by Suzy K Quinn
‘Mr Blackwell.’
Tanya stares at Tom. ‘What are you talking about?’ Then her eyes cloud over as she does some thinking of her own. ‘Oh. No. It can’t be. Can it? Soph?’
I look into my hot chocolate.
‘Soph?’ says Tanya.
Tom clears his throat and puts a hand on Tanya’s shoulder, shaking his head. Then he turns to me. ‘It’s okay, my dear. Your secret’s safe with us.’
‘Please don’t tell anyone,’ I whisper. ‘It’s all so ... confusing right now.’
Tom and Tanya nod solemnly.
‘But it’s true. Mr Blackwell and I are ... more than just teacher and pupil.’
‘Shut UP,’ says Tanya, slapping Tom’s arm.
‘Keep your voice down, Tanya, before the whole bloody restaurant hears,’ Tom whispers.
‘Sorry.’ Tanya’s hand flies to her mouth. ‘Sophia, you have my word. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.’
‘Nor will I,’ says Tom. ‘But you have to tell us what he’s like in bed, our Mr Hollywood hot shot. Does that white skin go all the way down?’
I laugh. ‘From what I’ve seen. Which actually isn’t a lot.’
‘Intriguing,’ says Tom.
I nod into my drink. ‘As far as Marc’s concerned, nothing is normal or straight forward. Some days I feel like I’m getting closer to him. Other times, it’s just ... I don’t know. Weird. I mean the whole thing is weird.’
‘You got that right,’ says Tanya. ‘Weird and wrong. He shouldn’t be messing around with a student.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘But sometimes ... haven’t you ever been attracted to the wrong person?’
‘Never,’ says Tanya, shaking her head. ‘I wouldn’t let myself. It’s not in my mental wiring.’
‘Well, sometimes people fall for someone they shouldn’t,’ I say. ‘And if that happens, what can you do?’
‘You do whatever you like, and worry about the consequences when it all goes wrong,’ says Tom.
‘You control yourself and stop yourself getting involved,’ says Tanya.
I feel somewhere between their two answers lies the right advice. I’m just not exactly sure what that advice is.
Chapter 59
At six o’clock, I find myself at the campus gates again, only this time I’m not shivering. I’m wrapped in the cashmere coat Marc bought me, and watching a robin hop along the wrought iron gate.
A black car pulls up, but it’s not a limo this time. It’s a sleek Mercedes with tinted windows.
Keith jumps out of the driver’s seat and opens the passenger door for me.
‘Thanks,’ I say, climbing in. ‘How have you been?’
‘Not bad,’ says Keith, adjusting the mirror. ‘How are you, young lady? Is Master Blackwell treating you alright? I hope so. I’ve never known him behave this way over a woman.’
‘I wouldn’t know how he usually behaves with women,’ I say, staring out the window. ‘But to me, nothing that’s happened with Marc tells me I’m anything special.’
‘You’d be surprised.’ I see Keith smile.
As the car pulls into Marc’s garage, I see Rodney waiting by the beige Rolls Royce.
He opens the car door for me. ‘Mr Blackwell has asked me to escort you up to the den,’ he says, opening the door to the house and walking up steps.
‘Thank you,’ I say, following him. ‘Bye, Keith.’
Keith waves as I enter the dragon’s cave. The entrance hall smells of polish and lemon juice, and the framed pictures of London sparkle.
‘The den’s on the first floor,’ Rodney explains, leading me up the huge flight of stairs. ‘I tried to get Mr Blackwell to put up posters of his movies on these walls. Or perhaps his award certificates. Or something, just to say who he is, what he’s done. He should be proud of his career. But he’s not into showing off, our Mr Blackwell. Everything low key. All those black clothes.’
He takes me to a closed door.
‘He’s in there,’ he says, knocking on the door ‘Mr Blackwell! Your guest is here.’
I open the door, and see a room of leather sofas, red carpets and glass coffee tables.
Marc is sitting on a sofa, one leg sprawled along its length. As usual, he’s wearing all black – black t-shirt, black jeans and black socks. He’s holding the green copy of Romeo and Juliet I saw in his room, and closes it carefully when he sees me.
‘Good evening, Sophia.’
‘Good evening.’
‘Have you eaten yet?’
I notice a selection of food on the small glass table. Balls of mozzarella with fresh basil, rustic breadsticks wrapped in ham, cherry tomatoes on skewers, shavings of parmesan cheese. Behind the food are two bottles of red wine, and champagne sits chilling in a glass ice bucket.
I shake my head. ‘No. Not yet. I had a lot to think about today. I didn’t feel much like eating.’
‘I had a few things I thought you might like brought up for you.’
‘You thought I might like Italian food?’ I notice the parmesan looks very fresh, and the mozzarella is the delicious gooey kind you only usually find in Italy.
‘It’s the best food in the world,’ he says.
‘My mother was from Italy,’ I say. ‘I go back there sometimes. It’s true. The food there is amazing.’
Marc’s mouth hints at a smile. ‘You’re half Italian?’
I nod.
‘I should have guessed. Take a seat.’
‘Thank you.’ I sit on the sofa, feeling the familiar effect Marc has on me. Knee trembles, a slight sickness and an overwhelming sense of excitement.
‘You look nervous,’ says Marc, placing the book on a huge glass coffee table at the centre of the room. ‘Don’t be. I’ll go easy on you after today, okay?’ The table is empty, except for a gold bottle opener, a remote control and a bottle of Peroni. ‘Wine?’
‘I am nervous,’ I admit. ‘And I’ll take beer if you have it.’
Marc grins at me, and my insides go soft. ‘Beer? Not such a delicate thing after all.’ He opens the arm of the sofa, and I see six beers inside. He opens one and passes it over. I feel his fingers against mine and shiver. The beer is cold, so I guess the hole under the sofa arm must be a fridge.
‘Thanks,’ I say, taking a long sip.
‘Come sit next to me, Sophia.’
I do. The leather sofa creaks as I sit down, and our eyes meet. Marc breathes deeply and closes his eyes. I feel like he’s inhaling me. His eyes flicker open.
‘God, you’re beautiful,’ he says. ‘Just so, so beautiful. Inside and out.’
‘Thank you,’ I mutter. ‘I never ... I mean I don’t feel that way about myself.’
‘You should.’
I take another sip of beer. There’s a tension in the room. I know we both feel it. I’m aching for him to touch me, but as usual this is all at his pace. I’m pretty sure if I try to touch him, he’ll stop me.
Marc turns to the television and picks up the remote. ‘Have you ever watched other people having sex?’
‘What?’ I feel scared. What does he mean? I have an uneasy feeling that he’s going to show me films of other women he’s been with. ‘I’m not sure I’m up to what you’re suggesting,’ I say, swallowing more beer. ‘If you want me to watch your other women -’
‘I don’t.’ Marc holds up a hand.
‘So what then?’
I clutch my beer like a life support.
‘I thought we were getting closer,’ I say. ‘In a good way. A ... couple way. Marc, will it always be about this for you? About you taking charge of me, sexually? I need more than that.’
‘I’m working on it,’ Marc whispers, wrapping my hair around his fingers.
He presses the remote control and a classroom fills the screen. There’s a man standing by a blackboard, a mortar cap on his head, and a swooping black cape around his shoulders. He’s dressed as an old-fashioned teacher stereotype, but he’s young, handsome and tanned.
A woman walk
s into the room, dressed in a Britney Spears style school uniform, sucking a lollipop. She has bleached blonde hair, and huge breasts squeezed against a white blouse. She’s clearly no teenage school girl, and I’m guessing she is, in fact, a few years older than me.
The camera moves very close to her mouth, filming her sucking at the lollipop. She moves her tongue around it, and pouts at the teacher.
Oh my god.
‘You want me to watch porn with you?’ I ask, my heart beating hard. My palms are slippery, and my stomach feels like it’s been sprinkled with salt. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ says Marc. ‘Watching can’t hurt you, I promise. You’ve never watched pornography before?’
I shake my head. ‘Not really. At least, not ... seriously.’
‘Not even with boyfriends? What about magazines – have you never had a boyfriend who read porn magazines?’
‘Probably,’ I say. ‘But they never showed me them.’
‘Sit here.’ He lifts me onto his thigh. I feel the firmness of his leg muscle between my own legs. He puts his hands on my waist. ‘It’s okay,’ he whispers. ‘If you really don’t like it, just say the word and I’ll turn it off.’
The schoolgirl sits on a desk in front of the teacher. Her pleated micro-mini skirt rides up to show stockings and suspenders.
‘Do you want to fuck me, sir?’ she asks, batting her huge false eyelashes. She lifts up her skirt, showing crotch-less panties and bare, shaved skin.
I swallow and take another sip of beer. I’m so embarrassed watching this, and Marc must know it. But at the same time, I feel myself growing warmer and Marc’s thigh between my legs is ever present.
The teacher paces back and forth, then takes a paddle from the rim of the blackboard. ‘How dare you behave this way in front of your teacher?’ he barks, his cape flying. ‘You deserve to be spanked.’
The girl squeals as he picks her up and puts her over his knee. He lifts her skirt and smacks her hard on the behind. ‘You bad, bad girl.’
‘How does it make you feel, watching this?’ Marc asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘Confused. A bit sick.’
‘It doesn’t turn you on at all?’
I blush. ‘Yes. A little. Do you watch this sort of thing often?’
‘No. I bought this just for you.’
Now I feel even more embarrassed. ‘For me? You think I’d like this?’
‘The teacher student thing was my little private joke. But yes – I thought you’d like it.’
‘I guess you don’t need to watch anything like this yourself,’ I say. ‘There are plenty of women who would do anything you want in real life.’
Marc gives a little smile. ‘True. But that doesn’t mean I always take them up on it. Life can get very boring when you can have anything you like, believe me.’
On the screen, the teacher flips the schoolgirl onto her back. ‘Please sir, please no. I’m a virgin.’
‘You should have thought of that before you acted like such a slut.’
The teacher has sex with the woman on the desk, and even though she cries, ‘no, sir, no,’ when the camera films her face she starts to moan with pleasure.
I feel even more embarrassed, and don’t know where to look, but I have to be honest – watching the video really is turning me on.
I feel Marc’s hands tighten around my waist, and he begins to slide me back and forth along his thigh.
Chapter 60
I can’t help it – I’m sort of transfixed by the movie.
The school girl is on her knees now, and the teacher is forcing her head into his crotch. He undoes her shirt, and her breasts are naked underneath.
I hate that Marc is watching this naked woman. It feels like an intrusion. But the friction between my legs is making me hotter and hotter. I feel like I’m burning.
‘Stop,’ I say, climbing off him. ‘I can’t watch any more of this. It’s ... it doesn’t feel right.’
‘Why not?’ Marc asks, turning off the TV. ‘I know it was turning you on. I could feel your breathing getting quicker -’
‘I didn’t like watching it with you. I don’t like you seeing another woman naked.’
Marc laughs. ‘That’s what it is? Jealousy?’
I smile, realising he’s right. ‘Okay, I admit it. How do you feel about me watching another man like that?’
Marc shrugs. ‘It doesn’t bother me. He’s not touching you. All I care about is whether you’re turned on or not.’ He slips a hand down the back of my jeans. ‘And from what I can feel, you are.’
I squirm away from him. ‘So what if I was with another man. Would that bother you?’
Marc’s expression darkens, and the red colour leaves his lips. ‘I’d hate it.’
I feel warmth in my chest. ‘You would?’
‘Yes. Hate it. Is that the answer you wanted?’
‘Yes.’ I smile.
‘Mmm.’ Marc downs his beer. Then his eyes darken. ‘Take your clothes off.’
‘Okay.’ I slip off my shoes and tight jeans, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. The room is nice and warm, but I still shiver. I take off my jumper and vest, leaving on my underwear.
I wrap my arms around my torso.
‘Don’t cover yourself. I want to see it all.’
I let my arms fall to my sides.
‘Take off your underwear.’ His voice is stern now. ‘I won’t tell you again.’
I peel off my bra and panties and let them fall to the floor.
Marc watches me for a moment without saying a word.
Then he lets out a long breath. ‘It’s no good. I can’t touch you. After this afternoon ... I don’t think I could control myself.’
‘But I don’t want you to control yourself. I want you to make love to me.’
Marc’s forehead pulls into a pained frown. ‘I can’t.’
He pulls a drawer at the bottom of his leather sofa, and inside I see a huge black vibrator and what I can only guess are other sex toys. There are soft pink objects, and black spiked things and strings of beads.
Marc hands me the vibrator.
‘Slide this inside yourself,’ says Marc. ‘I’ll watch you, but from where I can’t touch.’
‘Marc -’
‘This is all I can offer you today, Sophia,’ says Marc, his voice hard. ‘I’m … I’m sorry.’
I sigh. So he’s closed off again.
I look down at the vibrator. ‘I don’t want to use this.’
‘Just slide it in and see how you feel. If you don’t like it you can always stop.’
‘Okay fine.’
I slide the vibrator into myself. It’s cold and thick, and feels nothing like Marc.
I’m about to tell Marc to forget this stupid idea, when he snaps something in his palm.
The vibrator begins to buzz.
‘Oh!’ It takes me by surprise. ‘How did you do that?’
‘Remote control,’ says Marc.
The buzzing grows more intense, and the vibrator begins to revolve.
‘Oh,’ I say again. ‘Oh god.’ It moves around and around and it feels so good. I look into Marc’s eyes and feel like I’m falling into them.
He clicks his palm again and the vibrator spins faster.
I nearly fall forwards, but catch myself. I come straight away, moving back and forth against the vibrator.
Marc wraps me in a red blanket and lifts me into his arms. Then he carries me upstairs to the second floor, and into the bedroom where we slept last time.
‘Is this your bedroom?’ I murmur.
He nods.
‘You’re putting me into your bed.’
He nods again.
‘Will you get in with me?’
‘I’ll watch you until you fall asleep.’ He slides me under the silk-covered duvet and slips under the covers with me.
My head finds a soft silk pillow and I remember Marc’s head laying on it before, his beau
tiful face calm in sleep.
I close my eyes, feeling his arms around my shoulders. ‘Tell me about how you met Denise,’ I say. ‘She’s so fond of you.’
There’s silence, and for a moment I think Marc won’t answer. But then he says, ‘And I’m fond of her. I’d be a very different person if it weren’t for her. She took in a young, difficult boy when no one else wanted him. She was like a second mother to me.’
‘My mother passed away when I was young, just like yours,’ I say.
I hear Marc inhale, and feel his chest heave into my back. He lets out a long, slow breath.
‘I know. Actually, I guessed. From reading about your family set-up on your entry form, and the way you are. Independent but fragile.’
‘I felt really fragile today,’ I admit. ‘I feel like maybe I’m in too deep. Way over my head.’
Marc laughs. ‘Funny. And I was thinking it was me who was in too deep.’ He strokes my hair.
‘Maybe,’ I murmur, feeling sleep take over me. I fight it. I don’t want to lose a moment with Marc, and this is one of the nicest moments we’ve had. I feel the bare skin of his arms against mine, and his stubble against my shoulder as he talks. ‘How did you lose your mother?’
‘Car accident,’ says Marc, but the unusual tone to his voice tells me that maybe he’s not being completely truthful.
I remember his words from the hospital and parrot him: ‘I’m an actor too, you know. I know when someone’s lying.’
Marc laughs. ‘Okay. It wasn’t a car accident. It was a brain tumour. Long and slow and painful. I watched her turn from my mother into a grey, shadow of a woman, and my father turn from a proud, controlling man into a tyrant.’
I’m wide-awake suddenly. ‘That’s terrible,’ I say, turning to face him. He won’t meet my eye.
‘I always felt, as a young boy, that I could have saved her,’ he continues. ‘But ... I’ve had a lot of therapy. There was nothing I could have done. At least, that’s the logic.’
‘Your father must have taken it very badly,’ I say. ‘I know my dad was a mess after it all happened. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. I had to make sure there was food in the house, and that all our clothes were washed.’
‘Little Cinderella,’ says Marc, stroking my hair.
