Gift of the Black Virgin (15 page)

“Joanna…” he said, as if he was helpless. A
trapped man.

Recognizing the signs, she instantly pulled
up and off his body, letting his swollen cock slap down onto his
belly. Then she scooted down between his legs and buried her face
in his scrotum. Breathing in his musky scent, she kissed and licked
his balls, causing another round of low moans to escape from his
throat. She worked her way up to the base of his cock. Cupping his
scrotum with one hand, she peppered his wide shaft with little
kisses, moving up to the ridged cap. She licked away the drops of
pre-cum from the big, round head, making him shudder.

Then she opened her mouth and sucked him in
as deeply as she could.

“Joanna,” he said again. “Don’t stop.”

But she did. Quick as a cat she climbed back
onto his body and slipped him back inside her. Then she started the
rolling, spiral motions all over again.

“Fuck!” He said as he grabbed her hips to
slow her. “Hold on. That feels so fucking good.”

As soon as he re established a slower rhythm,
she lifted herself off him again, quickly, before he could pull her
back. Again, she made love to his cock, this time using both hands
to caress the base and her tongue to torment the head. When she
took as much of him as she could into her mouth, he gasped, back
arching upwards. That was when she released him.

“Not without me, you don’t, sweetheart,” she
said as she turned herself around on top of him and straddled his
face. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down so that her pussy was
over his face, and he kissed her.

She used her hands and mouth to tease and
torment his cock, wanting to prolong his pleasure. But she was too
aroused to control her own, and his expert tongue drove her into
rolling, sucking waves of orgasms that made her forget all about
making love to him.

“Damn that Patrice,” she said breathlessly,
rolling off him and turning herself around so she could get back to
work. “You’re so good at that. I just lose it.”

She felt his hands grab her hair as she took
him deep into her throat. Roughly, he pulled her head back up,
thrusting upwards with his hips. She heard the familiar low growl
beginning from deep inside his chest as he strained against his
pleasure, moving her head exactly the way he wanted.

“Yes—yes—now!” He called out as his come
pumped down her throat in hot waves.

When his breathing calmed, he said, “Never
mind Patrice. Where did you learn to give a blow job like
that?”

Jo laughed, and snuggled into his damp chest.
“I don’t know. No one in particular. It’s just the way you make me
feel. I want to do whatever gives you the most pleasure.
Always.”

He pulled up her chin and kissed her then, a
long, gentle loving kiss that made her want to never break
away.

“You do give me the most exquisite pleasure.
Always. And I want you to be as happy as I am. Always.”

“I think I am, sweetheart,” she said as she
pulled the blankets up over them and prepared to drift off in her
lover’s arms.

But the truth was, despite getting the house
of her dreams, Jo wasn’t as happy as Luc. And they both knew it.
Whereas he was relaxed and in no big hurry to have another
child—accepting that things happen when they happen—Jo grew more
desperate to conceive with each passing month. In the middle of
each cycle she would almost attack him for sex. Three, four times a
day while she was at her most fertile. He obliged, of course, but
they both admitted that her planned seductions left a little to be
desired in the spontaneity department.

Twice, during her fertile days, they managed
to make the trip down to Nice, to the big bed in their beautiful
bedroom overlooking the sea. If that was where Luc and his father
were conceived, maybe the room was charmed, Jo thought.

But, every twenty-eight days she experienced
a crushing defeat when she felt the first menstrual cramps
begin.

Another wasted month. Another barren month.
What am I doing wrong?

She read everything she could about
conception. Discussed the problem at length with her doctors and
every mother she knew. But no amount of straight information
helped. She was told the same thing over and over again.
Just
relax. You’re trying too hard. It will happen when you least expect
it…

Chapter Ten

Six months later.

With the help of some creative financing and
a loan from Luc’s father, the LaPlantes moved into their new house
in June. Breaking their rental lease cost them dearly but they
considered it simply the price of doing business. Jo’s Seattle
condo sold for a good price, and she used some of the money to buy
a few pieces of the furniture that were original to the house. She
thought it was more suitable than anything else they could find.
When her inheritance money came through, she planned to do some
more re-furnishing.

Luc listed his Roman treasures with a broker,
and expected to have everything sold within a few months. They
decided to keep a few of the larger pieces, including an impressive
slab of mosaic flooring, which he planned to turn into a table top,
and a beautiful marble torso of a naked young man.

And they kept the sarcophagus. They had it
installed under the covered part of the patio, and Jo filled it
with begonias.

Once they were all moved in, Jo began to
relax. Their first summer in the new house was filled with joy.
Daniel loved his new room, and he happily spent every chance he
could with his father and step-mother. He invited his friends and
cousins over to ramble in the woods and swim in the pool. Jo
enjoyed having children around, although watching them grow up
fuelled her impatience to have her own. But she gradually came to
accept that everyone she consulted in the matter was right—she
would get pregnant when the time was ripe, and not a moment before.
So she kept busy, reminding herself to appreciate everything she
already had.

She’d stopped scowling at the portrait of the
Black Virgin on the wall above their bed. The Virgin had already
led her into a life full of such blessings, she realized. She
should be thanking her for everything she had, not blaming her for
what she didn’t have. After this revelation Jo took to decorating
the frame around the picture with little garlands of wildflowers
she picked from the meadows near the house. It was a sort of peace
offering, she thought. A gift of thanks.

As summer turned into a beautiful autumn, Jo
found herself lapsing into wistfulness as she pondered her life’s
riches. She was beginning to feel she belonged, she realized one
morning when she woke up thinking in French. Not only had her
language skills improved, she discovered she had a genuine flair
for cuisine. Her repertoire in the kitchen had expanded from single
one-pot creations to very good soups, perfectly grilled meats and
fish, and the staple sauces of any decent French cook. And she
learned to bake, too. Angel food cake, quiches,
choux
pastry—she mastered one after the other. With a little help from
Rose, and Julia Child.

And it was just then, one afternoon as she
was counting her blessings—standing in her kitchen, looking out the
window at her beautiful husband, half naked as he pruned his tomato
plants—that Jo remembered something.

It’s my time of the month. Or at least it
should be.

Hesitantly, so as not to jinx it, she allowed
herself to realize that she hadn’t experienced her usual monthly
feeling of fullness. No bloating. No cramps, either. She walked
over to the calendar and stared at the date—September the
twenty-fourth. Then she looked back two weeks and saw the red
letter “F’s” she’d placed on the sixth through the ninth—her most
fertile days.

Her mouth went dry and she felt her heart
racing. She sprinted up to the bathroom and unwrapped the pregnancy
test stick with shaking hands. Then, although she’d already read
the directions on the package a dozen times, she read them again,
blinking back the tears that blurred her vision.

Over the next few weeks Luc picked his
beloved grapes, lovingly pressed them, and then began the
fermentation process. He was cautiously optimistic about the
results, he told Jo. It had been a good summer, and he’d carefully
thinned the vines to maximize quality. His tomato plants had also
done well, and Jo found herself elbow-deep in tomato sauce for the
freezer while she bided her time, almost dizzy with anticipation.
When she was sure, she went to see her doctor, who confirmed her
pregnancy.

All she could think about as she drove home
from the clinic was how to tell Luc. Part of her wanted to see how
long it would take him to figure it out for himself.

She couldn’t help herself from stopping at a
baby-wear shop and browsing through all of the paraphernalia. The
selection was overwhelming—and she had to stop at buying three tiny
outfits with matching hats.

When she got home she surreptitiously
smuggled them into the bedroom and buried them under a pile of
sweaters. Then she got an idea.

It was nearing mid-October now, and she
hadn’t marked any days on October’s calendar with big red “F’s.” It
would have been about the right time of the month for her to start
waylaying Luc as often as she could for three or four days
straight. And suggest they take an overnight trip to Nice.

They’d often joked about how he needed to
conserve his strength and build up his reserve of viable seed
during the rest of the month, just so she could wring every last
drop of goodness out of him when the calendar dictated. But this
month she was going to give him a break—if he wanted one.

She decided to wait and see if he would
notice.

* * * *

Luc walked up to the house from the barn,
Sammy trotting along behind him. Dusk was settling in, the air
taking on a heavy, sweet quality that made him nostalgic for his
boyhood. His leg wasn’t hurting anymore, and he took this as a good
omen for the future. Maybe he and Daniel could do some rock
climbing next spring, he thought.

He could see Joanna through the kitchen
window, her beautiful face hidden in shadow but her silhouette lit
from behind by a warm golden light. He felt the familiar
constriction in his throat when he watched her move. She was so
lovely. And he was so lucky.

Just then he remembered they hadn’t made love
for almost a week. Her fertile time was coming up, and they’d been
waiting for that. He smiled as he thought about how intent she was
on getting pregnant. How she tried everything she could to keep and
maintain his interest. Three times she’d come home with novelties
and toys from the sex shop, and each time he’d just laughed, laid
back, and enjoyed himself.

Whatever she wants to do is good. And I’ll
never tell her that she doesn’t have to bother. All she has to do
is look at me and I’m ready to come all over her. Any time, any
place. It’s been the same since the moment I first laid eyes on
her.

He entered the house and walked through to
the kitchen. Joanna looked up from the sink and smiled at him, and
he felt the catch in his throat tighten.

I swear she grows more beautiful every
day.

She was wearing a loose skirt and one of
those lacy, stretchy camisole things. Almost transparent. He liked
it when she didn’t wear a bra, and whenever they were alone at
home, like tonight, she obliged.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms
around her, cupping her full breasts in his hands. They felt warm
and heavy as she arched her back and leaned into him. Lowering his
mouth to her neck he nuzzled her there, then buried his face in the
soft mass of her hair, breathed in her scent.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.

His cock was hard, and he rubbed it along the
top of her buttocks. “Thank God. I’ve got a couple of billion
little buddies ready to get to work.”

She turned and kissed him deeply, encircling
his neck with her arms. Her mouth was delicious and spontaneously
he picked her up and carried her over to the butcher’s block. Round
One for tonight could take place right there.

That’s when he noticed the calendar. He’d
meant to take a quick peek to make sure this was one of the best
days. But he didn’t see any red “F” on today’s date. Nor on the
next day’s, nor the one after that.

For a moment he was confused. He plopped
Joanna crookedly onto the wooden block and she struggled to find
her balance, still hanging onto his neck.

“Be gentle with me, sweetheart,” she said,
kissing his face.

“Gentle? Since when don’t you like a little
roughhouse?”

Doubly confused, he pulled back to look at
her. She was smiling such a sweet, knowing smile—so utterly
alluring and feminine and full of herself. His heart did a sort of
flip-flop in his chest when his lagging brain finally pulled it all
together.

“You…? I mean, we…?”

Her face lit with the glow of a thousand
candles, she nodded.

A true love child, Bella Catherine LaPlante
was born on May 11.

About the Author

Serena Janes is proud to say she was born in
Vancouver, Canada. She now lives about 100 miles from that
beautiful city, on a beautiful island, in a house called “Ocean
Glimpses.”

Serena holds both a Bachelors and Masters
degree in English, and has been teaching university-level courses
in literature and composition for many years. She loves to travel
and her goal is to write a story or novel set in every one of the
foreign countries she’s ever visited. This should keep her busy for
the rest of her life, she figures.

When she’s not reading, writing, gardening,
beach-combing, swimming, cooking, walking, sewing and collecting
stamps and postcards from around the world, Serena enjoys her
husband and Mr. Bates, a tabby cat named after a character in
Downton Abbey
.