Текст книги "Besotted"

Автор книги: Georgia Le Carre

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 9 страниц)

Eleven

‘I don’t know what you mean, and I resent both your tone and the implication that I have somehow trapped your brother.’

‘What would you call it?’

‘I love your brother.’

‘You don’t have to pretend with me. I don’t care who my brother fucks. It’s totally his business if he wants to take every little whore he comes across into his bed.’

‘If you are that unconcerned, why do you ask?’

‘Just curious,’ he says and smiles pompously. At that moment he reminds me of his father, but less dangerous, by far less dangerous. I was afraid of his father, but I am not of him.

My mother’s voice is quoting Rumi in my head. You are searching in the branches for what is only in the roots. Thank you, Mum. At that moment, I stop feeling inferior. Why should I? He is not more than me. I have done nothing wrong. He is the despicable one. By a quirk of fate he is thousands of times more privileged than 99.99 percent of the population, but that doesn’t make him special or give him the right to treat everybody else as if they were beneath him.

‘Please forgive me if I refuse to indulge your curiosity.’ My voice is deadly calm.

He laughs. His eyes glitter. Malice shines in his face. ‘Here’s some free advice, sweetheart—Blake will tire of you. Start your going away fund right now.’

A waiter comes, removes Blake’s used napkin and replaces it with a brand new napkin by carefully sliding it off the plate he had brought it in. He smiles and goes on his way unconcerned with the battle Marcus and I are engaged in.

‘Why do you care if I am with Blake or not?’

‘I told you I don’t.’

He is lying. Of that I am sure. Will I unmask him? ‘Ah, but you do.’

He raises his eyebrows, summons an expression of incredulity, but I am not fooled. I have love on my side.

‘You’re jealous,’ I say. ‘You’re jealous of Blake and you are eaten up with envy because he has found something you don’t have. You don’t love anyone you’d give everything up for, do you?’

I see a flash of real anger in his eyes. Where is the studied carelessness now? He pretends to laugh, the sound unnatural, ugly. The façade is scratched, the mask slipping. Underneath the water the effortlessly gliding swan is kicking like crazy. He is nothing but a courtier. Trained by his father to put on a performance. Now he is lost to the façade he has put up. He is not to be reviled but pitied.

‘Jealous?’ he sneers.

I say nothing.

His voice becomes venomous. ‘Of Blake?’

I maintain my silence. Keep eye contact.

‘Because he has you? A two bit whore that he paid to acquire.’ His voice is contemptuous.

‘Love even in the arms of a two bit whore can be precious.’

‘No thanks.’

From the corners of my eyes I see Blake walking towards us. I turn eagerly towards him. He is watching my face carefully.

‘Everything all right?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ I answer, but my expression is stony. At that moment Alain Roux who is doing his customary tour of the dining room stops at our table. I smile stiffly and assure him that everything was wonderful. He nods graciously and moves on. I am ready to go home, but there is still the cheese trolley to endure.

Marcus pronounces the Auvergne cheese flawlessly ‘kept’, whatever that means.

Blake shrugs non-committally.

‘How’s your soufflé?’ Marcus enquires, suave mask tightly in place.

I look him in the eye. ‘Faultless.’

Marcus’s smile does not reach his eyes. Mine slide over to Blake and he is smiling into his cheese. I spoon a mouthful of raspberry soufflé into my mouth and know that I have won this round.

Blake orders a box of petits fours.

I look at him questioningly.

‘For Billie,’ he says and winks at me, and I feel a surge of joy. He is nothing like his brother. This horrible ordeal with Marcus is almost over and it will be just us again.

We say goodbye by Marcus’s Bugatti Black Bess. Marcus shakes his brother’s hand and touches his shoulder in an attempt to ingratiate himself with Blake. I stand apart and he does not attempt to kiss or touch me. I nod coldly—now you will have to win me over. Hands entwined we watch the lights of his car disappear into the darkness.

‘I was proud of you tonight.’

‘You left the table on purpose, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you have to get used to it. Marcus’s disapproval is subtle and mild. If you can’t hold your own with him, my mother will decimate you.’

‘You’re scaring me.’

He takes his eyes away from the darkness and focuses them on me. They are full of an emotion I cannot place. Maybe because, even though I love him with every ounce of my being, I don’t know him well enough. Maybe because I am a fool in love with a man I cannot understand.

All I know is I love him no matter what.

‘I’m preparing you. I wish I could always be by your side to protect you, but I can’t. You must learn to fend for yourself. You must realize on your own that they are nothing. You are better than all of them put together.’

I break eye contact and look down at my hands. I am the girl from the council estate. I won tonight, but with great difficulty.

‘Be confident, my love. Don’t ever ask for their approval or work for it. They will respect you more for it. You will never be one of them, but that’s OK. I’d hate it if you were.’

‘Are all of them going to be hateful to me, then?’

‘They won’t dare say anything while I am around, but you’ll have to learn to handle the odd catty remark in my absence.’

‘Right.’

‘Marcus looked like a whipped dog when I came back to the table.’

‘He did?’

He grins wolfishly. ‘Absolutely.’

I smile but I am thinking of the woman in black who stood next to Blake at the funeral. I know he is her favorite son and she will hate me with a passion. ‘When am I meeting your mother?’

He laughs. ‘We’ll avoid that torture for as long as possible.’

‘She’s going to hate me, isn’t she?’

‘Yes. But as the two of you will hardly ever meet that shouldn’t bother you at all.’

I sigh loudly. ‘They all want you to be with Victoria.’

‘That’s never going to happen and it’s time they got used to it.’

I thrust the box of petits fours into Billie’s stomach and she opens it immediately. Blake goes on into Sorab’s room, and I stand talking to her as she eats the sweets and looks at me with shrewd eyes.

‘Anything to tell me?’ she whispers as soon as Blake is out of earshot.

‘Tell you tomorrow.’

She nods. ‘Mmmmm… These are delicious.’

I reach out and brush a crumb from the corner of her lips. ‘God, Billie, how I love you.’

‘You should go out to dinner more often with Marcus,’ she says.

And for the first time that night I laugh.

Twelve

I look down at my sleeping son and savor the delicious pleasure of his warm weight in my lap. I stroke his downy head. So exposed, so vulnerable. I feel Blake’s eyes on me and look up at him. He is looking at both of us with an expression that I can only describe as fierce pride and possession. I feel cocooned in that savage light. As long as he is around we will both be safe.

Blake settles Sorab in his cot while I get out of my dress. I hang it up carefully and start removing my make-up. I don’t take off my new jewelry. Blake loves to have me wearing nothing but the jewelry he has put on my body. I brush my hair and teeth, wrap myself in a fluffy bathrobe—it is deliciously warm from the radiator—and go out into the bedroom. He is unbuttoning his shirt. He pulls the ends out of his trousers.

‘Come here,’ he says.

I go up to him.

‘Have I told you how beautiful you looked tonight?’

I nod.

‘Have I told you how proud I was of you tonight?’

I nod.

‘Hmmnnn… I am in danger of being boring.’

‘I love boring men.’

One end of his lips curve.

‘Whoa… High alert… Edible sexy ahead,’ I whisper.

‘Serve warm, eat whole,’ he says as his hands move to the belt on my robe. He undoes it deftly and slowly leans into the gaping material to plant a kiss on my right nipple. My heart starts crashing against my chest. His large hands disappear inside the folds of the material and slide sensuously down the sides of my body. They come to a stop at my hips. He squeezes.

‘Amazing how I never tire of looking at your body,’ he murmurs into the side of my neck, while his fingers caress my throat and the blue stones encircling it.

The robe drops off, my head drops back. A trail of kisses follows. A small sound escapes my throat. Amazing how my body quivers like jelly as soon as he touches me. His hands grasp my wrists and pull them upwards until they are held high above my head.

He holds my wrists in a potent grasp with one hand and looks down at me, while his other hand roams my body freely, possessively. As if I am a slave in an auction that he is considering buying. I look up into his eyes. They are bold and dominant. I let my lips part.

‘My Jezebel,’ he says huskily, and takes my lower lip between his teeth. He holds the plump flesh between his teeth and pulls so I am forced to move with his head. I stand on tiptoe, skin burning all over, and wet between the legs. He lets go of my lip and moving his dark head away from me, gazes down at my body, arched and stretched out in front of him. There is a look of great satisfaction on his face.

He turns me around. ‘Hands on the bed.’

I open my legs, bend over, and put my palms on the bed, shoulder width apart, waist dipped down, ass high in the air. I know what he is doing. He is making me wait.

Anticipation.

I twist my head and watch him unhurriedly shrug out of his shirt, very deliberately pull the belt out of his trouser loops, release the button at the top of the zip, pull down the zip. Hook his fingers inside his underpants. Pull down. He stands behind me. Hot, hard, ready. I watch his glorious body eagerly.

‘Who do you belong to?’ he purrs.

‘You.’ My voice is hoarse.

‘Which parts belong to me?’

‘All.’

‘All?’

‘All.’

He kneels behind me, his face inches from my sex.

‘I can smell your arousal,’ he says.

I shut my eyes. I am so open, so exposed. Seconds drip by. I wait. I know it’s all a game. Patience and anticipation. My skin prickles. I feel his hot breath fan my wet flesh. The shock of his silky tongue swirling between the swollen folds makes my head jerk back. Instinctively, my hips tilt upwards, in a begging posture. I need him inside me. Now.

‘Please, Blake. Please. Enter me.’

‘Is this mine?’ he asks, and bites my sex.

‘Arggg…’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says pleasantly. ‘I couldn’t make that out.’ He bites me again.

‘Yes,’ I cry out.

‘To do with as I please?’

‘Yes, yes.’

His breath fans the flushed, sensitized skin. With his thumbs, he spreads apart the folds and inserts his tongue. I gasp and writhe. He pulls my thighs farther apart, clamps his mouth on my clit and sucks.

‘Oh God!’

Just as the delicious waves are starting to take hold, he takes his mouth away. Torture, pure torture. He stands. Is there to be no filling, stretching, or ramming? I am raging with need. To have him deep inside me. To be possessed by him. Frustrated and full of longing I look at him. Silently, he is gazing down at my open, greedy pussy.

‘Stay,’ he says, and leaving my body, gets on the bed in front of me. I gaze at his erection. My mouth is open, my breathing erratic. He is a fine specimen of a man. I have the strong urge to lick the meatus, take him in my mouth, and suck him so hard he groans helplessly.

But he has an even better idea.

‘Come and sit on my cock,’ he commands.

The order rolls over my flesh. I don’t need a second invitation. I crawl to him and impale myself on the hard shaft. The pleasure. Oh! the pleasure.

‘Sit like a frog.’

I reposition myself, opening my knees wide, pulling my feet close to his thighs and laying them flat on the bed. Then I place my palms on his body and straighten my own body. The penetration is too deep. With a small cry I push my palms down and fractionally lift myself off his body, but he shakes his head slowly.

‘Mine to do with as I please.’

Biting my lip I relax my arms and let my body take the whole shaft, gasping at the sudden pain. For a while he makes me endure it, the sensation of being too full, the exquisite pain of having him too deep inside me.

‘Your pussy feels so fucking good I could stay inside you all night.’

We stare at each other. My eyes must be full of wonder. His blaze with the excitement of dominating me, seeing me in that crouched position, my thighs wide open, his cock buried so deep inside my body I can barely bear it. I whimper, and he takes pity on me.

‘Lean forward,’ he growls softly.

Immediately I obey, and the pain goes away. All that remains is the pure pleasure of being stretched and filled to the brim. He pushes my breasts inwards and pulling me towards him sucks hard at my nipple, first one then the other. I start to move against his shaft and we groan in unison. My clit rubs against his pubic bone. Back and forth. Back and forth, as far as his greedily sucking mouth will allow me to retreat to. Rubbing. Rubbing. Delicious friction. Our bodies become wet and slippery. It is beautiful.

He waits for me to come before he allows himself to erupt inside me. I collapse on him and lay my cheek upon his chest. I can hear the fast, dull thudding of his heart, and feel his strong shaft still jerking inside me. I lift my head. His eyes are closed, his face is calm.

‘Are you sleepy?’ I ask.

‘No.’

I use the ends of my hair to tickle his chin. ‘What’s your favorite word?’

He opens his eyes. ‘Egg.’

‘What?’

‘I just like the sound of it.’

‘You’re one strange man.’

He chuckles. ‘What’s yours?’

‘Lollipop.’

‘I’d like to change my word.’

‘To what?’

‘Lana.’

I laugh. ‘That, Mr. Barrington, is the corniest thing you have ever said to me.’

‘No, really. Every time I say it, or hear it on someone else’s lips, it actually gives me a thrill.’

I feel lazy and relaxed on top of him. ‘We know so little about each other, don’t we?’

‘I know everything I need to know about you. Everything else I’ll find out along the way.’

‘What is it you think you know about me?’

‘Well, for starters I know you’re brave.’

I frown. ‘Brave? I’m not brave.’

‘You’re one of the bravest people I know.’

‘How am I brave?’

‘You left me. That’s brave.’

‘If you knew how frightened and confused I was when I left.’

‘That’s the definition of bravery, Lana. Doing something even though you are terrified of the consequences. And I am really proud of the way you handled my brother today, too.’

‘You are?’ I squeak, immeasurably pleased with the compliment.

‘When I was in the toilet I was so nervous about leaving you with him I was gripping the edges of the sink to keep from running back into the restaurant. But I knew I had to let you handle it, and I’m glad now that I did. If you can handle him you can handle all the rest in time.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘And if I’m not we’ll work it out together.’

Thirteen

Victoria Montgomery

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you…

I could walk through my garden forever,

Alfred Tennyson

This morning he calls me and tells me he is coming to see me. He sounds puzzlingly distant, but still, I sense that he is desperate to see me again. Finally. I never once—well, maybe once or twice—doubted that he would tire of that thieving bitch. I’ve always known—he will come back.

I look at the clock. He’ll be here in less than an hour! Feeling almost dizzy with excitement and triumph, I slip into white underwear. The silk slides deliciously against my fevered skin. Blake loves a woman in white. The slut knew that, too. Her underwear drawers were full of white bits and pieces. My lips tighten of their own accord. I won’t think of her now. Why should I? I’ve won.

I, too, can drive him crazy with need. I, too, can slowly strip and crawl on the floor towards him. I will unzip his trousers and take his thick manhood, throbbing with power and strength, deep into my throat. I will swallow what he gives me. He is my man. I will be Mrs. Blake Law Barrington. I will walk into restaurants and parties and people will see that I am the power behind the throne.

I look at myself in the long mirror and don’t just feel reassured and satisfied, but highly pleased with the image that looks back. If there is a woman more desirable than me then I am yet to meet her. I am a class act all the way. That woman—I cannot even bear to say her name—is cheap. Even the best designer clothes cannot hide that fact. It lurks in her eyes, her big lips, her silly butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth expression.

I dress simply in a mint green dress, its hem faultlessly grazing the tops of my knees. I encircle my throat with two rows of creamy pearls. Nothing elaborate. It wouldn’t be appropriate to display my triumph. Some decorum and subtlety is called for. And yet this dress knows how to ride up my thighs when I sit down. Maybe… He will slide his hand up the inside of my thigh and, moving aside my knickers, insert his strong fingers into me, one, two, maybe even three… Forcing them deeper and deeper, working them furiously, until I gasp. Until I come, drenching his hand.

I imagine him pushing my dress up so it bunches around my waist. He will roughly tear away my knickers, open my long, slender legs wide, and while I arch my spine with uncontrollable lust, he will eat me out like a wild beast. And I will hold him by the hair until… I climax again.

‘You taste so much better than her,’ he will say to me.

My legs are trembling and my knickers are wet. I push a finger into my own wet hole, and pulling it out put it into my mouth. This is me. That is what he will taste. Then a thought: You don’t have much time. I snap out of my fantasy. I must be the picture of calm loyalty.

Quickly, I move to my dressing table.

Nearly black mascara, smoky brown eyeshadow and luscious berry lipstick. I press my lips together, and let the color pigments spread. Nice. Very nice. I’ll just be soft and innocent. That always works. I dab perfume—potent and specially created for me—behind my ears, on the insides of my wrists and then a strip on the insides of my thighs. I do not change out of my wet knickers. I actually relish the thought of sitting next to him, wet. Maybe he will smell me.

For an instant I consider changing into something more revealing.

The soft peal of the doorbell stops me cold for a second. Too late. Mint green will have to do. I lay my palm on my stomach. I am as nervous as I was on our first date. What a night that was. We dined at Nobu and ended up at a party. How happy I was then. Everywhere we went people looked at us with envy. We were the golden couple.

I take a deep, steadying breath and walk to the door. My footfalls are light and noiseless on the thick carpet. With each step I become calmer, more clear in my purpose. I open the door smiling softly, knowing I am looking my best, and my face is radiant with the pure love I have for him.

‘Hello Victoria,’ he says politely.

His eyes. His eyes. So flat and cold. He has changed. He has changed. The rush from heaven to hell is dizzying. I am overwhelmed with grief as one is after a death. I take Blake’s hand and, bending one knee in a gesture of respect reserved only for the highest ranking leaders, kiss it.

‘Don’t,’ he grates harshly, yanking his hand away. ‘I am not my father.’

Confused and slightly unsteady, I rise. How different he is.

‘Please come in.’ I let the door yawn wider and he steps through. I can do this. He stands awkwardly in my hallway. I turn away from him and close the door. My heart is breaking. Has that fucking bitch poisoned him against me?

‘Let’s have some tea,’ I say, turning to face him. My eyes are schooled, innocent, seemingly totally unaware of what he has been doing with the slut.

He seems about to say something, changes his mind, and nods. I had raised my victory flag too early. I have not won yet. He does not want to be here. He does not want me. I keep my expression neutral, friendly. We go into the living room where a sumptuous tea is waiting. As we enter the living room, I see Maria, my housekeeper, slip out of the front door.

I indicate the divan and we sit next to each other. Tia, my solid chocolate Persian, poses on her chair across from us. My eyes graze the thigh next to mine. Under the fine wool it is sculptured with hard muscles. I have seen the photographs. I grasp the teapot and pour tea into two cups. I know exactly how he likes his—black, two sugars.

‘Milk?’ I ask.

‘Black.’

‘Sugar?’

‘Two please.’

He watches me as I drop two sugar cubes into his tea. I hold it out to him. I am dying to touch the shapely, masculine fingers, but I don’t. He takes the saucer by its lip, far away from my fingers. I raise my eyes towards him and take a small sip of my tea—milk, no sugar.

‘I’m sorry about your father. He was a good man.’ I smile sadly at him. I don’t have to pretend sorrow. The death of his father is a great, great blow to me. He was an ally, a very powerful ally. A friend I could trust with my back. One who shared the same goal. But he is gone now.

‘Thank you.’ His voice is far away.

‘And now you are the head of the Barrington fortune.’

He frowns. It makes him look commanding.

I reach for a gold-rimmed plate of fruitcake. Since he was a boy he never could resist fruitcake. I had these specially ordered from my father’s chef. ‘Would you like a slice?’

‘Thank you.’

I watch him bite into it. He is perfect. From the bold, hard slash of his mouth to the taut cheekbones to his naturally bronze coloring, to the dark hair, he is perfect. He is my heart. He is mine. The thought is fiercely possessive and feels right. I must have him or I will die.

I reach under the white muslin for a scone. It is still warm. I butter it, spread a thin layer of jam, bring it to my mouth, and realize I will be sick if it passes my lips. But he is watching me with the narrowed eyes of a predator. Narrowed and assessing. What is he thinking? I have photos of him when he is with that ridiculous woman, when his eyes are caressing and infinitely tender. I take a small bite, chew until I can no longer bear it in my mouth, and swallow. A mouthful of tea makes it go down.

‘Look, I might as well come clean right away. I’ve fallen in love with Lana,’ he announces abruptly.