Unlock Yourself (The Desires Unlocked Trilogy E-Short Part 0.5)

by Blake, Evie

  Louise opens her legs. Wide. For the first time in Ludwika’s life she sees what she looks like, mirrored, in the most secret part of herself. Why, it is a beautiful thing, she marvels. So much more delicate and enticing than her husband’s member, the article of attack. She has been told, by her maid (in blushing giggles), that a woman’s private parts are just like the petals of a flower. But Louise is no kitchen-garden bloom. Her flower belongs somewhere exotic, tropical, luscious. Ludwika gazes at the startling red of it, and watches the gentleman’s fingers as they gently stroke and part her namesake’s lips. And as Ludwika sits on her chair she cannot help but part her own legs. Ah yes, she cannot stop her own hand from straying in between, her other pulling down her own undergarments, and searching for her own sweet bud. She touches herself and quivers. Oh, what is this feeling? She has never felt so sensitive before. Ludwika looks to Louise, who holds her gaze, and bestows on her that secret smile again. As if she is the only other person in the room, despite the heaving couples all around them, despite the beautiful young man, head bowed, who is on his knees and murmuring within Louise’s flower. Ludwika’s fingers pry apart her juicy lips, and she begins to stroke herself, imagining his plush mouth against her own velvet. She is soft, wet. She has never felt so open, so receptive. With her husband she is brittle, dry, she thinks he could snap her like a twig when he comes, yet here in this room of rapture she is blinded by her own desires. She wants. … she wants …

  As Ludwika gazes at Louise, the other woman reaches down and puts her hands either side of her lover’s head. She stills him, so that he stops caressing her with his lips and pulls back, looking up at her. She smiles at him, and she can sense him melt beneath her intoxicating gaze. She bends down and whispers in his ear. He nods, spinning on his heels to look at Ludwika, and she feels caught in his glare, her hand between her legs. He stands and for the first time she notices that he is now naked, yet she has no memory of him undressing, for all she saw was his kissing of Louise. Maybe he is not even the same man Louise was dancing with. Did he not have dark curly hair, and yet this man’s hair is fair, and long? Ludwika doesn’t examine his face. All she sees is his height, and his strength, and his nakedness. For the first time in her life it is no longer her foe. In fact she is drawn to his sex. She looks at its length, smooth and firm, and curved upright. She wants him to hook her inside. She feels such a deep ache inside her womb. He walks towards her and crouches down so that his face hovers above hers. His eyes look into her, and they are dancing with warmth, and goodness. He puts his arms around her back, and slowly unlaces her corset. With each lace unthreaded she breathes out, and he catches it, returns her life to her with a kiss upon her lips. He undoes her, and her breasts tumble upon his bare, smooth chest. He clasps his hands behind her back; she feels them pressed against her tailbone as he slides her onto his lap. So naturally, without all the effort and the friction and the slamming of her husband, so seamlessly this man fills her. She takes him in, opening up, receiving, until the tip of him is connecting with the deepest part of her. He puts his hands on either side of her waist and she feels the power and strength within him. He lifts her high up on to his shaft, and then sits her back down again so that he is even deeper within her. She has never felt this before, this merging with another being so that she can feel the vibrations deep within his body, under the skin, the pulsing rapture of his very entity. She looks beyond him, her vision filled with flickering shadows and light, playing on her senses. Louise is standing behind him, facing her, again the secret smile fluttering on her lips. She is holding a pair of scissors in her hands, and for a second Ludwika feels a thrill of fear. Is she in danger? The thought does not deter her, no, it merely heightens her passion further, for she no longer cares about a life without love. And she is receiving more love from this stranger than her husband has ever given her all their years of marriage.

  Louise walks towards her, scissors cradled within her hands, her small plump breasts expectant, her tiny dancer’s waist bewitching, her long lean legs gliding as if she is on skates. The curl of dark hair between her legs looks like a downy heart, and the memory of those plush red lips of her pussy makes Ludwika quiver around her lover’s golden cock.

  Louise walks around behind her, and Ludwika flinches as she feels the tip of the cold metal brush against her bare back and trail down her spine. Is Louise a killer? Will she plunge the knife in? Yet Ludwika trusts her. She knows she will not hurt her, only set her free. For now she feels Louise’s hands pulling at her hair, dismantling the tight bun upon her head, tugging at it with determination so that it falls into one long sweeping crescendo. As her husband did last night, Louise gathers up Ludwika’s hair in one long dangling tail, and yet so different it feels now. Louise pulls her hair, firm yet gentle, tipping back her head in rhythm with her lover rising within her.

  She hears before she feels it. The snap of the scissors, and then the drop of weight, the lightness of air around her, the coolness upon her neck, and the kiss of Louise’s silk lips upon her bare nape. In that moment Ludwika spirals into abandon, a free bird spinning in the sun. It is her first time.

  The next day her husband beats her for it, insists she grows her hair back. But she never does. The cage door is open now.

  Read on for a sneak preview of Liberate Yourself, the first book in the thrilling, intensely passionate Desires Unlocked trilogy. Available now from Headline.

  Valentina

  VALENTINA PUSHES HERSELF UP ON TO HER ELBOWS AND gazes at her lover. Six months they have been living together. She leans over and carefully arranges her arm across Theo’s back. She loves to do this while he is sleeping, when he doesn’t know how she likes to imagine the two of them together, and all that could be possible. Tenderly she strokes his flawless skin, letting herself express a rare moment of affection. It is a gesture she is careful never to make when Theo is actually awake.

  Valentina examines her flaxen whiteness against the sallow colouring of Theo Steen, and considers what a perfect contrast the two of them are. She is as pale and fine boned as her beloved twenties icon Louise Brooks. He is dark skinned, more sultry than any Latin lover she has ever known, yet with disturbingly bright blue eyes. It would make more sense if it were she who was dark. She is after all the Italian, while Theo is from New York, his parents Dutch immigrants. She doesn’t know much about his background, but it appears very different from hers. He is close to his parents, both of them, and to Valentina’s eyes his childhood was charmed. So much attention and expense lavished upon him. Theo is an accomplished cellist, equestrian and fencer, as well as speaking a myriad of languages. He could have gone into any profession he chose. He is one of those men she thought would irritate her. A privileged high-achiever who doesn’t need to worry about making a living, and can indulge full-time in his passion – the study and analysis of modern art. Yet she did not dump him at the first opportunity, as she thought she might; instead here he is in her bed, lost in the innocence of sleep right beside her. He is living with her.

  Valentina looks down at her sleeping lover. Theo is lying on his stomach, his head turned away from her. She wonders where his dreams take him. She wonders if he will wake with the memory of her touch upon his skin. Last night she wanted to make him come so much, and yet strangely she had no desire to have an orgasm herself. This is not usual for her, not very Valentina, she thinks. Even now she is not demanding morning sex. At some point does the passion fade? If you took away the sexual desire between her and Theo, would there be nothing left? Strangers before their union; and strangers again afterwards. Is it time to end it? No, not yet, a voice begs inside her head, and she tries to swallow her anxiety. She is panicking unnecessarily. This is just all so new to her, to be cohabiting.

  She has never shared her apartment with anyone else, not since her mother left. It still startles her how easily it all fell into place, the fact of Theo moving in. She knows why she asked him. It was a knee-jerk reaction to her mother’s warning. Is he using
her? Instinctively she rejects the suggestion. He was so hesitant about accepting her offer. Asked her several times if she was sure. There is something different about him. Already he has seen her at her lowest, and he didn’t leave.

  Valentina knots the end of the sheet around her finger, pulls it tight. A ring of white cotton pinching her flesh, making her bite her lip. It’s because he doesn’t take anything for granted, she thinks; despite his easy life, he never stops trying to please her.

  She lies back down on the bed and smiles up at the ceiling, studying each glinting crystal of the chandelier as she dwells on last night. She tentatively runs her tongue over her lips. She can still taste him. She savours the saltiness of her lover as she recalls how she caressed him with her mouth, pushing him as far as he could go, not stopping despite his plea to be inside her. She would not allow it. She wanted everything to be focused on him. And so she kept on going: licking, teasing with her teeth, flicking her tongue around his length and squeezing his velvet hardness tight between her lips. She needed to feel his abandon inside her mouth. His vulnerability, and her power. She had taken him over the edge. And when Theo cried out her name, it was like a flare to her heart. Burning her and yet warming her at the same time, filling her with the dual sensations of fear and satisfaction. How could that be? Normally she doesn’t like her lovers to speak, let alone cry out. She always insists on making love in silence. She hates false proclamations of love, uttered in the heat of passion. Yet Theo called to her, and deep down inside her there was an answering echo, despite her conscious denial. Now the salty flavour of him lingers still upon her lips. No wonder she dreamt of the sea.

  Belle

  SHE RETURNS AT DAWN, TO ENTER HER OWN DEEP LAGOON of dreaming. She stretches on her back, her arms flung upwards and grasping her bedstead, her toes pointed, the sheets entwined around her naked body. Through a chink in the curtains she can see the pink blush of day. She hears a blackbird call to her and she imagines it sitting on her balcony, its oily feathers sleek in the morning light, singing as freely as her spirit feels. She closes her eyes and remembers the sensations of the night, a stranger’s skin against her skin, and the musky scent of shared desire.

  She doesn’t feel wicked, nor does she feel good. She is detached from these emotions. She listens to the church bells of Venice, in time with the beat of her heart and the measured lap of the canal outside her window. She pushes her hand across her brow, lifting her hair as if to feel for fever, but in reality remembering the heat of his hand upon her forehead, less than two hours ago.

  It is 1929. Picture her now, Signora Louise Brzezinska as Miss Louise Brooks. They are kindred spirits, she and the actress. Women who wish to share their sexuality, their eroticism and their affection. Despite her husband’s possession, Louise cannot live just one life with him. She is impelled to take risks because she needs to be another Louise. The Louise who plays the part of Belle, starring in her own private drama.

  It happened quite by accident the first time. She was on her way to a costume party. Her husband was abroad and she had decided to be brave and attend on her own. She had been looking forward to it for so long. Her life had become unbearably dull, every day filled with running the household and looking after her husband’s needs. The only time they seemed to go out was to Mass. The party offered her some small escape, especially since she was required to dress up. She liked dressing up. She liked being another woman.

  She decided to be daring, since her husband was not at home to be disapproving, and copied the image on a postcard from an arcade machine in America which one of her husband’s associates had given her, of a young woman dressed in Egyptian costume. Since the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb a few years ago, she had been fascinated by Egyptian imagery. She had found some books in her husband’s library on the ancient gods of Egypt, and had spent hours studying Horus and Thoth, with their bird heads, and sinister Anubis, half man, half jackal, guardian of the dead and yet potent with sexuality. Sometimes during the solitary days when she seemed to spend every hour poring over these books, she would dream of Anubis, his splendid dog face snarling, licking, biting, while his human half was inside her, satisfying her in a way her husband never could.

  This particular night Louise wanted to be Egyptian precisely because it gave her these sensations, the mixture of seduction and the macabre. She had her seamstress make her a shimmering outfit: a long transparent gown of black chiffon decorated with gold beading worn underneath a cream silk skirt that parted at the centre. This was held in place by a sheath of rich gold damask tied around her waist and curving beneath her behind, emphasising its outline. On her top half she wore dark silk, sleeveless, split down either side right to the waist. Over this was an embroidered garment that was little more than a brassiere encrusted with thick gold beading. On her head she wore a gold band neatly clipped around her black bob. The outfit was more than daring and Louise loved it.

  It had been her intention to take a gondola down the canal to the party, but at the last minute she decided against it. Although it was a warm night, her maid, Pina, insisted she wear a light woollen stole draped around her shoulders, fearful that her mistress was a little too under-dressed for propriety. She had begged her to wear one of her furs, but Louise claimed it was too hot.

  Louise listened to the sound of her heels ringing out on the cobbles of Venice. She loved to walk in this city. Sometimes she would let herself get lost and disappear for hours, much to the annoyance of her husband. This night she chose a circuitous route to the party, since she didn’t want to arrive too early. It was a quiet, empty trail through the city, and she was sure her husband would disapprove of her reckless behaviour, but there was a part of Louise that could not help but disobey him. It gave her satisfaction even though he would never know.

  She had just passed Campo San Polo when she paused on one of the little bridges. Putting her hands on the balustrade, she looked out at a corner of Canal Grande which she could see from where she stood. Here in Venice the streets were like a network of narrow branches stretching and reaching across a great sky of water. Sometimes she felt marooned. It could be a haven, or it could be a kind of jail. She reached into her bag, took out her cigarette case and snapped it open. The walking had made her hot, and she hoped her cheeks were not too red from the exertion. She would have one cigarette before she moved on so that she could compose herself. She wanted to look cool and aloof when she arrived, just like a dark Egyptian soul. She pulled her stole from her shoulders and looked at it in disgust. Louise Brooks would not be seen dead in such a mediocre garment. In a moment of abandon, she dropped it into the canal. She hated that stole. She shook her head and adjusted the gold band around her head.

  ‘Shall I rescue that for you?’ A man had appeared by her side. She started in surprise.

  ‘No thank you,’ she said, turning to look at him.

  He was not a tall man, but he had a beautiful face. Dark honey eyes, and a soft curly moustache. He looked young. Maybe the same age as her. Perhaps younger. She took a drag of her cigarette and stared at him. She saw the surprise in his eyes at her audacity.

  ‘Are you going to a costume party?’ he asked, indicating her attire.

  ‘No, sometimes I dress like this because I want to,’ she lied, enjoying the suggestion in her answer. She put her head on one side and smiled at him. He smiled back, and she noticed that he had a little chip in one of his front teeth. A thought came unbidden into her head. How it would feel for him to tease her nipple between his teeth; how would it feel for the sharp broken edge of his front tooth to catch on her skin? She looked into his eyes and his pupils had dilated so that they were almost black. He took a tentative step towards her, and she didn’t move.

  ‘Are you working?’ he asked, so quietly it was as if the water beneath the bridge spoke.

  Working? What could he mean?

  He stepped forward again. From the glint in his eye, and his hand in his breast pocket, fingering some notes that he
had begun to remove, she now understood what he meant.

  He was up close. She could feel his excitement through his trousers as he pressed against the light layers of her skirt, which shifted easily as soon as he touched them to reveal her bare leg. For one so young, how bold he was to approach a woman he thought was a prostitute. Surely he had a beau? He was handsome, looked respectable, and yet she smelt it on him, his potent sexuality, just like her.

  ‘How much?’ he whispered.

  She shivered with fear and excitement. She should have slapped him and walked away, but she didn’t. Her lips went dry, but she tried to keep up her sanguine façade. She named a figure, not knowing if it was the going rate, as she stabbed her cigarette out on the parapet of the bridge. She could see her hand shaking uncontrollably as if in shock at her own words. She grasped it tightly with her other hand, stilling her astonishment. What exactly was she doing?

  He counted out the notes, looking around him to make sure no one was watching, and handed them to her. She didn’t even glance at them as she stuffed them into her bag.

  ‘Where?’ he asked urgently, his hand around her wrist as if he was worried that she might flee now that she had his money.

  Where? She hadn’t thought of that. She could hardly take this stranger home. And even if she could, she knew that if she didn’t follow her instinct right this very moment, she never would. She would give him back his money. She might still walk away.