Double Dealing(73)

In the shower, the warm water did nothing to alleviate my arousal, my cock standing stiff and hard from my body. Closing my eyes, my mind flooded with images of Svetlana, the poses she'd held in her yoga routine. It’d been erotic torture, the way her hips had been thrust into the air, her long, lean legs slightly spread, and her breasts . . .

I reached down, taking my cock in my right hand, pumping slowly as images filtered through my mind and the water washed over my body. In my mind, I heard Svetlana groan as she pushed herself into a newer, more difficult stretch, the twinkle in her eyes as she looked over her shoulder to see me staring.

I pumped faster and faster, thinking of my Mistress and what I wanted to do for her. I wanted to feel her body with my hands, to trail my lips over her skin and hear her moan my name, her pet, over and over as I lit her nerves on fire.

In my fantasy, she called my name over and over and my cock throbbed in my fist. Sounds came to my mind, sighs and moans of pleasure from Mistress while in the background, a guitar played. The guitar was off-putting, something from another part of my life, but that couldn't be as important as my Mistress in front of me, and the rising pleasure in my cock.





Chapter 30





Jordan




The skies were an out of place sapphire blue as we gathered in the vineyard for Felix's memorial ceremony. Francois, whose back was still tender and covered with bandages, held himself stiffly in his black silk shirt and tie. Charani and Syeira were both in all black, Syeira wearing a veil over her face. The other family leaders were all in suits, their faces somber.

In the middle of the circle, two photos of Felix were set up on top of a pyre that would eventually be lit. Both photos were taken well before I met him, but there was still the same smile, the same serious look in his eyes sitting in contrast above it.

"Thank you," Francois said, speaking in French so that I could understand enough to get the gist. He’d agreed that morning that when it was my turn to speak, he would translate into Romani for everyone. The few family members who didn't understand French were assisted by others who did. "We're gathered here today to remember Felix Gudada Hardy, our former leader. To me, he was more than a leader, he was my partner . . . he was my friend. The memories I have of him, on this property and others, of growing up . . .”

Francois's voice faltered and he cleared his throat before continuing. "My relationship with him wasn't perfect. We fought, we disagreed, we had our spats. We were brothers. What brothers don't have spats? But I knew that whatever happened, Felix would be there for me. If I had trouble, he'd have my back. He was a great man, and I can only hope I can live up to his example."

Francois stepped back and nodded to me. While normally those outside the family would never be allowed to speak at memorials such as this, they'd agreed that Felix's offer of marriage and my acceptance made me family in their eyes. Charani looked over and gave me a small smile of support, holding her sister's hand.

I set the violin case down on the ground, unlatching the cover and withdrawing the instrument. I had fine-tuned it that morning, rosining the bow and making sure everything was ready before taking it out. Now, withdrawing it, I saw Francois's eyes open in surprise. He hadn’t been conscious for most of the day before, recovering from his coronation. Even when he was awake, he had to lie on his stomach, making sure there was no pressure on the wounds. In any case, he didn’t know what I was going to do. The violin case had been hidden underneath the black cloak that I wore on top of my dress, and he led the procession, not seeing me for most of the time.

I blinked, the old emotions coming back to me as they had the day before next to the river. When I'd thought about what to do, music was how I spoke best. It was through music that I could express my heart, whereas words would fail in my mouth. Looking at the strings, I made sure to keep the picture of Felix in my vision as I laid my bow on the A string, ready for the first note.

I knew I wanted to do a hymn, but I wasn’t quite sure which. I didn't want to come off as false, I wanted to speak purely to Felix, the rest of the world be damned. Nearer My God To Thee and others I knew by heart, I'd played them so often growing up that the notes were ingrained in my brain, but I wanted something better for him. Thinking, sitting next to the river the day before, I settled on two choices, both of which I had learned years before. Knowing I would only have the emotional strength for one, I practiced both, placing what faith I could in the knowledge that I'd make the right decision as time drew shorter.

I drew my bow down, the first notes of the violin arrangement short and staccato, low and haunting over the quiet assembly. John Williams may have composed it, but the arrangement was all mine. I'd originally done it over a decade earlier, when the memories of 9/11 were still strong in the country and patriotism ran high. Hymn For The Fallen may have been written mostly for horns — a staple of Williams — but I'd done it first for a memorial service, and once again reached for it.