The Golden Locket (Unbreakable Trilogy, Book 2) Read online

  ‘That must be how they get their kicks. Reeling in an innocent bystander.’ He lets out a long, juddering sigh. But when he shifts on his knees behind me on the sofa I feel the unmistakeable shape of his arousal jamming into my lower back.

  ‘Not bystander exactly. I was a guest in their home. Anyway, Gustav, enough talking. I want to forget about my day.’

  He slaps my hands away. ‘What about him? Ernst Weinmeyer. The big I-am. Did he touch you?’

  At least he’s unzipping my dress again, and it slithers all the way down my body in a pool of green silk.

  ‘He tried to. He was still naked on the bed, and he was still hard. I was bent over her, my bottom was up like this.’ I show him, wriggle my now bare bottom at him. ‘He got my jeans halfway down, but he couldn’t get at me. And then I felt his erection and that’s when I felt sick at what was happening and jumped off the bed and told them no dice.’

  There’s a pause, and then Gustav loosens his grip on my shoulders. My hair unravels from his fists, and clothes me instead of the dress.

  ‘That was too close, Serena. And they accepted your rejection? It didn’t blow your commission?’

  I shake my head. ‘They assured me they still liked me, still wanted my pictures, still wanted to meet me again to go through the proofs.’

  ‘Good. Because you’re part of me now. So your success is my success. And vice versa.’

  I twist round to face him. He’s grinning at me. Interrogation over. He really does look like king of the heap. I grin back at him, put one finger on his chest and push him down on the sofa. My power is growing.

  ‘With you by my side nothing’s going to stop me.’

  He sighs deeply and falls back against the arm of the sofa, pulling me down with him. ‘You know? Despite all their wealth and power I feel sorry for those Weinmeyers. I feel sorry for anyone who can’t have you like I can.’

  We haven’t turned the lights on inside the apartment, but enough light floods in from the city sky to outline his beautiful carved features, calm and relieved again. Life with him really is like battling over a stormy ocean. Gustav and me, one at each end of a boat, sometimes a battleship, sometimes a life-raft, but always tipping, one up, one down.

  No. No one else is going to have me.

  I see the silver chain hanging out of his pocket and I snatch it up. Something heats up inside me like a filament. The desire to work off this toxic steam. My lover’s dark, chiselled face is in repose. The black hair falling across his eyes as he lies back, his hands resting on my bare legs now, the fight gone out of him.

  ‘So cocksure, aren’t you, Levi? Shall I rock your world for a moment and stop being a good girl?’

  He pushes his hair out of his eyes and gives me one of his straight, arrowing stares. ‘Go on. I dare you.’

  I crawl over him like a lizard. He lifts his hands to take my breasts as they dangle above him, but quick as a flash I wrap the silver chain tightly round his wrists, pull his arms up over his head and attach the end of the silver chain to the log-like legs of the coffee table.

  ‘Silly girl. Think you’re stronger than me?’ But he makes no effort to struggle. Just watches me, in that way that makes me want to dance for him.

  ‘I’m showing you what Mrs Weinmeyer did to her big strong tycoon of a husband. She handcuffed him, and then she mounted him.’

  ‘Can a female mount a male?’

  His black eyes are glinting but he’s biting down hard on his lower lip to hide the grin. He tugs at the silver chain, but the heavy table doesn’t budge and he’s still attached.

  ‘Oh, yes, she can. Just like this.’

  My voice is soft, mesmeric, as I unbutton the rest of his shirt and yank it down his arms so that his elbows are trapped. I tickle the ends of my hair over his chest, over his stomach, see him shiver in response. Then I undo his trousers, as slowly as I can bear. They rip down along with his boxers and I shudder with glee, my body warming in response as he springs free.

  Again I tickle him with my hair, brushing it around the shaft, running the circle of hair up and down until I see his Adam’s apple jumping frantically in his throat. When he’s rock-hard I brush over his balls, already shrinking as his desire increases, and then it’s time.

  I straddle him, hold myself up on my knees above him as if praying. ‘I wonder how a threesome would have worked, technically? What do you think, Gustav?’

  ‘Am I not enough for you, you little slut? You bored with me already? Maybe it was a mistake bringing you across the Pond. Too many new experiences. Too many new people.’

  ‘Don’t answer back, boy.’ I slap his buttock. I catch his chin in my hand, just like he does to me, and grip it tight.

  I don’t want to think about anyone else.

  ‘You’re a man of the world. Which bit goes where? One man. Two women. Where does the man fit into the ménage, do you suppose? I mean, I’ve never been with a woman, let alone à trois.’

  ‘If I told you I know exactly how it works, it would be your turn to be jealous.’

  ‘You’re right. I’d rather be the one making you jealous. So if you’re going to accompany me on future shoots, then I’ll have to teach you to be a voyeur just like me.’

  Gustav nips my finger, worrying at it in his mouth, still tugging at the silver chain. I see it biting into the crease of his wrist.

  ‘That doesn’t sound remotely fair. What if I don’t want to share you? Or I want to join in?’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told.’ I slap his buttock again, a satisfying sound. I sit back on his thighs and fold my green silk dress into a strip. I hesitate before I tie it over his eyes. I love his eyes. Despite his best efforts to be unreadable, I am learning to translate each and every one of his expressions. Tonight’s expression is ferocious, surprised lust.

  I kiss him roughly on the mouth. Then I tie the blindfold, oh, so lightly, he could shake it off if he wanted. Then I ease myself onto him, oh, so slowly, run my hands over his body, see his nipples prick up, feel the jump of him nearly inside me. He groans quietly as I lower myself inch by inch. My breasts brush over his mouth and he catches one, licks at it, then bites it, hard. Still fighting me. My body clenches tight with excitement, sucks him in, all the way to the hilt. It’s so tempting to rush, but this is me. I’m in charge.

  Now we have a sweet rhythm. He’s with me, we’re rocking together, and all the talk, all the input of today is fizzing through my head. I get an overwhelming vision of him in another life, cavorting with other women, maybe two at once, the jealousy mingling with a contrary lust, an urge to see it, to watch, to try something new, a woman, a threesome, whatever.

  I grind myself over him, the flicker of the forbidden there again, another pair of black eyes staring at me, goading me from the sidelines.

  I push myself at Gustav’s mouth so that the pain will eradicate that other face. The jealousy is good, we can keep that, I can risk imagining those other bodies, because Gustav is mine, I’m the only one riding him, jacking up the rhythm. I need to ease these urges because it’s too soon, too soon, but it’s so intense now, my lover pulling against the silver chain as I grip him tighter inside and he thrusts so hard that I bounce off him.

  ‘Tell me I’m the best you ever had,’ I suddenly growl, leaning close to him. ‘I want to hear you say it.’

  He shakes his head. ‘You’re a bitch on heat.’

  I lift myself right up so that I’m just balancing on the tip.

  ‘You want this or not?’

  He lies still. I can’t see him under the blindfold. I need his eyes on me, urgently, but I can’t stop this, I flick myself so that he slips inside again and the pressure builds inside me, it feels so good to be on top. He draws back, tenses and pushes hard and doesn’t stop until we can both hear my ragged gasps of pleasure, but as soon as I start to shudder and scream he untwists his wrists from the silver chain, shakes off the blindfold and, still inside me, hurls us both off the sofa.

  Now he’s hanging
over me. ‘Not so fast, young lady. And I’m going to do you right down here, my little slattern, because today you deserve an unforgiving surface.’

  He pushes me across the cold floor and I relish the strength of him as my skin scrapes and squeaks and then he’s coming too and the sound and the fury are over.

  We roll over and I rest my head on his chest, listen to the drumming of his heart. His arms are tight around me, our legs splayed on the rug. I kiss his throat and can’t resist one last jibe.

  ‘All we’re missing is someone else to join in. What would you say, master? Would you allow me to try it?’

  Oh, God. Why did I say that? Who am I talking about?

  ‘Maybe. If I could vet who it was. And then watch.’

  There’s one person we could never allow. What is the matter with me? I have to hound Pierre out of my mind before he does any more damage.

  ‘And if I am there to keep an eye. Make sure you don’t get too sharp a taste for it.’ Gustav brings his hands down with a harsh slap on my bottom. ‘But, as the Miss Folkes Journal of How to Live says: Never say never.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  The family Robinson are grouped around the grand piano like the von Trapps. I catch Gustav’s eye in the hope that I won’t burst out laughing at the accuracy of my prediction. It’s not just the chinos, preppy button-down shirts and tea dresses that are so funny. What’s making me laugh is Gustav lurking in the corner behind the light box, dressed down in jeans, biker jacket and indie beard, posing as my assistant.

  Mr Robinson and his two huge, lumbering sons break free from the tableau.

  ‘I think that completes the family shots, Serena.’ The paterfamilias shakes my hand. His hands are enormous and powerful. I can imagine them wielding an axe to chop down a tree, or aiming a hunting rifle to shoot a grizzly bear. ‘But I’d like to pay for some extra time to take some pre-wedding shots of my daughter Emilia with her maid of honour? The big day is fast approaching, and she wanted something – a little different. Scenes from her bachelor days, she says, before she becomes a wife. You know, trying on the dresses, doing their hair, what have you. More girly and fun than the wedding photographer could provide.’ Mr Robinson rolls his eyes and pats his pocket to indicate the drain his family are on his finances. ‘That bridesmaid will have to go once Emilia’s hitched, of course. No more sleepovers.’

  Gustav looks ostentatiously at his watch, and again I struggle to keep a straight face. No mere photographer’s assistant would be wearing a Patek like that. And what’s more, I’m certain Mr Robinson has spotted the discrepancy. I hope he thinks I’m prosperous enough to give my sexy assistants expensive gifts and even naughtier rewards.

  ‘Oh, please, Serena?’ pleads Emilia, shooting a poisonous look at her father behind his back. ‘My best friend Rosaria is already waiting upstairs. Pop promised we could have a photographic session all to ourselves.’

  ‘And what my princess wants, my princess gets.’

  Mr Robinson puts his arm round his wife’s shoulder but the look in his eye is of a hard-nosed senator who, when he isn’t directing the country’s fortunes, always gets his way.

  Princess Emilia sidles up beside me and I am nearly knocked sideways by the strength of her floral perfume. She is demure yet curvy, her mousy hair drawn into a French plait, and her tea dress, busy with almost exactly the same splashy design of roses as her demure, curvy mother’s, is too tight. I can see the cream lace bra peaking between the straining mother-of-pearl buttons.

  ‘I would love to, Emilia, Mr Robinson, but this is a little short notice.’ I dare Gustav to return my glance. ‘My assistant has to be somewhere else and I really need him here to hump the heavy equipment, especially if we have to go upstairs.’

  Emilia giggles prettily and marches straight over to Gustav, kicking off her kitten heels as she goes. She lays her hands on his arm, and I can see his elbow stiffen slightly beneath the leather sleeve. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Serena’s assistant? You could just “hump” those big old cameras upstairs and then leave her to it, perhaps? It’s just going to be us girls posing in my bedroom, after all?’ She lowers her voice so her father can’t hear, but I can. ‘Scenes from a virginal girlhood!’

  Gustav rubs his chin, tugs the beanie low over his forehead. God, I could rip those filthy jeans off his long legs and sit on him right now. He looks absolutely gorgeous. Dirty, mean, rough. I want to feel that beard scratching my face and other parts of me until they’re raw.

  ‘I stay with Signorina Folkes. But just a few minute.’ He has exaggerated his foreign accent and hearing him mangling the language like that makes me want to giggle until wetness springs inside my knickers. I groan inwardly and twist on the lens cap. I want him to speak to me like that when we’re in bed tonight.

  ‘Yes, just a few minute,’ Mrs Robinson sighs, ducking out of her husband’s grip and sweeping out of the room after her enormous sons. ‘I have a roast chicken just about to come out of the oven and I don’t want it resting for too long.’

  ‘You’ll do it, Miss Folkes,’ mutters Mr Robinson, flexing his arms in readiness for the carving knife. ‘And I’ll pay you triple time.’

  I give a silly curtsy and follow the slow, strangely sensuous pace of Emilia Robinson’s wide bottom up the white painted stairs that lead several storeys to the top of the narrow house. I deliberately imitate her swaying gait for Gustav’s benefit, stopping short every so often in front of him so that he bangs, at eye level, into my own butt.

  The daughter of the house has a thickly carpeted and curtained bedroom that is a riot of pastel femininity, just as I imagined. The curtains are half closed so that we are bathed in a kind of rosy twilight. The bed is festooned with chintz curtains and fairy lights, and hanging from the wardrobe door is a huge white wedding dress, crackling in cellophane as if it already has a body inside it, breathing.

  Emilia calls a name softly and pads over to the bathroom. I lean close to Gustav as he erects the tripod and studio lights, running my hands over the front of his jeans.

  ‘I know it’s a pain, but it was your idea to accompany me on as many future assignments as possible, so you’re working to my schedule now. I’ll make it up to you, honey,’ I murmur, pressing the growing shape of him under his button flies. ‘Or I could dismiss you from your duties?’

  ‘I stay right here,’ he answers through gritted teeth, holding my hand hard on him before opening up the white umbrella to diffuse the already dreamy ambience and handing me the light meter. ‘I’m getting huge pleasure, also erection, when rich powerful Robinson dynasty think sun shine out of your sweet ass.’

  The ham Latino accent nearly has me coming on the spot. But before I can say anything the bathroom door opens, and a petite girl with raven ringlets framing her round face steps out on bare feet. She rushes over to Emilia, who is arranging herself on her bed.

  ‘My maid of honour. Rosaria.’

  Emilia giggles and bats her eyelashes at her friend, who crawls onto the bed and kneels up behind the bride-to-be. She hooks her fingers into Emilia’s prim plait and pulls it apart, so that Emilia’s thick tawny hair is released in waves.

  The girls go into action, posing demurely, one brushing the other’s hair, one arranging a necklace round the other’s throat, both going to stand by the window in their pretty see-through petticoats, then Rosaria buttoning Emilia into the wedding dress, admiring yet envious, while Emilia smiles smugly at her own reflection in the mirror. Soft-focus photographs that could advertise expensive French scent or bedroom interiors.

  ‘Those shots will do for Momma and Poppa. Keep them thinking I’m their innocent daughter all pure for her arranged marriage with Mr Perfect,’ says Emilia, giggling, as she takes off the jewellery, unpins the veil and hangs up the gown before slipping back into her tea dress. ‘Now for my private collection.’

  Rosaria, evidently the mistress of the scene, pulls Emilia over to the bed again and fondles her friend’s loosened tresses for a moment, transforming E
milia from teen into temptress. Then she brings her hands round to the front of Emilia’s dress, her fingers working quickly to unfasten all those over-exercised buttons.

  Gustav glances at me, then at the door as if considering his escape, then at the least obvious place to sit. Which is in the corner furthest from the bed, on a vast, white-painted rocking chair.

  The girls notice him moving, and their eyes glance up sleepily. ‘Oh, he can come, go, we don’t really care,’ Emilia says, stroking her maid of honour’s dark hands as they rest on her big white breasts. ‘An audience might be fun.’

  ‘I’ll make myself as invisible as possible, too. Just need to take a light reading,’ I murmur, leaning towards the girls and holding the meter up.

  Something clicks in their eyes. The black Mexican eyes and the forget-me-not WASP ones. Rosaria pulls sharply on Emilia’s flowery dress, and it rips. They both smile innocently at me, and rip it again, so that it falls in flowery strips on the bed.

  What will Mother Robinson say? Not just about the torn dress. The girls are running their hands over each other, now wearing their old-fashioned satin petticoats, and Rosaria, who I realise has nothing on under her slip, suddenly yanks Emilia’s petticoat down and unclips her bra.

  Behind me I hear the creak of the rocking chair and Gustav swearing under his breath.

  ‘We don’t want you to be invisible. We want you to sit over here, Serena,’ Emilia orders, sublimely comfortable in her state of déshabille and patting the puffy duvet.

  ‘Well, a few close-ups, if that’s what you want?’

  I glance over at Gustav, but he is looking straight at the girls, and not at me. I feel a stab of competition as I see the gleam of amused lust in his eyes. I’m fully clothed in my working gear, unwinding cables and setting up cameras, my hair twisted up in a messy knot on my head, and these two are an abundance of semi-naked plump flesh, female aromas, round shoulders and strong bare legs.