Divas (24 page)

She was wearing a 1950s-style dress, a red-and-white print cinched in at the waist with a big patent-leather belt, and red shiny pumps. The dress must have been made for her, it wrapped so well
around her opulent curves. Her make-up was 1950s too: heavy black eyeliner, flicking up at the outer corners to make cat’s-eyes, light powder to keep her pale skin matte, and bright red
lipstick. Over her shoulders was draped a black cardigan, and the plumpness of her bare white arms, the roundness of her equally white calves, was so rich and satisfying that Evie suddenly felt
skinny, scrawny even, by comparison with her.

‘Evie, this is Laura, ’ Natalie said. ‘She has the room next to yours—’

‘
Honey
, ’ Laura said in a little piping Minnie-Mouse voice, ‘you should
totally
work up a burlesque act with that!’

N
iels van der Veer was almost upon her before Lola managed to summon up any control over her muscles. She was remembering, all too vividly, their
last encounter, when he had picked her up and carried her bodily from Jean-Marc’s hospital room.

‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ she said, and to her great annoyance it came out as a breathy little gasp. ‘Look what you did to me last time, you
bully!
’

And she gripped the edge of her white silk dressing gown and jerked it angrily off her shoulder, down to just above her elbow, so that he could see her bare arm, revealed by the strappy
negligee, and the clear mark of bruises on her skin. Four pale amethyst stripes, fading to green at the edges, the marks of his fingers where he had gripped her so tightly he had lifted her off her
feet, just a few days ago.

‘There’s exactly the same ones on the other arm, ’ she said furiously, staring back at him, suddenly able to meet his bright silver stare without flinching, now that she was
challenging him back. ‘Do you want to see them too? Or is this enough for you?’

And even then, she couldn’t read his expression. It changed, certainly. His craggy features froze; his strong jaw, the straight hard line of his mouth, looked even more sculptural than
before. His shoulders were as wide as a wall; she couldn’t see beyond him, he towered over her. The sheer weight and mass of him was so imposing that it was hard for her to stand her ground,
but she planted her bare feet and wouldn’t give an inch.

How dare he be so angry with her?
she thought furiously. As if she had had anything to do with Jean-Marc’s problems and his overdose – anything, of course, beyond being the
fiancée with whom an imminent marriage had sent Jean-Marc into drug overdrive? And she had ended up just as damaged as Jean-Marc, despite the fact that she was completely innocent of
anything but not being able to spot that her fiancé was gay. Even Jean-Marc himself had only just realised he was gay, so you could scarcely blame Lola for
that
. . .

Niels van der Veer reached towards Lola, and she flinched back, unable to stop herself. But his grip, when it closed around her elbow, was gentle, though irresistibly firm. His hand was as big
as she remembered, and looking down at it, as it held her in place, she noticed the sprinkling of gold hairs on his knuckles. Their presence was so masculine that it made her shiver.

And then he lowered his head.

She stood there in absolute shock as he pulled her closer, and that strong, imposing head bent over her arm, and Niels van der Veer’s mouth, warm and moist, kissed the bruises he had made
on her skin.

Her eyes closed. She thought she ought to push him away, because she was still furious with him, and he shouldn’t just think that by kissing her bruises he could somehow redeem himself,
and after all, he hadn’t actually apologised: but the touch of his warm mouth had put her into some kind of trance, and as he kissed up her arm, and sank his lips into her neck, biting at the
skin gently, gently, but just enough to let her feel his teeth against her flesh, she actually thought she was going to faint, and she realised that her arms had raised and she was clinging on to
him so she didn’t fall over.

That was when it really began to spiral out of their control. Because when Lola grabbed onto his forearms, just to keep her steady, her fingers closed around such solid muscle that she
couldn’t help moaning in appreciation. His tailor, she observed with the one small sane part of her mind she had left, must be very good indeed, because Niels’s biceps really were very
well-developed, and it would take a great deal of skill not to make his upper body look ridiculously huge in a suit. And then she couldn’t help thinking about what the rest of his upper body
must look like, and the one small sane part of her mind went up in flames, like the rest of her, and she realised she was moaning still, and tilting back her head, so he would kiss her on the
mouth.

And he did.

Fireworks went off inside her head. Chrysanthemums and rockets and spinning Catherine wheels, great explosions of colour and light. Niels’s mouth was hard and insistent; his teeth sank
into her lips, his tongue invaded her mouth. His hands gripped her tightly, moving her exactly where he wanted. She sensed that by opening her mouth to him, letting him in, she had given him
consent to everything he wanted. Somehow she knew that he wouldn’t ask from now on, he would just take, forceful as a battering ram. It would be up to her to say no, to push him away, and how
could she do that, when she was longing for him to touch her everywhere, all over her body, every single part of her, from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head . . .

He was consuming her. He kissed her as if he wanted to eat her up, as if she were a banquet and he had been hungry for so long he couldn’t remember what it was like to be satiated. She
tried to kiss him back, so he didn’t have it all his own way, to nip at his lips with little bites and kisses, and when she did, it made him grind her against him even harder, so she felt the
length of his body all the way down hers, the swell of his pectorals, his flat stomach, his cock pressing into her stomach, his muscled thighs, and she moaned again, despite herself, into his
mouth.

That moan seemed to trigger something in him, because the next thing she knew his hands slid down her to grasp her bottom, cupping her, pulling her into him, lifting her so she was suddenly not
supporting her own weight: her hands were twined in his dirty-blond hair, which was just long enough for her to twist it a little round her fingers. His hands were so powerful on her, moving her
where he wanted as if she were a doll, and she wanted to make him feel her power just a little in return: she pulled at his hair, making him gasp, and he dragged his head back just enough so she
couldn’t get a grip any longer, and looked down at her with such a scorching stare that she literally felt as if she were melting. Her core was liquefying, so hot and insistent she had less
and less control over it, flowing out, reaching for him—

He was carrying her now, as easily as if she weighed nothing at all, carrying her across the room, and she closed her eyes again and hid her face in his shoulder, overwhelmed by what was
happening. Then she felt a hard cool surface under her bottom, and realised that she had wrapped her legs around him, twined her arms around his neck.

God, this was awful
. She had given in to him completely without even realising what he was doing. One touch of his hot arrogant mouth and she had parted her legs for him and let him pick
her up and carry her around, a man she had absolutely loathed and despised till this very moment; actually, someone she
still
loathed and despised, it was just that he was kissing her so
hard he wasn’t giving her any opportunity to tell him so. And he had put her down on the desk, and was standing between her legs, pressed up against her, so that she could feel his entire
cock, rubbing exactly where she wanted it, and how was she supposed to tell him what she thought of him when he was getting her so damp between her legs, without even having touched her there with
any part of his body – unclothed, that was – so that she could barely breathe with desire for him—

He pulled away, and Lola’s eyes snapped fully open in horror, scared that he was going to shake his head and run a hand through his disordered hair and walk away from her, spreadeagled on
the desk, making her look like an utter fool. But then she saw that he was tugging at his belt buckle, and the relief was like a surge of hot liquid through her veins. She wanted to help him, but
it was all she could do, gripping the edges of the desk, not to fall over, she was so dazed and wet with lust. It seemed to take forever. But finally he had his belt unbuckled and his trousers
unzipped and he’d shoved his boxers down, and Lola’s eyes had never gone quite so wide, because it was one thing feeling it against you and quite another seeing how large it was when it
sprang free, and even another thing altogether – oh God,
oh God –
feeling it drive up inside you, as Niels’s big powerful hands closed around her buttocks again and pulled
her relentlessly onto it until she couldn’t think in words any more.

Just sensation. Just Niels, sweating against her – she could feel his heat through his shirt and his jacket, and she could smell his hot strong scent, so good that she buried her face in
his armpit, wanting it all around her, to have him in her nostrils as much as she had him between her legs, driving into her, hurting her, because she wasn’t used to sex like this, not at
all. But it was so relentlessly good that all she could do was cling to him and moan and listen to him swearing above her head as he fucked her so hard she thought she would die and go to heaven
from it.

Her dressing gown seemed to have come off completely. Her negligee was bunched around her waist, and Niels was ripping down the straps so he could kiss her breasts. His teeth closed around one
nipple, and she screamed in pleasure and pulled him even closer, which made him buck inside her still harder, still further, so much that he actually pulled back and stared down at her with what
looked like sheer amazement on his face.

By now Lola was transported, gone. No man had ever fucked her like this: they had always been hugely respectful, treated her like the porcelain doll she resembled, clothes exquisite, make-up
perfect, not a flaw on her smooth pale golden skin. No one had ever bruised her and ripped her clothes and shoved himself up inside her so hard and fast that he hadn’t given her time to catch
her breath. And if anyone else had tried, she would have slapped their face and made them apologise profusely. She caught sight of their straining bodies in the mirror behind Niels – his back
bunching with muscle under his shirt and jacket, his strong thighs bare and pounding, almost comically naked, and her equally bare legs wrapped round him, her head thrown back. Lola didn’t
remotely recognise herself in this girl so overwhelmed with passion that she would let an almost-complete stranger, who had manhandled her appallingly the last time they had met, basically pick her
up and fuck her senseless on the closest level surface they had to hand.

Niels van der Veer was crying out something in a language Lola didn’t know. His hands tightened still further on her buttocks. She could feel his pubic hair scratching against her newly
waxed skin. It hurt, but deliciously. She would be so sore after this she would be barely able to walk. And the thought, so scandalously filthy, so alien to her, was so exciting that she rammed
herself down on his cock and, to her enormous surprise, had the first-ever orgasm she had ever had with a man.

She screamed in pleasure and amazement, a long, exquisite scream that was caught by Niels as he took one hand off her buttocks and twisted it instead into her hair, pulling her head towards him
so he could grind his mouth down on hers. Lola saw stars. Her entire body was overloading with sensation. Niels gasped, reared, and pulled out just in time to shower her upper thigh with a hot
stream of come.

Lola had thought she never wanted it to end; but now, as Niels’s cock pumped over her leg, she realised she was in a state of utter, perfect bliss. There was something so sexy, so
powerful, at having made this bossy, bullying, autocratic man so overcome with lust for her that he had ripped her clothes, fucked her, and then come over her in absolute surrender. Her entire body
fizzed with release and triumph.

Besides, she had come herself. She had ground herself down on him and made herself come. She was in awe of what she had achieved. Lola had always thought she needed to be the perfect girlfriend,
beautiful and elegant at all times: which meant absolutely not letting out, in the company of a man, that raw sexual energy that made you groan and pant and look needy, let alone mess up your hair,
in front of a man.

Well, that idea had disappeared forever. And she certainly didn’t miss it.

Niels’s eyes were closed. She watched him for a few moments, as the aftershock of his orgasm still flooded through him. Then, slowly, his eyelids lifted, and he looked at her.

He was the sexiest man she’d ever seen in her life. He was pure, raw sex in a big, muscular package. It was quite extraordinary that she hadn’t realised that before.

He looked down at their bodies, Lola’s pale thighs still wrapped around his waist, his cock, dwindling now, but still very impressive, rosy and swollen from its exertions. And he
blushed.

Lola did her absolute best to keep a straight face.

He reached down for his cock and wrestled it impatiently back into place, ducking to pull up his boxers and his suit trousers, swearing again in what she assumed was Danish when the zip and the
belt resisted his clumsy fingers. Lola closed her legs together, not wanting to look too whorish, and flicked the skirt of her negligee down to cover her to the knee, though avoiding the part of
her thigh that was covered with come, because she didn’t want to stain the nightdress if she could manage not to; but she still sat there, on the edge of the desk, her bottom pulled forward
where Niels had dragged her, to get her at the best angle for him to fuck her hard. Partly, she didn’t move because she was in such a state of absolute physical satisfaction that moving was
near impossible; partly because she knew, somehow, without quite sensing why, that to look at her still sitting there like that would embarrass Niels almost beyond measure.