It Stings So Sweet

by Stephanie Draven

  “Oh, you’re begging me? Well, then.” He reaches up and unstraps my hands. They sag onto the bed where I lay like a corpse. He turns me gently onto my side and when I curl into a ball, he wraps himself around me. “That’s a good girl.”

  I muster up just enough energy to elbow him in the ribs.

  He grunts in agony, rolling onto his back. “Christ, woman! A sneak attack …”

  “You deserved it.”

  He’s still grimacing when he says, “That was my bad rib.”

  “I hope I broke it!” After all, I’ve heard of people having bad ankles or a trick knee, but never a bad rib.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he pants, laughing and groaning in pain at the same time. “Maybe I did deserve it. But it was worth it. Level with me, when was the last time you came that hard?”

  “Never.”

  “Glad to hear it. I like to know the score.”

  I’m pouting. Brooding. But the blood is pounding through my body with such delicious satisfaction that I can’t remember what I’m so sore about. “You broke a rib before?”

  “Two ribs, one collarbone, and various smaller fractures,” he says nonchalantly. “I’ve survived a lot of crashes.”

  I don’t even know what to say to that. It almost makes me sorry for having elbowed him.

  He takes my wrists, which are both red where his belt cut off the circulation, and gently massages them. “Good god, Clara. You’re a fantasy come alive.”

  “You’re not half bad yourself. That’s was a good opening act, Mr. Vanderberg, but I’m still waiting for the feature film.”

  He grumbles. “Believe me, if I had my way I’d be plowing you into this bed right now, but I made you a promise to make it feel like the first time, didn’t I?”

  “I release you from that silly obligation—”

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  I could cry. “How long are you going to keep doing this to me?”

  His lip curls with amusement. “How long am I going to keep driving you wild?”

  I lower my eyelashes in a way that even he can’t resist. “When are you going to fuck me properly?”

  He swallows and his eyes trail down my body. “Propriety’s got nothing to do with it.”

  He can still taste me, I know. I see temptation written all over his face. But before I can get his pants off, his self-control rallies. “Not tonight, Clara.”

  “You have no idea how good I can make you feel, Leo …”

  “Oh, I’ve got a damn good idea.”

  “Let me show you.” I run my hands down his body, aiming for the erection straining against his pants.

  He rolls out of my grasp. “I told you, Clara, I can’t let you put your pretty little hands on me. I know myself. Once I give in, there’s no going back. I’m an all-or-nothing fella and resisting you is more difficult than I thought it would be. Which is why I’ve been staring at all the photos on your walls in a desperate attempt to keep the blood flowing in my brain. They’re brilliant, by the way. Who took them?”

  “I did,” I say, taking his thumb between my lips and sucking on the tip.

  He growls in appreciation. “Don’t worry. I won’t be able to hold out much longer. I’ve just got a few more things about you I need to figure out.”

  “Like what?” I ask, propping myself up on one elbow.

  “Like how many lovers you’ve had.”

  It’s a question I know better than to answer, so I adopt a flippant tone. “I lost count.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “Sure I did. I can’t even remember their names. What about you?”

  “Five,” he says with distressingly little hesitation. “And I can still remember all their names.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He begins to count on his fingers. “Sally, the bordello girl who relieved me of my virginity. Marguerite, the French farm girl. Helen, the army nurse. Pauline, the English socialite. And Susan, the suffragette.”

  “I meant I didn’t believe there were only five! I didn’t want you to list them.”

  He laughs. “Well, what do you think of my list?”

  Looking away in a state of anxiety, I murmur, “I think that my list is much longer.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  This shocks me. “Glad?”

  “I hope your list numbers in the hundreds … this way, when you admit I’m the best you’ve ever had, it’ll really mean something.”

  I shriek with laughter. “Leo!”

  Leaning into me, he nips at my earlobe. “Surely you’ve surmised that your sordid past arouses me.”

  “That’s why you want to know about it? Because it makes you hard?”

  “Among other reasons … Tell me, Clara. How many stag films have you starred in? How many threesomes?”

  I oughtta make some smart remark. I oughtta give some sassy, sexy line like the ones Mae West gives whenever anyone challenges her virtue, but the question actually makes me flush. “Just the one.”

  He touches me now like he has the right, running his hands over my backside. “Have you taken a man in your ass?”

  “Once, but I didn’t like it.”

  “You didn’t much like being licked before, either, but I think I just changed your mind.”

  He thinks that if he’s the one doing it to me, I’ll like it.

  I think he’s right.

  “You know what I’ve never done, Ace? I’ve never had sex with a man who was blackmailing me …”

  His eyes twinkle. “If only I’d known that before. Now it’s too late.”

  “Why? You still have my stag film.”

  “Yes, but it’s mine now. You said you liked the idea that I could show it to anyone, anytime, whenever I wished. Well, I have to tell you, I enjoy it even more than you do. I wouldn’t give it up now for any price.”

  “I’ve created a monster,” I say, then whimper. “Are you going to show someone else?”

  He looks like he’s pondering the matter. “Do you know what I like about how you asked that question, Clara? There’s no doubt in your mind that I’ll do exactly as I please. And that’s why you let me keep your reel.”

  “That’s not the only reason. After all, if I took it when you offered it to me, I’d have cut it to ribbons.”

  “Which is exactly what you should have done. That would have been the safest thing.”

  I creep into the hollow he makes with his arms, resting my head upon his chest. “Safe for Clara Cartwright, maybe. Not safe for me.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  I’m too tired to lie, so the words come out soft and sincere. “If I cut up that film, it’d be like slashing myself to pieces. Like killing my own past and all the things I’ve done. Making it like it never happened is worse than saying it’s a sin. It’d be like admitting that what I did was so wrong, that what I did was just so bad that the part of me who loved doing it can’t even exist.”

  His self-satisfaction melts away. His brow furrows. He struggles for words, and when he finally speaks, he says, “Well, I think this just stopped being a game.”

  “It wasn’t ever a game to me.”

  He shifts to get a better look at me. “Clara, I never want to make you feel like you did anything wrong. Shocking. Sordid. Scandalous, sure. But not wrong.”

  “My mother used to pray for me. ‘God, please don’t let the movies turn my daughter into a whore.’ She never turned away the food I put on the table but she’s so ashamed of me … and she doesn’t even know I made that stag film. It wouldn’t surprise her, though; it’s just exactly what she expects from me.”

  Leo’s jaw tightens. “If you take me home to meet your parents, I’m going to find it difficult to be civil to your mother.”

  “I don’t take men home to meet my parents and even if I did you couldn’t see her. She’s in an asylum.”

  He tries, but fails, to hide his shock. “What’s wrong with her?”

  I do
n’t want to tell him this story. I don’t want to tell anyone this story. And yet, I start telling him.

  “It happened after the fifth movie I made, the one with the camels and all the veils …”

  “I remember that one,” he says, coaxing me to go on.

  “The critics loved it. One of them said that I was a revelation. That I lit up the screen. I was just starting to make money—real money—so my mother and I were still living in a little apartment together. One bedroom. We shared the bed, like we always did. And I came in late one night after work. Rehearsals always sap my pep, so I was so tired I was wobbling on my heels. I’d had a little hooch, not too much. Forgot to wash the makeup off my face. I just climbed under the covers and closed my eyes …”

  He doesn’t rush to fill the silence. Even when I can’t seem to continue with the story, he just waits. I’ve gotten to the hard part now. “When I woke up the next morning, my mother was kneeling over me with her dark hair wild. Calling me names that frothed off her lips. I couldn’t answer back—I couldn’t defend myself because she had a knife against my throat.”

  Leo sits up, all his concentration on me now. If he says anything, I don’t think I’ll be able to go on. But the only words he speaks are with his eyes, which radiate concern.

  “She was going to kill me, Leo. She was asking God for the strength. She told me that if I just kept still and let her slash my throat like a lamb to the sacrifice, that I’d be forgiven my sins and allowed into heaven.”

  Leo twitches, both hands clenching at his sides. “But you didn’t keep still …”

  I shake my head. “I fought her with everything I had. I kicked and punched and elbowed until I knocked the knife out of her hand.”

  “Atta girl,” he says, with soft approval.

  “Then I ran out into the hall, screaming. The neighbors came rushing to help when they saw the blood dripping from where she’d cut me. Not deep, but it bled a lot. There’s a little scar. That’s why I wear so many scarves. It isn’t for fashion; I just like to keep the scar covered.”

  The concern in his eyes becomes stone cold anger. “Let me see.”

  I hesitate, then tilt my head back, exposing the line where my chin becomes my neck.

  Leo gently brushes the scar with his thumb. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not exactly,” I whisper, closing my eyes.

  Then Leo startles me by pressing his lips to the scar.

  It’s not a fevered kiss, not lustful in any way. It’s intimate. Reverent. Almost … worshipful. And I can’t stand it, so I shy away. “See? I’m marked by my sins.”

  “You didn’t do anything to deserve that,” he whispers against my throat.

  “I drove my mother mad.”

  “She was already mad. No sane mother can be driven to slit the throat of her own child.”

  “Well, I had my revenge, didn’t I? I locked her away. If I were half the person that Teddy Morgan is, I’d have kept her at home and hired a nurse. Sadly, I’m too scared to fall asleep in the same house as her …”

  “You’ve got every right to be scared. Anyone would be.”

  “Maybe I’m just too filled with guilt for my sins to stand listening to her point them out.”

  “You’re not a sinner, Clara.”

  I give a delicate snort. “What do you know about sin, Leo? What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

  He withdraws from the intimate embrace to look me in the eye. “I killed seventeen men.”

  “Oh … oh, Leo, no. You were at war …”

  “Yes and I’m not sure I’d do anything differently if I could. But I took men’s lives then let them be counted up as kills to be celebrated. And I’ve witnessed what men can do to each other. It’s made me give a lot of thought to right and wrong. I know what it’s like to hurt people and bear the guilt for that. But all you’ve ever done is use what God gave you to give other people pleasure.”

  I want to believe him so badly. Emotion is so thick in my throat I can barely swallow. Our eyes meet and for just a moment, I think he glimpses past all the veils and costumes I hide behind.

  I’m afraid I’ll cry if I speak, so I don’t.

  This time, Leo does fill the silence. “Be embarrassed that you’re an oversexed vixen. Maybe you oughtta be a little ashamed at the way you always need to be the center of attention. But you’re not a sinner, Clara. You might even be a saint.”

  That breaks through my melancholy.

  “St. Clara Cartwright of Hollywood,” I hoot. “I’d rather be dead!”

  Leo’s tone is gentle, encouraging. “Think about it. Most people can only do good deeds for their friends and neighbors. Through movie screens across the country, you’ve touched millions of people.”

  “Now that sounds filthy,” I tease, because I hate to be maudlin.

  He just keeps stroking my hair. “I like every wicked, lurid, wanton thing about you, Clara. I’ll push you, rattle you, and make you do things you never thought you’d do. Maybe even things that you shouldn’t do. But I won’t let you turn against yourself.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  “I figured that much when you accused me of being wholesome.”

  That makes him crack a smile.

  “Leo, you made me think I could put myself—my film in your hands for safekeeping. If you give it back to me, I’ll cut it up like my mother tried to cut me.”

  He looks more serious now than I’ve ever seen a man look. “Well, don’t worry about that, because I told you. I’m never giving it back.”

  Something flails inside me. “You say that now, but what about when the affair is over and we go our separate ways? You’re not going to want to do the decent thing?”

  Leo kisses my nose. “I’m not that decent, Clara. I can be ruthless when I want to leave my mark. And I want to leave my mark on you. So, I’ll level with you. You can leave me. You can hate me. But you’ll never forget my name in your long list of lovers because from this moment until the day you die, you’ll know that I own a little piece of you.”

  My instinct is to lash out. To set him straight that nobody has ever owned me and nobody ever will. But his certainty quiets me inside. “What if you die first?”

  Given his profession, it seems only fair to ask.

  He hesitates only a moment. “I’ll make a provision for it in my last will. I’ll leave your stag film to someone who will make sure you never get your hands on it. You’ll always know it’s out there. My guess is that it’ll be worth a lot of money, so if I were you, I’d say a few prayers that I live to a ripe old age.”

  I hear myself swallow.

  Then he moves in for the kill. “That scares you, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I say, unable to catch my breath.

  “But it excites you, too,” he says, moving his hand down my belly. “What is it? The uncertainty? The idea that another stranger might see you naked? Is it the mystery that gets you running hot or the fact that it’s out of your hands? That I’m going to make all the choices. Just like I made a choice for you tonight … I decided to let someone else know your secret …”

  “All of it,” I whisper, writhing in helpless desire. He said that one day I’d be next to him in bed, squirming with shame for all the filthy things I’d let him do to me. Today’s the day. “I’ve never wanted anyone to choose anything for me. I’ve always done just what I wanted and resented anybody who got in my way. So I can’t figure out why I like it so much when you decide things for me.”

  “Maybe because you’ve never had anybody who took the time to figure out how you work. Nobody else has ever known what to do with you, Clara. I do. And I’ll prove it to you.”

  “How?”

  “I’m going to choose your next lover.”

  CHAPTER

  Seven

  It’s like he’s dropped me into a bath of ice. I go from hot to cold to chills. And as my wits slowly come back to me, I must be the picture of outrage, because as I start to
scramble up, Leo catches me by the arm. “Let me finish speaking before you slug me.”

  My heartbeat gallops in my ears like a stampede of furious horses. “I don’t need you to find me another lover. I had another lover and I gave him the high-hat for your sake. I’m not looking for anybody new.”

  Leo’s strong hands hold me still. “First of all, you ended things with Teddy Morgan for his sake, not mine. And maybe you shouldn’t have, because I suspect the old bastard would have enjoyed sharing you with me.”

  I’m not sure if I’m going to swoon or run away before I can even consider being shared. But the thought is already there, burning like a coal through my paper-thin defenses. And now I can’t think of anything else. Remembering the way my fantasies ran wild at the thought of being trapped between Teddy Morgan and Leo Vanderberg, I try to wrench myself out of Leo’s grip before I make a complete fool of myself.

  “Don’t be a hypocrite, Clara. I know you like the idea.”

  Oh, how I hate to be called that. “Well, it’s not possible now, is it?”

  “Sure it is. Just not with Teddy Morgan. I know you’ve never been with two men before.”

  “Who says I haven’t?”

  He gives me a little shake. “You did. I asked you how many stag films you’d been in. How many threesomes. You told me it was just the one. Did you leave one out? Forget an orgy or two along the way?”

  “Maybe I did.”

  “If you did, you wouldn’t be crimson from your ears to the tips of your toes. Half of you wants to haul off and punch me right in the kisser, and the other half can’t sit still just thinking about the idea of being the star attraction in another threesome. I want to be the one who does it to you.”

  The strength of him, the scent and power of him—it overwhelms me. I’ve already surrendered so much this night that it’s become a habit. And I find that I don’t want to fight him. He is every temptation I’ve ever had rolled into one. I want to fold into him and let him do anything he pleases. I can’t help myself. I just can’t.

  “You’re the devil, Leo Vanderberg. The devil!”

  “And you’re the sexiest woman alive,” he says, trailing his mouth down my jaw. “That’s what happens next, Clara, and you want it so bad you can’t even admit it to yourself.”