Love and Other Murders

By lidmila All Rights Reserved ©

Thriller / Erotica

Chapter 94

After a couple of skillful adjustments she goes to join the gentlemen at their breakfast table. Dunaev gets up and hands her a thick envelope.

“Here, have some extras for your outstanding achievement.” His tone is conversational, his hand kiss impersonal.

“Mr. Severn sends you his regards. You are entitled to a day off, Miss Horvath. I ask to be excused.”

She can hardly wait to see him in a safe distance to tear the envelope open. She gasps for breath. She has never had so much cash in her hands. She suppresses her urge to spill it out on the table, plunge her hands into it and let her fingers make love to it.

Eventually she hides the envelope in her purse and waves the waiter to bring her coffee. It is just as she likes it, hot and strong, like a good sex. The buffet is a land of plenty. After her backbreaking night she is rightly entitled to an orgy of gluttony. She flits from one bowl to the next like a bee collecting the pollen to bring to the beehive to enjoy her honey during the harsh winter season. She clasps the purse to her heart. She feels elated. All this cash for a kinky threesome in a Palace bed! Next time she will know better, not over-indulge in drugs and booze and wake afresh and ready for anything that may come along. She touches the blown-up envelope and decides to disburse some of her loot. Sun is bright, hotel beach is tempting, boutiques overflow with bathing trappings.

Taking a deep breath she enters the heaven’s gate: now a moneyed client, a window shopper no more.

“Show me your best beach wear,” she requests.

For the first time in her life she can choose disregarding the price-tag, not waiting until the sales to get what the rich clients haven’t deemed good enough.

She leaves the boutique collapsing under the weight of shopping bags, - her ruined evening gown hidden on the very bottom of the Gucci’s-, wiggling her hips in her strappy dress, its décolleté until her belly button. She declines to deposit her shopping at the concierge’s and staggers with it down to the beach. The beach boy releases her of her parcels and escorts her to the bath hut. Fairly certain that he ogles her voraciously through the peep-hole of the adjacent hut she makes her undressing tantalizingly slow. His face flushed, his breath cut, a bathing towel covering his loins, he escorts her to the sun-bed. She follows him bodily close regretting that now, toiling at the prominence level, she has to reserve herself for an appropriate clientele.

She drapes herself over the sun-bed under the beach umbrella; the sun is a killer for a redhead’s fragile complexion.

“May I, Magda?” The sun-bed sinks down under the added weight.

“John! What are you doing here?” She gasps.

“The same as you, sweetie! Aren’t we both the living proof that business and pleasure do mix? Now allow me to be of some use.”

She shuts her eyes while he applies the sun-block over her body with special attention to selected parts.

“Turn over,” John murmurs his voice hot.

“Done! To be followed up at the bathing hut.”

Drained, yet asking for more, she holds back his body sliding down from her. These last times she has been blessed with great sex and deservedly so for Polland’s sexual slave.

“You are a black hole, Magda.” He purrs.

“The blackest black hole I’ve ever met! When I saw you at Dunaev’s birthday party I couldn’t believe my luck. A tough luck, as I see. Don’t take me wrong I am not complaining! Sorry dear, but now I am at my breaking point and ask to be excused.”

“No need to apologize, John! You were great!”

She cushions her head against his heart; if only she could trust him! Alas, having faith in John is fatal.

“How come you got access to Dunaev’s most selective party, John?” Mindful of her own safety she embarks on a thorough examination.

“Bob Gordon, my American friend, not so naive to consider writing his bread and butter, is doing some business with Dunaev and took me to Cannes as his sleeping partner and for any other emergencies.”

Magda bursts out laughing.

“Isn’t it a riot? I am exactly the same for Dunaev!”

“There is a car waiting for a Miss Horvath. Do you happen to be her?” A knock on the bathing hut disrupts their being together.

“Sorry, John, I have to go. I am sure we’ll find an occasion for a second round.” She extricates herself from him. They part on the promise “to be continued”.

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