “And you say that if Faye marries anyone other than Derwin, her fortune must be given to charity? Perhaps you could set up such a charity to receive that fortune, with me being in charge of its oversight, of course.”

  “Every last pound, shilling, and pence of it would have to be given away,” Francis said with finality. “If she doesn’t marry, the fortune is hers. If she marries Derwin, she keeps the fortune but Derwin, as her husband, naturally has legal access to it. If she marries anyone other than Derwin, the entire fortune must be forfeited.” He looked Agatha directly in the eyes. “Apparently, he had some misgivings about turning his fortune over to you.” He paused, and his eyebrows lifted fractionally. “Or so it would seem.”

  “Well, then,” Agatha said, shaking her head and sending her chins wiggling once again. “I guess we all know what must be done.”

  Chapter Two

  Faye Smythe leaned back in her chair and looked once again at the new maid’s letter of recommendation. The recommendation had theoretically been written by her previous employer, but the handwriting was suspiciously similar to that in the letter the young woman had sent when she first requested an interview for the job. And the girl, Annie, had been
fidgeting nervously in the chair facing Faye’s desk for the entire ten minutes they’d been together.

  “I’ve never heard of Mrs. Brightwood, but I have many friends in Edinburgh. Perhaps one of them has heard of the family,” Faye said with a smile. A guilty shimmer suddenly gleamed in Annie’s pale blue eyes. The girl turned her gaze to her hands, which were clasped in her lap. Faye queried, “I don’t suppose you’d like to give me the whole truth of this, would you? It might be best for both of us.”

  After several seconds, Annie turned her gaze to Faye’s. “I wrote the recommendation myself, ma’am. You see, I’ve never been a maid before. I…I was going to be a teacher but then…” A sob caught in her throat. “Something bad happened. Now I’ll never get a job teaching.”

  Faye furrowed her brow. “From the moment you stepped through the door, you seemed rather articulate for a simple maid. I’m not surprised you’ve had training to be a teacher.” She turned her chair so she could look out at London, the bustling capital of the world, two stories below. Perhaps if she wasn’t looking directly at Annie, she would get a more complete account of the young woman’s life. “I’m guessing you got caught up in a scandal. If you tell me what it is, I’ll know and will make my decision accordingly. It might not be as bad as you fear.”

  She looked directly at the frightened young woman and said in a chilly voice, “But if you lie to me or try to keep potentially dangerous secrets, you’ll never get the job.” She softened her voice and countenance. “Be truthful with me, and maybe I can help.”