A provocative, romantic story of desire, submission and love: the second book in the Seasons series by the author of the After Dark trilogy. Flora Hammond is trying to make her dream of being an actress come true by studying her craft in Paris. But she cannot escape her privileged background and the paranoia of her wealthy father who is obsessive about his daughters' safety. The situation is not helped by the fact that Flora's older sister, Freya, has just run off with her bodyguard. Drawn into the family scandal, Flora tries to make peace between the warring factions. In the meantime, her path crosses with that of a mysterious businessman, Andrei Dubrovski, and there is an instant attraction between them. Even though Flora is warned off getting involved with him, she doesn't think she can resist. Is Freya right when she claims that their father's girlfriend Estella is engaged in a campaign against the sisters? And where has Freya disappeared to? Does Estella have the power to split the family apart, even to the point of breaking the bond between Flora and her twin sister, Summer? As Flora's obsession with Andrei grows, it's clear that where passion is concerned, the heart has its reasons . . .
Release date:
September 11, 2014
Publisher:
Hodder & Stoughton
Print pages:
400
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Outwardly I suppose I seem just the same but I feel utterly transformed, as if someone has switched on a light inside me. It is as though I haven’t just joined the ranks of ordinary adulthood, where people have sex all the time as part of their daily existence, a vital aspect of being alive. I’ve leaped beyond that in one bound and into a secret society of the initiated.
Last night was my first real experience of sex and the fact that it took place in the sumptuous townhouse of an aged dominatrix indicates that I’m on the path to something unexpected, unusual. I’m excited by the idea, and I feel as if I’m floating through the world, the air around me vibrating and shimmering with the energy that’s been awakened in me. I loved what Andrei did to me and the intensity of my orgasms and I can’t wait to repeat the experience. I can hardly concentrate on anything, so I’m glad that it’s Saturday and I have the day off my classes. I get up early, my body alive with excitement and energy, and walk round the corner to a cafe where I can sit and watch the world go by and remember everything that happened last night. I sip at my coffee and wonder where Andrei is and what he’s thinking. Even though I seem to be watching the men unloading the little van opposite, hauling crates of vegetables into the restaurant over the way, I’m really lost inside my imagination. There I can see Andrei in front of me, his broad chest naked, his shoulders heavy with muscle and his face dark with desire as his impressive cock stands up eager for the fray. The picture makes my stomach swoop with excitement.
At lunchtime there’s a message in my inbox.
Miss X
You were much more than I could have dreamed of last night. I need you again as soon as possible. But are you prepared to follow where I lead?
Andrei
I send a message back.
Andrei
I want all you can teach me and more. I will obey your commands and be yours whenever you want me.
Miss X
The reply arrives almost immediately.
That is indeed a promise. I made a similar one myself once, and I did not regret it. I will send you instructions later.
A
I wonder what promise he made. Who would Andrei promise to obey? I can’t imagine him submitting to anyone. His aura speaks of power and domination. Then an image flashes in front of my mind: a tiny elderly woman stroking a cat and crushing the fingers of her slave under her heel.
Olympe.
She is the only person I can imagine could tame Andrei. There is more force in that small frame than I have ever seen contained in one person.
Were they lovers?
The idea is a strange one; usually I would find the picture unsettling, the old woman and the younger man, but it is curiously fitting somehow. I don’t know how I’ll ever dare ask Andrei if I’m right.
A shiver runs over me as I think of Andrei paying obeisance to Olympe. What would she do to him? Will he want to do the same to me? I’ve never imagined such things. Would I have the courage?
That is what I’m going to find out.
The next message comes later that day. Andrei asks me to meet at an address that I recognise as being in the same area as Olympe’s house.
Come dressed for a dinner party. Wear nothing under your dress.
A
At home, I take a long, leisurely bath, dreaming of what might happen to me in the evening. I look down at my breasts rising from the bubbles of my bath, the pink nipples already tight at the thought of what I’ll experience in a few hours, and my hand drifts over my belly and to my mound. I feel the tightening and throb of desire and my finger strokes lightly over my bud, which tingles in response. I’ve barely looked at myself for years and resolutely ignored my sex, as though punishing myself for not being desirable to Jimmy.
I realise that Andrei’s desire for me is answering a need that I’ve repressed for far too long. I am desperate to feel that desire: it’s awakening me, nourishing me, giving me something back I had no idea I had lost.
I pull my hand away from my body. I don’t want to do anything that will take the edge off the hunger I feel for Andrei.
After all, I don’t know how long this arrangement will go on for. I don’t want to waste a second of it.
The thought that this awakening could soon be over makes me feel bleak, so I push it away and think only of what is to come tonight.
The address is indeed Olympe’s house. I recognise the dark gate as soon as I arrive there. I press the buzzer and a tiny blue light flicks on, lighting my face. I’m being watched through a camera. The gate whirs and I push it. It opens under my palm and I step into the courtyard. It’s lit by discreet lanterns, showing the beauty of the nineteenth-century townhouse and the pots of shrubs and flowers arranged about the old flagstones. Ahead of me, the glossy front door stands open. As I approach, the leather figure – Eric? Or it could be anyone – steps out from the hall. Wordlessly he takes my coat and then hands me an eye mask covered in sparkling green sequins.
‘I’m to wear this?’ I ask.
The figure nods.
I slip the mask over my eyes. It’s light and comfortable but it’s still strange to be gazing out on the world from the eyeholes. Once it’s on, I’m directed into the drawing room from where the noise of chatter is already emanating.
Shyly, I walk into the room. It’s just as it was yesterday, except that the woman who was Olympe’s table is no longer there. There are around a dozen people inside, the men in dinner jackets and the women in smart dresses, and all are wearing masks. The men wear purple masks. Four of the women – including a small figure with slate-grey hair who can only be Olympe – wear silver masks, the others wear red. I’m the only one wearing green. I recognise Andrei immediately despite the mask. There is no disguising that powerful figure and the dark-blond hair. Behind his purple mask, the blue eyes glitter as he sees me enter, and he comes straight to me.
‘You’re late,’ he murmurs, kissing my cheek.
‘Am I?’ I look down with surprise at my watch. It’s barely two minutes past the appointed time.
‘Everybody else was here on time, my dear. Olympe won’t like it.’ He takes my arm. ‘Let me get you a drink.’
He leads me over to a drinks table where a bottle of champagne chills in a bucket and pours some of the sparkling liquid into a coupe glass.
‘Two minutes isn’t late,’ I say quietly. I’m unsettled at the thought that Olympe won’t like it. What will she do?
Andrei hands me the glass. ‘You’ll soon learn that obedience is all where Olympe is concerned. She lives to a grand standard of precision and expects everyone around her to do the same. She’s most upset by the tiniest infraction. But you’re new. Perhaps she’ll overlook it.’
I glance over at the small figure surrounded by her guests. She is staring directly back at me, her grey eyes almost the same colour as the silver mask she is wearing. A shiver of apprehension ripples over my skin.
‘What do the different colours mean? Who are the women in the silver masks?’ I sip the champagne.
‘I don’t know who they are. That’s the whole point of the masks. The women in silver are Olympe’s most trusted friends and confidantes. They are all part of her little tribe, as she calls it. The high priestesses in her cult. But I do not know their identities. They are probably well known in their fields, perhaps even famous. One, I suspect, used to live at the Élysée Palace.’
I draw in my breath, looking eagerly at the women. ‘How extraordinary.’
‘Don’t try and find out anything,’ Andrei says, a note of warning in his voice. ‘That is strictly forbidden. What happens here is entirely removed from our existence outside this place. Do you understand?’
I nod. A thrill of freedom passes over me. I can see why for Andrei, famous himself, this is the kind of liberation he wants – to be able to exist without fear of prying eyes and ever-present phone cameras. And for me, too, it’s a wonderful feeling. No one here knows who I am, or cares. This sophisticated crowd would never dream of selling stories about me or passing pictures to the press. I’m free to do as I please. They have no idea who I am either.
‘What do the red masks mean?’
‘Women who have been initiated into Olympe’s wider circle. Your green mask means that you are a novice.’
‘How does one become initiated?’ I ask, almost afraid of the answer.
‘I’m forbidden to tell you,’ Andrei replies. ‘You may one day be allowed to witness a ceremony. That’s not for me to decide. Come. We must join the others.’
The drinks last only another quarter of an hour or so. No one takes much notice of me – perhaps my green mask means I’m not to be spoken to. Andrei is welcomed and he converses easily with the women in silver masks. The men, I notice, do not speak to each other but only to the women. I watch with interest. Everyone is polished, civilised, and the fact that identities are obscured is soon forgotten. At precisely half past the hour, a gong sounds and Olympe leads the way through a pair of double doors opposite the library ones I went through yesterday, into a lavish dining room dominated by a large table set with snowy linen, silver cutlery, crystal, bowls of flowers and candles in silver candelabra. It’s a perfect scene, indistinguishable from dozens of other Saturday night dinner parties going on in wealthy households across the city, except that around the room stand figures in shiny leather body suits, our attendants for the evening, and at the head of the table, a black-handled whip with tongues of shiny knotted leather lies next to the place setting.
Andrei leads me to my seat and we wait for Olympe to enter last and take her place at the head of the table. As she walks past me, she stops and smiles up at me.
‘Good evening, my dear,’ she says in her clear voice.
‘Good evening,’ I reply.
She beckons me towards her and I bend down to hear what she wishes to say. As soon as my head is at her level, she twists her fingers hard and sharp into my hair, picking up a lock close to my skull and tugging on it with a vicious strength. At the same moment, her fingernails, filed to talon points, dig into the skin of my arm.
I gasp at the sudden wash of pain.
‘Do not be late again,’ she murmurs, releasing me as quickly as she took hold.
Tears of agony leap to my eyes and I can’t help moaning softly. Olympe moves on. No one takes the slightest notice. I bite my lip to control myself, determined not to show how much she has hurt me. I’ve been punished. It’s humiliating. But all I can do is move on.
And learn from my mistake.
When Olympe has taken her place, we all sit, and the meal is served. The leather-clad figures silently minister to us, placing the food before us, filling our glasses, removing empty plates. When one attendant clinks a plate against a glass, he carefully puts the plate down and goes unbidden to Olympe’s side. She picks up her whip and administers a hard blow across the offered back, the leather cracking across the shiny bodysuit. The figure accepts the stroke and returns to work, and nobody says a word or even appears to notice. Each time there is a tiny infraction, this happens and every time, the blow delivered by Olympe gets harder and stronger. She has amazing strength in those delicate-looking arms.
The conversation is of theatre, books and films. Everyone appears educated, cultured and of a good position in society. Andrei turns occasionally to me, but mostly he talks to the woman on his left. The man on my right does not speak to me at all, but I’m happy to observe. The glittering masks sparkle in the candlelight, the eyes behind them shining.
Who are they all? I wonder. What has brought all these people together in this way?
When the dessert has been placed in front of us, the silent figures leave. Olympe claps her hands and there is instant silence.
‘There are gentlemen here who have been given a task,’ declares Olympe. ‘The little tribe wishes to taste sweetness now.’
Three of the gentlemen pull out their chairs, and disappear under the table. I wait for them to emerge but nothing happens. Everybody else starts eating their dessert and the conversation resumes.
‘What’s going on?’ I whisper to Andrei.
He leans down to murmur his reply. ‘The little tribe is being taken care of. Look at the women in the silver masks.’
I glance at the women. They all appear older than the others, but each is perfectly soignée and glamorous. As they eat their parfait with tiny silver spoons, I can’t see anything unusual about them.
‘Under the table, the gentlemen are also having their dessert.’
I understand and a bright flush stains my cheeks. ‘Oh!’
Andrei seems amused, then says, ‘You too could enjoy this if you wish.’
‘One of the men?’ I say, astonished.
‘No. Me.’ Andrei stares at me from behind his mask. ‘I’m at your command during this meal. If you want me to, I’ll pay homage to you right now.’
I blush even harder. My sex throbs with the idea but I’m not an exhibitionist. I steal another glance at the silver-masked women. But they are hardly exhibitionists either. I would never guess what’s happening to them. Still, no matter how appealing the idea, I don’t like the thought of experiencing it in this way.
‘Not here,’ I say quietly.
Andrei nods. ‘As you wish.’
‘But . . .’ I slide my gaze over to him from behind my own mask. ‘You may touch me. If you want to.’
‘Your wish is my command,’ he says in a low voice. The next moment I feel his huge hand on my thigh. I pick up a sliver of parfait on my spoon and put it in my mouth. The iced sweetness melts on my tongue as Andrei’s fingers gently draw up the chiffon of my dress until he is able to touch the skin of my leg.
‘Tell me what you thought of the opera, Andrei,’ I say. All around us, the remaining couples talk quietly to each other. The little tribe speaks to one another with perfect composure. Only the occasional flicker of a tongue over lips, or a minute gasp, gives away what is happening out of sight.
‘I thought it was a magnificent performance,’ Andrei says, his low tone making his voice sound hoarser than ever. ‘The singer who played Carmen was a mistress of the role.’ His fingers trail over my skin and up to the junction of my thighs. An answering moistness springs up there. I take another piece of parfait in my mouth. The chill in my mouth from the iced dessert seems to heighten what I’m feeling under the table as Andrei’s large fingers begin to stroke across my mound, finding the bud that’s already stiff there, waiting for his touch.
So this is why he told me not to wear underwear . . .
As I eat the delicious dessert, Andrei’s fingers toy with my slit, stroking and poking just inside, stroking the oiled juices from there up to the swollen bud at the top and massaging it softly. I let my legs fall apart so that he can get as much access to me as possible, and concentrate on showing nothing on my face despite the pleasure radiating out through me. Apart from a faint movement of his right arm, Andrei appears only to be enjoying his own dessert, albeit a touch clumsily with his left hand.
The delicious feelings building up in me are almost too much to bear, but Andrei is skilful. He’s not going to make me come here, just stimulate deliciously until I can think of nothing else but the tickling that plays on my clit.
I look discreetly at the faces of the women in the silver masks and wonder what they are feeling and if any of them has enjoyed a silent orgasm, but they seem utterly normal.
Oh . . . I don’t know how long I can stand this.
As if she read my mind, Olympe stands up. Andrei’s hand vanishes from my skin. Everyone at once is silent, spoons returning to the plates, eyes turned to her.
‘The meal is over,’ Olympe says. ‘The initiated shall retire downstairs.’ She glances at me. ‘The novice may choose what she does now, but she is not permitted to join us.’ She sees me open my mouth to speak and holds up her hand to prevent me. ‘Say nothing. Wait until we have left.’
There is a long pause, then Olympe leaves the table, walking past us all. The silver-masked women stand and follow her, then the women in red masks. Finally all the men stand and leave the room after the women. Three of them emerge from under the table. They appear perfectly composed and just as they looked earlier. Perhaps Olympe’s pause was to enable the men to make the ladies and themselves decent again. They walk out after the others without even looking at us.
Andrei and I are left alone in the dining room. He gazes down at me, his blue eyes glittering behind the mask, then he lifts his fingers to my lips. I can scent my own odour on them. Gently he parts my lips and pushes his two fingers inside and, startled, I close my mouth around them and suck at them. A sweet saltiness tastes on my tongue and I massage the fingers with the inside of my mouth, running my tongue around them. Andrei makes a throaty noise and then says, ‘Push your chair back from the table.’
Now we are on our own, it seems that Andrei is not simply here to obey my orders. I move my chair back. The chiffon of my skirt is rumpled up high, revealing the naked flesh of my thighs and the shiny red slit between them, gleaming with juice, my bud standing out at the top.
‘Open your legs further,’ he says and I spread my thighs wider, and my lips move further open, revealing the heart of me. I look at his face and the expression in his eyes as he stares down at me with evident enjoyment. He lifts a silver spoon from the table and scoops up some of the remaining parfait, then he brings it close to my slit. After a second, he pressed the cold bowl of the spoon against me, the chill titillating my clit and making me twitch with the sensation, then he turns the spoon over and tips the parfait over my open lips. It trickles down me, a pale white stream running down to the seat, tickling me as it goes. The next moment, Andrei leaves his seat and kneels in front of me on the floor.
‘Lean back, put your hands on the table and don’t move them,’ he orders.
I obey. He puts his own broad palms on my thighs and strokes his hands up and down my legs, then pushes my knees apart and brings his face close to my mound. I open my legs as wide as I can to allow him as much as access as he wants.
I can hardly breathe. My heart is pounding, and hot desire is twisting through my body, the blood rushing to my sex and making it swell and burn. I long for the touch of his tongue. His face is tantalisingly close to me now. He’s letting me burn for it, revving me up with need as he brings his mouth ever closer to my clit. Then with one long movement, he puts his tongue on the ridge of flesh below my entrance and laps upwards, licking up the stream of sweet liquid, making me shiver with pleasure as his hot tongue takes up the chill of the parfait. When he reaches my nub, I sigh with the delightful sensation. He sets to work, licking and lapping at my depths, now pressing his tongue inside me as far it will go and now taking it up to tickle my clit. After a while, he concentrates on it alone, tickling and playing with the button, lifting me to a panting level of lascivious excitement. I can’t prevent it, I throw back my head, clutching the table as I shudder with the building strength of my orgasm. His tormenting tongue goes on licking and licking my clit as I stiffen and cry out with the force of my release, letting down a rush of honeyed liquid as I come hard on Andrei’s face, the sequins of his mask cutting into my flesh. When he looks up at me, his mouth glistens with the wetness of my climax. I stare down at him, still gasping for breath.
I reach down and run my hands through his hair, ruffling it between my fingers. ‘Oh . . . thank you, Andrei,’ I manage to say.
‘My pleasure – and yours.’
‘But what about your pleasure too?’ I say. I’m not finished. My desire has only been damped down, it’s ready to flare up again in a moment. Surely he must want his own needs satisfied and I long to do for him what he has done for me. His hands are suddenly on my waist and the next thing I know I’ve been pulled under the table and we are both together under the table. I lie down beside him. He’s undoing his trousers and the next moment his great prick is out in his hand, stiff and ready for me. I’m eager for it, and I open my legs so that he can get access to my slit, and he climbs between my thighs. I’m beautifully oiled by my coming, and the large head is pressing at my entrance in a moment, Andrei’s body hard between my thighs and heavy on my chest. He grunts and then shoves forward, making me exclaim as the huge thing slides into me, the balls at the base hitting my buttocks.
‘So delicious,’ he groans as he presses it home, ramming it into me as far as it will go.
I gasp as he thrusts in and out, fucking me as hard as he can. My arms are around him, holding him in, one hand clawing at his buttocks and helping him move his hips so that he can run that huge thing as deep in me as possible.
The situation is deliciously exciting, being on the floor, hidden and yet at risk of exposure if anyone should come in and hear us at it. I know Andrei is already excited by the effect of licking me to a climax just a little earlier and it isn’t long before I feel him swelling inside me in the way that tells me his prick is ready to come. I slip my hand down between us and grasp his balls, holding them and then tickling them lightly as he rushes into me. I can feel the place where his thick stem is engulfed by my tight lips, and the friction of our fucking, and it excites me greatly. The touch of my hand on his balls sets Andrei off and he rushes into his climax, roaring as it gushes from him inside me. He jerks hard as it comes, and then subsides to a gentle rocking. I’m still hungry though. I wriggle under him and he understands. His prick is still big and swollen inside me, and he moves it a little harder, pressing down on my needy clitoris, giving it the sensation it craves, sending out the delicious feelings from my centre to the end of every nerve. Rub, rub, rub, with my sex still stretched around him. I can hardly bear it but I also can’t bear it to stop. As he watches me, his eyes dark and glassy, I begin to moan and then finally shout as the shuddering pleasure engulfs me, intense and electric as it was the first time he drew the orgasm out of my body. I come hard and long underneath him and when I finally open my eyes, he kisses me deeply.
‘How gorgeous you are when you come,’ he murmurs. ‘I would never get tired of it. You excite me madly every time.’
I sigh happily. ‘That’s lucky. You do the same for me.’
We smile at each other, acknowledging the chemistry that makes us able to give and receive such pleasure.
‘Now,’ he says, ‘perhaps we should return to the table. I imagine someone will be here soon – though to be honest, what we are doing will be tame compared to what’s happening downstairs.’
‘What is happening?’ I ask curiously as we straighten our clothes and emerge from underneath the table.
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