29. Welcome to Mama Dumant's

"Could you explain to me how you came to be friends with a gaggle of...liberal ladies?"

Mr Ambrose considered how to answer for a moment. Then...

"I followed your example?"

"What? I—"

...didn't actually have a good counter for that.

Dang! Dang and blast Amy for being such a good friend! Why couldn't all the prostitutes I knew be fiendish villains?

"And do you think," I continued, my purr descending into a growl, my gaze burning into the ladies clinging on to his various body parts, "that I usually get this intimate with my ladyfriends?"

In answer Mr Ambrose simply cocked his head at me, in a "How would I know?"-kind of way.

"You...! Don't look at me like that!"

"You look flushed. Did you do something with your friend Amy I should know about?"

My face heated like a pan at breakfast time. "It was you who dragged me to that brothel in the first place!"

"Then you can hardly object to me reviving an old tradition of the two of us, can you? One could almost call it romantic."

"Roma..."

"In addition, the rooms here are cheap, and the beds quite soft."

I jabbed a finger at him. "You...one day, I'm going to grab you by your cheapskate neck and choke you!"

He gave me the most indignant husbandly look a man can manage without moving a single facial muscle. "Choke me? I never would have thought an innocent young lady such as yourself would indulge in those kinds of proclivities. I am afraid that I shall have to decline. If you enjoy those kinds of things, I'm fairly sure there is someone here who can be hired to...indulge your inclinations."

"You..." I was speechless. So I did what I always did when the English language failed me: resort to expletives from other languages. After all, with such beautiful linguistic variety, why limit myself? "Cérebro de burro! Progéniture erronée d'un phacochère!"

My little tirade had no effect whatsoever on Mr Rikkard Ambrose, the living granite statue. It did, however, have one result: the five women clinging to my husband finally seemed to notice my existence.

"I say..." Limpet number one stroked her chin. "Who's she?"

"It couldn't be...?"

"Oh my."

"It surely is."

"That's right!" Stepping forward, I raised my chin, determined to claim my man. "I'm his wi—"

"Ooooh! Let's get her, girls!"

Before I could blink, I was jumped by a horde of perfumed barbarians. I was hugged, pinched, squeezed, petted, prodded and handed around.

"Oh look! She's so cute!"

"Got a cute butt, too."

"And a suitcase!"

"Really? Let me have a looksee!"

"Hey!" I protested. "You can't just take people's things and—"

That was when one of them took my butt and gave it an experimental squeeze.

"Hey, you're right! That's quite the juicy booty! No wonder you caught the eyes of Mister Spend-Resister!"

"Really? Let me cop a feel, too."

"Don't you dare!" I squeaked, reaching behind to protect my posterior. Which, unfortunately, meant I had to let go of my suitcase.

"Ha! It worked!" Grinning triumphantly, one of the devious limpets snatched the case and leapt out of my range. Before I realized I was tricked, she had already opened the lock and was rifling through my stuff with the natural nosiness of a brand-new best friend.

"Hey! Will you look at that? She's got men's clothes!" Suddenly, a pair of gleaming, far-too-eager eyes zeroed in on me with fiery enthusiasm. "She's into gender-bender, too! Say...wanna come up to my room with your man and play a little—ow!"

"Behave!" the middle-aged madam shot a glare at the younger woman whom she'd just whacked in the back of the head. "You can't just say something like that."

I breathed a sigh of relief. At least someone here still had some sense of decorum.

"You can't just invite people up to your room like that! You've gotta set a price first!"

Or not.

"Hey, nothing says I can't have no private fun, does it? Besides..." She nudged me in the ribs. "Besides, look at how fancy she looks! She must be one high-priced hooker! Probably earns enough for both of us."

I nearly choked on my saliva.

"I," I told her in a very virtuous tone of voice, "do not take money for that kind of thing."

A horrified look appeared on the young woman's face. "You have to work for free? You poor thing!"

I opened my mouth—and then shut it again. I didn't quite know how to respond to that. But Mr Ambrose apparently did. I could have sworn I heard him mutter, "Don't give her any ideas."

"Here," Reaching up, I pushed my hand into the face of the lady of the night who was still eying my husband and me. "Look at that, then think again!"

She inspected the object on my ring finger, and her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"A...curtain ring?"

Someday, I was going to drag Mr Ambrose to a jewellery shop, tie him to the counter and tickle his feet until he bought the whole store for me.

Limpet number one jabbed her in the ribs. "Hey, I think that's supposed to be a, you know...wedding ring."

Someday very soon.

"Wedding ring? But that...that would mean..." A downright scary grin spread over the face of limpet number two. Whirling around, she jabbed a finger at my husband. "You sneaky guy! You got hitched without telling us!"

Mr Rikkard Ambrose gazed down at her with as much supreme, icy arrogance as he could project with several half-dressed young women still clinging onto him. Which was quite an impressive amount. It would have been even more impressive if those bloody females let go already!

Hands on hips, I sent a meaningful stare at where the hands of certain ladies still held on to what was one hundred percent, utterly and completely property of Lilly!

"Oh. Ehem." Limpet number three retracted her hands, giving me a tentative smile. "No hard feelings, right?"

"Well, I don't know." Smirking with mischief, Limpet number four let her gaze travel over Mr Ambrose, until she reached a spot at the juncture of his trouser legs. "I'm fairly sure I could find some spot that feels hard. Give me five minutes and—" Then she noticed the homicidal glare I was sending her way. Breaking off, she cleared her throat. "Um...never mind."

"That's what I thought."

"Err...perhaps we got off on the wrong foot."

I raised an eyebrow. "If you get off on feet, that's your business. I myself prefer a different part of a man's body."

The young woman nearly choked.

Ha! Take that! You think you can win against me in a banter contest? I can trade verbal barbs with a granite wall and win!

Working for Mr Rikkard Ambrose could be very educational.

Limpet number three grinned, her gaze sweeping up and down my figure. Leaning over, she whispered to the madam, "I think I like her."

The young women exchanged glances—then nodded, as if seeming to agree on something. Their gazes zeroed in on me. My feeling of victory disappeared in a flash, replaced by a dark sense of foreboding.

"Now, wait a minute..." Taking a step back, I raised my hands. "Whatever you're thinking about, I won't—"

They pounced.

If I'd thought they'd been ferocious before, I had been very much mistaken. Interest in some new floozy was one thing. But interest in Mister Spend-Resister's brand new wife? That, apparently, was another thing altogether. One perfumed inquisitor appeared on either side of me, linking their arms with mine.

"Say...why don't we chat for a little while? We have so many questions."

"Oh, you do, do you?" I demanded, trying to struggle free. Not that it was working.

"Oh yes! Like, for example...what kind of dress you wore at your wedding."

"Or what kind of presents you got at your bridal shower."

"Or what sex toys you used on your wedding night."

I suppose I should have felt apprehension about the pack of limpets who were slowly but surely surrounding me. They'd already invaded my suitcase and my privacy, after all. Who knew what they'd "invade" next?

However, that wasn't really important right now. Because no matter what they wanted from me, I also wanted something from them. Rather urgently.

"What a coincidence. I must admit there's one question I'd like to ask you as well." I sent them a cheerful smile.

The women's faces lit up. "Go ahead, go ahead. How can we help?"

"You can tell me," I said, my cheerful smile redirected towards Mr Rikkard Ambrose, "how come my dear husband seems very familiar with this place?"

The young women's eyes started sparkling. "Oh, well..."

"...that's a subject for another time!"

Mr Rikkard Ambrose had apparently decided strategic intervention was warranted. Grabbing me by the arm, he started to manoeuvre me towards the stairs.

"What is it?" I enquired, sweetly. "Don't you want me to chat with your friends, Dicky Darling?"

"If I remember correctly, you were feeling exhausted. You should get to bed quickly. Really quickly."

"Strange." I glared daggers at him. The daggers bounced off his granite skin and vanished into thin air. "For some reason, I suddenly don't feel at all tired anymore."

"Curious indeed. Why don't we investigate this matter further up in our room?"

"Up yours, you son of a bachelor!"

"Yes, up the stairs to your room. I completely agree."

I twisted and turned, trying to escape from his grip and sink my elbow in his ribs. I should not have, I realized rather quickly, tied the knot with someone so bloody buff! Sure, it made for an interesting wedding night, but it also had the side effect that he could manhandle me however the heck he wanted, and there was nothing whatsoever I could do about it.

Just then, his arms came around me, and he swept me up in a princess carry.

"Put me down!"

"I'm afraid I cannot," Mr Ambrose refused as he hurried up the stairs with me still tightly clutched in his arms. "You are my wife, and you are tired. It's my duty to take care of you."

"And that's why you're running so quickly?"

In answer, Mr Ambrose sped up his steps. Only moments later, we reached the very top of the stairs and stood in front of a tiny, slightly crooked door. Pushing it open, he strode into the room beyond.

If it could be called a room, that is. It was a tiny space. Tiny, dingy and still hot from the sun that had long gone down. It had to be the cheapest room I had ever seen in my life.

Mr Rikkard Ambrose gazed down at me intently.

"Now do you understand why exactly I rented this room before?"

I cocked an eyebrow. Like I was going to let this go so easily! "Because you enjoy the presence of pretty ladies?"

Capturing my face in his hands, he intensified his stare until it bored into my very soul. "Guilty as charged. But why would I have to come here for that?" His grip tightened, forcing me to not look away. "After all, when I want to look at a beautiful woman, all I have to do is look to the other side of the bed every morning when I wake up."

"S-smooth talk won't save you," I told him. And in no way did I stutter! Not the slightest little bit!

He leaned closer. I became abruptly aware that I was still cradled in his arms, and suddenly wasn't as averse to that fact as I had been a moment ago.

"Really?" he breathed, his breath tickling my face like an arctic wind. "Are you sure about that?"

I swallowed. "Y-yes."

"Oh, well." He cocked his head. "If talk won't do, I suppose then I shall have to use a different method."

An instant later, his mouth covered mine. Heat raced from my lips down my spine all the way to my toes. Toes that were still swinging freely in the air, because he was still holding me tightly in his arms. With three swift steps, he arrived at the bed. A bed that suddenly didn't seem nearly so tiny and miserable anymore. How come it almost seemed inviting now?

"Now..." Setting me down on the creaky bed, Mr Ambrose leaned over me, drowning me in the pools of his deep, dark, sea-coloured eyes. "What methods should I use to assuage your wrath?"

Ah. That's how.

I wanted to give in. Gazing it into his eyes, I wanted it so darn much! But...

He took me to a bloody brothel, dammit! A brothel! I'm not a picky lady, but there's some things a man just can't do! At least he can't do them on his bloody honeymoon and still expect to get laid later that night!

No.

Not this time. I couldn't give in. This time, it couldn't go his way.

But...

A grin spread across my face. That didn't mean I couldn't still have my fun tonight.

"Assuage my wrath?" My eyes sparkled with mischief. "Why should I be angry? After all, tonight's events were so...enlightening."

Mr Rikkard Ambrose stiffened. Under normal circumstances, the only emotion reflected in his eyes would be cool indifference, or, if he looked my way, possibly desire. But now, there was a trace of apprehension in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Why, your preferences, of course!" I smiled up at him brightly. "First that brothel back in London where I met Amy, now this place...who knew you had a fetish such as this?"

In the silence that descended, you could have heard a pin drop on cotton wool.

"Fetish?"

"Don't be embarrassed." Reaching up, I patted his cheek. "I'm very progressive. As long as it's consensual, why shouldn't you enjoy your perverted phantasies?"

"Perverted? Mrs Ambrose! I most certainly do not—"

"Don't worry," I cut him off with a big smile. "I fully support you. So you like paying your partner for services rendered. So what? As a wife, I should always be supportive of my dear husband. So..." Reaching up, I held out my open hand. "Twenty pounds should do, I think."

I could see a muscle in Mr Ambrose's cheek twitch.

"I told them not to give you ideas."

"Oh, but they did. And what excellent ideas they were."

"You're being unreasonable! You—"

"Now it's twenty-five pounds."

A muscle in my dear husband's cheek twitched. "You can't seriously expect me to—"

"Oh? Can't I?"

"No, you ca—"

My hand was already so conveniently close to him. So, why not take advantage of it? Or rather, of him. In the blink of an eye, my hand vanished underneath his shirt and down his trousers.

"—aaahhh!"

"Yes, that's what I thought you'd say."

"Mrs Ambrose! Immediately remove—"

"—your underpants? Why, yes of course, Mr Ambrose, Sir."

With a soft, almost soundless noise, Mr Rikkard Ambrose's ten-year-old vintage trousers hit the floor. A moment later, his underpants followed.

"Mrs Ambrose! You—"

"Yes, Sir?" I glanced up at him, batting my eyelashes. "How may I be of service, Sir?"

This time, nothing but a croak came from Mr Ambrose's throat. Wrapping my hand around the find I'd made in Mr Ambrose's trousers, I squeezed. This was rewarded with another croak.

My, my, this was fun.

"M-Mrs Ambrose...your hand..."

"You mean this one?" Smiling innocently, I wiggled my free hand in front of his face. "Yes, I also think it's a bit too idle, Sir. Does Sir think I should put it to good use?"

Before he had the chance to offer an opinion on the matter, my hand started busying itself undoing the buttons of his shirt and tailcoat.

"Now, tell me, Sir..." Batting my eyelashes up at him again, I pushed myself up from the bed until I was high enough to kiss the spot of skin I had I had just exposed to open air. "What can I do for you? I'll do anything. I'll serve at your pleasure." Another button. Another kiss. "Or...was that for your pleasure?"

This time, the sound that erupted from Mr Ambrose's throat was an animalistic growl.

I grinned.

Animalistic?

Well, time for the beauty to tame the beast!

And as luck would have it, I already have him by a leash.

"You can tell me," I purred, pulling on said leash, which produced another muscle twitch in Mr Ambrose's cheek. "Anything you want, Sir. I'll do anything for you."

"Then," my dear husband squeezed out, "how. About. Letting. Go. Of. My. Appendage."

"Appendage? Are you referring to this, Sir?" Playfully, I touched his nose.

"No."

"Then...maybe you're referring to this?" I whispered, my lips brushing against his ear.

"No!"

"Oh my." I lowered my eyes, so ashamed. "I can't even guess right. I'm useless. I think I must be punished, Sir."

"I," Mr Ambrose squeezed out between clenched teeth, "am beginning to agree."

Oh my. This was really going well. I would have to thank Amy for all her tips later.

"Then..." I trailed a finger across the hard pecs of his bare chest until I reached the next button blocking my way. "...how are you going to punish me?"

Mr Ambrose's eyes flashed like an arctic thunderstorm. "I haven't quite decided yet. There are so many intriguing options."

"Well, let me know once you've decided. Until then..." My finger slipped underneath the button, prying it open. "...I'll do my best to entertain you, Sir."

In a blink, I was up from the bed and my hands pushed against Mr Ambrose's chest. He was so taken aback that he actually stumbled back and fell into an old armchair. Before he could even think of standing up again, I was on him. Oh, and did I mention I had already divested myself of most of my clothes?

"Oh, I've got it!" I told him with an unholy grin. "I know what to do! There's this very interesting local tradition..."

"Indeed?" he rasped.

"Oh yes, indeed." Local as in local to brothels, not to America. But I didn't have to tell him that, did I?

"Oh yes, indeed." Wriggling on his lap, I cocked an eyebrow. "Wanna know what it's called?"

Dumbly, he nodded.

Smiling, I leaned forward and whispered into his ear. Instantly, his chiselled granite face was flooded with crimson.

My smile widened.

"Let me show you..."

And I jumped him!

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

In case you want to read about Mr Ambrose's past and how he first encountered the ladies in the above chapter (for the sole reason he wanted a cheap room, of course), you can peruse the Storm and Silence prequel "Before the Storm", currently available for free exclusively on another app! I'm probably not allowed to mention it's name here because of Wattpad's new rules and regulations, but just search for "Before the Storm" along with my name and you should be able to find it. :)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Cérebro de burro!—Portuguese for "donkey brain".

Progéniture erronée d'un phacochère!—French for "Misbegotten offspring of a warthog!"