BOOK III - Chapter VIII - Honeymoon Starts

Round about the cauldron go:
In the poisoned entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone

Days and nights has thirty-one
Sweated venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first in the charmed pot.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble...

~ Shakespeare (Witches’ Chant from Macbeth)

CHAPTER VIII

TAYLOR and THE UNINVITED GUEST

He hears his name being called frantically over the radio in his ear.

“Taylor, can you call me on your cell phone? Or get on a private line? We have a situation here!” buzzes Sawyer.

“What sort of situation?” asks Taylor.

“Uninvited guest,” replies Sawyer.

“Fuck!” mutters Taylor under his breath in an epitaph. “I’m calling you right now. I won’t be offline. Just my mike off,” warns Taylor for the benefit of the other security detail. He dials Sawyer’s cell phone.

“Sawyer, what’s the problem?” asks Taylor without a preamble.

“T, that creepy witch is here,” explains Sawyer. Taylor thinks for a moment. When it comes to his boss, he’s had more than his fair share of creepy witches. But Sawyer only met two of them. So, this could be either Leila, or Elena.

“Sawyer, you need to be specific when it comes to describing the uninvited guests. Which creepy witch did have in mind?” Taylor asks impatiently.

“Not the Williams woman. She’s creepy, but this one gives me the shivers as if she’s devil’s hind legs, and ready to kick anytime! Dracula’s sister, the blond bimbo who’s always dressed in black...” describes Sawyer. 

“Fuck!”

“Did she say what she wants?”

“She wants into the wedding, boss!”

“She ain’t the bride, or the groom. She can’t come in!

“I’m aware of that boss, but you better get your ass over here pronto because Mrs. Grey is making her way to the entry. Someone had whispered into her ear that there’s an uninvited guest waiting outside.”

“Fuck a zombie! What the hell? Occupy Mrs. Grey. Don’t let her get a whiff of who it is! I’ll be right there!”

“How do I hold her?”

“Sawyer, you were with the fucking FBI! I’m sure they taught you something to keep a nice lady away from a seasoned witch!” he says running to the front entry.

“Man, you better hurry! The witch is sharpening her claws, and giving what’s for to the security who is manning the entry! I wonder where she parked her broom!” he mutters.

Taylor gets through the main house where he catches up to Mrs. Grace Trevelyan-Grey.

“Taylor, I was told of a commotion in the front gate. Do you know what’s going on?”

“I’m going to take care of it right now Mrs. Grey,” Taylor replies with a reticent look on his face. Mrs. Grey narrows her eyes on him.

“I hear that there’s an uninvited guest...” she says leaving her sentence hanging in the air with narrowed eyes. ‘Who the fuck has the loose mouth here?’ thinks Taylor to himself.

“I don’t know what your heard, or who you heard from ma’am, it’s nothing we can’t take care of. I’m on my way to resolve the situation right now,” says Taylor.

“I’d like to come with you if you don’t mind, then,” she replies. Taylor gives an inward groan.

“Ma’am, actually I do mind. Our job here is to protect you, the guests, and keep the uninvited individuals out, whoever they may be. So, please enjoy the wedding, and let us take care of minor security issues. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Is it Mrs. Lincoln?” she asks pointedly.

“Mrs. Grey, I have not seen who the uninvited guest is. If it’s a guest who is not on the list; he or she may not come.”

“Boss, I suggest you hurry! The witch came with her cauldron and she started brewing her concoction here!” Sawyer grunts. What the fuck is he talking about?

“Mrs. Grey, I’m sorry! But we have strict instructions that only the security is to deal with security issues; and you’re not in my detail list. Whoever it is outside, it’s my job to handle the problem. If you’ll excuse me, ma’am,” says Taylor authoritatively making a move to get to the gate. Grace Grey stops for a moment, then nods, and turns back to get into the house. Taylor wipes sheen of sweat from his forehead, and quickly makes his way to the front where Sawyer meets him. Sawyer nods with his eyes indicating a foot tapping, all donned in black head to toe in shimmering dress, Elena Lincoln who is now holding her head up regally to look at Taylor. Taylor looks around for a black crow perched on a tree accompanying the blond witch, and when not seeing one, he surreptitiously wonders if she’s hiding a black whip inside her black shimmering clutch. He makes his way to her.

“Taylor,” she says in her soft voice with relief.

“Mrs. Lincoln,” Taylor nods in greeting.

“So formal with me Taylor,” she eyes him, and he inwardly flinches.

“How can I help you ma’am?”

“Call me Elena,” she says trying to get friendly.

“No, ma’am. I wouldn’t feel comfortable. How can I help you today ma’am?” he asks politely.

“Taylor, I’m here for Christian’s wedding,” she says clearing her throat.

“Do you have an invitation ma’am?”

“I never needed any invitation for anything about Christian. Why the formality?” she says sounding whinny.

“Mrs. Lincoln, if you were invited ma’am, you would know that there is a protocol, and this isn’t the place to come at first. You’re not in the invited guests list. We have strict instructions about who is on the list, and who can enter.”

“Do you mean to say that I’m a subject on a proscribed list?” she says almost through gritted teeth, her carefully constructed calm façade is slipping.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you ma’am.”

“So, it confirms it then. Well, go tell your boss that I’m not leaving until he comes out here and talks to me.”

“Ma’am!” Taylor chides. “This is Mr. Grey and Miss Steele’s wedding. He can’t leave his wedding to come to talk to an uninvited guest!”

“Taylor! I’ll have your balls for dinner, and whip you with your dick if you don’t get me Christian right this minute!” she says menacingly her eyes wide, looking like a crazy woman.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Lincoln. But flattery won’t work ma’am! I have orders. You are NOT in the invited list.”

She eyes him assessing. He has an impassive gaze; a gaze Christian dons most the time. A face that hides someone’s insecurities, fears, anxieties, problems, and worries. She wants to catch a glimpse of Taylor’s weakness.

“Taylor, I’m sure you don’t want a scene here to embarrass your boss. I suggest then you deliver this message to him,” she says scribbling something on a piece of paper. “Tell him that I won’t leave unless he comes out here to talk to me,” she demands.

Taylor reluctantly takes her note and without a word, makes haste to get to Christian. When he makes his way to the marque, he sees Christian dancing with Anastasia. His boss looks...happy. Happier than he’s ever been for the four years he’s worked for him. He curses his luck to have to break that happy moment. Taylor doesn’t want to interrupt; he looks for an opening. He’d be damned if he’d let Ana hear about the uninvited visitor and sour her joyous mood on her wedding day! Poor kid doesn’t deserve the meddling from that Lincoln troll on what should be the happiest day of her life. God, he feels like he’s protecting Sophie when it comes to Ana! Taylor knows that this is the main intent behind the blond witch’s intrusion: to destabilize their marriage from day one. She wants to make Ana feel unsettled, that there’s another woman waiting for her to slip up, to take her place.  The longer Taylor thinks about it, the madder he gets. But he has to see what his boss thinks first.

Mr. Grey is looking at Ana like nothing and no one exists but the two of them. Taylor feels like a fucking creep, a voyeur disturbing their special moment. In the past he had interrupted a lot of intimate moments for various reasons, including the times where he had to knock on boss’ playroom door as he was engaged in some kinky shit like the sub shackled on some contraption and off the floor. Even then he would answer the door, just mildly pissed that his coitus was interrupted. But this...this is a private moment, and it feels a thousand times more intimate than fucking; like two souls connecting, holding each other. Taylor curses under his breath again, “baboon’s ass, fucking bitch!”

But Taylor doesn’t have to wait long. Another poor fucker who is in love with Ana interrupts the boss and Ana’s dance towards the end of the song. Taylor almost feels sorry for the poor sap. He looks sad like a beaten puppy as he’s gazing at Ana in boss’ arms. Mr. Grey reluctantly allows them to dance and stands aside watching his girl like a hawk. Dr. Flynn sidles next to him. Taylor can’t wait much longer before the song is over. He has to alert the top dog about the fucking hyena sneering outside the property!

“Mr. Grey,” Taylor sidles up to Christian. He gives him ‘the shit’s about the hit the fan’ look. Boss understands, and he’s not happy.

“Excuse me a moment, John,” he excuses himself from the über expensive shrink. As far as the shrinks go, he’s a good guy. Even Taylor feels like he should go to him after what he had seen in that playroom in the past years. But right now, he has a task, and if all is well, the witch’s just levitating on her broom outside.

“What’s up?” boss asks.

“Mrs. Lincoln is outside, and she insists on talking to you,” Taylor gets out in one breath nervously. The shorter the message, the better.

“What the fuck? I don’t believe this!” his boss growls, and his hand runs through his hair in exasperation. He looks like he could bite the bitch’s head off. Careful! She’s like the Greek mythological creature Hydra. You cut one head off, and two springs in its place. You gotta use a different tactic with that kind of serpent.

“I know you have strict instructions on who can and can’t come, sir. I thought you need to know this,” Taylor responds.

“I’m not going to talk to her on my wedding day, or anytime soon!” says the boss, and if there wasn’t anyone around, Taylor could do a cartwheel for that response. That’s how much the witch gives him the willies.

“I’m aware of it sir. I can send her away. She passed a note to be given to you,” says Taylor. He’s already looked at the note on the way. ‘Yeah, yeah! Fucking, private! Well, sue me!’ he thinks to himself. This is for his boss’s good. It’s not private when it concerns Ana’s happiest day, and as brilliant as his boss is, sometimes he can’t see how far that witch’s tendrils crawl up on his neck. Taylor feels the need to protect both of them from her by force if necessary.

His boss reads her note, and he’s boiling mad. Thank God there’s some sense in him to realize that this bitch is a danger to his happiness! He’s seen him this mad only a few times. When he looks up at Taylor from the note his eyes are shooting daggers. If only looks could kill, Taylor would direct the Boss’s gaze towards entry gate.

“I want you to go out, and talk to her. Tell her that Mr. Grey is busy building his future with his new wife. He is not interested in reminiscing about his past with her. Should she have trouble finding her way to her home, one of the security guards would be more than happy to provide the directions, and if she still has trouble understanding plain English, they can gladly escort her home,” he says, and Taylor is proud of him like the first day Sophie learned to walk.

“I’ll be more than happy to deliver the message, sir,” he replies quickly and leaves.

On his way to the gate, he calls Sawyer.

“Is your mike off?”

“Yes, Taylor, it’s off.”

“What’s Mrs. Lincoln doing?”

“The witch is pacing up and down as far as she’s allowed on the front lawn.”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” says Taylor before hanging up.

When he makes to the front gate, Taylor takes a deep breath and walks towards the Lincoln witch in determined steps. When she sees his resolute gaze, she knows. She tilts her head up, her stance gets proud and determined, and she looks up at him.

“Well?” she asks petulantly.

“Mr. Grey is unavailable. He can’t come.”

“What do you mean he can’t come?” she says stumping her foot.

“Mrs. Lincoln, Mr. Grey sent you a message. He says that right at this moment, he’s busy building a future with his new wife,” says Taylor emphasizing that he already tied the knot, that there’s no room for an ex dominatrix, “...and that Mr. Grey is not interested in reminiscing about the past with you. Should you have trouble remembering the directions to your home, I would be happy to provide it for you. And if you ma’am are having trouble getting to your home, one of the security details would be more than happy to escort you there,” Taylor says looking at her pointedly.

“Well, well, well...Taylor. You can make a decent dom...” she says appraising him, “if you weren’t a little too old for me,” she adds narrowing her eyes. Her praise always includes a hidden insult. Taylor feels the bile rise in him. He’s been to combats, and full on wars, but nothing gave him the creeps as much as this woman does. Taylor pretends he didn’t hear the witch.

“Do you need escorting Mrs. Lincoln?” he asks pointedly.

“Oh yes, you are with the maid, are you not?” she taunts him. No one talks about Gail like that!

“Mrs. Lincoln, I would be more than happy to escort you to your broom!” he says firmly, but calmly.

“You are touchy!” she sighs. “My Mercedes CL 600 brand broom is parked right there, Taylor,” she says indignantly. “I don’t need escorting. Tell your boss that when he needs me... and he will need me;” she says so sure of herself. “When that time comes, I am ready, able, and available for him.” Fat chance that Taylor will pass that message! The fucking witch’s claws are like giant barb wires. It hurts when she shoves them in, and they rip out a pound of flesh when she pulls them out!

“Sorry ma’am. I’m NOT passing that message! Mr. Grey is married now. You better leave him alone, and move on with other endeavors,” he says grimly.

“You will pass the message, Taylor! If you value your job...” she says leaving the end of the threat hanging.

“I’m hired to be Mr. Grey’s personal protection. I am required to use my best judgment to protect him from harm; and you ma’am are more poisonous than a rattler, and protecting him from that sort of danger falls under my job description. Unlike others, I’m not afraid of your fangs, ma’am. Your time here is up. You have two minutes to leave the premises. If you can’t leave, the security will escort you!” he says with a glacial gaze.

She turns her back, and walks to her Mercedes, her head indignantly held high. She will get her day. But not today.

While still I may, I write for you

The love I lived, the dream I knew.

From our birthday, until we die,

Is but the winking of an eye;

And we, our singing and our love,

What measurer Time has lit above,

And all benighted things that go

About my table to and fro,

Are passing on to where may be,

In truth's consuming ecstasy,

No place for love and dream at all;

For God goes by with white footfall.

To Ireland in the Coming Times ~ Yeats

IRELAND

My Blackberry already has three text messages and several e-mails from Taylor.

*Destination: Ashford Castle. Security Harry O’Reilly, Greg Fergus. Password: Crystal Fjord. London is set for your arrival tomorrow night. Details about security in your e-mail*

I’m surprising Anastasia with a stay at an Irish castle. Would she like it?

“Baby, wake up,” I whisper in Anastasia’s ear kissing her cheek, the edge of her jaw, the side of her mouth. She groans tired. “We’re here. Get up and take a shower, and get dressed, baby.”

“Where are we?” she asks stretching her naked breasts move upward with her arms. I’m already showered and dressed, and we ready to enjoy the first day of our honeymoon with my wife. I would love to make love to her now, but it’ll keep us in the airport for the duration of the day, and we have plans.

“Ireland,” I reply.

“For refueling?”

“We’ve already refueled. We have an excursion,” I say with a wicked smile. She narrows her eyes on me quizzical.

“What kind of an excursion?” she asks pulling the sheets up to her chest. I pull it down slowly without breaking my gaze off her.

“Come on baby; daylight’s wasting. We have so much to do. We only have one day here. And I have so much to show you, Mrs. Grey,” I say darkly, and kiss her. She reciprocates, and pulls me in, harder, demanding, her fingers lacing into my hair. I finally manage to pull away breathless.

“Whoa! Anastasia! What you do to me! We can’t stay in bed. Come. Take a shower and we have to get going.”

We only take the small carry-ons and the security detail Taylor had arranged are waiting for us after we’re done with the customs. They’re waiting for us at the VIP section.

Taylor had sent me a picture of each close protection, and I recognize our escorts; and it’s not just by the large sign they’re holding:

“Mr. and Mrs. Christian Grey”

When Anastasia and I come out, their eyes shine with recognition. They know what we look like.

“Mr. Grey?” asks Fergus who looks like he’s barely 30 years old, but agile, trim and focused. He emphasizes the letter ‘r’ in his talk.

“You are?” I ask. He takes out his identification. All the identification information matches with the copy Taylor e-mailed me. Once I’m through with verifying their identification, I ask:

“Destination?”

“Crystal Fjord,” he replies. Anastasia looks at me quizzically.

“Since your time is limited, we are taking the helicopter sir. We have your schedule for the duration of your stay in Ireland; however if you wish anything else that is not in the schedule, please let us know so we can quickly arrange it for you, Mr. Grey,” states O'Reilly.

“Just take us to our place of stay, let's freshen up a bit, then we can move on with our activities,” I say with an impassive gaze.

“Of course Mr. Grey. We are about 148 kilometers from our destination sir which is about 92 miles. Driving would take us about two hours, sir. Considering you've traveled a great distance, Mr. Taylor has arranged a helicopter for you to take you to your destination, and it is at your disposal for the tour that's been arranged for you. It will remain on call for the duration of your stay, sir,” he adds politely.

“Thank you, O’Reilly,” I say taking Anastasia's hand.

“This way, Mr. and Mrs. Grey,” Fergus says, and leads the way. The helicopter they lead us to on the tarmac is a Sikorsky S-92 luxury helicopter. Anastasia’s jaw drops open at the size of the helicopter. Sikorsky is a huge helicopter with over fifty six feet exterior length, and the wingspan alone is also over fifty six feet long. She looks at me quizzically.

“It’s huge!” she remarks in a whisper.

“Only the best for my girl,” I reply nonchalantly.

They take our luggage up the aircraft, and introduce us to our pilot whose name should be Matt O’Connell according to the info Taylor provided.

“May I introduce you to your captain sir?” asks O'Reilly politely. “This is Captain Matt O'Connell. He will be at your service during your stay. Our co-pilot is Captain Richard Bremer,” he indicates the two pilots who will be flying us. Their pictures and names match.

“Welcome aboard, sir,” they say and shake my hand.

“Ma'am, welcome, and congratulations,” they turn to Anastasia and make her blush. “Please be seated. This is a large aircraft which serves food and drinks, and should you wish to use it, there is a lavatory as well as a shower aboard the aircraft,” O’Connell says.

“Thank you. I think we'll just take our seats for now,” I reply.

“How long will it take us to get to our destination?” asks Anastasia. Clever girl! She's not asking where, but she's asking the right questions.

“No more than forty minutes Mrs. Grey,” replies Fergus. My lips curl into a small smile.

“Curious?” I lean in and ask. She nods her head rigorously.

“You'll see it in forty minutes. I'd rather show it to you than tell you,” I say. Sikorsky is a luxurious helicopter. It's been customized for the comfort of the passengers. The cabin height is six feet high causing me to duck my head in when I enter into it. The cabin width looks to be about over six and a half feet, but the length of it looks like twenty feet. It's roomy and I'm sitting next to Anastasia when a flight attendant comes along.

“Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Grey. My name is Jennifer. I'm your flight attendant today. I'd like to serve you some refreshments. What would you like?” she asks with a big genuine smile. She's in her mid-30s, red haired, and green eyed, a pleasant woman. She looks at Anastasia expectantly, then looks at me and blinks in quick succession. I turn to look at my wife to ask her what she wants; nothing too harsh this early in the morning.

“I'd like Twinings English breakfast tea please, bag out,” she says, then narrows her eyes when she gets a glimpse of the flight attendant looking at me with a carnal appreciation. You have nothing to worry about baby. I have only one type, and that's you. But her jealousy stirs my groin and pleases me secretly. She loves me; I can never get enough of that.

“You sir?” she asks almost stumbling on her words.

“Coffee with skim milk please,” I reply without taking my gaze away from my beautiful bride.

“We already have a reservation for breakfast at our destination,” I explain Anastasia.

“Where are we going Christian?” she asks with excitement in her voice.

“Anticipation is the greater part of pleasure,” I murmur with a salacious grin.

“But I want to know what I'm anticipating!” she says sulkily, however she can't hide her thrill either. I only smile in response.

Flight is going smoothly. I check my time, and gaze out the window. They're supposed to do a flyover first, and I want to see what Anastasia thinks and what she feels when she first sees where I'm taking her. Fergus is supposed to be the aerial tour guide for this flight. He clears his throat and approaches to our seats.

“What you are looking down below is the Mayo Galway. We'll soon be flying over the Bush Island, to her left is Illaunree, north of it is Illaundarragh and Leaf Island is just slightly northwest of it. Right there to your left Mr. and Mrs. Grey,” Fergus points out the small islands below.

“We are now going to fly over the estate which is quite large boasting over 26,000 acres. The property itself is on 350 - 450 acres depending on who you ask, but in 1852 Sir Benjamin Lee Guinness extended the property to its large proportions. To the north you can see the Ashford Equestrian Centre. Should you wish, or if you have the time, you may ride the beautifully wooded country side between the shores of Lough Corrib and Lough Mas, and even into the mountains of Connemara to the West. Further north,” he says pointing with his finger and Anastasia leans in and to my amusement pushing me out of the way to see with childish delight, “you can see the Clay Pigeon shooting and archery,” Fergus adds.

“Oh! Can we go shooting? Please, can we?” asks Anastasia excitedly.

“No!” I reply my mouth into a tight line. I just married her. I don't want her to be accidentally shot at. She narrows her eyes on me but says nothing.

Fergus feels the tension and quickly moves onto a different topic.

“To your southeast, you will see the banks Lough Corrib and of course the Orvis indorsed property is located right there which is one of the most famous fisheries in all of Ireland, sir,” he says for my benefit.

“Also ma'am, if you look to your left,” he says getting Anastasia to the window on her side of the seat, “you will see the Gardens at Ashford. The castle dates back to 1228...” he says but can't finish the rest of his sentence because Anastasia squeals in delight.

“Castle! Did you say castle? Christian did he say castle?” she squeals in a high pitched voice.  I can’t help but get a wide stupid grin on my face.

Fergus gets a satisfied smile on his face. “Yes, ma'am the Ashford castle,” he says proudly as if his favorite uncle owns it. “But I'm showing you the gardens to your left. Sir Benjamin Guinness and his successors the Ardillauns from 1852 onward created and conceived and executed the layout of the gardens. They are worth seeing ma'am. And to your right Mrs. Grey, if you look from Mr. Grey's window you will see the spectacular Ashford Castle. It was founded by the Anglo-Norman de Burgo family following their defeat of the native O'Connors of Connaught.”

“Oh my God! It is simply beautiful Christian! It looks like Hogwarts!” Anastasia gushes. “I can't wait to explore it. Are we allowed to explore it?” she asks Fergus.

“Yes, ma'am you are. You are going to occupy one of the suites with the best view all around ma'am!” he says promisingly. Anastasia turns to me and beams at me with her 10,000 Megawatts smile. I’m elated, because she loves it! The pilots land the helicopter expertly onto the helipad, and a golf cart is waiting to collect and drive us back to the castle.

“Mr. and Mrs. Grey! My name is Milton. Welcome to the Ashford Castle,” a personal assistant greets us with a big warm smile. “I will take you to your room. We know that you've traveled a long way, so you may come down anytime you like for your brunch,” he says courteously.

“Thank you Milton,” we both say at the same time to Milton's response. He drives us on the pathway carved through neatly trimmed grass. To our left we can see the tiny islands in the bay overlooking the castle. The water is calm as sheet and the colors are vivid; absolutely gorgeous.

“Let’s take you this way ma'am, sir,” says Milton after he pulls in front of the castle. Anastasia turns to me and mouths, “Oh my God!”

“Christian, this is Downtown Abbey meets Camelot! Thank you!” she gushes after taking in the architecture and running her hand over the suit of shining armor at the front door. “It’s formal without being stuffy! How did you know I would love this?”

The rich mahogany interior takes her breath away. The furnishing is eclectic; from different periods, but somehow very fitting for the environment. Our suite is quite large, with soft gold intonations and warm colors. Windows are large and overlooking the water and the gardens.

Once I tip Milton, and send him on his way, Anastasia turns to me and to my surprise she hurls herself at me. “I love it! I love it! And I love you! Thank you!” she says raining kisses on my cheeks, my neck, around my lips, and finally finding my lips.

“Mrs. Grey, if I knew I’d get this reaction...” but I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence. Her mouth captures mine, and quickly desire unfurls in both of us. I back her onto the four poster bed, and push her onto the mattress and I fall on top of her.

“Husband...” she says breathy, hands knotted in my hair. “I want you! Now!”

“Ana! You’re going to unman me, baby! But we have plans. Otherwise we’ll be in our room all day!”

“But I want to make love to you in a castle...”

“Oh, baby, we will, but at the time and the place of my choosing,” I grin salaciously.

“Let’s clean up, and get dressed, I have a few surprises for you.”

“If I combust on the first day of our honeymoon Mr. Grey, it’ll be all your fault!” she accuses.

“Mrs. Grey, I’m sure I can think of a few ways to put out your fire,” I respond my mouth twitching.

“Dress comfortable, we’re might have to walk,” I say.

When we are ready to go, I take her hand, and make our way to the Drawing Room to have breakfast. “This is a drawing room! Do you know how much I wanted to see a drawing ever since I read about them in Pride and Prejudice?” Anastasia whispers fervently. Her reaction makes me want to put the world at her feet, make her happy ever day of her life. I just squeeze her hand in response. Once the breakfast is over we are given a tour of the castle, and the gardens, but not the shooting range. I don’t want Anastasia anywhere near it!

As much as I want to keep the strangers away from her, I want Anastasia to experience the local flavor. Where better can we achieve that than at an honest to goodness Irish pub? O’Reilly and Fergus take us to in a silver color G Class Mercedes Benz SUV with heavy armor. They drive us to Thoor Ballylee.

“Anastasia, this is where they filmed John Wayne’s “Quiet Man” with Maureen O’Hara,” I explain waiting for her reaction my eyes wide.

“I never heard of that movie, but did you know that William Butler Yeats restored this 16^th century Norman castle for himself and his wife?” she says completely astounding me.

“How do you know that?” I ask her completely surprised. This is one of the reasons why I’m in love with my wife. She never ceases to amaze me. 

“I thought everybody knew that!” she says shrugging. “This is where he wrote ‘The Tower’ poem collection. It was inspired by this place!” she says with a swipe of her hand.

“I don’t think I’ve heard about that collection,” I say racking brain.

“An Ancient Bridge, and a more ancient tower,
A farm-house that is sheltered by its wall,
An acre of stony ground,
Where the symbolic rose can break in flower,
Old ragged elms, old thorns innumerable,
The sound of the rain or sound
Of every wind that blows,
The stilted water-hen
That plunged in stream again
Scarred by the splashing of a hundred cows.

I declare this tower is my symbol; I declare
This winding, gyring, spiring treadmill of a stair is my ancestral stair;

I, the poet William Yeats,
With old mill boards and sea-green slates,
And smithy work from the Gort forge,
Restored this tower for my wife George;
And may these characters remain
When all is ruin once again.

Benighted travellers
From markets and from fairs
Have seen his midnight candle glimmering.
The river rises and sinks again;
One hears the rumble of far below
Under its rocky hole.
What Median, Persian, Babylonian
In reverie, or in vision, saw
Symbols of the soul.”

She recites. “I always wanted to see a tower, you know like the fairy tales, where a princess is locked in the tower and her shining armor coming to rescue her... Just something so romantic about it! A medieval tower, by the water somewhere, lush greenery surrounding it. Decorated with billowy sheer curtains...stone walls, rising high into the sky, and warm wood burning fireplace, warm colors...” she says longing, absently, and all of a sudden she takes a sharp intake of breath, and fans herself flushing. Really? I had no idea! I look at my wife anew with admiring eyes, totally in love with her, once again.

“What Mr. Grey?” she teases. “Could it be that I finally know something you didn’t?” she asks innocently batting her eyelashes, and bites her lip.

My hand automatically reaches up, and tugs her chin.

“Don’t!” I warn her with a dark gaze. “Not here.”

“Are you quite sure Mr. Grey?” she asks with a longing tone, looking at the tower. What? Towers turn her on? Fuck! My hand flies to my head in an effort to suppress the rising desire for her in exasperation.

She’s examining the building with hungry, lascivious, desirous eyes.  

“Baby, could you excuse me for second?” I ask as I reluctantly letting go of her hand.

“Fergus!” I call, and he comes to stand four feet before me. I make a gesture with my fingers to come closer, and he leans in.

“I have a request for this evening, and I want it to be done exactly as I tell you!” I say, and he listens.

*****

I want Anastasia to soak in some local flavor, and we are taken to a popular pub called McDaids.

A large woman with red cheeks and blue eyes with a smiling face is manning the bar. It’s still early afternoon so there are only few patrons at the bar. The woman smiles as we enter the pub. We sit at an out of the way table, and the large lady comes to our table still smiling.

“Welcome to McDaids luvs! What’s your fancy today?” she asks.

Without moving my gaze from Anastasia’s I answer with another question:

“What do you have?”

“American, aye?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply still looking at Anastasia with smoldering eyes.

“And so polite, too! Well dears,” she says and to both of our surprise, she pulls up a chair next to us, “I get winded standing up dears, and I like chatting up with the customers. Okay, we have beer, but American tourists always complaint that Irish beer is bitter,” she says making a face. “If you’re not used to it, you may not like it, but if you like a dare, you can try it. Then we have Stout,” she says, and when she sees the puzzled look on Anastasia’s face, “It’s the Irish national drink,” she adds with a girlish giggle. But that explanation is still not enough for Anastasia.

“What’s a stout? I’ve never heard of it,” she asks and looks up at me blushing, and still with those desirous eyes.

“It’s a black beer, but it’s smooth as velvet, me pet, thickly topped by a creamy head of suds. Aye, there’s a ritual to properly pulling a pint of stout, me dear! It’s best done slow, with a glass titled to maximize air contact,” she says miming. “You must fill two thirds full, pour off some of the head, and let the glass sit for five minutes till it settles. Then pull again, and slosh off the excess.”

I make a face. I don’t want my wife to get drunk on the first day of our honeymoon. I need her coherent for tonight.

“Thank you...” I pause for her name.

“Mildred is me name dear,” she replies.

“Mildred, but we need something light for my wife,” I say my gaze back on Anastasia.

“Aye, young man,” she answers me then turns her gaze to Anastasia and adds, “you must be a new bride me dear,” she says with a motherly tone.

“I am, in fact this is the first day of our honeymoon. How did you know?” Anastasia asks.

“Sweet girl, I can tell from the love oozing out of your husband’s face, and the way he said ‘me wife’ with such reverence and oooh,” she says fanning herself, “...desire, and passionate love, and the way you look back at him, I thought McDaids would go up on fire!” she answers in her bubbly voice, making Anastasia blush.

“But that is so sweet, luv! No shame in loving one another!” she gushed. To change the topic I ask, “What else do you have for a drink?”

“Whiskey! Irish whiskey. If you’ve never tried it, it is similar to a fine Scotch without the smoky flavor. But darling, the Irish whiskey,” she said with pride, “is the only triple distilled whiskey in the world! Another lovely liqueur is Irish Mist. I think a dram of Irish Mist captures the full flavor of Irish whiskey, but it’s gentler. We also have Alcopops. We’re not like Americans dear. We don’t have fancy cocktails here. I have an Alcopops called Fat Frog. And we have wine.”

“Let’s get some Irish beer, but in your smallest mugs,” I say, and she grins. “Want no drunk bride on the first day of your honeymoon, dearie?” she says and gives a hearty laughter. She then leans in onto the table and says.

“Congratulations dearies! Your beers are coming up!”

*****

By the time we get back to the castle it’s late afternoon. Anastasia and I take a bath in the claw footed tub watching the bay. When we come out of the tub, “I want you to dress up in this,” I say showing her the black backless lace trimmed satin dress.

“What are you wearing?” she asks quizzical.

“Dark suit and silver gray tie,” I whisper with smoldering eyes. I can see her breathing increasing with the rising of her chest in quick succession.

As we get dressed, I find Anastasia gazing at me appreciatively and I more so--if I didn’t practice self-control for years, this would have been a very hard task to achieve.  We finally go outside finding O’Reilly and Fergus waiting by the door, eyes scanning the corridor.

“Mr. and Mrs. Grey,” they greet us, and at that moment I realize that I can’t get enough of hearing that expression, our names combined in unity, declared by other people that she’s my woman, my wife. Fergus speaks into the radio on his sleeve. When we get to the tower we’re going to dine in, Anastasia’s surprise is evident and her excitement is contagious.

“Mr. and Mrs. Grey,” Milton starts to his introduction. “This fabulous French style chateau is added to the architectural splendor of the castle in 1715. This way ma’am, sir,” he says with flourish and directs us indoors. The tower is decorated like a cozy room with chaise and pillows. Sheer curtains draped and flittering with the slight breeze. Table set for two with soft candle is just exquisite. The fireplace is roaring with wood fire, and adding to the ambiance of the tower which is overlooking the water. Milton takes Anastasia’s wrap putting it on one of the cushions, then pulls the comfortable chair for Anastasia and pushes in as she sits down. There is a menu on the table for both of us describing everything that is going to be served.

From George V Room

STARTER

Ashford Castle Caesar Salad Air Dried Pork and Parmesan Shavings Pouilly - Fuisse, Joseph Drouhin, 2008

Warm Connemara Lobster Half Lobster with Crushed Purple Potatoes and Crisp Artichokes

Seared Scallops Creamy Seafood Barley, Caramelised Pears and Fresh Basil Chateau Minuty, Prestige, Cote de Provence

SOUP

Cream of Prawn Bisque Soup Warm Whiskey Cream and Crisp Killary Harbour Prawn Tails

MAIN COURSE

Grilled Local Black Sole Cooked on the Bone and Filleted at your Table

Sweet Potato Chateau La Bertrande, Premieres Cotes de Bordeaux

DESSERT

Choice of Dessert from our Dessert Menu, Tea & Coffee with Petit Fours

We kindly ask the Gentlemen to honour the elegance of the George V Dining Room by wearing Jacket & Tie for dinner

“Is there anything else we can get you sir?”

“Thank you Milton. We are fine,” I say dismissing him. Milton departs the tower closing the heavy wooden gate to give us privacy. The security detail is to wait down at the foot of the tower, leaving me to be with my wife in a tower overlooking the water as the moonlight is rising.

“Tower, Mr. Grey?” she asks with only admiration in her eyes.

“We aim to please Mrs. Grey,” I reply with a shy smile.

“No oysters today then?” she asks after looking around the table.

“How impatient you are Mrs. Grey, but yes, there are oysters, right from Galway Bay, I’m told,” I say without breaking my gaze.

“I was thinking, I would feed you this evening. You didn’t eat much during lunch today, and we’ve had a busy day. I don’t want you to pass out on me for what I have in mind,” I say and hear her breath hitch. I pull my seat closer to Anastasia’s.

“I want to blindfold you,” I whisper. She swallows and nods in response in anticipation. I take out the eye mask and pull it over her eyes. My lips are close to her ear and not touching.

“Can you see anything?” I whisper as my breath caresses her cheek.

“No,” she whispers back.

I open the tray holding the oysters. There are only eight of them. I take one and squeeze some lemon on it. I bring it close to her lips, and whisper, “oyster.” She opens her mouth, and I tip the shell, and she swallows as it smoothly goes down her throat.

“Good girl,” I say, and squeeze another slice of lemon and tip it in my mouth, and repeat the process until they’re all gone.

“Wine?” I ask.

“Yes, please,” she replies in a breathy voice.

I hold the goblet up to her lips and she takes a welcome sip.

I take a spoonful of the prawn bisque soup and take it to her lips. She takes it and swallows, making an appreciative sound tightening my groin. I take a spoonful, and it is delicious. I give her a forkful of salad, and a drop of the dressing is left of the corner of her mouth. Her finger reaches up to clear it, but I catch it up, chiding. I lean in slowly and suck the dressing off her bottom lip. She wants to kiss me but I pull back, making her pout. I smile at her response.

“All in good time, baby,” I murmur softly. I give her a forkful of the sole. She chews it appreciatively. I take a bite after her. Then I give her a bite of the scallops and then the lobster.

I develop a routine ending with wine. When the food is all gone, I stand up and take Anastasia’s hand and walk her to the chaise by the fire.

“Do you know how desirable you look right now, baby?” I whisper. She shakes her head.

“Well, you do, and I want you so much, Mrs. Grey!”

“Husband! I want you, too!” she replies in a husky voice. It’s dark outside. Other than the candlelight on the table, and the roaring fire, there’s no other light. 

I pull her back and sit on the chaise her legs trapped between mine but barely hovering over her. I lean in and touch her face with the side of my index finger only and she takes a sharp intake of breath. “I love you Ana,” I whisper fervently, and kiss her cheek, her jaw; my teeth capture her earlobe tugging it. Then my lips move to her long neck. She tilts her head to the side to give me easy access. My fingers travel to her shoulders and one by one I bring the straps down freeing her breasts before me.

“Christian, I want to see you!” she says. I stop, “Please! I want to see your lips on my body! It’s...” she stops, and swallows, “it’s intoxicating!” she finishes, and I think my cock just went into full salute mode in my pants.

“You want it, baby, you got it!” I say and pull the eye mask off her eyes. She flutters her eyes open, desire lacing them. I hold my hand out to her, and let her stand up.

“I want to peel that dress off you now,” I say my voice thick with desire. I slowly pull it down from her arms, and her belly. It slowly slides down from her legs, pooling at her feet. I hold my hand out, and she walks out of the dress. She’s in her black lace panties, and her black pumps.

“You seem to be over dressed Mr. Grey,” she says with desire burning in her eyes. “I want to undress you,” she adds.

“No one’s stopping you baby,” I reply.

She comes closer, and her hands going under my jacket on my shoulders, she slides it down, and it falls onto the ground. Her hands reach up to my tie. “This tie, husband, turns me on big time,” she says biting her lip. I lean down, and tugging her chin capture that lip with mine, softly suck on it, and tug with my teeth, and then release it. Her breathing increases as desire courses through us. She pulls my silver gray tie off, and I notice, gently places it on the seat. Her hands deftly make hasty business of unbuttoning my shirt. Her fingers slowly glide through my chest making me shiver. I capture one hand and raise it to my mouth kissing her fingers, and then suck her pinkie then slightly bite the pad of it with a wanton grin; finally letting it go. She moves it down to my happy trail, grazing over the hair, and unbuckles my belt, and pulls my zipper down. Both her hands enter into the back of my pants, squeezing my butt, and slowly pulling my pants and boxers down at the same time, making my erection spring out. I walk out of them standing in my shoes and socks. She gives me a wicked smile, and leans down deliberately sticking her ass up in the air in an effort to take my shoes and socks off.

My hands reach and caress her behind. I pull her lacy panties aside and dip one, and then two fingers inside her sex, and she’s so wet and ready for me as ever. I hiss my breath out through my teeth.

“I know what you’re doing baby,” I murmur, and slap her behind gently. Once she takes my shoes and socks off, her hands skate up through my legs reaching my cock in full salute position. All of a sudden she sits on her knees and takes me in her mouth making me gasp.

“Whoa! Ana!”

She sheaths her teeth and takes me all in, her tongue swirling around the tip of my cock. I tilt my head back and my hands hold her head.

“Oh! Fuck, Ana! What you do to me!” Her gaze looks up at me while she’s fucking me with her mouth. She sucks deep and hard and her lips and tongue glide up and down my fully grown length relentlessly.

“Anastasia, I don’t want to come in your mouth!” I say, and she slows her ministrations, and leaning down I hold her up slowly merging my lips with hers, tasting myself in her mouth. She tastes mighty fine! My lips glide down her neck, to her breasts tugging and teasing while I torture her other nipple between my thumb and index finger. She stifles a moan. My lips go between her breast kissing, sucking and teasing, I make my way down south over to her pubic bone. I slowly push her down on the chaise by the fire, open her legs and dig my tongue between the blooms of her sex, teasing, sucking and nipping. She puts her right leg over my shoulder, making me grin. I slightly blow into her sex while she’s writhing beneath my mouth, pushing her sex into my mouth.

“Oh please! Husband, I want you, now!” I feel the clenching of her sex, and I stop, blow into her sex again. Both her legs go around me pulling me into her. I stand, and placing my knees on the chaise between her legs, I loom over her, and then inch by inch sink into her inviting sex. When I’m in her up to the hilt, I hold there for a minute closing my eyes, enjoying our connection, and then I start moving. My mouth goes down to meet her lips kissing, tongues trashing and sucking. She arches her back into me, and my head leans in to capture her nipple and suck hard, nip it as she moans pushing her breast into my mouth. My right hand mirrors my mouth’s actions with the other nipple. Then I let go of her nipples, and my hands grasp her ass lifting her off the chaise without breaking our precious connection. We continue to move; me thrusting up, and Anastasia pushing down. I push her to the side of the smooth stone of the wall, near the fireplace, holding her against the tower wall, I increase my speed, spearing into her, gyrating my hip finding her sweet spot, and rub it, massage it with my cock getting her high. When I feel the tightening of her muscles around my cock, I capture her mouth, and fuck and suck at the same time, getting us higher than we’ve ever been and we lose ourselves in the castle tower pouring all we got into each other. Loving, fucking, and uniting our souls all at the same time.

When we come down from our ecstasy, I lay her down and clean her, then clean myself. Finally help her to get her black lacy dress back on. After we are fully clothed again, we lie by the fire holding each other, neither one wanting the night to end.

LONDON

“TWENTY bridges from Tower to Kew -
Wanted to know what the River knew,
Twenty Bridges or twenty-two,
For they were young, and the Thames was old
And this is the tale that River told:”
― Rudyard Kipling

We check out of the castle at noon, and spent the afternoon in the helicopter, touring. It was a long day yesterday flying over some of the most famous Fjords in Ireland, and the Cliffs of Moher. I didn’t want to drive or hike to either of them with the fear that Anastasia might want to look down and fall. I couldn’t take the chance. But the scenic helicopter ride over both of them was spectacular. We fly to the Shannon International Airport and boarded the GEH Jet, and we are greeted by my own crew again. The distance from Shannon to London is close to four-hundred miles. It takes us about hour and a half including getting to London Heathrow International Airport.  

Taylor is waiting us at the airport with two new close security details.

“Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey. I hope you had a pleasant trip,” Taylor says politely.

“This is Harold Nichols, and Roger Collins, sir. They’ll be accompanying us while we are in England,” he says introducing the security to us. I nod impassively.

“Pleased to meet you sir, ma’am,” they say politely, eyes scanning the crowd in the airport.

“Shall we, sir?” they say leading the way to the SUV to get to the airport.

Our first destination is, the Sheraton Park Tower Hotel, Penthouse Suite.

Sheraton Park Tower Hotel is in the heart of London’s fashionable Knightsbridge which is stone’s throw away from the Hyde Park, Harrods and boasts a panoramic view of the city. Our Penthouse suites include our own personal butler which we won’t need tonight.

“Have you had dinner sir?” Taylor asks in the SUV.

“No, we are tired, Taylor. I think we’ll just order room service,” I say looking at Anastasia with hungry eyes. I know what I want, and I think she wants the same.  She shyly smiles at me, and I squeeze her hand in response. Yep, she does. My wife and I in a marble bath, making love.

****************************************************

❀To Mrs. Gloria J. McMillon❀

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Thank you for mothering my great friend Lynette!