Sexy as Hell Box Set (80 page)

He looked older than the last time I’d seen him, as though he’d been through the mill and back. Although it hadn’t really been that long since they’d dined near us in The Savoy and we’d spied on them afterwards in his summerhouse, it might as well have been years ago. So much had happened since then—clearly something had aged the man who had taught me how to be a
Domme, thinking, as he did back then, that it would help fight my demons.

I stared at his face and the skewed features that showed confusion, shock and him trying to work out how the hell to play this. I decided to make it easy for him.

“How weird is this?” I said, keeping my tone light and turning my attention on Helen. “It’s
such
a small world!”

Helen appeared to tighten all her muscles. “Um, yes. It is.” Her cheeks coloured—the brightest red blush I’d ever seen.

“I’m here with Victor. Just a weekend break. Fabulous place to be, don’t you think?” I asked.

“It’s…lovely…” Helen said.

I could have added the rest of her sentence for her.
Well, it
was
lovely until
you
appeared.
Those words lingered between us, and I knew then that she was lacking confidence, that Geoffrey having been with me in the past was something she had yet to come to terms with. Possibly me being with her ex-boyfriend was also something she didn’t quite like, although why that should be when she’d been seeing Geoffrey behind Victor’s back and had run off with him amongst a cauldron of lies I didn’t know.

Instead, I smiled again. “Here for the weekend too?”

“For the ball,” Geoffrey said.

I looked away from Helen to him, wanting to ask what ball he’d meant. “Lovely,” I said.

“I’d have thought that’s why you’re here too,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Can’t imagine why else you’d be in Venice at this time of year.”

I was missing something but didn’t want to let him know I had no clue what he was taking about. “Oh, yes, the ball. Such an exciting thing.”

“Indeed,” he said. “Right up your alley, I imagine. People wearing masks in a BDSM setting, fucking in front of each other, letting out their frustration with the world in an orgy of painful satisfaction.”

I let that information sink in without showing any surprise on my face. The cogs in my mind were working, clicking and clunking as I imagined going to a masked
BDSM ball with Victor. Oh, the fun we could have. “Yes, quite. A
splendid
thing to attend. I
do
hope you have fun!”

I sauntered off, back to the staircase, aware of them staring at me, and went down the steps on suddenly shaky legs. It made sense why they’d come here, why it wouldn’t be so fantastical that they were in Venice at the same time as us, but the exact same hotel? Wonders would never cease. Mind you, they said life was stranger than fiction. Whoever had spoken that quote was damn right.

Images of a masked ball sped through my mind, people fucking where they stood, regardless of who watched them. That would be exciting, I had no doubt, but it was hardly in keeping with the romantic weekend Victor and I were meant to be having. Oh, I knew having him lick my arsehole in a filthy shed had hardly been romantic either, but that had been a necessity, something I’d had to get out of the way in order for me to
be
romantic, to allow him to romance me. But a sordid, orgy-like ball? No, that didn’t fit with what we were here to achieve. If I suggested we go, it would be me calling the shots again, me foisting my way of life onto him.

I had to let Victor take the lead.

I made it to the bar and spotted him sitting on a high stool, his elbows planted on the mahogany counter, him staring at the mirror behind the optics. He smiled then turned to watch my approach, and my stomach muscles clenched. I smiled back, hard and wide and without hiding anything, just so he knew that I still meant what I’d said earlier. That I loved him. Loved him with my whole damn heart, even if I couldn’t quite get to grips with it yet or show him fully. But one day…damn it, I may as well just admit it to myself and be done with it.

Yes, one day I’d show him everything. Every last bit of me, warts and all.

I stood by his side and took his cheeks in my hands. Kissed him hard and long. Stepped back and took in the happiness on his face. Watched that happiness seep away and morph into shock as that female tinkle of laughter rang out once again.

“It’s okay,” I said, still holding Victor’s cheeks. His late evening stubble scratched against my palms. “I’ve already seen them, spoken to them. They’re going out, to a masked ball or something.”

Victor breathed deep, his nostrils flaring, and I was relieved when Helen’s laughter faded. I didn’t let Victor turn and look at her, or at Geoffrey, I kept his attention on me, on my eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, cupping my cheeks too. “Of all the fucking luck.”

“That’s what I thought, but sod it, what does it matter to us?” I leaned my forehead against his and his hair tickled my skin.

“It would just be nice to be left alone for once, that’s all.” He dragged his thumbs to the point of my chin. “I just wanted to be here anonymously, with you, while we worked on this.” He breezed his lips over mine.

“While you romanced me.” I managed a smile and then stepped away from him, sat myself on a high bar stool that had a seat like a massive, polished chocolate button. I glanced through an archway towards the lobby. It was thankfully empty now. They had gone.

“Yes, while I romanced you.” Victor dipped his gaze. “You look stunning by the way, very elegant.”

I held in my words of surprise and scorn. Elegant wasn’t a description often used around me. Usually trashy, tarty, slutty, or whoreish worked better, sat more comfortably. Or did they? Because, perched here, in this wonderful hotel, with Victor, all well-bred and expensive in his oh-so-tailored casual clothes, I actually
felt
elegant. Not much, admittedly, but a tiny bit. Certainly more than ever before.

The dress
, although not expensive—purchased from a street market—flowed against my curves like a silk wave, and my hair, in its carefully tousled state tickled against my bare shoulders and back. It felt nice, like it was caressing my flesh, inviting Victor to caress my flesh too.

“
Signora, che cosa vorresti bere?
” the barman asked, smiling and inclining his head at me in a respectful, subservient way.

I glanced at Victor, a rumble of nerves building in my stomach. I had no idea what he’d said. I couldn’t speak Italian, or any foreign language.

“What would you like to drink?” Victor asked me. “Champagne, wine, a gin and tonic perhaps?”

“Oh,
er, gin and tonic is fine, thanks.”

“Gin tonic e
potrebbe top miniera troppo si prega di,”
Victor said, indicating to his near empty tumbler.

“
Si Signore
,” the barman said, turning away from us.

“You speak Italian?” I said to Victor, widening my eyes.

“Enough to get by.” He shrugged and nibbled on his bottom lip.

I studied him for a moment. “I think you’re being modest.” I could tell he was, he’d shifted on his stool and touched the collar of his polo shirt.

“I took an A level in it, just for something to do a few years ago.”

“Just for something to do?” I shook my head. How little I knew about this man of mine.

“I was bored.” He hesitated. “Helen was out a lot. Setting up her career. I was working long hours in the week but Saturday and Sunday I wanted a little extra. I like learning, filling up my brain with information.”

“So you learnt Italian.”

“And Spanish. But it wasn’t in vain. Ollie and I took a trip to Rome a while back and then I took Helen to Barcelona last summer.”

“Can we not talk about Helen.”

“Sorry.” He sipped on his refreshed gin and tonic and frowned.

I reached for mine. The glass chilled my hand, and when I took a mouthful the sharp flavour snapped at my tongue and throat. “They’ve gone to a BDSM masked ball, you know.”

Victor looked at me then coughed hard, spluttering and screwing up his eyes.

Alarmed, I whacked him on the back. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” he managed in a croaky voice and rubbed his lips. “Yeah, that just wasn’t what I was expecting you to say.”

“When do I ever say anything you’re expecting me to say?” I smiled and crossed my legs.

“If I’m honest, never, so I don’t know why that took me by surprise.” He shook his head and sighed. “And they told you all of this.”

“Geoffrey did. Said he thought that was why I was here in Venice. For this weekend’s event where everyone fucks and wears masks, and beats and submits and takes as much as they can from whoever they can without caring what anyone else thinks. They just go for it, seeking out pleasure, pain or whatever it is that yanks their chain.”

“Geoffrey said all of that?”

“Well, no, not quite, but that’s what it is, isn’t it? A masked BDSM ball, where everyone can get away with being someone they’re not because their masks keep them hidden.” The last word caught in my throat. A long since buried memory had floated into my peripheral vision like a ghost; an ugly pig ghost with a turned up
snouty nose, a manic grin and cut-out eyes. Behind the cut-out eyes were flashing brown ones that threatened, teased and tortured.

I grabbed my drink, knocking half of it back in one go. I hadn’t seen that grotesque face for years, hadn’t allowed myself to. But now, with the mention of masks and fucking and being able to dominate to the extreme, it had reared its monstrous head.

“What’s the matter?” Victor asked, resting his hand on my knee.

“Nothing.”

“There is, I can tell by the way your eyes have dulled.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t, not now. I was all out of strength. It had been a
very long day and suddenly I was weary. My shoulders were slumping, the graceful curve of my back tiring with me having to keep it semi-elegantly posed. I was wrung out, a scrap of rag squeezed and twisted and left to dry on an old bit of fence.

“You’re tired,” Victor said. “It feels like an age since we woke up in Tuscany, you in Ollie’s bed and Catherine in mine.”

“A lifetime ago.” I sighed and nodded at a gold-coloured clock on delicate legs that sat on a nearby cabinet. “Well, it was yesterday.”

“I should take you to bed. Asking you to come and meet me here was foolish.”

I raised my eyebrows, summoned a seductive smile. “But then we wouldn’t have found out about the masked ball.” Shit. Had I really just said that? Dangled the carrot under Victor’s nose? Flirted with my ugly fucking pig?

It seemed I had.

Victor smiled. He had shadows beneath his eyes, and although the sometimes lazy look of his eyelids turned me on, now I could tell he was just shattered.

“The masked ball. You really want to go to it?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” That was the truth. I didn’t know. Didn’t even have the energy to think about it despite my sudden suggestion moments ago.

Victor leant forward, slid his right hand around my neck and stood from his stool. He looked
down at me. “So decide tomorrow then. If it’s something you need to do when the sun sets then that’s fine, but the daytime, that’s mine, with you.”

A delicious tickle of sensation ran over my scalp, his gentle fingers starting the wave of pleasure by coiling in the base of my hair and tugging slightly. “Yours?”

“Yes, we’re in Venice and we have romance on the agenda.”

If he hadn’t looked so damn gorgeous, so fucking perfect, I would have laughed. Old Zara would have giggled her bloody socks off. But I didn’t. The thought of a day with Victor, here in this golden city of watery roads, elegance and history, was the most appealing thing I could think of.

We slept curled around each other in the huge four-poster bed. My body pressing against Victor’s was like coming home and reminded me of the one other time I’d spent an entire night with him. Then he’d held me tight, even in his sleep. His breaths had been slow and steady, and the heat and scent of his skin had soothed me so.

When I opened my eyes, now, to our Venice hotel room, sunlight was dribbling around the outer edge of the curtains onto the flocked wallpaper, and spreading in a thin, buttery glow. I looked at my hand, flat on Victor’s chest. Little curls of body hair were peeking between my fingertips.

I’d used to insist on Geoffrey shaving, and Carlos for that matter. But Victor’s little scribble of chest hair I adored, it was part of him, it suited him.

He was still sleeping, I could tell by his breaths. Funny that I could do that with him. I’d never done it with anyone else; I wondered if he could do it with me too.

I shifted my legs, ran the arch of my foot down his and let out a little sigh. Again my dreams had been kind to me
, quiet and easy to bear. I’d slept heavy but in a deeply satisfying way, not in a demons-coming-out-of-the-corners-to-prod-and-poke-the-shameful-part-of-my-psych way. Just a nice, deep, safe, sleep.