“We should try other things…I’d like to.”
“Such as?”
She smiled up at him. Her hands were still bound but Ivo had pushed the blindfold from her eyes. “Like this. I like it when you have control over me like this. You could tie me up more, or…” She stopped, lost. She laughed wryly. “I guess I’m not clued up on all things bondage, but I’d be willing to try anything.”
Ivo smiled down at her. “That’s good to know. What we’ve done is quite tame, and I myself have never gone deep into the BDSM world, but it’s something we could try. There’s other things…some of which I’m into the idea of, somethings I’m not.”
“Like what?”
Ivo hesitated. “I’m not into blood-letting, or knife-play. No Angelina and Billy-Bob stuff.”
Sofia sniggered. “Good, neither am I. I did like fucking in public.” She nodded over to the huge windows that looked out over the Grand Canal. “You could fuck me up against the glass, at night. People wouldn’t know if they were really seeing it or not.” She felt his cock begin to stiffen against her thigh and grinned. “Oh, I see you like that idea?”
“Hell, yes, I do,” Ivo sounded breathless, almost. “The thought of other men admiring your beautiful body while I fuck you appeals. Maybe that’s just my inner Neanderthal coming out.”
Sofia considered. “No, I could go along with that – in the right setting. Aren’t there…places we could go to do that?” She was blushing furiously now, despite being so turned on she felt as if she could come just from their conversation. Ivo obviously felt the same as he rolled her onto her back and slid his cock into her.
“There are places that cater for that, yes. What about – and I’m only suggesting things here so don’t get freaked out – threesomes? Or foursomes? Personally, you being fucked by me and another man, consensually of course, is a private little fantasy. Not one I’m asking you to do, just sharing.”
“You wouldn’t be jealous?”
“Not in that situation, no. I have been to orgies before.”
Sofia’s eyes widened. “You have?” Something inside her was being awakened as she imagined fucking Ivo and other men, knowing it would give them both pleasure, made her wetter. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that, but we could get a professional escort to join us some time, if you wanted. A man or a woman,” she added, flushing. Ivo grinned down at her as they made love.
“Are we really talking about this?”
Sofia nodded. “I know, it seems bizarre, but you have opened up a new world for me as far as sex goes. Actually, scrub that, as far as living goes. I want to experience everything I can with you, Ivo, you are my addiction.”
Sofia felt her face burning. Had she said too much? By the adoring look on Ivo’s gorgeous face, she hadn’t. He made her come again, gasping and shivering, then pulled her tightly to him. “Sofia?”
“Yes, my darling?” He was brushing his lips against hers, back and forth, and it drove her crazy with desire. She felt his lips curve up in a smile.
“I’m so in love with you, my beautiful, extraordinary Sofia, so much in love with you.”
Sofia’s eyes filled with tears. “And I love you, Ivo Zacca. I’ve always loved you, from the beginning, always…”
Ivo crushed his lips against hers and they began to make love again, forgetting the time, forgetting everything else but the two of them.
Part Two
Chapter Ten
Fergus Rutland stared at the profile in the glossy society magazine. So, Sofia was in Paris and about to become the next big thing in the art world. So many emotions welled up inside his chest. Pride. Shame. Love.
When Devika, Sofia’s mother, had died, something had gone out in Fergus’s life. He couldn’t bear to see Sofia, so beautiful, so like his beloved wife, around his home and he knew, if he explained it to her, she would refuse to leave, she would have wanted to care for him. Sofia was everything good in Fergus’s life, which was why he had to throw her away.
That’s what he told himself over and over – that he had done it for her benefit. The true fact of it was, Tamara had always hated Sofia, been jealous of her curvy, voluptuous, soft beauty and kindness, and had persuaded the grief-stricken Fergus to not only bury Devika outside of the family mausoleum but to banish her daughter.
Why the hell had he gone along with it? He loved his daughter, yes, but he knew the viper she was. She was exactly like he had been before Devika had come along. Cold, aloof, lacking in empathy. Jonas had been the victim of the family – Fergus’s first wife, Judy, was weak in some ways, but as ruthless as her daughter and her husband. When she had fallen from the stairs and smashed her head open on the marble floor, it had been a great shock…to Jonas and Fergus. Tamara had not seemed either shocked or particularly grief-stricken, although she put on a performance at her mother’s funeral. Fergus had heard the whispers at the wake – how exactly did Judy fall? Suspicious eyes cast at him, at Tamara, but never at the quietly devastated Jonas.
Fergus didn’t want to think about that. He touched the photograph of Sofia. She looked older, more self-assured. Her black hair now hung almost to her waist had bright blue highlights, her dark eyes ringed with kohl as she stared into the lens of the camera. She looked beautiful and so much like her late mother it made Fergus’s heart hurt. He read through the piece again. She would debut her work at a gallery opening in Paris at the end of the week. Fergus picked up his phone and called his assistant. He detailed what he wanted. “Get me an invite to that opening, but use a pseudonym. I don’t want Sofia running scared. And book me a flight and hotel to Paris. Actually…book two tickets for the return flight.”
He put down the phone. It was time. It was time to bring Sofia home.
Tamara ignored the doorman at her father’s club and pushed her way in. She could have cared less that no women were supposed to be admitted – the Rutland name meant access to anywhere, as far as she was concerned. She found her father in the garden of the club, a gin and tonic on the table next to him, reading a book. “Hey, Pa.”
Fergus looked up, annoyed. “Tamara, I come here to escape family, not to be harassed.”
“Cool your boots, Pa, I brought you the business plan you wanted.” She handed him a thick, bound stack of paper. Fergus put his book down to take it, and as he did, the book slipped and a folded-up piece of paper slipped out. Tamara was too quick for Fergus.
She smoothed out the magazine article on her knee and Fergus sighed. “Tamara…”
“So, the street urchin showed up in Paris, did she?” Tamara’s voice was spiteful, and she began to read the article. “Huh. Doesn’t mentioned us once. So much for family loyalty.”
“You can hardly blame her after what I did.”
Tamara rolled her eyes. “You did the right thing, the only thing to be done.”
“I’m not so sure anymore.”
Tamara went very still. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Fergus looked at his daughter steadily. “It means…I’m bringing Sofia back home. Where she belongs. There’s an art community here who would welcome someone of Sofia’s talents with open arms. And, Tamara, I miss my daughter.”
“Step-daughter,” Tamara hissed, then took a long breath in, calming herself. She stared out at the lovingly tended lawns and chewed her lips. “Never mind about her, Dad. I need an answer on the club. We have a lock on it until tomorrow, then another buyer gets to bid.” She thawed slightly. “You’ve always wanted me to have a focus, a passion, this is it.”
“An exclusive club for an elite clientele?”
“Like this one, except skewed towards the younger market. By invitation only. Hoping to capitalize on the disposal income of the city’s young and beautiful.”
Fergus started to read the business plan. “Sounds well thought out.”
“It is,” she said, “There’s a whole culture that isn’t being exploited.”
Her father looked up at her. “Young professionals with disposab
le income in New York? Isn’t that who every club is aimed at?”
Tamara gave her father a chilly smile. “Not this exclusive. I want to move into attracting only the very elite, the very…discreet.”
“What kind of club is this, Tamara?”
Her mouth hitched up. “Somewhere people can meet and, let’s just say, enjoy each other without judgement.”
Fergus glared at her. “A sex club?”
“Nothing so crass, Father, more like somewhere people looking for a high-class hook-up can meet. The club is just a club. A safe space for the elite, if you like.” How easily the lies rolled off her tongue.
Fergus sighed. “Whatever.” Tamara saw him glance back at the magazine clipping. She had to admit: her hated ex-step-sister looked beautiful. And now she was going to be a big star in the art world. Tamara studied her father. It wouldn’t hurt to soften him up, stop him asking too many questions.
“If you want to contact Sofia, just do it.”
Fergus looked at her askance. “Did you hit your head in the last few minutes?”
Tamara shrugged. “If it makes you happy to see her, what do I care? It looks like she’s pretty entrenched in Paris so she may not be as easy to persuade to come home as you think.”
Fergus’s eyes darkened and he looked away from her. “We’ll see.”
Tamara wanted to get out of the cub now. “So, you’ll sign the papers?”
“What? Oh, yeah. Go, open your club. I am glad you’ve finally found something, Tam. I’m sorry if I seem a little distracted.”
He really was almost out of it, Tamara thought as she kissed his cheek. “Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you too, sweetie.”
As she drove away, back to the city, Tamara should have been thinking of her new club, so much more than what she’d described to her father. It would be the most debauched club in the city if she had her way, and behind the scenes, she and Grant could play their blood games. She did consider her club, but now she was thinking of someone who she would absolutely love to take there. Someone who she wanted to destroy, corrupt and finally, kill. The one person she hated, the one person who knew her darkest secret.
Sofia.
Chapter Eleven
They had been back in Paris for a week and the grand opening of the La Galerie Desiree was less than twelve hours away. Sofia glanced at her watch. Actually, eleven hours and forty-three minutes. She felt nauseous. At the last minute, an artist had pulled two canvases from the opening, and Desiree had commissioned two abstract pieces from Sofia. Working furiously, she had got them done but now was having trouble deciding how to hang them. Desiree had moved her pieces from the relatively low-key alcove area to a more prominent position and Sofia felt overwhelmed.
She stepped back and studied her work. The two abstracts, wild blocks of color, clashing and vibrant, were some of her best work, she knew, but she still loved the painting of Ivo best. She’d finally managed to capture the essence of him. Her lover. The man who was in love with her. She couldn’t believe it, somehow.
She forced herself to make the decision to say she was done, that her exhibit was ready, and went home to Desiree’s apartment. Desiree was out, working through an exhausting schedule of pre-opening interviews. Sofia thought about Elli’s profile – Elli had kept her word, the profile was sleek, an introduction without prying too deeply into Sofia’s personal life. At her request, there was no mention of her relationship with Ivo – both of them knew that he being the son of movie stars, interest would be high and neither wanted to navigate that just yet.
They had talked about moving in together. Ivo told her he was looking at apartments in Paris, had asked her to go with him after the opening, when she wasn’t so busy.
“Although, I anticipate your door will be beaten down by gallery owners worldwide,” he added with a smile and she kissed him.
“You’re biased.”
“True, but you really are that talented, never forget it.”
Sofia’s heart warmed now as she walked through the streets of her adopted city. How she been so lucky as to meet such a special guy. Instead of going home, she decided to go and see Stefan, her savior from when she was on the streets. He smiled and gathered her into a bear-hug.
“I hear you’re about to be a superstar,” he teased her, waving a copy of the magazine her profile had been sold to. Sofia rolled her eyes.
“Ha, not likely but at least I can pay my way. How’s business?”
Stefan grinned. “Very well. Almost too well. Since you were sick, since you met that man of yours, I seem to be getting a lot of orders from high-end restaurants for my produce. Know anything about that?”
Sofia chuckled. “Don’t thank me, thank Ivo. He’s the most generous man I’ve ever met.”
“You and him…”
Sofia flushed, nodding. “Pretty much.”
“Well, I’m glad for you, little one. Look here,” he pulled the cover of the stall up. “Look where you came from, look where you are now.”
Sofia felt tears prick her eyes. “I wouldn’t have survived without you, Stefan.”
She said goodbye to her friend a while later and walked home. She would bathe and get dressed for the party later, and was deep in thought, wondering what to wear, when she opened the main door to her building. She didn’t see him until she started up the stairs.
“Hi.”
An American accent. She turned to see a young man, about Ivo’s age with light brown hair and blue eyes smiling at her. “Hi.”
“I just moved in. Felix Hammond.” He stuck his hand out and she shook it.
“Sofia. You’ve taken Mme. Forniere’s old apartment?”
He grinned. “If Mme. Forniere lived in number three, then yes. I have to say, I’m a little relieved to know another American lives here. Or Canadian, I shouldn’t presume.”
Sofia laughed, warming to the newcomer, and his friendly manner. “No, you were right the first time. American-born, at least. What brings you to Paris?”
“Inspiration. I’m a writer. You?”
Sofia hesitated. “An artist. Actually, I do have to run – we have a gallery opening tonight.”
“Oh, yes?”
Sofia nodded. Seeing he looked interested, she dug around in her bag for an invitation, pulling out a rather crumpled one. She handed it to him. “Come along, if you like. There will be champagne and food, if nothing else.”
Felix thanked her, telling her he would see her later and Sofia said good bye. In the apartment, she showered and threw on her robe, going to the kitchen to dig out some food. Settling for some cheese and an apple, after eating, she lay on the bed, trying to quell the nerves. She had almost fallen asleep when she heard the door open. She opened her eyes and smiled.
“Hey, pretty girl.” Ivo bent down to kiss her as he pulled off his tie, and undid his shirt. She watched him as he stripped down, her beautiful man, his dark curls messy, his light green eyes crinkled with amusement. “You like what you see?”
He was naked now, his cock becoming stiff, as he gently pulled the tie of her robe open, then pushed the white fabric aside. He gave a groan of desire and buried his head in her belly, his tongue tracing circles around her bellybutton, his lips against her skin.
“I do like,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. He moved up her body to kiss her mouth, and they lay together, gazing into the other’s eyes. Outside, it had started to rain hard, and for a time, they stared at each other, listening to the sound of their breathing, and to the silence of the apartment. Finally, smiling down at her, Ivo wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed into her. Their lovemaking was gentle, tender, Sofia gasping as his cock drove her towards orgasm, his lips against hers. Ivo stroked the hair back from her face, watching her expression as she let herself go, almost delirious as he began to strengthen his pace. He drove himself deeper, harder, pressing her legs apart with his thighs, pinning her hands to the bed, forging a connection between them. Sofia couldn�
�t imagine being this way with anyone else. Her back arched up as she came, crying out his name. “Ivo, god, Ivo!”
She felt his cock erupt inside her, pumping thick creamy semen deep inside her belly. She loved this feeling, his seed within her core, was glad she had started to take birth control so they didn’t have to use condoms. She knew it would give her confidence to know he was inside her at the opening tonight. “I love you,” she whispered. Ivo smiled down at her, as he caught his breath.
“Was there a world before you?”
She giggled. “Cheesy.”
Ivo laughed. “You know it.” He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. Sofia traced her finger down his cheek as he stroked her belly. “You’re not too nervous about tonight, are you? It’s going to be fantastic. You’ll be the star of it, I know it.”
Sofia groaned. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s a done deal,” Ivo grinned, shrugging. “Maceo will be there,” he told her, mentioning the art dealer she had met in Venice. Maceo Bartoli had been a riot, fun-loving but also very serious about his work – and her work. It made her feel better that he would be there tonight.
“Some other friends from the art world too. Floriana Mallory will be representing the Mallory’s, you’ll love her. You’re both quite…how can I say it…alternative. Geeky goddesses.”
Sofia laughed. “Geeky Goddess? Is that how you see me?”
“Definitely.” He bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth.
Sofia considered, cradling his head in her arms as he pleasured her. “I kind of like that. Oh, and that…”
Ivo had switched to her other breast now, teasing the small bud until it was rock-hard and sensitive and Sofia gave a soft moan, closing her eyes. She felt his lips against hers again as he moved on top of her. She wrapped her legs around him, feeling his cock nudging at her cunt then sweeping in with a firm thrust. She opened her eyes to see him gazing down at her, his eyes soft with lobe.
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