The Golden Locket (Unbreakable Trilogy, Book 2) (16 page)

‘You remember the exhibition in my London gallery the first time you came there? The sepia images of the French prostitutes waiting to be chosen by their punters?’

‘Vividly. They were beautiful, and sad, and you said one of them looked like me, and her name was Rapunzel, just like the Rossetti painting you have above your bed in Mayfair.’ I sink back on the cushions, swilling the wine around my mouth. ‘So you picked just one? A favourite?’

‘Never the same one twice. Danger of attachment.’ He smiles over at me, and the mischievous heat from his eyes matches the intensifying heat inside me. ‘The Club in its eccentric way aims to protect matrimony, not destroy it!’

‘So did you go along to their orgies when you were married?’

‘Before, and during. Not after.’ The smile fades.

‘Will you go while we’re together?’

‘Oh, Serena. I only spent time there back in the day because I was nominated and it’s an incredibly prestigious membership. When I was later specifically invited, I took part a handful of times to obliterate what was going on at home. There was nothing worth saving there, believe me. But now? Why would I go out for gourmet burger when I can have fillet steak at home?’

I kick my feet at him with a snort of satisfaction and arrange myself more decorously on the cushions.

He crosses his arms, well into the subject now. ‘And do you remember those other images I had exhibited at the London gallery, the terracotta and black paintings from the
lupanare
walls in Pompeii? The figures looked as if they were dancing or praying at first but in fact they were whores and punters in a brothel going at it like there was no tomorrow? There was a man taking a slender girl from behind? An elegant woman straddling her client?’

Gustav bites back a really evil grin.

I giggle and wriggle on the pile of Moroccan cushions. These have come from the chalet in Lugano. The only objects I allowed in here, because they have no Margot connection. ‘I remember. So horny. The man with a thumping erection. That girl giving her punter a blowjob. You telling me all that happened to you? You saying the Club Crème is like the
lupanare
?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. Except instead of those stone shelves they do run to luxurious beds and couches and bar stools. And instead of a hot, dusty brothel the punters are shown into sumptuous bedrooms, libraries or the bar. But if you think of those pictures, and superimpose my face on any of those lovers, any position, any combination of participants you can think of, then you’ll get the gist.’ He shakes his head. ‘But my darling girl, you’ll never know for sure what goes on there, because you’re not going.’

I hurl one of the cushions across the room at him, and he catches it easily in one hand.

‘You want a fight, you’ve got one, lover!’ I growl at him. ‘Because I am doing this whether you like it or not. It would zoom me straight to the top of the charts if I got this commission right. And then you’d be proud of me.’

He runs his hand over the black beard peppering his chin and cheeks that he hasn’t had time to shave. ‘I am proud of you anyway, Serena. But I would never forgive myself if I let you go into that place.’

I drain my glass. ‘You’re just making it sound more intriguing, Gustav.’

‘What I’ve sketched out for you is just the initiation ceremony for the younger members. No wonder there’s a waiting list as long as your arm!’ He laughs out loud now. ‘Imagine being surrounded by beautiful women who are employed to meet your every whim. A cross between a housekeeper and a hooker.’

I lift my hair up with my hands, turn myself this way and that coquettishly. ‘Won’t I cut the mustard, master?’

Gustav hitches down his jeans and wraps the chain several times round his own waist. I watch the delicate silver strands snag on the hair on his stomach, the angle of his hips. The beautiful bulge pushing out in front.

‘My God, Serena, that’s the whole bloody problem! You’d shatter the Louis XIV mirrors in their elegant dining room with your gorgeousness! You’d rattle the silverware out of their walnut cabinets. You just don’t get the effect you are beginning to have on people!’

‘Take those jeans right off then, and show me the effect I’m having on you,’ I croon, pulling my T-shirt slowly up my stomach. ‘And then show me what you’ve been doing in that club, you naughty boy.’

He kicks his jeans off and now he’s only covered by his tight-fitting black boxers. He kneels down on the cushions near me, tugging on the silver chain so that I come closer.

‘They have a basement bar where the word cocktail takes on a whole new meaning. Men can choose their tipple, and have their way with the hired help right there in front of the others.’

‘So far, so kinky.’ I wriggle up to him, hook my fingers in the waistband of his boxers. ‘Do the women have any say in who chooses them?’

‘Absolutely not. They are totally subservient. Unless they are told to pick another woman, in which case yes, they can take whoever tickles their fancy. Oh, my God,’ he groans suddenly as my fingers touch his warm skin and start to pull at his boxers. ‘They would all want you, Serena. In the bar, in the party room, in the smoking den. You’d never get out of there alive!’

I straddle his lap so that his erection jabs into my stomach. ‘So what do you suggest I do about it, master? Strap on a chastity belt? A suit of armour? Go dressed as a man? Because you are not going to stop me.’

I grind against him. I take his face in my hands as I move, keeping my eyes on his until he calms a little, comes to heel.

‘OK, I surrender. Photographing inside the Club Crème will be your most prestigious commission yet, and I can’t deny you this chance to prove your mettle. We’re partners, remember?’ He leans towards me, and runs his tongue across my mouth. ‘So you can go, you wicked little witch, but I will most definitely be accompanying you.’

‘As my green-card-faking assistant with the awful Spanish accent?’ I rub against his body. ‘Or as my tooled-up minder?’

‘As a fully paid-up member. In every sense of the word.’ He winds my hair round his fist. ‘And as your secret consort.’

‘Right. Talking of members,’ I whisper, running the hand tied with the silver chain idly over his warm, flat stomach. ‘All this horny talk is doing it for you, I can see.’

He laughs softly. His shorts are straining to contain his arousal, but he pushes me onto my back and with one deft yank he removes my jeans and knickers. Excitement quickens inside me as he pulls off my socks so that I am naked from the waist down. Then he starts to lick his way up the inside of my legs, blowing hot breath onto my cold skin. He stops just above my knees, pushing my legs further open.

‘I think I could handle seeing that again. You with a girl. Or two.’ His fingers continue their way upwards, and I squeal and wriggle as they reach their target.

‘That’s called having your cake and eating it. How would you feel about seeing me with another man? Like we discussed before?’ I bite my lip. ‘I mean, in a controlled situation. Like with the Weinmeyers, but probably not the Weinmeyers.’

‘You’re not making sense, Serena.’

I close my thighs over his stroking fingers. ‘I mean if you were there with me. Watching, maybe even participating. We’re in this great big dirty city, Gustav. We can do whatever the hell we like! But I never want to hurt you. Would playing with fire like that count as infidelity?’

Gustav’s dark hair falls over his face as he leans over me in his wolf pose, on all fours, his shoulders hunched into hackles, his mouth slightly open but the lips drawn tight, white teeth trapping his tongue. He wrenches my legs further open, hands clamped down on me, thumbs running up and down my skin as if he’s both imprisoning and tuning a harp.

‘I’m just putting it out there. Just playing with the idea. I don’t mean to make you angry,’ I pretend to whimper, trying to catch his hands. ‘I don’t know how these things, these clubs, work. I’m just talking about assignments that I can control.’

He cups my softness for a moment, not speaking, still running his finger up and down possessively until I can feel the spring of wetness, and then he removes his hand, strokes it over my stomach, my breasts, pushes my arms down, frames my face.

‘I’ll do anything to keep you happy and by my side, Serena. You’re beautiful and smart, and you’re mine. I’m reluctant to share you, God knows, but you are so young. If you really want some adventure, some experiment, then I have to allow it.’

I lie very still as his fingers work on me. I don’t want to distract or divert him while his mind is working like this. ‘But you got so upset and jealous when I told you about my little session with the Weinmeyers.’

‘Yes I did, but now I’m asking myself why I was surprised. Everyone in Manhattan, in London, Paris, Amsterdam, Venice, knows exactly what those two are like. And since then, and since your girlie session with Princess Emilia and her consort, I’ve had time to think. And what I realise is how seriously I underestimated you. My God, the Weinmeyers must have been so impressed that you resisted them, not to mention frustrated! You were being faithful to me, weren’t you, my angel? Really I should reward you for being true to me. I should show you how much I trust you. But I have to be there. I have to know everything that happens to you.’

He is deadly serious, and I love knowing that he wants to watch over me all the time, but he can’t hide a tinge of dark sadness in his eyes.

‘Forget it, Gustav. I’ll cancel the commission at the Club Crème.’

‘You’ll do no such thing!’

‘So what do you want me to do? You want me to be faithful, but you want me to do things that might hurt you. I don’t even know what I want to try. Girls? Boys?’ I murmur in confusion. ‘You’re my man, Gustav. I will always want you by my side. Watching over me. Even if I do something like that, go off-piste, I will never lie to you.’

He regards me for a long moment, his face very pale in the flickering firelight. Then he bends over me. I arch upwards for a kiss, but he slowly pushes up my T-shirt, unclips my bra, lets my breasts rise up into the flickering firelight.

‘No. I owe it to you to allow you more freedom, so long as I can handle it. So long as whatever happens is within certain boundaries.’

I yank at the silver chain to bring him closer to me. ‘And those are?’

‘We’ll make that up as we go along. A tweak on the chain every so often will keep you in check. But it might surprise you to know that the idea of watching you discovering yourself is making me hard.’ He chuckles, relaxing at last. ‘But I think you’ll know if you’ve gone too far when the time comes. Because it will either feel right or it will feel very, very wrong. And when that happens, you will be punished.’

I squirm with pleasure and push my breasts up at him. ‘Promise?’

He kneels over me, runs the palms of his hands over my hardening nipples. I push harder, waiting for him to touch them or kiss them. But abruptly he flicks his fingers, shows me something shiny and glinting in his hand, and all at once there’s a stinging bite on each little bud.

Gustav puts his hand over my mouth.

‘Nipple clamps, darling. Just to give you a taste of what to expect. If you ever do come across the more dominating female of the species in the club or in other little games, she may want to play with these. But I want to be the first one to use them on you. See? Painful, aren’t they? Think of them as Princess Robinson’s little teeth taking a bite.’

The sting eases into a deep, red-hot throbbing. Gustav watches me for what seems like ages, and then I hear the smooth slide of his shorts and the warm thump landing on my thigh. I arch myself harder, hook at him with my legs, and he kisses me at last, his mouth warm and wet on mine, his tongue pushing in deep as his body echoes that and he groans before entering me with one hard thrust.

The nipple clamps are more like terrier’s teeth than any girl’s, worrying at me with exquisite pain that radiates from my nipples through my breasts into my ribs and bones, growing duller but no less insistent the further inside me it reaches. I lift beneath my lover, embracing him as he presses deeper inside me and swift climax starts to wash towards me.

‘Not so fast, young lady. You must wait for me.’

I reach for him blindly, my mouth seeking his. His warm skin is slippery on mine as he pushes harder, faster, his hands roving over me to keep me in the position he wants me, and he’s huge now, and as I cling to him he draws back, his hips slowly rocking back and forth, and at last we are in harmony again, two parts of the same machine, his dark, solemn head steady above mine as his black eyes own me and he increases his speed.

I feast my eyes on the muscles rippling in his arms, his neck, his eyes as they glaze over, and then we’re slamming into each other, he is moaning my name, my body filled, his face dark with the effort of holding on, and then he makes a soft low groan as he lets loose and my climax meets his.

I let him sleep for a while. I would love to sleep too, but my nipples are in agony now. I slide out from under him and pull the clamps off, watching the tortured points subside gratefully from heated scarlet back to pale pink, from stiff to soft. My thighs are sticky with mingled juices as I trail the silver chain after me and step into the shower to douse myself for a long time in warm water, flinching as the soap touches the sore parts of me.

I smile at my reflection as I think over the day. Over the promise of the days ahead. The potential of the Club Crème for all kinds of wickedness, all under the watching eyes of my Gustav. Time to remind him that if he wants to accompany me on future assignments, then I need free rein. He can watch. And I’ll make sure he’s turned on by what he sees. I will be the voyeur, viewed.

And I chuckle to think of Emilia Robinson, soon to be a married woman, carrying all that fake innocence, all those hidden lusts, bringing Rosaria to her marital bed. All the people in this dirty old town, up to no good. There’s no such thing as virtue here, it seems.

Virginal girlhood, my ass.

It’s next to impossible to tear myself away from this place. I glance at my watch. I’ve been here since the doors opened but there’s still so much I want to see. Polly probably won’t mind if I keep her waiting but I don’t like being late for anyone. And I can always come back another day. This city is my home for now. The International Center of Photography isn’t going anywhere.