"STRANGE BEDFELLOWS"
Part 3
PRESENT DAY . . . Wide green regarded the half-daemon with slight suspicion. "So, what happened after you had taken the Pectoralis? Don't tell me that all of you had spent the rest of the night just smoking?" Olivia commented wryly. "Because I happen to know for a fact that Pectoralis is supposed to be an aphrodisiac."
"What do you think happened?" Cole quietly demanded. He did not feel prepared to discuss his past sex life with his fiancée. Reaching for his tea, he deliberately avoided Olivia's gaze.
She stared at him with knowing eyes. "Oh, I get it. You had sex. All four of you. And you don't want to discuss it. What happened? You had some kind of foursome orgy or something?"
"We didn't have a . . . foursome," Cole insisted.
More silence followed. Then, "Oh. Oooh! But you had a threesome. Right?"
Reluctantly, Cole added, "Tarkin, Christine and Idril did."
"And you didn't?"
Cole sighed. Hard. "Once. Okay? With Christine and Tarkin." He took a swig of iced tea. Sometimes, Olivia can be a little too curious for her own good. And blunt. "I'm not exactly into multi-partners, anyway. I'm more of a one-on-one kind of guy. But I was a little high that night, thanks to that damn stuff." He shook his head in disbelief. "Never took that stuff again, I assure you."
After another silent pause, Olivia said, "I don't blame you. I'm not into threesomes or more, myself. But I once heard about this guy in college, who had a ménage a cinq with four co-eds." Cole stared at her, as images of the redhead with three other females and some guy flashed in his mind. Olivia noticed. "I said I had 'heard' about it, not 'participated' in the act."
"So, you've never . . .?"
With a sigh, Olivia said, "Well . . . okay. I did take part in a threesome once. And to be honest, I found it rather disappointing. My . . . uh, partners seemed more interested in each other and eventually forgot about me. I ended up feeling like a third wheel."
Relieved by this piece of information, Cole continued, "Huh. Well, as for me I had avoided the Triple Six Club for a while, after that night. Instead, I came across this little jazz nightclub in Soho."
Olivia frowned. "So, you didn't see Idril after that?"
"Not for . . . oh, two weeks. I wasn't trying to avoid her or anything like that. I just forgot about her. Idril was a woman one can easily forget."
"So, when did you seriously begin to get involved with her?"
Cole took a bite of his Chicken Parmagian. "After I saw her two weeks later. At the Royal Ascot at Windsor. I ran into her on the third day. Both her . . . and my mother."
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JUNE 19, 1969; WINDSOR, ENGLAND . . . Cole and his two companions cheered, as their favored racehorse crossed the finish line ahead of his competition. Impeccably dressed in a black morning suit with an ice blue waistcoat, a matching cravat and a gray silk top hat, the half-daemon happily watched his choice being led to the winner's circle.
"I've got to say Bel . . ." Tarkin immediately corrected himself. ". . . I mean Cole, you really know how to pick the winners."
Cole allowed himself a superior smile. "What can I say? I've always had an eye for horseflesh. Especially the thoroughbreds. I might even breed some, one day."
"That's nice love," Christine commented, as she grabbed Tarkin's arm. "But right now, I want to see the horses for the next race." The witch and the two daemons happened to be guests of an old friend of Christine's, who had rented one of the private luncheon rooms or 'boxes' of the racecourse's Grand Stand first floor balcony. They left the box and made their way toward the stalls. Like Cole, Tarkin was dressed in a similar black morning suit and a tan waistcoat. Christine wore a tailored forest green dress suit with a matching wide-brim hat. For a woman who usually wore flamboyant outfits, she looked surprisingly elegant and relaxed.
While examining the entries for the next race, the trio encountered a familiar figure strolling from the other direction. "Look who's here!" Christine declared cheerfully.
Cole stared in amazement at the dark-haired woman that approached them. "Is that Idr . . . uh, Diane?" he declared. "What are you doing here?" Like Christine, Idril also wore an outfit more conservative than she was used to. Unfortunately, the demoness seemed uncomfortable and out of place in the elegant surrounding.
Idril smiled at the trio. "Wow! Image seeing you three here! I'm here for the races, of course. What . . . uh, where have you been?"
"Around," Cole curtly replied. "Why? Have you been looking for us?"
"Oh . . ." Idril shook her head. "No. Of course not. Why should I? I guess I just figured that we would encounter each other, again." Her eyes flickered at Cole. "So, um, are you guys staying here in Windsor?"
Cole replied, "I believe Christine and Tarkin will remain here. I'm returning to London, later this evening."
"Mind if I join you?" Idril asked in a suggestive voice.
Before the half-daemon could answer, another female's voice cried out in a familiar Irish lilt, "Good heavens! Cole? Is that you?"
Cole glanced to his right and stared at the approaching figure of his mother. What in the hell was she doing here?
"Is that . . .?" Tarkin began. He had apparently spotted the older demoness, as well.
The half-daemon heaved a sigh. "My mother," he murmured ominously.
The auburn-haired demoness halted before her three fellow daemons and the blond witch. "Belthazor." She offered her cheek to her son - who reluctantly kissed it. "Fancy meeting you here."
"You know me, Mother," Cole replied airily. "I'm never far from a race course. Although I realize that I've forgotten that you always attend the Royal Ascot every year."
Nimue smiled coolly. "Not every year. I haven't been here in three years."
Cole glanced around. "And where is your faithful retainer?" He referred to a wizard that has been a companion of his mother's for the past seven years.
"If you're referring to Sebastian, he's back in his box," Nimue explained. Her glance fell upon Cole's companions. "Tarkin," she said to the stocky daemon, "you're looking very well. And still by my son's side. As usual."
The younger daemon squirmed with slight discomfort. "Nimue. It's . . . good to see you. Again. Uh, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine." He nodded at Christine. "This is Christine Bloome. She's a witch from the Cimmerian Coven."
A slight, approving smile curved Nimue's lips, as her eyes swept over the blond witch. "Nice to meet you, Miss Bloome. I've heard a great deal about you and your coven. Very commendable."
Christine smiled back. "Thanks."
Nimue's gaze fell upon the dark-haired demoness. "And Idril. I'm rather surprised to find you here. I didn't think that the Royal Ascot was quite . . . your taste." Her expression seemed to hint that Idril belonged to a flashy, late night party in Vegas, instead of the Royal Ascot.
Idril's face turned red, making her look even more ill at ease. "I . . . uh, I mean . . . someone had suggested . . ." She paused before finishing lamely, "Uh, someone had suggested that I . . . come here."
"Oh, a friend?" Nimue's eyes briefly shifted toward her son. "I see. By the way," her blue eyes gleamed mischievously, "I thought you three might like a spot of news. It seems Raynor and Avara are back from their honeymoon."
To Cole's surprise, Idril's expression tightened slightly. Tarkin said, "Well, that's good news. I hope that they enjoyed themselves. The wedding was rather nice."
"Yes, it was, wasn't it?"
Cole stared at his mother. "I'm surprised that you were at the wedding." He paused. "Considering your . . . feelings toward Raynor."
"Well, as head of one of the Brotherhood's sects, it was my duty to attend. And I don't regret it. I rather enjoyed the ceremony." Nimue heaved a soft sigh. "Much to my surprise. By the way, where are you all staying here in Windsor?"
Recalling Idril's invitation, Cole replied, "I'm staying in London. In fact, both Idril and I will be in London. Why?"
A voice announced the next race over the public announcement system. A touch of frost chilled Nimue's smile, as she glanced at Idril. "Hmmm. Just curious. Well, I best return to Sebastian's box. Enjoy yourselves, everyone. Good day."
Cole stared angrily at his mother's retreating figure. Why did she always find a way to make others feel like shit with her insinuating comments? She practically left Idril quivering like a frightened rabbit. Because of this, he turned to the dark-haired demoness and said, "About London . . . if you would still like to join me, you're more than welcomed." Idril responded with a bright smile.
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Several hours later found Cole back at the London flat he had rented for the summer season. After a small supper prepared by the half-daemon, the couple retired to the living room. A few drinks, some minor chatter and a lot of flirting eventually led to them shedding their clothes for some passionate sex.
The couple were on the wide sofa, their damp bodies joined below their waists. Idril laid flat on her back and her legs wrapped around Cole's waists. She gripped the sofa's arm above her, while she writhed and moaned with pleasure. Cole knelt between her legs - one foot on the floor. He pounded deep into her body, while their moans filled the room. As his passion increased, the half-daemon's thrusts grew harder. Faster. Idril's flesh completely enveloped his, as they both achieved orgasms. The demoness' body arched upward, while she cried out his name.
Panting, Cole slowly eased himself out of her body. He leaned back against the sofa's other arm and watched Idril struggled into a sitting position. "In Caspiel's name!" she declared breathlessly. "That felt . . . I don't think I don't know any words to describe it." She glanced around the room. "Uh, do you mind if I use your sho . . .?" The doorbell rang. The two daemons exchanged glances. Cole remained on the sofa. Idril stood up. "Aren't you going to answer the door?"
Cole closed his eyes and sighed. He immediately sensed the identity of his new visitor. "I'd rather not," he replied curtly.
Again, the doorbell rang. Idril frowned, as she donned Cole's white shirt. "Are you sure? Maybe it's your building manager. It doesn't look like he or she will stop ringing."
More ringing followed. Using his telekinesis, Cole retrieved his discarded trousers and put them on. "Trust me," he murmured, "it's not the mana . . ."
At that moment, a figure shimmered into the middle of the living room. "Really Belthazor! How long were you planning to keep me waiting outside? I must have been ringing forever." Idril gasped out loud, as Nimue's blue eyes stared at the couple's half-dressed state. The older woman drawled, "Well, no wonder you didn't bother to answer. Have I interrupted something?"
Cole glared at the auburn-haired demoness. "Mother! What in the hell are you doing here?"
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JUNE 19, 1969; LONDON, ENGLAND . . . Idril continued to stare apprehensively, while Belthazor's mother cast a cool eye around the apartment. "Lovely flat," she commented in her soft Irish lilt. "How much did you pay for it?"
"I didn't buy it," Belthazor coolly replied. "I'm renting it. Sixty pounds a month. Now, what are you doing here?"
Nimue shot a disapproving glance at Idril, causing the latter's face to burn with embarrassment. "Sebastian is holding a supper party at his home in Belgravia, on the 23rd. After seeing you at the races today, he has issued an invitation to you." She paused, as her eyes flickered at Idril. "You may bring a guest, of course."
"I'm thrilled," Belthazor replied with a sardonic smile. "Idril and I look forward to seeing you and Sebastian on Monday night. Right Idril?" He glanced at the younger demoness.
Idril opened her mouth to speak. She sputtered a few times - feeling even more humiliated - before finally finding her voice. "Oh . . . uh . . . yeah. I mean, we'll be . . ."
"I believe I've got the message, dear," Nimue coolly finished. Idril's face grew hotter. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be returning to Windsor. And I will see you two on Monday night. Remember - Number 15, Belgravia Square." Fixing the young couple with an insincere smile, Idril shimmered out of the apartment.
A long pause followed. Idril felt a cool draft of air brush against her chest. She glanced down and to her horror, found Belthazor's shirt gaped wide open - and exposing her chest. Which meant that Idril must have seen . . . She hurriedly fastened the shirt's buttons, attracting Belthazor's attention. "You don't think she noticed anything about my . . . I mean, your shirt, do you?"
Belthazor shot her a contemptuous look. Then he sighed and muttered, "I'll be in the kitchen, preparing breakfast."
"But it's not even midnight, yet."
"So what?" With that parting shot, the half-demon turned on his heels and marched toward the kitchen. Leaving behind a very embarrassed and slightly humiliated Idril.
End of Part 3
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