Enthralled (Dark Passions)

Copyright 2012, Sarah Bailey

Cover photo from iStock

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This book is
a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place,
events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines
are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

This
felt utterly surreal. Here I was, draped on Andy Warhol’s arm, being swept up
the grand staircase of the Chelsea Hotel. The lobby had taken my breath away.
The walls were covered in exquisite artwork; on one wall was a Herbert Gentry
abstract, the people in the painting looking like blue snowmen; on another was
a Roy Carruthers, depicting fleshy, bulky bodies with pinheads. As Andy Warhol
whisked me up onto the second landing, I noticed another fantasy painting: a
man with a wolf mask in his hand, his face green, with explosions of brilliant
red and night black behind him.

  
“Where are we going?” I asked, my voice full of wonder.

  
Andy Warhol gave me another brilliant smile and patted me gently on the arm.
“We’re going back to the Silver Era,” he said, and his face twitched in private
amusement. My mind was still completely blown, and I had to pause for a moment
to catch my breath. “You alright, darling?” he asked, reaching over to tuck a
piece of hair behind my ear. Then I felt a warm, familiar hand on the small of
my back. I turned around. Bradley. He stood there for a moment looking down at
me, his eyes full of concern.

  
“You look like you’re about to faint,” he said, and put his hands around my
waist to steady me. The feel of his strong, warm hands around my waist sent
tingles up my spine. I took him in and my eyes dazzled. God, was he ever
gorgeous. Standing there in black tie, tall, muscular, dashing, his mesmerizing
green eyes focused intently on my face, he completely took my breath away.

  
Andy Warhol cleared his throat. “Love birds, there’ll be plenty of time for
that soon,” he said, tugging gently on my arm, and giving me a sly,
conspiratorial smile. I took a moment to take him in. He was wearing a black
velour top, flared jeans, and tortoise shell glasses. One of his classic looks.
He gazed at me pleasantly, but his eyes were also assessing me. I must have
looked completely star struck, just standing there staring at him, probably
with my mouth open.

  
I snapped myself out of my trance and gave him a questioning look. “Are you
taking pictures of me?” I asked, my voice full of disbelief.

  
He grinned at me and said, “You’ll see soon enough. Now follow me.” When we
reached the fifth floor landing, he guided my down a plushly carpeted hallway
to a door at the far end. Then he pulled out a key, unlocked the door, and
swung it open with a flourish. When my eyes scanned across the room, my breath
caught. The walls had been painted silver, and they glittered in the bright sunlight
coming through a large bay window. Tinfoil stars hung from the ceiling, along
with silver helium balloons, and in the middle of the room was a giant, cherry
red couch. I stared in absolute wonder. This room was a replica of the main
room in the original Andy Warhol Factory on the sixth floor of the Decker
Building. Billy Name had decorated that place for him; he had even found the
red couch on the street that was famous for hosting many a drug fueled orgy,
but was later stolen. The infamous red couch was also featured in many photos
and films from that time, including the well known film
Blow Job
.

  
I turned towards Andy, and he beamed at me, looking pleased by my reaction.
“This must have taken quite a bit of time to set up,” I said, giving him a peculiar
look.

  
He nodded and said, “Yes, my little superstars helped me prepare for this days
in advance.” His superstars.
The
Warhol Superstars: all the misfits,
artists, drug addicts, and socialites that made up his scene and appeared in
his photos and films.

  
I let out a strange laugh. “You mean like some of the Chelsea girls? Like
Nico?” I asked, citing a stunning blond singer he helped make famous.

  
Still looking bemused by my reaction, he shrugged and said, “No, not Nico, but
if you want to meet her later, that can be arranged.” I raised an eyebrow at
him, and glanced up at the balloons.

  
“The balloons were your touch?” I asked, remembering that Warhol was known for
bringing in silver helium balloons a few times a week to the original Factory.

  
“Yes, aren’t they wonderful?” he asked, his voice buoyant, and his eyes fixed
on one of the balloons. “I always felt they livened the old place up a bit.
Gave it a festive feel, you know?”

  
I nodded vaguely, and continued to stare in wonder. “Why did you? I mean, go
through all this trouble?”

  
Andy glanced over at Bradley, who was smiling to himself. “Well,” Andy began,
“My dear friend Bradley here asked for all of this. And believe me, he’s
certainly paying a pretty penny for it.”

  
I narrowed my eyes at Bradley, and he grinned devilishly at me. “Well Bradley
certainly is a generous patron of the arts,” I said, not taking my eyes off his
handsome face. As I spoke, some mischief crept into his expression. He leaned
back against the doorframe, and gave me a burning look that almost made my
knees buckle.

  
“This commission is for my private collection,” he said, caressing the curves
of my body with his eyes. “My very private collection,” he added. I felt my
face flush, and a surge of heat pulse up from between my legs. With trembling
hands, I smoothed down my lace dress, trying to gain control over myself.

  
“Your private collection?” I repeated back, with a tremble in my voice. Bradley
continued to look at me, his eyes smoldering, his expression amused.

  
“Yes,” Andy said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Bradley has commissioned me to make
a portrait of you. I’ll take a photo now, develop it at my studio later, and
then produce a silk lithograph. I’ll get you set up for that right away.” He
put his finger on his lip, and gave me another assessing look. “But that’s not
all,” he added, looking slyly at me. “We’re also shooting a film,” he said, his
voice suddenly becoming animated. “Bradley has asked me to film a version of
Blow
Job
for him. The cameras will be riveted to your lovely face, Melanie, as
Bradley goes down on you and gets you off.”

  
I gasped and took a step back. My gaze shot over to Bradley; his eyes were full
of a fierce hunger as they prowled along every inch of my body. My breath
caught in my throat, and a strange thrill pulsed through me. But then my gut
twisted into a knot, and I felt heat flaming my cheeks. “I can’t,” I whispered,
shaking my head. “It’s too…intimate. I’ll feel too exposed,” I muttered, with
my eyes fixed on the door.

  
Bradley’s expression darkened. “Too intimate?” he asked, his eyes still full of
heat and fixed on my face. “Are you afraid of intimacy, Mel?” His tone was
challenging.

  
I took a deep breath and folded my arms across my chest. “If being afraid of
getting off while being filmed by a 20
^th
century cultural icon is a
sign of intimacy issues, well, then, yes. I guess I’m afraid of intimacy.”

  
Andy cleared his throat. I looked over at him. His finger was tapping
thoughtfully against his lip. “I’m irrelevant here, Melanie. This is about you
and Bradley.” Then he smiled wickedly and said, “But believe me, I know a
closet exhibitionist when I see one. Knowing that you’re being filmed will only
add to your pleasure, Melanie.”

  
A delicious little shiver fluttered through me, telling me that he was right.
Bradley strode over to me, cupped my chin in his hand, and raised my face to
his. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse with desire. “I want to be able to
watch you get off, Mel. Over and over. Lost in your private, wild pleasure.”

  
“But you do. You see me get off when we have sex,” I said, searching his face.

  
Bradley gave me a long, intimate look, and then slowly shook his head. “It’s
not the same thing, Mel. When I’m fucking you, it’s about both of us. We’re
both in the moment, getting each other off. But when I go down on you, it’s
about your private pleasure. Your innermost desires. You get lost in your
deepest, most intimate fantasies, and I want to see you there. I want to be
able to watch you there, share that part of you.”

  
He slowly rubbed his thumb along my lower lip, and my whole body quivered. He
leaned his head towards mine, brushed his lips against my ear and whispered,
“Will you share that with me, Mel? Let me watch your beautiful face writhe with
pleasure whenever it pleases me?” He slid his hands along my waist, and grabbed
my hips in his strong, possessive grip, nudging me closer to him. The look he
gave me was unbearably scorching, and I felt my sex clench hungrily. When he
was this close to me, his sensual, eager mouth hovering inches from mine, his
hard, muscular chest pressed up against me, I couldn’t think straight. Only one
relentless thought pounded through my head, over and over. I had to have him.
Now. At any cost.

  
“Yes,” I whispered. “I’ll do it.” Bradley grinned at me and nibbled at my lower
lip. I moaned, and fastened my mouth over his. His tongue slid seductively over
mine, tasting me, teasing me, making me whimper against his mouth.

  
“Alright, lovebirds. Let’s break it up for a sec. We need to get the portrait
done first,” said Andy, with a smile in his voice. “That lace dress is highly
becoming, Melanie. And the fur shawl is exquisite. It really suits you.”

  
“Bradley picked it out,” I said, smiling to myself.

  
“Well your man has a good eye,” Andy said. “The outfit is outrageously sexy,
yet elegant. Exuberance with refinement and class. Is it fair to say your man
knows you quite well?” he asked, his eyes twinkling behind his tortoise shell
eyeglasses.

  
I bit my lip and looked at Bradley out of the corner of my eye. His expression
was full of anticipation. “It would seem so, yes,” I said, and Bradley’s face
filled with delight.

  
“I told you right from the start. I have a discerning eye,” he said.

  
Andy chuckled, and then set me up on the red couch for the portrait. When he
was done, I asked him if I could see the photos. “My dear,” he said, “This is
the seventies. We’re not in the digital age yet. I’m going to have to develop
these.”