What Happens in Perros, Stays in Perros
Variations on Variations:
The Continued Sexcapades of
Anatole and Carlotta at the Inn of the Setting Sun

Chapter 3: Mi Amante Ardiente

Carlotta stretched like a cat, flexing her fingers and toes as she extended the length of her body as far as she could. She sighed contentedly, and rolled on her side to face Anatole.

He slept soundly as the sun rose, casting a faint, early morning glow about the room. She draped her arm around him and said good morning to The Thing. It had served her well during the night, so she rewarded it with a kiss.

"Must sleep now," Anatole said groggily, pulling her arm over his waist.

"Ees that the way you greet all your lady friends after you've had your way with them?" Carlotta teased.

"What lady friends? There's no one besides you," he murmured, stroking her long black hair. He kissed her forehead and settled into the pillows, pulling her with him.

Carlotta drew circles in the hair on Anatole's chest and blew out a breath protractedly.

The air current across Anatole's bare nipples made him shiver. "You can't possibly be…can you? Not after last night," he said, smiling. The Thing sprang into play, eager for action.

She brushed her lips across his, and headed south, pausing to minister tender kisses over his bruised ribs. Anatole lifted his head and watched as she took her time arriving at her ultimate destination.

"This Thing of yours…" she started, her voice catching in her throat as she mounted him. "I think he and I are going to be very good friends."

"You already are," he said, laughing quietly.

She took her time, letting Anatole become fully awake so he could appreciate her more. She sheathed him deeply inside herself and then withdrew, exposing the length of him to the cool morning air, until he couldn't stand it any longer. He grasped her hips tightly, holding her against him while he pushed and pulled to control the tempo as much as possible. It wouldn't do to have this end too quickly.

Carlotta leaned forward so that her full, round breasts grazed Anatole's face as she thrust. He pulled her forward, so that he could kiss them as she rode him like a banshee. She leaned into him, so that every inch of him stimulated her in all the right places. He stroked one breast, grazing her taut nipple with his thumb, while he reached behind her and pushed on her buttocks, making the connection even more powerful. He kissed her neck and throat, sucking at it hungrily.

Her trained voice reaching a crescendo as she deepened her thrusts, "I am dying!" she gasped, shuddering as her walls milked Anatole for all he was worth. She rested her head on his chest, holding his shoulders tight, and made the small yummy noises he recognized as satisfaction.

"Not yet," he said, grinding her against him. He gritted his teeth as he pumped harder and harder, until the tightness in the center of his being exploded. He poured into her, saying, "My diva, my diva." After a moment to recover, he kissed her deeply and tangled his fingers in her hair, as he whispered, "Why it take us so long to try this?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, focusing her dark brown eyes on the fine line above his brow. This close, she could see tiny laugh lines developing around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, all of which required kissing.

"Why didn't we see it when we first met? You and I are good together."

"I knew we'd be good together. It took you longer to figure it out."

He thought back guiltily to the time he diverted her attention to the tenor, Pietro Sospenzo, and recalled telling Christine that Carlotta had the personality of a snake on a hot rock. He tightened his hold possessively. "I was an idiot," he said decisively.

"Yes, but you are my idiot," she said meaningfully, as she slithered off of him and curled herself around him.

She draped a leg over him and pulled up the covers, tucking them in. "What time do we have to be at the church?" she muttered.

"We have plenty of time," he answered, snuggling with her.

"Let's take a walk along the beach in a little while," she said quietly. "I've heard there's a little chapel that you can only reach at low tide."

"What's so special about it?" Anatole asked, warning bells clanging for no apparent reason.

"There's a statue I want to see, a statue of St. Guirec. I overheard the locals speaking about it," she explained.

"Is he the patron of sopranos?" Anatole said jokingly.

"No, nothing like that," Carlotta replied, grinning.

"The patron of wanton baritones?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"You are having a laugh at my expense," she said, pretending to be miffed. "It would serve you right if I cast a spell on you. A very powerful one," she said with certainty, adding as an afterthought, "with rosemary."

"It won't be necessary. I assure you, I am completely under your spell," he told her, as he drew a finger along the midline of her abdomen, resting at her navel."Good," she sighed, draping herself over him.

They rested, quietly holding each other, as Anatole combed her hair out of his face with his finger. He rolled onto his side, taking Carlotta with him, and opened the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out a small box.

"I have something for you," he said, looking unsure of himself. "I hope you'll like it."

She squealed and sat up, waiting patiently, trying not to appear over-eager. He held onto the box as if reconsidering giving it to her, and finally opened the lid before turning it and presenting it to her.

Inside was a brooch, featuring a deep purple amethyst stone. The flat surface of the stone was carved with forget-me-nots, each set with small rose-cut diamonds. The setting was yellow gold, which was engraved with an art nouveau design featuring a trailing vine. It was exquisite.

"Anatole!" she exclaimed. "I love it!" She kissed him once, twice, three times for luck. "But…forget-me-nots? Are you trying to tell me something?"

He cleared his throat. "The jeweler said it symbolized affection and respect," he replied, his face turning an attractive rosy shade.

"Mmmm," Carlotta nodded, biting her lip. And true love, she thought. This is going too well, she worried. Something is bound to 'appen.

Idiot! Anatole fretted, feeling an odd, warm sensation rising in his throat like gorge. Did the jeweler get it wrong? What if I have just asked her to marry me, and I don't even know it? Who knows how these women from Seville think. Realizing he was beginning to hyperventilate, he flexed his fingers and toes, trying to restore circulation. He ventured a question.

"I didn't know stones had symbolism," he said nervously. "What does it mean to you?"

"It means you are a very thoughtful lover, to give me such a pretty brooch," she cooed, wrapping her arms around his neck and rubbing her check against his. I must get to that statue, and soon.

The feeling was beginning to return to his fingers. Whew! he thought, making a note to have a talk with that jeweler. That was a close one.

Sra Ura tapped quietly on the door, waiting for Carlotta's command to enter before bringing in the breakfast tray. Warm croissants, a variety of jams and jellies, and a pot of hot chocolate filled the room with a mouth-watering aroma.

"Thank you," Carlotta said sweetly, as Ura departed, quiet as a mouse.

Anatole cocked his eyebrow. Carlotta was actually thanking her personal maid. Had he heard correctly?

"Wipe that smirk off your face," she said, her luscious lips forming an irresistible moue. "How can I be anything but nice, when I feel this happy?"

"Then I must endeavor to keep you happy," he said, pulling her close enough to devour.

"You spoil me," she said, pushing against his shoulders, pretending to resist until she finally gave in and kissed him back. His kisses left her breathless, and aching for more. She forced herself away from him, and fingering the brooch, she said, "I have a present for you, too."

"Really?" Anatole asked, like a kid at Christmas. "What did you get me?"

"Come here," she said warmly, taking the jam off the breakfast tray, "and let me show you, mi amante ardiente."

Anatole's eyes widened with surprise as Carlotta began to show him what they could do in bed with comestibles. "This is much better than a brooch," he said, pulling her close.

The reference to the pale blue Rosemary flower in the prayer of the "Third Day" has a significant dual meaning - ros marinus ("the dew of the sea") is the ancient Latin name for the Mediterranean Rosemary herb much used in spells for female domination and in Peaceful Home spells - but the sound of the words also makes a pun with the idea of a Rose of the Virgin Mary (whose sacred flower is the Rose), and so the herb, not at all related to Roses, has come to symbolize certain aspects of Mary, especially her sea-borne and home-strengthening apparitions.

Mi amante ardiente translates as "my ardent lover" (or zealous, passionate, enthusiastic lover). Did I get that right?

There will probably be one more chapter to this little interlude. Thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying our little romp, and especially to those of you who take the time to leave feedback. Your comments are appreciated!

HDKingsbury & MadLizzy