We go through some tasks. I’ll be helping to organise the next private view, which is happening in two weeks’ time, and sorting out the taking down of the current exhibition and the installation of the next. There’s plenty to keep me busy, and James has more time to deal with clients, which is his forte. I’ve already witnessed him at work, approaching a customer who came in off the street and talking to him about the art on the walls. Wary of a hard sell at first, the customer took a while to relax but with James’s gentle guidance, he found a picture he liked very much and before long, a deal was struck.
I was impressed. It can’t be easy to persuade someone to part with five thousand pounds just like that.
‘In these difficult financial times, people are seeing art as an investment,’ James explained. ‘I spent a while reassuring him that this artist is going to hold his value and probably go up. That’s what customers are most concerned about now – but, of course, they must love the art as well. It’s an investment that can bring a great deal of pleasure.’
Now he looks me in that wise way he has, peering over the top of his spectacles and reminding me of an owl in a storybook. ‘You just don’t seem yourself today. Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, fine,’ I say automatically, but the dullness in my voice gives the lie to it.
‘Right then. It sounds like we need a good natter. The shop is quiet, the proofs are nearly done.’ He pulls up a chair and settles himself opposite me, his elbows on the desk and his chin resting on his hands. ‘Now. Shoot.’
I look at him. I can hardly believe I’ve only known him a few days. We’re getting on so well, and he’s amazingly easy to talk to, one of those people who are absolutely unshockable. I get the feeling James has had a lot of life experience and that along with his kindly nature has made him into the perfect agony uncle. Plus, he’s really interested. Can I tell him the truth?
As if he can read my mind, he says, ‘You can tell me anything.’
‘Well . . .’ I take a deep breath and it all comes out, right from the start and the night I first saw Dominic in his apartment, until last night and his adamant refusal to give our relationship a chance. It’s a relief to let it all out and by the time I’ve finished, James is looking rather bemused.
‘Beth,’ he says at last, shaking his head. ‘This is not the average boyfriend trouble, I’ll admit that. This is a nice old conundrum, I must say.’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ I say bleakly. ‘I can’t force him to be with me if he doesn’t want to.’
‘Oh, that’s not your problem, darling, he definitely wants to,’ James declares.
‘Do you think so?’ I sound so eager, so hopeful.
‘Of course. He’s clearly crazy about you but he’s trying to do the right thing by you. He’s sacrificing himself for you.’
‘But he doesn’t need to!’ I wail. ‘I don’t want him to do that at all.’
‘No – you’re obviously wild about him as well, and when you’re in the grip of an emotion that strong, you’ll do anything. He foresees trouble ahead and he doesn’t want to put you through it, but you’re willing to take the pain later if you can have the pleasure now.’
I think about this for a moment, staring down at the blond wood of the desk, and the pile of brightly illustrated catalogue proofs, and then I say in a low voice, ‘What if I take the pain now?’
James looks at me quizzically. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Dominic described his need for control as a kind of addiction, like a drug addiction. Perhaps I can go into that world with him, and together we can work out a cure, a way to come down and learn to do without it.’ As I say it, it makes complete sense to me. I feel a rush of happiness, as if I’ve stumbled on to the perfect solution. Of course. If going into that world is what it takes to be with Dominic, then that’s what I will do. I remember his hand gripped on my wrists as we made love, and his order to come that sent me whirling into orgasm, and a delicious thrill runs through me. Maybe the journey of discovery would reveal hidden pleasures...
‘It’s a serious thing, Beth,’ James says, concern creasing his brow. ‘Dominic has made it clear he doesn’t want you in that part of his life. Perhaps it’s an aspect of his character that, deep down, he doesn’t like or doesn’t want to share with you.’
‘If he won’t share it with me, we can’t ever have a relationship,’ I say firmly. ‘And I want that so desperately. And . . .’ I feel a flush over my cheeks as I say something I never imagined I’d say aloud to anyone, let alone my new boss ‘. . . a part of me is curious. I want to understand the power this world has over people. I’ve been half alive for years and I don’t want to go back to that sleepy existence again.’
James raises his eyebrows at me. ‘All right. That’s different, then. If you want to do it for yourself, as well as for him . . . I can see that. It’s less dangerous, let me put it that way. I’d be very against you doing it just to keep him.’ He looks thoughtful. ‘It’s not a scene I’ve ever been drawn to – BDSM, it’s called: Bondage, Dominance, Sado-Masochism – but a lot of gay men are. There are leather men, who are very into bondage, restraint and punishment. I had some friends, a couple, who lived a complete master-and-slave relationship whenever they were at home or with trusted friends.’ James frowns at the memory. ‘I found it highly weird, I must say. It wasn’t something that appealed to me. Watching them enact that situation was uncomfortable – Gareth was the master and Joe was the slave, except that Gareth called him “it” or “1”, and Joe lived as his literal slave, cooking, cleaning, serving Gareth in every way, often crawling about on his hands and knees. In their house they had a dungeon where they retired to play their games – Gareth torturing Joe for hours on end. To their mutual satisfaction, I might add,’ he says hastily. ‘But to be honest, it made me wince a bit. Made the little man run away and hide rather than stand up for business, if you know what I mean.’
My eyes are wide and I’m aware of nervousness fluttering around inside. ‘Do you think that’s what Dominic wants?’
‘A slave?’ James shakes his head slowly. ‘I don’t think so. A submissive is not the same as a slave, as I understand it. Gareth told me once that Joe was such a complete masochist, that he’s what is sometimes known as a pain pig.’
‘What?’
‘I know – it sounds unpleasant. I think it means that even by BDSM standards, he was into the most severe forms of punishment, outside the scope of what is generally considered safe. It doesn’t sound to me as if Dominic requires one of those people. In fact, the very healthy state of your sexual relationship before you’ve so much as sniffed the leather leads to me to believe he’s very far from being a dyed-in-the-wool sadist.’
I blush again, but all this is helping me tremendously. I feel I’m beginning to understand a little more of this curious, shadowy world. ‘I’m so grateful for your help, James,’ I say sincerely.
‘You’re welcome, darling, but I’m not sure what else I can do for you.’
‘Actually,’ I say slowly. ‘There is something. I know it’s a lot to ask of you but . . .’
He leans forward, interested. ‘Go on. What is it?’
An idea has been forming in my mind, and now I hesitate for a moment to get my thoughts together, then I tell what I would like him to do.
At home later, I’m tired by the extraordinary upheavals of the last few days. I feel as though I’ve been through the emotional wringer, experiencing everything from unbelievable ecstasy to deep despair, and it’s worn me out. Supper, a warm bath and a chat to De Havilland help to revive me. Besides, I’m titillated by the thought of what I’m about to do. When I think of it, butterflies swarm in my stomach and I can’t what believe what I’ve planned, but it’s also exciting.
Clean and fresh from my bath, I slide on the silk robe, enjoying the cool slipperiness over my skin, and walk into the sitting room. For the first time, I’m half hoping that the flat opposite will be in darkness, but of course it’s not
. Tonight, the blinds are up, the curtains are drawn and I can see into the softly lit interior of Dominic’s flat, although he isn’t there. It’s a beautiful sight, at once bringing me closer to him. Usually I would leave the lights off in Celia’s flat, so that I’m relatively invisible to him, but not tonight. I move around the room, switching on the lamps until the room is illuminated by a gentle glow. The silver lacquer panel come alive in the electric light, shining and shimmering like the surface of water.
Then, as I hoped he would, Dominic comes into his sitting room. He’s holding a tumbler of something that looks dark and strong – whisky or brandy or something like that, I suspect – and he’s got that just-back-from-work look, as though his jacket and tie are abandoned on the bed but he’s too exhausted to change completely. My heart swells when I see him and I’m flooded by the desire to hold him, kiss those perfect lips, stroke his tired face and run my hands through that dark hair. I can also smell that delicious fragrance his skin holds in its pores. But the reality is, we’re separated. As he comes into the sitting room, he looks over towards Celia’s flat, and stops at once as he realises that I’m there. I know he can see me clearly, but I make sure that I do not look directly at him. Even though I’m intensely aware of him and exactly where he is and what he’s doing, I pretend that I have no idea he’s watching.
Like an actress on the stage, seemingly oblivious to her audience.
I walk around the sitting room, organising small things, rearranging photos and ornaments, picking up books and looking at them. I know that Dominic has moved closer to his window now. He’s standing directly opposite, watching me, his tumbler held against his chest, the other hand in his pocket. He’s waiting for me to look out, to communicate with him. But I’m not going to.
Not in the way he expects.
First, to help me, I switch on the CD player. Celia left a disc of classical guitar music in the deck and it fires up and begins to fill the flat with gentle strains. It might not be the best soundtrack in the world but it will do. I move around the room, getting the stiffness out of my limbs, relaxing. On the table is a glass of wine I put there earlier, rich and red, and I sip it, feeling the heat in my stomach and the alcohol in my blood almost at once. This will help.
Dominic hasn’t moved. He’s still watching me. I make sure I’m close to the window and begin to caress my own arms and run my hand over my neck and chest, moving it inside the neck of the gown. It slides over my skin, my fingertips cool on my breasts. I am rose-scented from my bath oil and it’s left me soft and smooth. I lift my hair up and let it fall.
Is this sensuous? I wonder. Is this sexy?
But I know I’m going to have to forget my self-conscious and lose myself in the moment if this is going to work. Do it for yourself.
I close my eyes and forget about the Dominic standing across the way, watching. Instead, I summon up the Dominic who fucked me so well. I imagine his face in the grip of his hot desire, the intense expression as he pushed himself into me with forceful thrusts. I remember taking his erection in my mouth, sucking his tip and making him groan out loud. I shiver all over and at once feel that spread of arousal, the tingling of nerves coming alive and juices rushing to the surface, making me ready for whatever lies ahead.
I slide my hand back into my gown again, but this time I cup my breast, rubbing my thumb over the nipple that is already puckered and stiff, the tip dark red and thrusting. It responds to my touch, lighting small fuses in my groin and making me sigh. I do the same to my other breast, awakening it a rub and a pinch, letting it add to the spin of excitement in my stomach. Then, slowly, I let the gown drop open and shrug it down over my shoulders. Now the gown is held up by the belt, but my chest is entirely exposed and under the gown I’m wearing a black lace bra, cut low and underwired so that my breasts form soft globes that are held in two wispy lace cups.
My eyes are only half closed, so that I can see Dominic at the opposite window. I know he’s watching. I imagine his breath coming harder and faster as he realises what I’m doing. Then, suddenly, he moves and a moment later, his flat is plunged into darkness. Then he is back at the window but now I can only see his outline, a shadow, and he is standing further back so that I can hardly make him out at all.
Now, the usual situation is reversed. He’s the one in the dark looking at me, in the light.
But I know exactly what I’m doing. I know that he’s watching.
I feel a fresh wave of arousal and rub my hands over my breasts again, playing with the nipples as they strain and rub against the textured surface of the lace. I run my hands over my arms, shoulders and neck, play them over my belly, and then return to my breasts again. This time I release them from their cups, setting them free so that the nipples are exposed, pushed upwards by the bra. I reaching for my glass, take a sip of wine, then dip my fingertips into it and rub the red wetness over the nipples.
This delicate play is doing its work for me. I’m breathing faster and my sex is swelling and pouting, filling with a delicious hot wetness. My body has been awakened by Dominic and is hungry for more, eager to feel those transports again. My instincts are driving my hands downwards. I let one disappear into the folds of the gown, playing it over myself, letting it linger and feel the heat between my legs.
Are you watching, Dominic? Is this exciting you?
Slowly, I pull at the belt holding up the gown and it slides free. As it loosens, the gown slips down my legs to the floor, leaving me only in my lace knickers and bra. As one hand rubs and caresses my breasts, the other pushes its way down inside my knickers and down to my secret place. I push a finger into my hot wetness. Oh my goodness, I feel so ready down there, hungry for touch, ready to yield up pleasure to me at the slightest touch. I run my finger over the full lips, sliding it through the honey there, and bring it to my clitoris, that sensitive bud that sends those exquisite messages out to all my nerve endings.
I lick my lips as my fingertip rubs against it and it quivers deliciously. It wants more and more. I rub it again hard, twirling over it with more pressure. It’s begging me to be rougher, to be firmer. It wants to be brought to its peak, my whole body needs it . . .
Dominic. I imagine he’s touching me, those big square-tipped fingers exciting me, plunging into me while the pillow of his thumb presses hard on the dimple above.
I can’t fight the urge now. My legs tremble as I gather pace, rubbing hard in long strokes across my most sensitive place.
‘Dominic,’ I gasp aloud, and then it comes, the orgasm crackling and shaking me. I have to reach out with my other hand and clutch the table to prevent myself falling over, as my limbs respond to the intense sensations. I’m quivering with the force of it as it grabs and shakes me in several violent motions, and then it recedes, leaving me gasping.
My head droops, my eyes are shut. I take a long breath, then bend and pick up my gown. I wrap it around myself and move about, turning out the lamps.
I do not know what is happening in the flat opposite. It’s in darkness and I do not look anyway. I’ve shown him myself in the most intimate way. Now he knows that I can go further than he thought possible.
And this, Dominic, is just the beginning.
Chapter Twelve
‘Are you ready for this? Are you sure?’ James searches my face anxiously, wanting to be certain that he’s not helping me down a path better left untrodden.
‘Absolutely,’ I say with determination. I’ve dressed up in the sexy black dress I bought on my makeover day, and used all the make-up techniques I learned then to make myself look as sophisticated as possible.
‘All right.’ He puts out one arm for me to slip mine under. ‘Well, you look lovely. I’m very proud to have you on my arm.’
With that, we start walking through the fading evening light towards Soho. I hope I’m doing the right thing. Despite what happened last night, I haven’t heard from Dominic. I’m sure he watched every second of what took place, but my phone has remained silent all day.
No text, no call. I just hope that I didn’t have the opposite effect to the one I intended.
Well, it’s done now.
But this is different. It’s taking myself, uninvited, into his world. It’s risky and dangerous because I have no way of knowing how Dominic will react to it. His character in his other existence might be quite different to the one I think I know.
James talks on, helping take my mind off the thoughts churning in my head.
‘So I’ve done a little research into this place,’ he confides as we walk along, looking like any other smart city couple on our way, perhaps, to the theatre or an expensive restaurant. The truth is very different to what any observer might suppose.
‘What did you find out?’
‘It wasn’t easy. There’s a website but it’s extremely vague and most of it is members only. How you become a member isn’t really explained. I suspect it’s a question of who you know, as it so often is. However, I made a few calls and managed to find someone who’s a member.’
‘Oh?’ My interest pricks up. ‘What did they say?’
‘Full of praise,’ James says laconically. ‘Loves it. He joined when he found true love with his girlfriend. He’s not yet told her that his particular pleasure involves enemas and golden showers, so he goes to the club every now and then for that. Worth every penny of the very expensive membership, he says.’
My mouth drops open and James notices and laughs.
‘Oh, my dear, you really have no idea, do you?’ He pats my hand in an almost fatherly way. ‘Your innocence reminds me of happier times. Never mind. Don’t worry, we’re not going to see people doing that kind of thing out in the open. It’s far too sophisticated for that. You’ll see when we get there.’
James knows exactly where we’re going, which is good because I’m beginning to feel sick. If he weren’t striding confidently beside me, with every intention of seeing this through, I would be lagging and getting ready to change my mind and head for home. Soon, too soon, we’ve passed through the busy Soho streets and have found the turn off into that strangely quiet place where the tall Georgian houses have their windows shuttered against the outside world. The old-fashioned street lamp glows and the iron railings glimmer in its light. It’s easy to imagine we’ve stepped back in time, and that any minute I’ll hear the clip-clop of horses’ hooves and the creak of carriage wheels, perhaps see a mysterious figure in a long frock coat and a top hat.
Fire After Dark Page 15
