“Oui, they are perfect,” Patty nodded as she walked around her. “You may go across to makeup.”
Having makeup applied was one of Vivien’s favorite things in the world. She would close her eyes, feel the thick, soft brush glide across her face, the soft foam float over her eyelids, the lipstick slide around her lips, and be transported into a tingling alpha state. She could sit in the makeup chair for an hour without moving, and as the makeup artist threw a white cotton shawl around her, she sighed and sank into the chair.
Dominic had been watching Gustav, Raphael and the crew, setting up the lights, and glancing across the room, he noticed the wardrobe door was open. Ambling inside, he found Vivien sitting in front of the makeup mirror with her eyes closed. She seemed to be in some kind of idyllic state as the makeup artist worked her magic. He smiled, and leaning against the wall, he made a mental note to pick up some thick, sable, makeup brushes, but the delightful sight was interrupted by Maxine arriving to collect her.
“Time,” she announced, walking up to Vivien’s chair.
“Almost done,” the makeup artist declared.
Vivien slowly opened her eyes, and staring at her reflection, she spied Dominic against the back wall watching her, his arms crossed, and a small smile on his face.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Vous etes tres belles,” he sighed, walking towards her.
“Meaning?” she asked softly, rising from the chair.
“You are very beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling a warm blush move through her body.
Making their way back to the dungeon, she found the area around the hanging chains surrounded by freestanding stage lights. Standing nearby, Franco, the tall, swarthy, handsome model dressed in black leather pants, was shirtless, and having his face powdered.
“There’s something oddly disturbing about that,” Vivien whispered.
“Oui, it is somehow not right,” Dominic chuckled.
“Ah, Vivien, you look perfect, yes, it is perfect,” Gustav announced, bustling forward. “Dominic, please will you do the job?”
“My pleasure,” Dominic grinned, and taking Vivien by the hand, he led her across to the chains where an assistant was waiting, holding several pairs of shackles.
“The black leather with the fur,” Gustav called after them.
As Dominic placed them around Vivien’s wrists, he leaned his mouth to her ear.
“Imagine when I do this and we are alone.”
The hot, wet heat shuddered through her sex, and as she watched his fingers buckle the straps, she leaned against him for support.
“Dominic,” she breathed, “I want this so bad.”
“Mmm, I know, and you will have it, and more than you have ever dreamed.”
Moving her to the chains, he began to lift her arms when Gustav walked quickly to join them.
“Please, the bra, is this all right, Vivien?”
“Yes, sure,” she nodded.
Dominic turned her around so her back was to the room, then standing behind her he unsnapped her bra, pulling it gently down her arms, and though he tried, he couldn’t prevent his cock from springing to life.
“I wish I could take you to my home right his minute,” he breathed.
“Me too.”
Not knowing what else to do with it, he stuffed the bra in his pocket, then lifting her arms, he snapped the cuffs to the chain and stepped away. Raphael, hidden in the dark behind a large camera, began shouting instructions, and assistants started scurrying around, changing the lights.
“Vivien, legs apart, arch your back and look over your shoulder,” Gustav called. “Franco, what we talked about, hand just above the waistband.”
As the session continued, the chains were pulled up so she was on her toes, another time in stiletto’s, and yet another out of the chains, but with them hanging in the background as she knelt before Franco, her back to the camera. Standing in the shadows, Dominic had gazed admiringly, all the while his need becoming an intense ache, and when it came time to change her clothes, he hurried forward, handed her the bra, then walked her back to the wardrobe room.
“These pictures will be unbelievable,” he said softly.
“Dominic,” she mewed, “the things I’m feeling…”
“I know, ma chérie, I know.”
With every change of clothing, Vivien was placed in a different area of the dungeon, and each tableau sent hot shivers through her body. The last shot of the day was on the bondage chair, and she was dressed in a white lace, midriff shirt with denim trim, the matching jeans sporting transparent lace patches.
“Both of you, stand beside the chair, and Franco move behind her, fingers on the buttons of her shirt as if you are unfastening them. You are going to strip her for the chair, yes? That is the message, and Vivien, please, this small crop between your teeth.”
As Franco took up his position, and Vivien accepted the short, fat crop in her mouth, the photographer called Gustav to his side, speaking in a hushed tone. Moments later, Gustav stepped away and walked swiftly towards her.
“We have an idea,” Gustav declared, “but it will require Dominic, if he is willing. Dominic?”
“Oui, what can I do?” he asked, walking out of the shadows.
“I need you, but only your back. You don’t have to worry, no-one will know it’s you.”
“Moi?”
“You have great shoulders. What do you say?”
“Sure,” he grinned.
“Please come to wardrobe with me. You must be in the same pants as Franco.”
Vivien, who had taken the crop from between her teeth, smiled happily as Gustav led him away.
How great is this? We’ll have some shots together, and the world will never know it’s him.
“You have feelings for Dominic Dubois, no?” Franco asked, sitting down in the bondage chair.
“It shows that much?”
“Oui, your eyes, they shine when you look at him, and his shine back. It is, what is the word, it is qui suscite l'inspiration. I’m sorry, I don’t know the English.”
“I think, perhaps, it’s inspiring?”
“Oui, inspiring,” he smiled.
Closing her eyes, she prayed the shoot would soon be over. She wanted nothing more than to be naked with her painter, tied and blindfolded, and completely at his mercy.
“I’m here,” Dominic announced, walking back into the room.
Vivien looked across and caught her breath. They had smoothed his tumbled hair off his face and behind his ears, taming the ever present soft curls. His body was as lean and muscled as Franco’s, but his shoulders were wider, and the black leather pants accentuated his physique.
“Ah, yes, this will be great,” Gustav declared, hurrying forward. “Please, Dominic, stand here, hands on the hips, Franco, like you were before, behind her. Vivien, look at Dominic, pretend it is only the three of you here, and you are being presented to him by the Dungeon Master.”
“Sure,” she managed, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do, than stare at him.
She placed the crop back between her teeth, and Franco took up his position behind her.
“Okay, yes, Franco, slowly unbutton her shirt.”
As Vivien stared at Dominic, feeling his heavy brown eyes bore into hers, she remembered how he’d felt inside her, how she had exploded from his decadent suggestions, how his kiss had sent her swirling into a cascading foam of need. She thought about how she longed to experience the cuffs, the chains, the floggers, everything the dungeon had to offer, and suddenly a wave of sexual energy began spinning around her like an erotic vortex.
The room was silent, the only sound the camera clicking, and an occasional direction from the photographer to move an arm, lift a chin, or turn slightly, but the words were thin and far away. Every part of her was attached to Dominic.
As the minutes ticked by, and Franco’s fingers continued their journey down the front of he
r shirt, she sank into the fantasy. This was real, this man was undressing her for Dominic, and at any minute he would slowly pull back the blouse and reveal her charms, and Dominic? What would he do? Would he take the crop from her teeth and whip her? Would he tie her to the chair and slap the leather tongue against her nipples? Would he use it to tease between her legs, sending her into a tsunami of wanting?
“That’s a rap!”
The sharp, loud statement shook her from her fantasy, and as the applause echoed through the small room, she took a deep breath, shaking herself. Dominic was at her side, pulling her into him, and taking the crop from her mouth, he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her fervently. He felt her shudder, and achingly breaking away, he brought his lips to her ear.
“We will go to my home now.”
“Yes, oh, yes, please,” she begged.
As she moved shakily back to the wardrobe room, Dominic’s arm around her, Gustav caught up to them.
“Vivien, you were superb, beyond superb. Those last pictures, there are no words, they will be the cornerstone of the campaign, and you will be a huge star, and, Dominic, how can I thank you?”
“It was an amazing shoot,” she said softly. “Thank you, Gustav, for an afternoon I’ll never forget.”
“I have to thank you too, Gustav,” Dominic said softly. “I have a portrait in my head,” the true portrait of Vivien that must be painted.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They stumbled through the door to his studio, and lifting her into his arms, he carried her swiftly through the oils, the brushes, the easels and the canvas’s, striding up the stairs. As he laid her on his large, ornate bed, ripping off his clothes, then hers, the fever that descended upon them took control, engulfing them in a fiery passion.
His lips devoured her body, his weight rested upon her, his cock surged inside her, and his hands held her down as he consumed her. Hot, whispered instructions fed her fire, and when their mutual moment sent them skyward, when the euphoria engulfed them and the day’s built-up energy exploded, leaving their hearts thumping and their bodies trembling, they clung together, immersed in their closeness.
Whatever needed to be said had been voiced through their coupling, and resting entwined, they let the day fall behind them, drifting together into never-never land.
It was a pigeon scuttling across the skylight that caused Dominic to stir, and lifting his eyes he stared up at the night. Vivien was motionless, her breathing deep and even, and gently extricating himself from her limbs, he moved softly from the bed.
Pulling on thick sweat pants and a top, he meandered down to his studio, selected a blank canvas from several he had lying against the wall, and setting it on an easel, he picked up a thick pencil and began to sketch.
The magic took possession as his hand floated over the empty white board, and Vivien’s face came to life. The subtle rapture took hold, and her image, alive in his mind’s eye, traveled down his arm, through his hand, and on to the canvas. When at last he was satisfied, when the glittering girl had come to life and was staring back at him, he moved the easel to the corner of the room, draping a heavy cloth over her; she was not to be seen until the portrait was finished.
Moving into his kitchen, he pulled a block of cheese from his refrigerator, and opening a bottle of red wine, he splashed it into a glass. Perching on a stool he indulged for a few minutes, enjoying the rich nuttiness of the cheese, and the calming oaky flavor of the wine. He knew Robson would have seen the photographs by now. Getting them to the Viscount had been the easiest part of the entire plan.
Ben Marshall had a habit. When one of his favorite models was working, he made sure the photographer sent him samples of the photo’s immediately after the shoot had wrapped. Ben would look them over, then forward them to his model, along with some amusing, crusty or sarcastic comments; in Vivien’s case, he was also required to send them to Robson. Dominic had no doubt Robson would be furious, and Vivien had an additional piece of news that he was sure would cause the Viscount to call off the engagement.
But Dominic had something extra in his arsenal.
Lukas was arranging a carrot for Robson, something that Dominic hoped would support Robson’s decision to call off the wedding.
As he nibbled the cheese and sipped the wine, Dominic knew the most important part of all his work, was his Plan B, the insurance policy that would keep Vivien safe from any vengeful act that Robson might contemplate.
Placing the wine and cheese on a tray, he carried it upstairs to the bedroom, and as the door creaked, Vivien stirred, stretched, and blinked open her eyes.
“Wow, I think I must have passed out,” she remarked. “Is that wine and cheese?” she yawned. “I’ve never woken up to wine and cheese.”
“But you are in France, with a Frenchman, or half a Frenchman, and it is night,” he smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just a little bit of each,” he said softly, breaking off a chunk of cheese and feeding it to her.
“Mmmm, that’s good,” she mumbled, and taking a sip of wine, she sighed, “you’re right, I like waking up to this.”
“Not too much, but a little is good, but now I think we should go and have some dinner, and then you should go back to your hotel.”
“I know,” she replied, sighing again. “I’m being picked up early again in the morning. I’d much rather stay here, I love this place.”
“Tomorrow you are shooting at the Tower, yes?”
“Yes, it’s all about coats, and Gustav is hoping it will rain,” she declared, rolling her eyes.
“Do you want me to be there?”
“Only if you want to come, otherwise I can just meet you when we’re done. Darn it,” she frowned.
“What?”
“I didn’t call Robson. I’ll bet there are a thousand messages from him. He’s probably seen the pictures by now. Should I call him yet?”
“I think,” Dominic frowned, “he will yell at you, he will be nasty, and you don’t want to have dinner if you’re upset, so perhaps we should eat first.”
“I won’t be upset, I’ll be relieved. I want him to yell, I want him to be nasty, and then I can tell him my bit of extra news, and hopefully he’ll have a total meltdown, and tell me never to set foot on his doorstep again.”
“Ah, yes, this is true,” Dominic sighed. “Whatever you think, ma chérie.”
“I think I love it when you call me that,” she sighed, leaning forward and kissing him lightly. “Do you have a shower here?”
“Of course,” he laughed. “This place is much bigger than you think.”
“In that case, I’d like to take a shower, then call him, then have dinner. Does that work for you?”
“Oui, this works for me. There is a cafe around the corner. The food is…well…you will not believe how good.”
“Sounds perfect,” she said, taking another bite of cheese. “Okay, I’m getting up.”
“Maybe I will take a shower with you,” he smiled.
“And maybe I’ll let you,” she giggled.
Back in London, Alfred, in formal attire, was sitting in the front reception room of Robson’s house, trying to calm his friend.
“Why hasn’t she called me?” Robson growled, staring at his phone.
“You’ve asked me that question seventeen times in the last hour,” Alfred complained, “and I’ll repeat what I said earlier; she’s afraid to talk to you, because she knows you probably blew a gasket when you saw her pictures.”
“If I’d known she was flying off to model for Gustav, I would have blown a gasket then, but even for Gustav, those pictures are…are…”
“Are wholly inappropriate for your future wife,” Alfred finished.
“To say the least!” Robson exclaimed. “She’s gone too far. I just don’t know what to do about it.”
“You know we have to leave in about ten minutes,” Alfred reminded him, “and you’re still not dressed.”
“I know, I wish I could cancel, I’m in no moo
d,” Robson grumbled.
“Maybe it will take your mind off things. You like Lukas, you thoroughly enjoy going to his parties at the Embassy.”
“Yes, but this was awfully last minute.”
“Sounds a bit intriguing if you ask me. I can’t wait to go. I just adore meeting European royalty, no matter how far down the food chain they happen to be. Their lineage is all so devilishly convoluted. Who is this guest of honor again?”
“She has something to do with the Austrian Burgenland nobility,” Robson impatiently replied. “All I know is, she’s like us, stinking rich, and her unexpected visit demanded a dinner.”
“Awfully good of Lukas to include us,” Alfred remarked. “Are you joining me, or will I have to make your apologies?”
“No, I’m joining you, and you’re right about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“It will be good to have the distraction. Those pictures, I’m just beside myself.”
At the Embassy, Lukas was in the main reception room, and his last-minute guest, Valentina Brunn, an attractive woman from an aristocratic Austrian family, was sipping a glass of champagne. Her elegant demeanor, borne from her younger years at a finishing school in Switzerland, gave her the bearing of a woman with graceful confidence, and educated at Oxford, her english was virtually perfect.
“But Lukas, this is all so last minute, and this man-”
“Valentina, it is a strange wind that blows this way,” Lukas murmured. “You will have some conversation, nice food, and a new friend might be found.”
“I cannot believe you persuaded me to fly here just for this,” she remarked, shaking her head.
“It is not just for this, but for an enjoyable week in London. I know you miss it.”
“I confess, I do, and I miss the English countryside. I so enjoyed our weekends there. It’s a shame you gave up the lease on that house. You could have used it for holidays.”
“We thought about it, but there are excellent hotels if we ever want to return,” he remarked. “Your family has mountains of money, you should buy a place if you like it so much.”
A Promise of Passion Page 11