The Bad Boy Wants Me: A Bad Boy Romance (42 page)

I slept very little that night and woke her up early on our wedding day with my tongue in her pussy and my cock in her mouth.

Tawny Maxwell

‘Tell me what time the wedding is and I’ll pick a dress.’

                                                                       -Chris Crocker

I
f my first marriage made me cry, my second filled me with such nerves that my whole body felt raw and jumpy. This would be the second time I was marrying for the wrong reasons. I had not wanted to marry Robert, but he begged me to. It was the only way, he said.

Of course, I would never tell anyone the real reason why I did it, but at least marrying him meant there was never any possibility of me getting hurt.

But marrying Ivan?

I could see nothing but confusing and painful problems ahead. I was also conscious that it was all moving too fast. Too intense. Too crazy. It was all right for him because his heart was not in it. I was just fun and sex to him. A temporary fling while he fulfilled a promise to his dying stepfather. I, on the other hand, was already hopelessly in love with him. To solve one problem, I had allowed myself to be persuaded into a solution that would almost undoubtedly cause me to end up heartbroken.

Ivan dropped me off at the apartment and went to a friend’s house. He would get ready there and meet me at the registry office. Angela was going to come to the apartment and we were both supposed to be together at the registry. Ivan had planned it so I would only have ten minutes to myself before the hairdresser came around at twelve.

As soon as he arrived he did not even want a quick coffee. I offered him champagne.

‘Well,’ he said with a grin. So we opened a bottle. ‘This is nice,’ he said as we settled on an armchair by the window.

Sipping champagne, he set about putting my hair up into a complicated twist-plait hairstyle with delicate seed pearl pins in it. He was very chatty and a balm for my frayed nerves. Or maybe it was the champagne at midday.

When he finished we were both a little tipsy, and he seemed extraordinarily pleased with his creation. I had to admit it looked the business.

After he left I pulled on sheer nude tights and dressed in my new cream two-piece St. Laurent suit and matching cream shoes. I carefully applied my make-up and went to stand in front of the mirror. Well …

I looked the part.

A widow marrying for the second time.

I was a believable gold digger striking it rich the second time around.

Hello magazine would be there because Ivan said he could think of no better way to spread the news. In return for exclusivity they promised that all the photos would belong to us, and Ivan would have the last say as to what they printed and which photos were used in their spread.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and suddenly felt tearful. When I was a young girl I used to dream of a white wedding. A happy, giggly occasion. With my mother, my grandparents, my relatives, all my friends, bridesmaids in matching outfits, cute little flower girls, and a wonderful man who loved me with all his heart.

But here I was. In Ivan’s flat getting ready on my own to marry a man who did not love me. The future stretched out strange and foreign.

I blinked hard.

It’s OK, Tawny. Maybe one day he will come to care for you. Or most probably he never will, but you’ll survive. You overcame everything else and you will again.

I walked to the middle of my room. So many things were up in the air. I didn’t even know if after today I would be officially moving into Ivan’s bedroom. The doorbell rang and I quickly went to the door. It was Angela.

‘Oh, Tawny. You look beautiful,’ she said with a catch in her voice as soon as I opened the door.

‘Thank you,’ I replied automatically. I felt quite light-headed as I closed the door and turned towards her. ‘The driver should be here soon.’

‘Good, because I wanted to say something to you before he comes,’ Angela said quickly.

‘OK.’

She took a deep breath. ‘I just wanted to say that I realize it’s really soon after Robert that you’re marrying Ivan, but I think it’s right.’

I gave a short surprised laugh. ‘You’ve never even met Ivan.’

She bit her bottom lip. ‘I know, but once Robert said to me that Ivan was the man he would have chosen for you.’

‘What?’ I exploded.

She put both her hands up, palms facing me. ‘He didn’t say it in a bad way. He just meant that in an ideal world Ivan would be the perfect husband for you.’

I walked to the wall and leaned against it. ‘Why did he never tell me that?’ I whispered.

‘Look, I’m sorry. I should never have said anything. I feel as if I’ve ruined everything.’

I put my hand to my forehead.
Oh Robert. Have you done something behind my back?

‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil your wedding day. I’m just stupid. I thought you’d want to know that Robert wouldn’t mind,’ Angela said.

I took a deep breath. ‘It’s OK, Angela. You haven’t spoiled anything. I’m glad you told me. I’m just like a cat on a hot tin roof at the moment.’

The doorbell rang.

We both looked at each other.

‘Robert was a good judge of character. He could see right through people and he liked Ivan,’ she whispered.

‘Thank you for telling me that,’ I said and went to answer the door. The driver was downstairs. It was time to go.

I walked towards Ivan in a daze. Angela had brought a bouquet and I was conscious of my hands gripping its stem hard enough to snap it. There were only a handful of people. I could not even look at them. The photographers from Hello were there too. My legs felt shaky.

There he was! So straight and tall and …

A thought popped into my head, would a day ever come when I could look at him and not fall all over myself at how hot he was? The answer was immediate and cruel.
Sure honey. When he leaves you.

I looked into Ivan’s face and my vision blurred. My eyes were filling with tears. What the hell? I wasn’t going to cry in front of these people and Hello photographers for God’s sake! I felt so stupid. I didn’t even know why I was crying. I had no tissues, and tears started rolling down my cheeks.

When I reached his side someone had already passed him a scrap of tissue. He gently brushed my cheeks with it.

‘Don’t cry, babe. Marriage to me won’t be that bad,’ he teased, his eyes kind and warm.

I laughed shakily.

He took my hand. I clung to it like a life jacket in a swirling sea. His hand was warm and strong. He would never know how much strength I took from it. The ceremony began. I dutifully parroted everything I was told to repeat.

‘I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful impediment why I, Tawny Maxwell may not be joined in matrimony to Ivan de Greystoke.’

The registrar asked. ‘Are you, Ivan de Greystoke, free lawfully to marry Tawny Maxwell?

‘I am,’ he replied.

Then he smiled and made his vow.

‘I, Ivan de Greystoke take you, Tawny Maxwell to be my lawful wedded wife.’

The registrar looked at me.

‘I, Tawny Maxwell take you, Ivan de Greystoke to be my lawful wedded husband.’

That was the end of the statutory declarations. We slipped rings on each other’s fingers and Ivan pressed his mouth on mine while flash-bulbs went off. He lifted his head and I looked dazedly into his face. He was like a stranger. Yet I loved him. He was my first love. He was my first for everything. At that moment I loved him so much I couldn’t even imagine ever loving anyone else. He curved his hand around my waist and turned me towards the small group of people gathered there.

His mother was the first to congratulate us. She was immaculate in an apricot dress suit.

‘Well done, darling,’ she said to her son. Kissing me on my cheek, she whispered, ‘You look absolutely beautiful, my dear. I wish you every happiness.’

There were more photos at the steps outside before we were driven to the Ritz. In the car, Ivan took my hand. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes,’ I said. 

‘Good. We only have to down a couple of glasses of champagne and eat a few canapés then we can escape.’

‘Where will we escape to?’ I asked, not expecting the kind of answer that he gave me.

‘It’s a surprise.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’m giving you a wedding night you will never forget no matter how long you live.’

No matter how bad I felt, a few minutes in his presence always made me experience the truth of the saying, it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. No matter what happens I will never regret how he has made me feel. I smiled at him.

‘Are you bigging up your cock again?’ I mocked.

He laughed. ‘No, I’m taking you to a very special place. It’s a secret club and it’s by invitation only.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘And they invited you?’

‘Obviously.’

‘Is it another sex club?’

‘Sort of. It was set up by a reclusive, mysterious, billionaire Duke. It is not a sex club in the way you are thinking. People go there to have sex, yes, but you can’t go there if you don’t already have a partner to have sex with, and while you are there you will never see another patron of the club.’

‘Hmmm. Where is it?’

‘The Square Mile.’

‘Where all the money is.’

He glanced at me and flashed a smile. ‘Exactly.’

‘What is it called?’

‘The Blue Butterfly.’

‘I like the name. Pretty.’

‘The name comes from Puccini’s opera adaptation of Madame Butterfly. Do you know the story of Madame Butterfly?’

I shook my head.

‘It’s based on a Japanese tragedy. In 1904, U.S. Naval Officer Pinkerton rents a house on a hill in Nagasaki, where he intends to live with a fifteen year old girl called Cio-cio san, which means butterfly in Japanese. He meant it only as a temporary marriage of convenience. His real intention was to leave her once he found himself a proper American bride but, of course, poor Butterfly falls deeply in love with him, and it all ends tragically with her slitting her own throat behind a curtain, and Pinkerton taking their small son back to the states.’

‘And they based a sex club on that? I’ll tell you now you better not be expecting me to slit my throat over you.’

He gave me a dry look. ‘The club is structured on the premise of the many sexual arts Butterfly, if she had been older and more sexually savvy, could have employed to seduce and entice her American lover into staying with her.’

‘That’s quite clever for a sex club.’

He smiled. ‘Yes, I thought so too.’

‘Well, it sounds extremely expensive,’ I said lightly.

‘It’s worth every penny.’

I looked sideways at him. ‘Have you been to it many times?’

‘Not often enough,’ he said shortly.

Tawny Greystoke

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mN9Dipgqdtw

W
e arrived in the City where Ivan found a parking space on a side street. It was nearly six in the evening. There was hardly anyone on that street. We got out and walked down it, side by side, but not touching.

‘Here we are,’ he said, stopping outside the faded entrance of an old-fashioned Japanese umbrella shop.

‘Mysterious and intriguing,’ I said looking at the disguised façade where the club was apparently hiding in plain sight. 

‘Ready?’ he asked softly.

‘Definitely,’ I said, a swirl of excitement beginning to run up my spine.

To access the club, Ivan dropped his American Express black card into a metal container that had been painted to look like a letterbox. A whirling sound came from the box.

A few seconds later the lock on the door clicked. Ivan pressed open the door and we went in. He closed the door behind us as lights flickered on. We seemed to be in a small shop full of umbrellas. From speakers came orchestra music. A woman with a fierce and darkly hued timbre wailed hauntingly to it. Her voice had such power that it made me shiver. That would be exactly how I would have imagined the betrayed Butterfly would sound.

‘That’s Maria Callas,’ Ivan said. ‘A bit different from Dolly Parton, huh?’

‘Completely,’ I said softly. ‘I’ve got goose bumps.’

‘Some people say it is like having a Goddess look right into your soul.’

‘I agree. It’s emotionally devastating,’ I said.

To be honest I couldn’t imagine how this could be the entrance to a sex club. It was somber and dowdy, nothing like The Dirty Aristocrat. The last thing I wanted to do here was have sex.

He pressed a panel within an illuminated glass case, which activated a mechanical steel door that slid back to reveal a lift. As soon as we got in the doors closed and we started travelling down. The doors opened to reveal a small area with Japanese screen doors. The silhouette of a woman in a kimono appeared on the screen. She parted the screen and revealed a vibrant green room.

‘Welcome, Pinkerson san and cio cio san,’ she said.

Ivan nodded in greeting and I did the same. Right, we were role playing. He was the horrible officer and I was the betrayed Butterfly.

It was like peeking through a keyhole into someone else’s life. It had memorabilia that made it seem like Butterfly’s bedroom. Kimonos, a child’s wooden toy, sandals, a waxed paper umbrella, beaded flower decorations and, inside a glass box, a dagger on a velvet bed. There was real pathos in the little shoes and the face paint we were meant to think Butterfly had used.

The woman who had opened the screen slid another screen open. We followed her down a corridor. She went through a door, ushering me in with her. It was a small room, more like an ante room.

‘We will prepare Butterfly for you, Officer Pinkerton, while you have some hot sake in the Gentlemen’s room,’ she said, bowing her head.

‘You’re going to leave me here?’ I asked, my eyes saying don’t you dare and a small whine of panic in my voice.

‘Relax and enjoy it. It’s truly a treat,’ he said coolly with a smile. With a quick kiss on my lips he casually strolled away.

‘This way please, Butterfly,’ the woman said opening another door. The place was like a maze. We entered another room with a long steel table that looked like one of those tables they have at the morgue.

She opened a plastic packet and took out a red silk bed sheet that she covered the metal table with. She made sure the amount of material falling over the metal table was exactly the same on both sides. Then she turned to me.

The lighting in this room was much better so I got a better look at her. She was at least fifty. Considering Asian people never looked their age, she must have been much older.

‘Please take all your clothes off and put them in this box,’ she said, indicating a plain cardboard box on the floor.

‘You want me to undress here?’ I asked, a little surprised by the whole set-up. Where was the velvet and the sumptuous furniture, the throbbing music? It was all so sterile. So unsexy.

She bowed her head again. ‘Yes, please cio cio san.’ I must admit I didn’t too much like her calling me by the name of the woman who had slit her own throat. I began to silently curse Ivan. Where on earth had he brought me? This was easily the least sexy place I had ever been to in my life.

She patted one end of the metal table. ‘Head up here, please. We have much to do.’

‘We have?’

‘Yes, Pinkerton san is waiting.’

I sighed inwardly. I suppose I was here now, and Ivan had obviously paid a great deal of money for this experience, so here goes. He did say it would not involve anyone else but me and him.

‘Right,’ I said, taking my clothes off and folding them before putting them into the box.

‘I will go and get the fruit now,’ she said as she slipped out of the room.

It was warm in the room so at least I was not cold. Gingerly, I climbed on the silk covered metal table and lay down. First I laid my hands on my stomach and then laid my hands down my sides. I wriggled around uncomfortably.

The door opened. I lifted my head nervously, but it was only the woman returning with a very large tray. I craned my neck to look at its contents. It was filled with an array of fruit sliced so thin the pieces were almost transparent.

‘You’re going to cover me in that fruit, aren’t you?’

She smiled and followed it with that little bow she had going.

I lay back down. How sexy? I was going to be covered in cold fruit!

It was such an anticlimax that I almost giggled. If my grandma could see me now! Less sense than a wet bag of flour, she’d say. I considered hopping off the metal table and demanding that I be taken to the Gentlemen’s room so I could just down a couple of sakes before going home with Ivan. We could have sex there instead of this crazy place, but some part of me thought, what the hell. I’m here now. If it’s such a great fantasy of Ivan’s to see me dressed up in fruit, so be it.

The woman set the tray on a folding metal stand. Then she opened a little drawer and took out a plastic shower cap that she carefully fitted around my hairdo.

She looked at me with a smile. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ I said, hoping I didn’t look as big a fool as I felt.

‘This will not hurt even a little bit. It is an ancient technique. Older than Buddha.’

I smiled at her tightly. Was she kidding me? Sticking fruit on a human body was older than Buddha?

‘Ready?’ she asked again.

I sighed. ‘Yeah, go for it.’

She put the heels of her hands firmly on the mound above my sex and started moving them in small circles.

‘Hey, hey, what are you doing?’ I asked, sitting up.

‘Be patient. This is the ancient way.’

‘Look,’ I said.

‘No pain,’ she insisted.

I opened my mouth to say thanks but no thanks, but she nodded, saying in quite a stern voice, ‘Ancient way. Must do.’

Oh sweet Jesus!

‘Try. Please. Always good to try new things. Ancient things.’ Her face was like a closed door. I was not going to win this argument.

‘Fine, fine, go on,’ I mumbled lying back down.

She carried on doing the same action. It helped that there was no expression at all on her face. It was more like being at the gynecologist. Totally unerotic. I stared at the ceiling and hoped her ancient way would soon be over.

Then a strange thing began to happen.

A slow wave of heat began lapping at me, and I started getting hot. The heat did not come from her hands, but somewhere at the base of my spine. At first I thought it was the friction of my body against the table, and then I realized that it was almost like an electric current that was running up my spine.

‘Is it OK that I’m feeling a bit … strange?’ I asked her.

She nodded. ‘Ancient way,’ she said sagely.

I swallowed. The sensations were becoming stronger and stronger. I could feel my skin getting warmer. In fact, the air in the room suddenly seemed cool compared to the heat emanating from me. To my alarm, a tingling started inside my vagina. Jesus. What the hell? I was getting turned on! I pretended to clear my throat.

‘OK. That’s enough now. Can we get on with the fruit?’ I asked with a strange tremor in my voice.

‘Body not ready. Ancient way,’ she said.

‘No, no, I’m ready.’

‘Nearly,’ she said. It occurred to me that I might climax if she carried on much more and I really didn’t want to. I thought I was here to have sex with Ivan not get into some lesbian shit.

‘Listen, there might be some mistake here,’ I said, as I felt my sex begin to contract and tighten.

‘Ah, ready,’ she pronounced.

Thank God. My skin was flushed. I could see how hard my nipples were and I could feel juices pouring out of me. She reached back into the drawer and took out a brush.

Yeah, that’s right. She dipped the soft bristle brush into me and painted my slickness onto my body. She used that as the glue to stick a fruit slice on me. It was strangely hypnotic and addictive. The smell of the fruit as she carried it from the side of my head to its destination on my body. The extraordinarily erotic sensation of being painted on with my own juices. I began to wait for the soft brush to enter me.

When she painted my nipples I could feel my body wanting to arch and beg for more. I was so turned on.

She worked fast but meticulously. She did the sides of my body and the soles of my feet last. Finally, she put the brush down and covered the entrance into me with strips of fruit.

She straightened and rang a bell. Then she pushed the trolley with me on it through a door opposite the one we came in from. To my surprise it was the most sumptuous bedroom I had ever seen. It was decorated entirely in shades of red.  Another woman was already waiting in there. They pushed the trolley to the bed and lowered it using some kind of cranking mechanism until it was flush with the bed.

It was only then I realized that under the red silk I was lying on was a thin sheet of metal. They slid it on the surface of the bed until I was positioned in the middle. Then they pulled it out from under me, sliding it out under the red silk effortlessly.

Quickly and efficiently they made the bed with the red sheet I was lying on. Then they began to attach thin silk ropes to my wrists and ankles. They tied me spread eagled to the bed’s posts.

‘Open your mouth,’ the woman who had painted me said.

I immediately obeyed and before I realized what she was doing she had put an egg into it.

‘Aggg,’ I uttered with a frown.

‘It is raw. Better not to break, cio cio san,’ she advised emotionlessly.

Both women then bowed respectfully before leaving, their shoes making no sounds on the floor. There was a mirror above the bed, and I gasped to see what a work of art my body had become. All the different fruits, all the different colors, blending into each other.

Then I heard footfalls.

A man’s.