Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two (3 page)

The ones he preferred more recently came to him because they could find their satisfaction only with someone like him. With them, he could be hard, as hard as he needed to be, and they got off on it because they needed it too. The harder he played, the harder they begged him to play. Sometimes it was absurd, even to him, how bizarre and extreme these exchanges became, but after years in the game, nothing fazed him.

When the elevator doors parted, she was there, just as he expected her to be. Not sitting or leaning against the wall, she stood by the apartment door, eyes down, hands locked on the elbows bent behind her back. He glanced at his watch. She’d been standing, silent, in the hall for well over an hour. Waiting, imagining, fearing, wanting. If he slipped his hand between her spread thighs, her arousal would coat his fingers.

But he didn’t touch her or greet her. The mind fuck was the best part of the game and it began the moment she picked up the phone. He looked right past her, opened the door and walked in. She knew to wait. Knew not to speak. And definitely knew better than to come in without being summoned.

He didn’t live here. This wasn’t a home. One step over the threshold and you knew your comfortable world was more than a doorway away. The spirit of the room, the temperature, the dense silence and what it was used for pressed into you. The rules were different here. Chains mounted to the black ceiling, masks, gags and whips hanging on the black walls, all whispered,
Are you brave enough to enter?
A glass cabinet displayed an array metal clips, weights and tools. Another hid its wares. The only thing that could be classified as normal furniture was an enormous custom bed that no one slept in with a sofa at the end for those who wanted to watch the perversion it was designed for. There was no living here. Only the profane performed on the willing.

I'm profane; she's willing. So let the dark game begin.

He tossed his keys onto the bar, poured himself a drink, took a long swig, swallowed and took another. He lit several candles, not for lighting, before saying softly, “Enter.”

She dropped to her knees and crawled through the door.

*****

Isabella twisted a lock of hair around her finger while they walked. Craig perfected her Prada costume with a black hair tint. He promised that her natural color would return after a few shampoos, but it was a very dramatic change.

Still, it was fun, like Halloween. She felt completely transformed. Nothing like the normal Isabella. The darkened hair made her skin look milky and her brown eyes smolder. Add the killer dress, the dramatic make-up and the naughtiest shoes she’d ever seen, and
Voilà
, meet Isabella, the vixen. Very daring if she did say so herself. Even her brothers wouldn’t recognize her.

Maybe she would keep the new color. It made her feel like another person and she wanted to be someone else, at least for a while…
Maldita sea, I've done it again
. Opened that self-indulgent door and let the self-pity rush right back in. She was instantly annoyed with herself.

Why the hell not? It’s bucket list time.

Isabella turned abruptly, heading back to a kiosk they’d just passed. “Wait. I want to stop for a minute and pick something up.”

Craig and Carlo stopped walking and waited. They made a cute couple, but she knew Carlo wasn’t Craig’s dream. He was just a guy and there would be another in a week or two.

She stepped up to the kiosk. “A pack of cigarettes, please.”

“What brand, fox?” A gnarled man leered at her from his box.

“I don’t know. What brand do you like?”

“I don’t smoke,” he said coldly, his eyes fixed on her chest.

The extravagant dress did highlight her girl parts and invite the attention, but
ew
. Any other time, she would have been annoyed by the lewd stare, but not tonight. Tonight, let him look.

Let them all look.

“Neither do you, Isla. What are you doing?” Craig was clearly annoyed. He hated smokers.

“It’s a night for new experiences. Don’t hassle me, daddy.”

“Buy Dunhills,” Carlo called over to her. “That’s my brand. When you’re hacking up a lung, I’ll finish them.”

And that meant Carlo was gone after tonight.

“Dunhills, please.”

Craig didn’t hide his disapproval as she stepped toward him.

She tried to appease him. “They go with the get-up.”

“They go with a coffin.”

Craig had no idea how true that might turn out to be.

Quite the scene greeted them when they arrived at their destination. The sophisticated gallery provided a perfect backdrop for the fine art and chic people at the opening. Their little trio had no intention, or ability for that matter, to buy anything, but looking was certainly fun.

Erotic sculptures and paintings were scattered throughout. And the people. Not exactly a shabby bunch. The glitterati were on parade tonight as the beautiful people of Paris gathered to mingle and flirt among the art. Layers of cultured voices, reserved laughter and the pop of champagne corks mixed with the scent of expensive cologne and perfume. If wealth had a sound, and a smell, this was it.

Isabella’s heart fluttered at the sight of their famous host. You didn’t have to know much about the art world to recognize Nicolai Stavros. He was in the society pages all the time. The gracious artist circulated among his guests, smiling, chatting and looking more beautiful than most of the women. No one was overlooked and all made to feel singularly significant.

Mere moments after stepping over the threshold, another very tall, very handsome man approached. He was elegantly dressed, but there was an edge to his look.

Muy sexy.

She didn’t miss the flicker of infatuation in Craig’s eyes as he greeted them.

“
Bonsoi
r, Craig,
bienvenue
. I’m so glad you could make it,” the man said and kissed Craig on both cheeks.

“
Bonsoir
, Jerard. As if I would miss this,” Craig answered as he returned the kiss. “I would like to introduce my friends. This lovely lady is Isabella and this is Carlo.”

Isabella heard Craig’s disinterest in his date simply by the way he said his name. Jerard obviously picked up on it too because he turned to her and ignored Carlo.

“Welcome, Isabella. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Craig talks about you all the time.”

A waiter appeared, offering champagne. She picked up a flute and raised it to Jerard as she gave him a subtle once-over.

Jerard Gagne certainly fit Craig’s description of him. Tall and thin, but well built, he oozed unaffected charm. He wore a tailored grey suit that clearly cost more than her monthly rent like it was no big deal. A black and grey scarf curved seductively around his long neck to dangle over a grey silk T-shirt. Chunky masculine jewelry, dusky unkempt hair and a subtle beard, the man bristled with sex appeal, but had a certain humility in his mannerisms. Eyes older than the face that held them told her that he had seen a lot of pain.

“
Bonsoir
, Jerard. Craig has mentioned you more than a few times as well.”
And the pleasure’s all mine
.

She winked at Craig as she kissed Jerard, shifting her eyes to him, then back to Craig, and Craig blushed. Unfortunately for Craig, the way Jerard placed his fingers on her skin told her that this man was not gay. His hand slipped into hers and
ah, sí
, he had really nice hands.

“When I get the chance, I will introduce you to Nicolai, but first, come. You should meet Julianne. She’s the model for every piece on display tonight. The exhibit is dedicated to her.”

Isabella picked up a hint of sadness in Jerard’s voice, but the man was a virtual stranger so she resisted her natural urge to comfort and didn’t comment.

Jerard pulled her farther into the crowded room and stopped in front of a petite woman with a dark mane to match her own. “Julí, I would like to introduce Isabella, Craig and Carlo.”

When Julianne turned, Isabella could only stare. She was so exotic.

“
Bienvenue, amis
. We are honored to have you attend our opening.”

The intrigue of this woman was irresistible. Julianne seemed quite proper, modestly dressed in an embroidered chartreuse satin gown, yet there were naked representations of her all around them. And she wasn’t simply posing in most of them. Judging from the art, she was a deeply submissive woman and obviously very daring.

How much courage must she have just to do those things, let alone share this level of intimacy with strangers? What would it feel like to live the fantasy?

Before Isabella could speak, someone else tugged on Julianne’s arm. She smiled politely as she turned away. “Enjoy the experience. I hope you find inspiration here.”

“Wow. I wish I was beautiful like that,” Isabella whispered to Craig.

Jerard answered, “You are beautiful, Isabella. You could make a grown man cry looking the way you do.”

Craig leaned in to peck a kiss on her cheek and whispered, “My loss. Your gain. Remember what I said about the dress.”

She smiled at him. Craig was a true friend.

They wandered around the room, looking at the magnificent art and sipping liquid courage. The setting was more than a little intimidating. One piece caught Isabella’s attention and she drifted away from the men toward it.

There, on a floating white wall, was a gigantic painting of Julianne in a very seductive pose. On closer inspection, it was actually a photograph that had been painted over in places. Julianne wore nothing but pink ballet shoes with long ribbons that tied in an elaborate weave up her legs to her thighs. Pink lines ran over the rest of her skin, mirroring the design of the ribbon. Next to it was a little placard with, “The Erotic Dance in Pink by Nicolai Stavros, 2014. 140,000€,” written on it.

Enticing sounds echoed from behind the wall and Isabella slipped around it to get a peek at the source. A group was watching a film on a huge high-resolution screen that hung on the other side. Julianne was poised, larger than life, against a Lucite fixture. A shirtless man in white pants circled around her wielding a thin cane. Even though his face wasn’t captured in the frame, she knew he was Nicolai, Julianne’s lover.

Isabella’s skin flushed with instant arousal. She felt hot, paralyzed by a foreign, yet somehow familiar need, completely captivated by the sexual image. Her jaw went slack as she watched Nicolai hit Julianne repeatedly to leave those pink marks on her smooth skin.
It does look like an erotic dance
. When he finished, Nicolai leaned over and kissed Julianne tenderly. The intimacy between them burned into Isabella’s imagination.

So much love and care, despite the harsh actions. What would I give to know a passion like that?

Easing against a wall for support, Isabella was mesmerized as the endless loop of film began to play again.

*****

Jacques watched the lovely lady in black from a discreet distance. She was oblivious to his deep stare. She was oblivious to everything, except the image on the screen. The crowded gallery around her seemed to have faded from her awareness, she was so fully absorbed.

Voluptuous breasts rose and fell with her heavy breath and little dots of sweat glistened on her brow. Her succulent red lips had fallen open, just begging to be kissed. He could practically feel her arousal and imagined running his hands up those silken thighs to discover her secret wetness. When she squeezed her legs together with a sensuous roll of her hip, his body moved toward her, instinctively drawn to that arousal, but he stopped himself. Too much was going on in his life and he didn’t need another complication.

The lady may be turned on by the sadomasochistic play, but she was clearly not a player. Sexy exterior aside, her smoldering eyes couldn’t hide the complex roil of emotions playing across her face as she watched Nicolai torment Julianne. She was fascinated and frightened by what she saw. And maybe by her own reaction to it. She may want something like that, but had obviously never experienced it. The last thing he needed to do right now was train a novice.

But she's certainly pretty.

And he was content to enjoy her private erotic show. It was far more enticing than the one Nicolai and Julianne had created. For a fleeting moment, he imagined that this woman was like Julianne. Nicolai found his happiness in an innocent. Took the perfect untouched raw material and crafted her into a masterpiece.

The lady in black may be a novice, but she was no innocent. She was older, edgier, had seen the darker side of life, like him. What type of lover could he create with someone like her?

He remembered Julianne’s words.
You’re a good man, Jacques. Maybe if you bring a woman to see the exhibit, you and she will find what Nicolai and I share. You deserve that too. I hope you know that
.

Could that actually happen?

Nah. Lightning doesn't strike twice
.

*****

As Isabella watched the film for the umpteenth time, she felt eyes on her, studying her, stealing her secret pleasure. She looked up and the molten stare of a man across the room burned right through her. She’d never seen eyes like that. Copper fire framed in kohl lashes, so thick, his lids seemed to hover, weighed down in forever fuck-me invitation. Those eyes captured hers with a long, unnerving look that turned up the heat. The immediate connection between them was palpable, potent, making her pulse jump and her insides melt.