The Ninety Days of Genevieve (16 page)

She admired herself in a full-length mirror, and experimented with her hair, deciding to pin it up in an approximation of a twenties' style to complement the dress. She turned, smoothing the green satin against her thighs with her palms. She could not remember when she had last worn a full-length dress. It made her feel both sexy and elegant. And, she thought confidently, it makes me look that way, too.

When Sinclair arrived to collect her, elegantly formal in black, she noted the instant approval in his eyes and felt a thrill of pleasure. She posed, turning slowly, majestic in the dull-sheened satin.

'Very nice,' he said. 'I like the hairstyle.'

'I'm glad you approve. Do you want to check that I'm wearing knickers for a change?'

'No.' He smiled. 'I think you've learned the first lesson of our agreement by now.' He paused. 'But I might check later.' He reached forward and touched the heavy choker. 'I couldn't resist this. It looks like a fancy dog collar, doesn't it? That's why I bought it. Maybe I should have bought a leash as well.'

'I knew it,' she said. 'We're really going to a bondage club.'

He laughed. 'We're going to the Fennington,' he corrected. 'To a very formal dinner and dance.'

The Fennington was a glittering blaze of light. In the foyer, heavily encrusted with gold leaf and dark wallpaper, a distinguished elderly man greeted new arrivals and discreetly checked their invitation cards.

For Genevieve it was like taking a step into the past. She was introduced to a variety of middle-aged guests, the women corseted into their exclusive dresses, the men full of old-world charm. She danced with several of them, a stately whirl. It was unreal and theatrical. Once again she felt as if she was acting in a play. Time passed swiftly. The touch of Sinclair's hand on her arm brought her back to reality. He said, simply, 'Upstairs.'

So, she thought, this isn't just a straightforward night out after all. He's planned something. She experienced a sudden tingle of excitement. The formality of the evening made her feel like doing something deliciously wicked. Something that would shock these conventional and worthy old people if they knew about it. Sinclair placed his palm under her elbow, and guided her. They threaded through the crowd and she felt his hand tightening as yet another acquaintance stopped them to exchange pleasantries. He's getting impatient, she thought. The super-controlled Mr Sinclair, master negotiator, is probably beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. The thought pleased her.

They were very near the door when an old lady stopped them both with an imperious gesture. Judging by the fine bones of her face and her large, still bright-blue eyes, Genevieve guessed that she must have been a stunning beauty in her youth.

'James, how lovely to see you.' The eyes assessed Genevieve. 'Keeping up the tradition, I see?'

'Of course/ Sinclair said smoothly. He introduced Genevieve.

The old lady smiled. 'Nice to see some new young faces. Enjoy yourself, my dear.'

'Margaret is the daughter of one of the Order's founders,' Sinclair explained, when they were on their own again.

'What would she say if she knew what you were planning right now?' Genevieve asked.

He gave her an amused glance. 'She might be jealous/ he murmured.

Once up the wide flight of deeply carpeted stairs they turned into a long corridor with numbered doors. Gilt-framed mirrors hung on the walls, and plush seated chairs were placed at intervals. In case the old dears who stay here can't make it to their rooms without sitting down, Genevieve thought.

Sinclair stopped halfway down the corridor. He turned, and put his hands on her shoulders. They lingered there for a moment and she felt their warmth. She waited, curious, expecting him to pull her towards him, wondering if he intended to kiss her. She imagined his mouth moving over her neck and throat, down towards the boned edge of her dress. Well, she had no objection to kissing him, she thought, as long as he was quick. There was no-one here to see them.

His hands slid behind her back and grasped the zip of her dress. Before she fully realised what was happening the zip opened and her dress peeled apart like the skin of a ripe fruit. Then it fell into a satiny pile round her feet. It was so sudden, and so unexpected, that she stood frozen with shock. She could hear the sound of the dance band floating up the stairs.

'I knew you'd wear the knickers,' he said softly. 'Sexy, aren't they?' His fingers hooked in the elastic and he tugged downwards, running his thumbs along the inside of her thighs. 'But this is better.' The knickers ended up on the carpet with the dress. 'You're still shaving,' he noted. 'Good. I like it. It makes it even easier to see what I'm getting.'

She came to life with a gasp and bent down, frantically scrabbling for her clothes. He moved just as quickly, caught her wrist, and forced her to stand up. She stood there, naked except for her diamond jewellery, gloves and shoes.

'Pick up the clothes,' he said. He sounded amused. 'But don't put them back on.'

'Are you mad?' She was both furious and horrified. 'There might be guests in these rooms. Someone might come out. Someone might see me like this.'

He laughed. 'But you like being seen, sweetheart. You like being watched. You certainly didn't object to Zaid watching you.'

"That was different,' she protested. 'We were in a private room. I knew we were safe.' He was grinning. Furiously she rounded on him, 'You know what I mean. I can't be seen by anyone here. You promised me.'

'If you're so bothered about it,' he said, 'do as you're told. The quicker you do, the quicker we move on to the next act.'

She stepped out of the dress and the knickers and picked them up.

'Walk,' he ordered.

'Which room?'

If only she could get inside a room she might even begin to enjoy this. They were next to one of the chairs. She hurried past, trailing the dress behind her, desperate to find a refuge from this all too public corridor.

'Who said anything about a room?'

She turned and saw that he was sitting down, his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked totally at ease. 'Come here,' he said.

She considered making a dash for one of the doors in the hope that it would be unlocked and the room empty. But what if it wasn't? And he was definitely not going to sit there and let her make a bolt for it, was he? Her eyes flicked nervously to the doors again. Who was behind them? Sleeping guests? Guests dressing for dinner? Guests who any minute would come out and see her wearing only a diamond choker and a bracelet, a pair of gloves and shoes? Guests who might recognise her?

She went back to him, stood in front of him, feeling like a slave at a public market.

'Drop that damned dress on the floor,' he said. 'And turn round. Slowly.'

She turned, knowing that if she did not do exactly as he said he would keep her there even longer. While he did not seem at all bothered about the possibility of discovery, she saw each closed door as an eye waiting to open. But although she feared discovery and recognition (how could she look any of her colleagues in the face if they heard about this?), she felt her body begin to respond to the sexual danger of the situation. She was moist and her nipples were already hard. She completed her slow spin.

"There's something about diamonds and naked flesh,' he mused. 'Something very sexy. It makes you look like a whore and a lady, both at once.'

'Can we go into a room now, please?' she pleaded. 'I'll do anything you like. But let's go
now.'

'You'll do anything I like anyway, sweetheart,' he said. 'That's the deal, remember?' He sat up straight in the chair. 'Come here.' She took a step forward. 'Closer,' he said. 'Spread your legs, each side of mine.'

She knew it was useless to argue. She stood astride him, aware that the physical evidence of her arousal was quite obvious as she straddled his lap. He slid one hand round her waist, stroked it lower and began to massage her bottom. The chair creaked and she jumped nervously, her eyes darting along the corridor.

'Relax,' he said. His other hand travelled up her inner thigh and his finger began to stroke her, intimately. 'Stand still.'

By now she was thoroughly aroused and it only needed a feather-light touch to make her gasp. 'I can't stand still,' she muttered. 'Not when you're doing that.'

He laughed softly and rubbed her swelling clitoris, gently at first then harder, trying to discover the speed and pressure that turned her on. Her reactions taught him how to please her. Waves of pleasure shuddered through her. The fear of discovery was drowned in a surge of sexual need.

His fingers stroked and teased expertly. He made her dance to his tune. Her legs bent, her knees pushed outwards and she leaned back, making herself even more accessible. She could see from his face that he was enjoying the sight of her, the inarticulate sounds she was making, enjoying the knowledge that he was causing her to loose control.

Once he had discovered exactly how she liked to be handled, he tantalised her by refusing to oblige and bring her to orgasm. He prolonged her excitement by sliding his finger very lightly over her clitoris, making it throb with need, ache for more pressure.

She tried to stifle the noises of desire that rose in her throat. Her body moved in rhythm with his hand. Her feet slid on the floor and her passionate writhing deposited her in his lap. She felt the smooth cloth of his suit against her flesh, reminding her that he was fully clothed and she was naked.

Somehow the image intensified her excitement. She reached out for him, without thinking, and pulled his head closer. His mouth touched her erect nipple and he obligingly sucked her, first gently then with unexpected roughness. 'Yes/ she gasped. 'Oh, yes ... please, yes.'

His hand matched his mouth in urgency and the twin sensations of his lips and his fingers brought her to a point of no return. She climaxed suddenly with a cry of relief and delight.

As her body relaxed she became aware of her surroundings again, and of how she would look if anyone appeared in the corridor. Considering the noise she had been making, she was surprised that no-one had come out to see what was going on. She reached for her dress, intending to put it back on as fast as possible and then find a ladies and freshen herself up.

Sinclair stood up gracefully and took a tagged key from his pocket. 'Over there,' he said. She noticed with satisfaction that his voice did not sound completely steady. 'Number 32.'

It was a double bedroom, with a vase of fresh flowers on each bedside table. The lighting was diffuse. An inner door led to a bathroom. He caught her arm, spun her round and all but threw her on the bed. 'Now/ he said hoarsely, 'it's my turn.'

He knelt over her and unzipped his trousers. His erection was so huge that she was surprised he had controlled it for so long. She was still moist and relaxed from her own orgasm and when he entered her she felt a deep satisfaction in the knowledge that she could still get pleasure from his body. Despite his obvious need he thrust slowly, and she moved against him languorously.

'That's it,' he murmered. 'Relax. I can make you come any time I like. This time we'll do it nice and slow.'

Then she realised that this was a way of showing her that he was still calling the shots. He was still in control, the master and not the slave. She decided to alter the relationship. She tightened her muscles and pulled him in strongly. He groaned. She held him, her hands on his taut buttocks, feeling his muscles tensed hard under her fingers. She flexed her hips in a series of thrusts that increased in speed as she sensed him losing control. His climax came much faster than she expected and probably, she thought with satisfaction, faster than he intended.

As he relaxed and withdrew she felt a delicious warmth flood over her. It was a gentle orgasm but every bit as satisfying as the violent climax he had given her in the corridor. She stretched out on the bed and sighed drowsily. She heard water running in the bathroom and closed her eyes. The next thing she knew his hand was on her shoulder, shaking her gently.

'Go and have a shower,' he said. 'It's nearly time to eat.'

There were some younger faces at the candlelit dining table. Genevieve sat between Sinclair and a military-looking, middle-aged man who was surprisingly knowledgeable about modern rock music. Opposite her she noticed a woman in her thirties, imperiously beautiful, who caught her eye once or twice and smiled. Genevieve smiled back.

'Who's the woman in the blue dress?' she asked, when she next turned to Sinclair.

He shrugged. 'I've no idea. I've never seen her before.' But a little later he commented: 'That woman seems to know you. She keeps looking over here.'

'Perhaps she's looking at you,' Genevieve said demurely.

'I wouldn't blame her if she was,' he drawled. 'But I know when a woman fancies me, and that one doesn't. She seems far more interested in you.'

Genevieve did not think any more about the woman, or Sinclair's comments, until after the meal was over and the ladies began to wander out of the room.

'This is where we get a little traditional/ Sinclair told her. 'Most of the Knights stay at the table for a cigar and a brandy, the ladies are expected to go and freshen up. Old fashioned, but that's the way they do it here.'

'And you're staying for a cigar?' she guessed.