"Drink, Sir?"
"Thank you, no," Pietre said dismissively, not bothering to look up from his contemplation of the clouds cruising past his window.
"Something… else, Sir?"
Pietre shifted his gaze slowly, "What… else?" inspecting the flight attendant's trousers which were at eye level in front of him. They appeared well filled.
"Anything Sir requires."
Pietre smiled. It had been subtlety done. He liked subtlety. He glanced up and said, "Sir doesn't require anything at the moment." A look of disappointment flashed across the solarium tanned features. "But Sir's assistant, Mr Black," Pietre inclined his head at the huge negro across the cabin, "might make use of your… services."
The flight attendant glanced at Mr Black, a moment of fear sparking his eyes before it was carefully extinguished. He returned his attention to Pietre. "As Sir wishes," he said and bowed away, his bleached blond hair falling to cover his expression.
Pietre settled back against the headrest, making himself comfortable as he watched the attendant bowing to Mr Black. The fabric of his trousers stretched taut across his buttocks and Pietre imagined Mr Black gazing at those buttocks a moment earlier. Would they have aroused him? Mr Black had a penchant for blonds, he seemed to remember. He liked the contrast.
Pietre watched the attendant lay aside his tray to crouch in front of Mr Black, casting a quick glance across at Pietre and around the otherwise empty cabin before settling to his task.
Mr Black spread his legs and leant back, offering no help to the attendant who fumbled with the fastening of his pants before tentatively inserting a hand. Pietre watched him frown, then his eyes widened as the massive ebony column eased out of its concealment to poke a fist-sized tip against his startled lips.
Mr Black's firm hand encompassing the back of his head prevented any second thoughts, and after a few tense seconds, Pietre saw the attendant's tongue emerge to lap at the shaft. Wider than a woman’s wrist, it was too large for his mouth, but the attendant made his hands busy, obviously believing he could complete the task he was being well paid for. Over his head Pietre met Mr Black's eyes and nodded, then turned back to his contemplation of the clouds.
Troubling thoughts chased through his mind. He hadn't expected to be away for so long, and although he trusted Belle with the management of the island, the safety of his Wendee was another matter altogether.
Still, Belle had been sending him regular reports and Wendee appeared to be managing quite well without his interference. Apart from the ridiculous threat from his brother, there was nothing that required his personal attention. Although…
A stifled grunt distracted him from his thoughts and he glanced over to find Mr Black impaling the naked flight attendant on his lap. The man's hands gripped the seat in front of him, his eyes so round Pietre thought they might pop out of their sockets. In comparison with the gargantuan negro's bulk, he looked like a toy being jerked about by an over-zealous child, but true to his training he made no sound at all.
Frowning in concentration, Mr Black gripped the attendant's narrow hips, manipulating the pearl-white ass up and down on his engorged penis. The attendant gritted his teeth but Pietre noticed his own penis was alert, slapping against his thigh.
Would the attendant orgasm before Mr Black, who had once taken an hour? Pietre bet himself a bottle of the two hundred year old port he'd been saving that he would. And if he lost, he'd… give Xavion's men a week's leave.
But not until the situation with Armande was resolved.
Pietre's attention drifted away from the tableau before him, his thoughts returning to his brother.
Was this latest scare yet another pebble to bounce off the impregnable wall of Pietre's defences, or was this the definitive attack? Over time, Pietre had grown tired of these intermittent attempts to overthrow him. But he'd not killed Armande. Just as Armande had not tried to kill him. The blood tie was too strong.
One day, though, Armande would do something to break that tie. They had shared much together, things that would have driven lesser mortals mad, but every man had his threshold.
Pietre gazed out the window again, wondering what Armande was up to this time. Would it be the thing that would push him to destroy the only other surviving DeMartande of their line?
There was a grunt, then a low-throated moan from across the room. Mr Black was enjoying himself, but Pietre was too absorbed with his train of thought to pay attention.
The DeMartande line…
He frowned, his mind surging ahead. What if it didn't end? What if Pietre himself sired an heir? A son. Or better yet, a daughter.
His eyes glazed, staring inwards.
The Wendee. The woman fate had sent him. Was she the fertile bed wherein he could plant his seed? The mother of his child? The mother he would…
Pietre's chest ached and he closed his eyes, unable to say the words even inside his own mind. Only fate could give him the answer to that question, but as his jet sped back to the island, he felt a compulsion to see her again. To know she was safe.
This time, he would go to her in person.