by Roxie Rivera
"Apparently, watching bootlegged Doctor Who videotapes is one of the ways he taught himself English. Star Wars, Star Trek—he's huge into sci-fi and fantasy films and books."
"He was an orphan, yes?"
"Yes. Ivan, Dimitri, Yuri and Nikolai grew up in the same orphanage together. It wasn't a good experience."
"The understatement of the century, I'm sure," Niels murmured. "But loving fantastical fiction and films makes sense. I'm sure it was an escape for him." He stretched out his legs. "What about Bianca and Sergei?"
I nodded. "They have family visiting them here. Sergei's mother and brother," I clarified. Thinking of the night I had gone to their hotel suite to support Bianca and meet Sergei's family, I added, "It's been, um, tense. His mother isn't exactly fond of her."
"Why? I've met Bianca. She's a wonderful young woman. She's tenacious, talented, hardworking—and my God! She's beautiful. Stunning, actually. That body? Those hips? I can think of a dozen Doms who would sell their souls for a submissive like her."
My jaw dropped at his description of Bianca and the mention of dominants and submissives in the same sentence with her.
"Why so scandalized?" he asked with an amused chuckle. "Surely, with your artistic eye, you can appreciate a luscious beauty like that." His eyes darkened and glittered, and I could tell he was thinking of something highly salacious. "That zaftig figure in a corset? I would pay a million pounds for the chance to photograph her for my collection."
"Well don't make that offer anywhere Sergei might overhear you," I warned. "He'll break you in half with one punch."
"I daresay he would do more than simply break me in half. Although my tastes run toward the more extreme ends of foreplay, I think allowing a Russian giant to beat me senseless might be a bit much, even for me."
I let loose a shocked laugh. "You are crazy."
"Like a fox," Niels countered with a grin.
Shaking my head at his strange sense of humor, I gazed out the window and enjoyed the London cityscape. His regal mansion sat on two acres of fenced land about twenty minutes outside the city. The gatehouse was manned by a guard, and the long, winding road toward the imposing manor that ended with a burbling fountain and circular drive was like something out of a romance novel.
Niels escorted me into his beautifully restored home. A short man with a flair for vintage style waited patiently near the doorway. His three piece suit and pocket watch plus the spiffy, bright white spats covering his black shoes made him look out of time.
"Vivian, this is René. He runs the household for me."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kalasnikov." René bowed. "May I take your purse?"
"Oh, yes." I handed over my bag. "Please call me Vivian or Vivi."
"As you wish, ma'am."
"I'm taking Vivian to the gallery and then I'll be making dinner. You'll see to the rest of the household."
"Of course, sir."
Niels gestured for me to join him, and we crossed the grand foyer with its cream marble floors and vaulted ceiling adorned with twinkling chandeliers to the wide staircase. The rich, dark wood presented a stark contrast to the pale floors and bright ceilings.
"This is a beautiful balance," I commented as we climbed the stairs. "The brown and cream tones, I mean."
"The staircase is original to the home. The floors are new." Niels launched into a rundown of all the work he had undertaken during the restoration and renovation of the seventeen bedroom mansion. "I chose hardwood for the second floor. I wanted something that felt warmer than the marble downstairs."
"It's a nice contrast." Thinking of the massive size of the manor, I exclaimed, "You must have an army of housekeepers!"
"Not quite," he replied rather cryptically. "This way."
The house was shaped liked squared-off "C" with two distinct wings attached to a larger central structure. Niels had elegantly arranged his art collection on the walls. They were grouped by period and style. More than once, I stopped along the progression to simply stare and appreciate the brushstrokes and techniques.
"This is my pre-1900 collection," he explained as we examined a rather sinister and almost macabre El Greco painting. "My more modern pieces are in New York, Amsterdam and Copenhagen."
"They wouldn't look right in this house," I murmured, stepping closer to scrutinize the realistic shading to the fabric folds painted on the canvas. "It would be jarring to come across one of your Chegall's in this space."
Niels smiled at me. "You understand the dilemma perfectly."
Remembering the art theft at Yuri's mansion perpetrated by Lena's bumbling cousin, I asked, "How in the world do you keep all of these paintings safe? Aren't you worried about a burglary?"
"I don’t think there are many art thieves stupid enough to steal from me. Where would they fence the paintings? I'm one of the top collectors in the world. If one of my pieces went missing, every black market dealer on the face of this planet would be looking for it and running right back to me for the reward money."
"I suppose you have a point there." I moved on to the next selection and shook my head in wonder and awe. "I can't imagine waking up every morning and strolling by these museum quality pieces in my jammies. What a trip that must be!"
Niels laughed and then tilted his head. I sensed the sadness radiating from him. "I forget sometimes how incredibly lucky I am. It's easy to become jaded and cynical when there's nothing you can't buy."
"There are plenty of things you can't buy, Niels." I crossed the hall to a religious piece that had caught my eye. One look at the painting, and I could tell it was Spanish and probably Baroque period. "Is this a Herrera?"
"The Elder," Niels confirmed with a nod. He joined me in front of the painting and rubbed the heavily gilded frame with his thumb. Glancing down at me, he asked, "What types of things can't be bought?"
I blinked and then frowned. "Love, obviously. Loyalty. Devotion. Honor. Respect. You can buy material things, but you can't buy the things that matter most, Niels."
His thumb moved along the frame, and he cast a knowing smile my way. "I've figured out why I like you so much."
"Oh?"
"You're good, through and through, Vivian. You're sweetness and light."
"You aren't the first man to tell me that."
"No?" He seemed almost disappointed to hear that.
"Nikolai calls me his sun."
"He must find the warmth of your light wholly intoxicating after so many years in the darkness."
He used to, I thought with a gut-wrenching pang of sadness. I turned away from Niels and walked to the next painting. We enjoyed the art in companionable silence for the next hour, moving from piece to piece until we reached the end of the east wing.
"Would you like to see my studio?"
"Of course!" I loved touring the working spaces of other artists so I happily trailed him to a room across the hall that faced out toward the gardens. What I discovered when I entered the studio surprised me.
Oversized windows allowed a great deal of natural light into the room. It seemed as if he had knocked down a wall or two to expand the space. Unlike the rest of the house, there were very few period details here. The ceiling was lined with professional grade lighting. One entire wall housed a fortune's worth of equipment.
A four poster bed with luxurious white sheets and a fluffy comforter sat along one wall. I noticed other props in the room that made me blush. I might not have ever played the types of games he liked, but I had read enough steamy novels to know what a spanking horse looked like. I didn't even want to think about what might be kept behind a door on the far end of the room.
"I suppose I don't have to ask what types of photos you're taking in here." I caressed the sheer white curtains and peered out the windows. My appreciative gaze landed on the garden blooming with flowers and herbs. The colors were simply amazing.
"I tend to prefer erotic photography, yes," Niels admitted as he moved around behind me, "but I also do shoots of a
non-sexual nature. In fact, I'm hoping you'll agree to let me do one right now."
I glanced back with surprise. "Right now?"
"Yes." Niels sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hands on his thighs. Even sitting down, he seemed predatory and far too dangerous. Yet there I calmly stood, seriously considering his offer to photograph me. We were playing a strange game, one where he seemed determined to push against my boundaries merely for the pleasure of feeling me smack him back and shoo him away. Perverse, indeed.
"Let me see your portfolio. If I like what I see, I'll allow you to photograph me."
"Fair enough." He stood. "Have a seat, please."
I scanned the room for a spot that seemed safe and picked a run-of-the-mill leather club chair. Niels left and returned a short time later with a heavy garment bag slung over one shoulder and a photo album in the other. He placed the garment bag on the bed and brought the album to me.
After dragging over another chair, he sat next to me and opened the cover. "These are my private photographs. You won't see these in pose books or collections anywhere."
I had expected the photographs to only feature female subjects but was proven wrong on the first page. He had a remarkable gift for capturing his subjects with such emotionally vulnerable expressions. There was something so incredibly intriguing about the photos. I couldn’t stop turning the pages. Even before I reached the end of the album, I had my answer.
I looked up from the album to catch Niels watching me with that intense and unnerving expression of his. He must have seen my answer on my face. "Say it," he commanded.
There was nothing gruff or intimidating about his direction. It was delivered calmly and without pressure. I gave my answer easily. "Yes."
With a pleased smile, he took the album. "I want you to wear what's in the garment bag. I'll step outside while you're getting ready."
"What's in the bag?" I rose from the chair and crossed to the bed.
"You'll see soon enough." He fixed me with a pointed stare as he lingered in the doorway. "You'll wear only what's in the bag or I won't photograph you."
His condition pushed the strange game we were playing into dangerous territory. The idea of agreeing to something so scandalous both excited and terrified me. I experienced the briefest tremor of guilt but the still painful memories of discovering Nikolai with Tatiana squashed it quickly. I was strong enough not to cross that line. This was artistic expression and nothing more.
I unzipped the bag and gawked at the luxurious white fur coat waiting for me. Never in my life had I worn fur. It simply wasn't practical in the Houston climate, even in the colder months. It was also beyond my price range and beyond my comfort level as far as animals were concerned. Petting the soft fur, I cringed to think about the foxes who had met their end simply to be turned into a garment.
I waffled back and forth before finally deciding to wear it. I soothed my conscience by focusing on the facts. I hadn't purchased or ordered the coat. If I didn't wear it now, it would simply go back into storage. That was a waste in more ways than one.
I undressed slowly, toeing off my ballet flats and stripping out of my skirt, top and bra without too much hesitation. I couldn't bring myself to remove my panties though. Only one man had ever seen me without them. Only one man had ever been allowed to see or touch my naked body. That meant something to me.
I picked up the weighty coat and shook it free from the bag. I expected there to be an unpleasant scent associated with the fur but my nose detected nothing but a clean scent that had the faintest hint of lavender. I slid my arms into the silk-lined coat and closed the lapels around my almost naked body. The coat's hem kissed my knees and covered everything that needed to be covered.
"Vivian?" Niels knocked at the door. "Are you ready?"
No. "Yes."
He opened the door but didn't enter immediately. He stood there, staring at me as if he had never seen me before this moment. Somewhere along the way, he had lost his jacket. The white sleeves of his classic button-down shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing corded and muscular forearms. An unbidden image of those powerful arms swinging a flogger or striking a submissive lover with a riding crop entered my mind. I quickly batted away the image. Don't go there.
His keen gaze flitted to the bed, moving over my neatly folded clothing, and back to me. "You broke my rule." His gaze settled on my waist. "Open the coat."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Vivian."
"I'm not yours to command."
A genuine smile brightened his handsome face. "No, you aren't." With an incline of his head, he stepped into the studio and shut the door. "There's no need for you to be skittish about removing your panties. I've already promised not to touch you, but if it makes you feel more comfortable, I'll allow the underwear."
I noticed he held my handbag in the grip of his left fingers. "Why do you have my purse?"
"I assumed you have your lipstick in here. I have makeup in that drawer, but I thought you would prefer your own."
"I would."
"There's a bathroom this way if you need a mirror."
Careful to keep the coat closed, I followed him to the room he had indicated. He put my purse on the long, deep counter and opened a series of drawers while I retrieved my tube of lipstick and twisted it to reveal the creamy red tip.
"What do they call that shade?" he asked as he moved to stand behind me.
I watched his movements in the mirror's reflection. "Russian Red."
He went still. "You're joking."
A grin teased my mouth. "No, it really is called that. Holly Phillips, my stylist, helped me choose it before my wedding. I've been wearing it ever since."
Niels laughed, the sound so rich and full that it inspired my own giggle. "What are the odds of that?"
"I thought Holly was kidding me when she read the box."
Still chuckling, Niels picked up a brush and began to comb my hair away from my face. I held perfectly still. I couldn't decide if I was uncomfortable or if this was entirely proper. It felt too familiar and almost intimate. Niels didn't touch anything but my hair. His strong fingers gathered the strands into a simple updo that he expertly secured with pins.
"What?" he asked as he added a few more pins to keep everything the way he wanted it.
"I had no idea you were so multi-talented."
"Oh, min lille en," he murmured so darkly, "you have no idea. Would that I had met you before the Russian! You might have learned to enjoy the full range of my talents."
His fingers flexed over my shoulder. He wanted to touch me. That much was evident from the smoldering intensity of his eyes. It was taking every ounce of his self-control not to break the trust between us. Clearing his throat, he stepped back. "Wait here."
When he was gone, I turned side to side to examine my reflection. The heavier application of my favorite red lipstick had a startling effect against the snowy whiteness of the fur. My black hair presented a similar contrast. I noticed that my tattoo was barely visible over the collar of the coat. Uncertain whether he would want me to conceal it, I adjusted the collar.
"Don't." Niels shook his head when he entered the bathroom to find me fluffing the collar. He held two emerald green jeweler's boxes embossed with a golden logo. "I want to see his mark on you."
The way he said it, the way his voice deepened and grew huskier, made every nerve-ending in my body buzz. Knowing what I did of his sexual tastes, I couldn't help myself. I had to ask. "Do your—"—I searched for the right word—"—paramours wear your mark?"
"Yes, but it's nothing so permanent." He placed the jewelry boxes on the counter. "I would never presume to mark one of my submissives in that way."
"Why not?"
"Because they don’t belong to me," he answered matter-of-factly. "They place themselves in my care for a short while. I treasure their submission, and I reward them with pleasure and pain and my affection."
"But?" I
asked breathlessly.
"But they aren't mine. They can never be mine."
"Why not?"
"It's very complicated, Vivian." He unlatched one of the jewelry boxes. "Much too complicated for us to discuss today." He presented me with a diamond and pearl necklace and matching earrings. They were ostentatious and decadent, and I gasped.
"I can't wear these, Niels."
"I insist."
"But—"
"I insist." His firm tone brooked no refusal. I could only nod, accept the pieces from him as he handed them over and put them on. "And now for the tiara."
He was dead serious. He produced a glittering diamond and pearl tiara from the bulkier jewelry box. "It's been in my family for generations. This all sat in a safe—until today."
"Why me?"
"If you have to ask…" Niels placed the tiara on my head and tucked it into place with a few pins. "There." He stepped back to admire his work. "Now you truly look like the Night Queen."
My head jerked toward his. "How did—?"
"I know everything, min lille en. There are no secrets from a man like me." He clasped my hand and tugged me out of the bathroom. He motioned toward the chair. "Sit."
I perched on the chair and gathered the coat around my naked body while he moved equipment into place and adjusted the gauzy curtains. Camera in hand, he took a series of test shots and made more adjustments to his lighting and the backdrop of the window and the curtains.
When he was satisfied, he crossed the room to the iPod docking station and picked up the small device. He thumbed through his choices and settled on something that he liked. Moments later, the unmistakable notes of The Tsar's Bride began to fill the air. The famous voice of Anna Netrebko soon followed.
Niels shrugged and smiled mischievously. "It seems appropriate. Now. Come here." He gestured to the window. "Stand there."
I took the position he had indicated and waited for more instruction. Niels snapped off a few more photos, moving to different angles and crouching down to get the shots he wanted. He checked the photos on the big computer screen attached to his camera. Whatever he saw didn't please him.
"What size shoe do you wear?"