Twelve
The drive is completed in tense silence. When we get into the softly lit apartment, Blake tosses his card key on the side table and turns to me. ‘Money’s in the bank?’
I nod.
‘We’re good?’
I nod again.
‘I gave you what you need; now you will give me what I need.’
I nod, ashamed by my own rudeness. It was a deal and he did keep his side of it.
‘I’ll pour us a drink. Change into those and meet me in the bedroom,’ Blake says, gesturing towards the flat box that Tom brought in and put on the side table earlier. Then he turns his back on me and walks down that beautiful corridor into the living room.
I take the box and turning into the first door in the corridor, make my way into the main bedroom. Someone has come in and turned on the bedside lights, and turned down the bed. I go into the bathroom and close the door. Inside the box are wisps of lace and silk. I take them out.
A little dress in some transparent white material, an all lace bra, a thong, suspenders and silk stockings and a pair of platform shoes very similar to the ones I was wearing the night we met. Except for the fine baby blue ribbons on the suspenders, everything is in pure white. I glance at the size on the bra.
Of course. 32B.
I slip out of my clothes and get into the bra and suspenders. Then I carefully pull on the stockings. I have never worn suspenders before and the little hooks are fiddly and take me a long time. I hear a noise in the bedroom. Blake has already come in. Nervously, I pull on the lacey white knickers and look at myself in the mirror. I can hardly believe it is me. I rinse with mouthwash, take a deep breath and, opening the door go into the bedroom.
And just stand there staring, my heart crashing against my ribcage.
Good God! He is lying shirtless on the bed, propped against pillows, all sexy and toned and… and bristling with animal magnetism. There is not an ounce of fat on that sleek body. This is definitely not a man who imbibes Hobnobs. His legs are crossed at his ankles and his eyes are hooded. There is no expression in his face and no way of knowing what he is thinking. There is also something very bad and exciting about being in that lush bedroom with a cold, cold banker who has paid for you.
‘Come closer,’ he invites.
Clubland chart music is playing in the background. ‘Give Me a Reason’ by Pink and Nate Ruess comes on. Pink is singing, Right from the start you were a thief. You stole my heart. And I your willing victim.
I walk slowly into the middle of the room: my stomach is in knots: my mouth is dry: my eyes are saucers.
When I am two feet away from the bed, he says, ‘Stop.’
I stop.
‘Strip. Slowly.’
I freeze with shock.
He laughs. The sound is soft but carries some hint of cruelty. He is the cat playing with a mouse. From his position of dominance and control he says, ‘I won’t say relax, I’m not going to eat you, because I am.’
I straighten my back and step out of my platforms.
‘No,’ he commands. ‘Not the shoes. Keep those on.’
Silently I step back into them. I can hear the blood pounding in my ears. No man has seen me nude. I untie the ribbon in front of the diaphanous dress and shrug. It slips off me, whispering and sighing.
For a moment I stand in my lacy underwear, suspenders and stockings.
Pink and Nate are belting out, Just give me a reason. Just a little bit’s enough.
For a second I think of Billie saying every puss needs a good pair of boots, and I tell myself, sure, why not? It is just sex. I twist my hands behind my back and take my bra off. Let it dangle at the tip of one finger before I let it drop.
I see his chest rise with an indrawn breath, and I slip the fingers of both hands into the bit of lace and string and ease it slowly down my legs. I come up slowly resisting the urge to cover myself with my hands.
‘You have a very, very beautiful body, Lana Bloom,’ the man on the bed says. His voice is thick with lust.
We’re not broken, just bent. And we can learn to love again.
I face his gaze again. His eyes are eating me alive. I have never seen hunger like that.
‘Turn around.’
I turn around.
You’re pouring a drink. No, nothing is as bad as it seems.
‘Now spread your legs.’
We’ll come clean. We’re not broken, just bent.
I step outwards.
‘More.’
I oblige. My calf muscles strain to hold the position in the high shoes.
‘Bend forward.’
I bend.
‘Touch the floor.’
I spread my fingers, lay them on the floor, and hear his gasp. For some long seconds I am bent forward, my legs spread far apart, and my ass high in the air. His eyes are a hot tingle on my exposed skin. The pose is blatantly demeaning. I should feel degraded and humiliated. Instead there is an unfamiliar heat between my legs. And my belly is clenched with feral excitement.
‘Come here.’
I drop to my knees and crouching low, turn around. He is sitting on the edge of the bed. I stand and go to him. His strong hands span my waist and before I know it I am travelling in the air. I land on the bed with a slight bounce and a shocked gasp. On my back I watch him with widened eyes. His eyes are black and impenetrable. His body hard and big, the muscles rippling.
‘I own you,’ he says possessively. ‘You’re mine to do with as I please.’ Then he pins me on the bed and I watch with even wider eyes as he takes off his trousers and steps out of his boxers, a truly magnificent creature.
I stare at his cock with fascination. It is thicker than my wrist and huge. Will it fit inside me? He picks up a condom by the bedside, tears it open, and puts it on. Then he bends over me, opens my legs and stares at my opened, freshly waxed pussy. I feel my body tremble with anticipation.
‘What a beauty you are.’ He runs his fingers along the slit of flesh. It opens out further. ‘Like the petals of a pink flower,’ he purrs.
I flush with excitement.
‘Soaking wet.’ He takes his fingers out and puts them in his mouth. ‘And as I expected: sweet.’
My heart is hammering in my chest.
‘You want this too,’ he says so softly I have to strain to hear him. ‘As much as me.’ And I realize that he is right: I do. I want him as much as he wants me. I want from him what I have never wanted from any other man. I want him inside me, stretching me, possessing me.
I stare transfixed at his angrily throbbing, erect dick. I want all of that inside me. My hands come up and touch it. Rock hard but silky.
That small and tentative response from me drives him over the edge. ‘Sorry,’ he grates suddenly. ‘I just can’t do foreplay this time.’
He put his hands on either side of me and plunges into me. The shock of his sudden entry makes me cry out in pain. He hurt me. A lot.
He freezes. The ferocious lust is wiped away from his eyes. ‘Fuck,’ he swears, and pulls out of me.
I cannot help it. Tears well up in my eyes and escape down the sides of my temples. Ashamed to the core, I close my eyes.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You didn’t ask,’ I sniff, feeling incredibly stupid.
His hard length shifts and he sits facing away from me. ‘It will be better next time,’ he says, and without touching me or attempting to comfort me, stands and begins to dress. Rejected and defeated, I watch his strong V-shaped back, the beautifully proportioned buttocks, and the columns of his muscular legs as he shrugs into his shirt. He buttons it as he walks to the door.
He cannot wait to get away from me.
It is obvious that I am a great disappointment to him. I should have asked Billie for some lessons on how to pleasure a man. Instead I have lain there like a pillow and then worse still, I screamed when he entered me. I cover my cheeks with my hands. Oh, the shame of it. And this was what I saved up for. A fine mistress I was going to make. I hear the door close and I am all alone in that stupendous apartment.
Blake Law Barrington
I punch the button on the elevator and curse audibly. I am in a state of shock. It is unbelievable, but I never suspected that air of untouched innocence was not cultivated. I pull my hand down my cheek to my chin. I should never have been so rough. I treated her like a common prostitute.
Strange how badly I want to go back into that darkened bedroom and to kiss that trembling mouth. How much I want to wipe away those tears, take her in my arms and hold her until she falls asleep. But a larger part of me hates the way I feel. The sick pull she has on me irritates and angers me.
It is unnatural. I have been with hundreds of women, some as beautiful, and others sexually accomplished, but none of them have done this to me. I don’t want to feel for her. I am glad I have left her body. Away from her essence I can think rationally.
Still I shouldn’t have done what I did.
I got carried away and lost myself in what seems to be a growing and undeniable need to possess her completely. I don’t exactly understand why, but whenever I am near her, I lose all my carefully cultivated ‘cool’. All I want to do is drag her by the hair to my bed and fuck her until she is so sore she is screaming for me to stop. What I want is to have total control of her body. And why shouldn’t I? I have paid for the privilege. The urge is strong now, I tell myself, but it will lessen with every single coupling.
She will never be more than a three-month itch.
A bottle-blonde is walking down the corridor towards the lift. The occupant of the other penthouse is an Arab sheik. I glance at her. She is wearing a tube top and white leggings. Her boobs are obviously fake, but she is beautiful in a hard sort of way. The way a mistress should be.
I think of Lana again. The way the helpless tears escaped. I had not expected that. I can’t understand it. Why would a virgin be propositioning someone like Lothian for money? For the first time I wonder why she had wanted the money.
The lift arrives and I stand back to allow the woman to enter first. She has a good arse. She turns around in the lift and our eyes touch. We neither smile, but her mouth twists. The air becomes thick with her unspoken invitation.
I let my eyes travel down her body and convince myself Lana is not special. Even this one will do too. Nothing has changed.
I will marry Victoria. I take my phone out of my pocket and leave a text for my secretary:
Red roses—Lana.
White roses—Victoria.