Pearl (The Pearl Series) by Arianne Richmonde Page A

that is Mumbai. We’d spend a relaxed day together swimming in the pool, having massages or a long lunch, although in India you can never feel completely at ease, knowing how the other half live; one-armed beggars, hungry children and mangy, half-starved dogs. Living beings that make you feel guilty with all you own, yet their problems are so bottomless you don’t know where to begin.
    Don’t get me wrong; there’s magic in India, too. Real beauty. But every time I visit, it always takes a while to adjust to its inequality: the uber-rich and dirt-poor living side by side.
    I had employed Indira to set up a charity for me in Mumbai. That’s how we became acquainted in the first place. Being such a high-profile star, she could garner lots of interest and attention. She’d done an amazing job, so far. I admired her for her tenacity. She had gathered a lot of other Bollywood actors on the board of directors, and they were doing so much good. But I wanted to pull out completely. I was keen to extricate myself and let her get on with it herself, without me.
    The charity was for children and their education. It incorporated schools and means for training them for professions where they could get real jobs. It was very hands-on, and the Bollywood stars made personal appearances every month or so. That made the kids turn up, because they were fearful of missing out on the action. Attendance was great. Movie stars have so much power in India—even more so than in the USA.
    Indira was lying on the bed in the hotel, waiting for me. Red rose petals led like a carpet from the door to the bed, sprinkled about like confetti, spelling out our names and arranged in the form of hearts. She had a pink sari draped about her which set off her caramel-colored skin and her dark, cascading hair. I entered the room and gazed at her. She was stunning, no doubt, but there was someone else who had taken precedence. Someone else who had stolen my attention: Pearl Robinson. As I mentioned before, multi-tasking wasn’t my strong point.
    “Hi baby,” Indira said, batting her coal-rimmed eyes. She wore a sparkling, red bindi between her eyebrows and looked very exotic. She licked her lips to wet them. “Come to me. I’ve been so lonely. Come and lie beside me.”
    “You’re looking good, Indira,” I said. “How’s it been going?” I came over to the bed, and sat down. I held her hand the way a brother or father would. She pulled me toward her and began to unravel her sari. She started to fondle her breasts, her lips parting. She cupped one hand around my groin. I could feel my cock twitch beneath my jeans. I took her hand away and clasped it again.
    Alarm flashed in her gray eyes like a warning siren. “What’s wrong?”
    “I’m very, very tired,” I lied.
    But she rolled over onto her stomach, jiggled down the bed and pressed her head into my crotch. She started biting me along the ridge of my dick, through my jeans. I had to admit it was turning me on, but I wasn’t in the mood to go through with it. My dick didn’t agree, though. What she was doing felt really good.
    She began to unbutton my pants, frantically, making mewing sounds like a cat in heat.
    “I’m wet,” she breathed hoarsely. “All I’ve been thinking about twenty-four hours a day is you. Is this . This beauty,” she groaned, as she grappled with the material of my jeans, freeing my cock so it sprang up against her lips. I didn’t have underwear on. It was too goddamn hot. I noticed how Indira hadn’t kissed me on the mouth yet. It was my cock that had her obsessed. I was relieved—a kiss was the last thing on my mind—too intimate.
    “You know you have the most beautiful penis in the world,” she purred between kissing and nibbling its crest. “Big, hard, thick, pulsating, en….ORmous. So thick…so huge. Proud like a cobra. So enormous…so smooth…so magnificent. It’s like a work of art.” She started licking her tongue up and down my erection.
    I