Happy Wednesday, and thanks again to Angelica Dawson for organizing the MidWeekTeases!
This week’s tease comes from my ménage erotica HIGH-RISK FEVER, which recently re-released with an additional chapter ❤
In this scene, we’re continuing where we left off last week. After watching the two bicyclists playing with each other during the night, Anne is trying to recoup.
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She would need to take it easy from now on, try to get her life back to normal. And that meant staying the hell away from the handsome bicyclists.
She moved a hand to Brian’s side of the bed and found it empty. A glance at the battery-driven luminous digital clock on his bed table indicated it was breakfast time. And, now that she thought of it, the bitter-sharp smell of brewed coffee beans drifted into the bedroom. Thank God they had an old cooking stove.
She listened. Muffled voices came through the floor, low pop music from the battery-driven radio—“La Isla Bonita” by Madonna—and coughing.
She wanted to stay in bed, didn’t want to go downstairs and face everyone. But her hostess duties called, as did her grumbling stomach. With much reluctance, she climbed out of bed, felt her way to the closet, and found new clothes.
After a short visit to the bathroom, she went down the stairs, dreading who she would meet.
In the dark room below, a French family of four sat at the dining table, a couple of candles lighting their somber faces. Since the two children, a ten-year-old girl and a seven-year-old boy, still had a month of summer holidays, the parents had planned to spend the next couple of weeks in the Alps, driving from village to village. These mountains were renowned for their severe weather, but the two adults seemed surprised and more than a little annoyed to be stranded here.
As figurehead of the bed and breakfast, it was Anne’s job to make their stay as pleasant as possible, but it seemed Brian had already taken care of that. The delicious scents of fresh baguette, jam, and butter teased her nostrils, increasing her hunger.
At the other end of the long table, Todd and Brian sat next to each other, coffee mugs in hand, features drawn.
A boost of warmth filled her at the sight of her husband. “Hey, sweetheart.” She walked over to him and, when he looked up, she leaned down to peck him on the mouth. “Everything okay?”
He smiled and discreetly patted her butt.
Todd greeted her with a nod, face placid.
Where was Micaela? She scanned the first floor.
Ah. In the back of the living room, lying on a sofa, with a woolen blanket covering him from top to toe. A hard coughing fit shook his torso, making her cringe with pity.
Heavy rain assaulted the windows and the asphalt outside in a steady, monotonous beat. Playful gusts of wind toyed with the open shutters, provoking small creaks. Raindrops zigzagged on the glass panes in a random maze. If she had any time, she would take a pause to go to the window and watch the wet patterns form and change, dreamily losing herself in their dance.
But business waited.
When she gazed back to the tenants, they studied her. Did they have any idea what had happened in this room last night?
The notion of sitting with these moody faces at the table stressed her. She murmured a polite bonjour, filled a cup of hot coffee, and grabbed a croissant before going to the kitchen to busy herself cleaning and moving things around. Lit candles made it possible to work in the dark.
She kept one ear focused on the living room, eavesdropping on Todd and Brian’s low conversation. They discussed politics and compared social standards in France and the US.
At one point, Brian raised his voice. “Did you hear what happened last week? Before the French government voted for the new gay marriage law? One and a half million people marched in the streets of Paris to protest, and they were pissed. But the elected elite refused to listen. They still passed the law.”
“Can’t fuckin’ believe it.”
“That they made it possible for people of the same sex to marry.”
Images of Todd happily intimate with his lover last night flashed, and she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him in face of her husband’s intolerance. She’d never really given the gay phenomenon much thought, but she had a feeling circumstances would soon force her to take a stand.
“As if they don’t have enough problems to take care of. There are a record three million unemployed people in France. And nine million beneath the poverty line. It’s unheard of, never before seen. What are they gonna do about that?”
“I don’t know.”
She opened the fridge. The lamp didn’t turn on. Merde. She would have to move the food to the cold cellar in the basement. With a heavy sigh, she grabbed cartons of milk and orange juice and went to an old door at the opposite side of the kitchen.
The guys had stopped talking. Chair legs scraped on the bare floorboards.
She pressed the handle on the cellar door, braced for the humid, chilly air seeping out of the narrow staircase, and climbed down the cement steps. A black void lay before her, but having lived there all her life, she knew the place inside out. Her nose twitched from the sour smell of fungus as she took careful steps across the low-ceilinged basement. She found the wooden shelves against a wall and placed the cartons atop one of them.
Shuffling in the stairwell made her jump. She turned and squinted as a blinding flashlight pointed in her direction. The person approached, hard shoe soles grazing the stone floor. The shining-white beam revealed Todd’s face.
“Oh, it’s you.” She let out a breath. What the hell was he doing here? Maybe he wanted to scold her for peeping last night. She tried to make up a quick excuse.
He stopped in front of her, the flashlight in his hand making him look like a ghost, and took a deep breath. “Forgive me for coming down here. I know it’s off limits.” His voice sounded hesitant. “But I have to ask you a favor, and it’s important that your husband doesn’t hear me.”
How did Todd manage to sneak past him? Maybe the facteur brought the mail at that moment and held Brian’s attention at the front door.
Nevertheless, Todd hadn’t come here to scold her. Relief washed over her. “Sure.”
“It’s about what you saw last night.”
Copyright @ 2018 Lea Bronsen
Two young and indecently handsome bicyclists visit a village in the French Alps during the summer holidays. Forced by a raging storm to spend the night at the local bed & breakfast, they invade the quiet lives of hostess Anne and her husband, Brian.
A power outage plunges the foursome into darkness, encouraging new liaisons to form, life-long secrets to be unveiled, and steamy lessons to be learned. But once the storm moves on, can the four find a balance and resume their normal lives?
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