by Vina Jackson
‘Maybe.’
‘That does not sound like a yes …’
‘And what do you do when you’re not dancing?’ he asked, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.
‘I live.’
‘Where?’
‘At Viggo’s place in London right now. In Belsize Park.’
‘I live close by,’ Dominik said.
‘And you write books,’ she remarked.
‘How did you know that?’ He was surprised.
‘I have your book. There’s no photo of you on the dust jacket, but I was curious, once I liked it, so I checked you out online. Just because I am a dancer does not mean I do not read,’ she pointed out. ‘I recognise you from that night in New Orleans. I always remember faces.’
Just then there was a roar of communal laughter from the group where Edward and Clarissa stood, where they had been joined by Viggo and Summer. Summer appeared to be in deep conversation with the Croatian couple who’d formed part of tonight’s brass section, while Viggo was guffawing loudly at something Edward had just said. From the corner of his eye as he faced the statuesque Luba, Dominik noticed Summer giving him a sideways glance.
‘Party!’ shouted Viggo.
A few others echoed his cry.
Dominik felt Luba’s hand brush against his and a small folded piece of paper being handed over. He looked up at her questioningly.
She boldly held his gaze, and as she walked away to join the main group, said, ‘You are interesting. I like interesting men,’ and stepped away from him.
Dominik discreetly unfolded the piece of paper and peered at it. A telephone number.
Seeing Luba return to his side, Viggo beamed and embraced her, his other hand still wandering close to Summer’s midriff.
‘These lovely people here,’ he proclaimed, pointing at the elegantly attired Edward and Clarissa, ‘have suggested we all go out and have a party. What was the name of the club you were proposing we visit?’
‘It’s called Les Chandelles,’ Edward said, with an impeccable French enunciation. ‘Not far by cab. Off the Champs Elysées. We are members of long standing; there should be no problem getting you all in.’
‘The more the merrier, eh?’ Viggo said.
Dominik had heard of the place. It was quite notorious, a highly upmarket club échangiste, a swing club where anything went. No doubt to the sound of popping champagne corks and much wealth on initial display before the clothes came off.
Viggo asked around, ‘So, who’s with me?’
A few further people checked out of the proceedings at this stage, including Alex, Edward and Clarissa’s somewhat conservative son, as well as Ted and the Croatian couple who evidently had their hands full with each other. The survivors from the dressing room party began trooping down the corridor that led to La Cigale’s main entrance. A handful of fans were standing there in the cold hoping for autographs, which Viggo happily dispensed. Ironically, none of them paid any attention to the members of Groucho Nights or Summer.
The Paris night was streaked with dark clouds.
A stretch limo was waiting by the kerb. Not all the revellers could fit in and half a dozen or so were left behind, including Dominik who was unenthusiastically following the pack. Clarissa shouted out the address of the club so the others could order a couple of taxis and join them there. As the limo took off, Dominik noticed that Summer was not on board and had remained behind on some pretext or another and was standing by his side. She hadn’t brought a jacket or a coat along and was shivering.
She looked up at him, and seeing her eyes again so close made Dominik feel almost drunk.
‘Do you really want to go there? Meet up and play with the others?’ she asked him as some of the other stragglers began hailing passing cabs.
‘Not really,’ he said.
‘Good.’
They barged their way to the front and appropriated the first taxi.
As the cab crossed the Seine by the Musée d’Orsay, Summer pressed her body against Dominik’s.
The car took a sharp turn left to take the one-way street that would return them to the Boulevard Saint Germain and, following its movement, Summer leaned her head on Dominik’s shoulder.
The elevator was the most exiguous he had ever experienced and Summer and Dominik had to twist and turn to both fit in.
The room was small.
And the bed was narrow.
‘I spoke to someone about the Bailly,’ he’d said, as they crossed the road from the taxi which had dropped them off and buzzed for the hotel nightwatchman to let them in.
‘Anything about its possible whereabouts?’ Summer asked.
‘No, but—’
‘Don’t tell me then,’ she interrupted him. ‘It can wait for the morning. I don’t want to know right now.’
She moved closer to him. Her eyes hesitant, his drawing her to him; both unsure what to say or do next. As if they were both being moved by a power they had no control over. Like magnets coming together. He could feel the heat radiating from her. He could hear the sound of her shallow breath as if through an amplifier, every beat of her heart. He stepped towards her in turn. There was an inevitability about it all.
They kissed.
It felt like coming home again. Not one day since New York had Dominik not thought of holding Summer in his arms again, and at first the moment felt almost unreal.
The top floor room was still shielded in darkness, the closed window looking out on the rickety roofs of the nearby buildings; not a room with a view.
As Dominik settled into the familiar and easy groove of the intoxicating softness of Summer’s lips and the reassuring sensation of holding her close again, he began to revel in the relaxed way they fitted together. His hands dropped from her chin to her sides and beneath the thin material of the T-shirt, he felt the ridges and resistance of the corset she had briefly worn on stage.
She had kept it on.
‘Arms up,’ he instructed.
She raised them and Dominik pulled the T-shirt over her head.
‘Jeans,’ he insisted.
Summer unzipped herself and, with a shake and shimmy, shook off the jeans, which fell down to her ankles. She stood there with the corset her only remaining item of clothing. Whoever had tightened its grip when she had put it on between the main set and the encores in the backstage changing room – Ella, maybe – had cinched it particularly tight and it cut into her waist with ferocious efficiency, highlighting her slim figure and framing her breasts, nipples pointing upwards, at attention, hard and dark.
Dominik lowered his lips towards the uncovered top half of her breasts and took one of the nipples into his mouth, reading its pliant texture with his roving tongue, wetting it, lubricating it, then delicately took it between his teeth, testing its consistency, finally biting it gently and then harder.
Summer gasped, her whole body speared by a wave of arousal and pain.
She rode the crest of the sensation, teeth clenched, until the endorphins in her system kicked in and the discomfort began turning into pleasure as Dominik’s sharp teeth continued digging into the cratered, rougher skin of her nipples, although never hard enough to draw blood. He held her there for what felt like an eternity, balanced between pain and pleasure and her whole body switching on, one area at a time, beginning in the pit of her stomach, the depths of her cunt, until the tidal wave reached her brain and she felt herself willingly drowning in a muddy sea of warmth, navigating the unstable sea floor with primal instinct.
Just as she was about to abandon herself fully to the intoxicating sensations Dominik was coaxing out of her unconscious memories, his teeth withdrew suddenly and his lips moved to her ear, cruelly toying with the even more delicate flesh of her lobe and the see-saw of pain and pleasure began all over again.
She flinched, shuddered uncontrollably as the sensations piled up inside her, her spine briefly losing its will to stand straight and firm, and she felt Dominik hold her under her
arms, steadying her position, preventing her fall.
She could now feel the fierce hardness of his cock pressing against her through the rough material of his black slacks, rubbing against her curling bush. Her anticipation rose as she felt the wetness spread between her thighs, the well of lust filling her one drop at a time, readying her, transforming her very nature.
He finally moved his teeth away and a deep feeling of dread and abandon assaulted her like a slap to the face, the sudden realisation that this might be the end of the stop-go-stop circular nature of his assault, just as she had comfortably settled into the fire of its repetition. They held each other in silence for a second or two, then his lips returned to her ear, this time teasing its hollow, wetting it, licking this most intimate of her domains, journeying into its small pit and the sensation was overwhelming as wave upon wave of miniature seismic shifts percolated inside her across the minefield of her senses.
She realised that, once again, the point of no return was about to be reached, a territory only Dominik knew how to breach and dominate like the lord of all he could survey. So far it had just been a few bites, and affectionate ones at that, but her soul screamed out for more, inviting her on a mad race towards genuine pain. And it scared her that this so often out-of-reach place felt like home, where she truly belonged.
Right now, all Summer wanted was to feel Dominik inside her, but she knew he would deliberately take his time, play her body and her mind like an instrument before she would be granted that sweet release.
A refrain in her mind, Damn you, damn you, I want you, I hate you, I love you, going round in endless circles. Dominik. Dominik. Do bad things to me. She wanted to say it out loud, but she knew that silence was his thing, it gave him power, and all she wanted to do was melt inside his arms. Summer bit her lip. Hard. She felt a thin drop of blood squeeze its way through the thin incision he had just made and saw Dominik avidly swoop on it like a welcoming vampire out of the darkness and lick it away, with the kindest of smiles illuminating his face.
With a gentle pressure against her shoulders, Dominik guided her to the bed.
She sank into its soft embrace, looked up at him and spread her legs in delightful anticipation.
Time stood still for a minute or so as the two of them gazed at each other, a million lines of unspoken dialogue unfolding. Dominik then undressed as Summer watched. His body still as white as she remembered, the English skin so unfamiliar with the sun.
The pleasurable thought of spending time on a hot, Mediterranean beach with him flashed through Summer’s mind.
Now naked, he picked up his black trousers from the floor where he had shed them and unthreaded their thick leather belt and climbed onto the bed, squatting above her, his strong cock tantalisingly close to her half-open mouth, and took hold of her hands, pinning them behind her head and tying them with the belt to the bars of the bed.
Summer’s heart skipped a beat and she closed her eyes.
Towering over her, he guided his penis down to her mouth and let it graze her lips. Instinctively, she opened her mouth, but, teasingly, he refused to lower himself inside her and she was forced to bring her head upward and meet his cock as it hovered, hard and hot, just an inch away. The moment her tongue stretched far enough to travel across the smooth surface of his glans, she felt an electric shock course through her soul and her body.
Even though she was the violin player, Dominik knew just how to play her, each touch, each feint orchestrating her journey towards total submission. Finally, she allowed her head to drop again, collapse into the cushion that supported it, and this time his wonderful cock followed her down, barely breaching her, denying her appetite for a while, until she could bear it no longer and her tongue darted across it, wetting it, smoothing its path, lubricating its animal ardour. ‘Yes,’ Dominik said.
Summer groaned.
‘Swallow me whole,’ he whispered.
‘Hmmm …’ Summer gasped as he suddenly thrust forward.
And he began to fuck her mouth. Tenderly, ragefully, deep, thick, lovingly, roughly. The way she always wanted him to be.
By abdicating all control, she became whole.
The night was sex. Paris was sex.
And all was right with the world. At least for tonight, she belonged to Dominik.
When they woke in the morning, bruised and spent, both emotionally and physically, Summer frantically realised she barely had enough time to get back to her own hotel and pack up for the next leg of the European tour with the band. She couldn’t keep the others waiting. By now, all the equipment would have been loaded onto the specially hired coach. There was still the matter of the missing violin to discuss, they realised.
‘Another time,’ they agreed, both dressing hastily. As she ran out of the door, blowing him a perfunctory kiss, Dominik felt gutted they hadn’t found the occasion to speak properly this morning.
About what had just happened. And then he glanced at his watch and noted that he barely had an hour left before his own train at the Gare du Nord and the journey back to London.
9 Girls Together
I made it to the tour bus in the nick of time.
‘Christ, Sum, you like to cut it fine,’ Chris said, as I leaped onboard.
Fran shot me a worried look, and I shook my head slightly in return, a silent gesture to
indicate that I was OK, and please could she not mention it.
She and Chris were sitting next to each other. She was curled up with her head on his shoulder, and they both dozed off minutes after we got on the road. Ella and Ted were both already asleep and so was Marija. Baldo and Alex smiled at me and waved a friendly greeting but they both looked as rough as I felt. It must have been a long night for all of us.
I wondered what they’d got up to. I didn’t want to think about my sister’s interests, and couldn’t imagine Chris being the swinging sort. He was a one woman kind of guy. Ella and Ted were friendly enough but they didn’t gossip about their personal lives and I didn’t even know whether they were straight, gay, bi, dating each other or asexual. Marija and Baldo were certainly both creatures of passion. When we had lived together, rarely had a night or a morning gone by when I hadn’t fallen asleep or woken up to the sounds of their noisy lovemaking. Whether or not they would feel comfortable making their affection for each other as public as it might be at Les Chandelles, the famous French swinging joint, I had no idea. As for Alex, I could only imagine that he had gone home feeling ill at the thought of his parents partying in that manner, but maybe he was more open-minded than I gave him credit for. It was something I’d be interested in talking about maybe with Marija, or Edward and Clarissa. But not right now.
I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. I hadn’t even had time for a shower, never mind doing my hair and make-up. I’d slept late, soothed and wrapped up in the contentment of lying alongside Dominik.
We’d barely talked. Just hadn’t had the time. We’d spent the night in bed together and that had been wonderful, as it always was. We had fitted into each other as if we’d never been apart, slipped into our own, very personal brand of lovemaking without a word.
But I hadn’t had a chance to tell him how I felt. Or even to work out how I felt. I’d had to dress, kiss him goodbye and race for the coach as though my life depended on it, and now that I was settled in for the long ride to Brussels with little to distract me besides the occasional chatter from my bandmates whenever they roused, new scenes rushing by the windows as we passed through towns and cities, all I could think about was Dominik.
My lips were still tender from the viciousness of his kisses, not to mention my nipples which were both swollen and sore, and which bore some slight bruising where his teeth had grazed my skin. I was still wet, as I’d begun thinking about going back to his bed as soon as I’d left it, and along with the physical aches and sadness I was filled with a desire to be with him that I doubted would never be sated, at least while we were apart.
I wanted to p
ush the feelings out of my head somehow, to get into a swimming pool and thrash out lap after lap, or to put on my running shoes and tear along footpaths until the pain in my body cancelled out the pain in my heart. But it was no good, I was stuck on a comfortable seat for the next five hours. Not long enough to sleep, and too long to sit quietly without any distraction. I wished I’d thought to strap myself into the corset tightly under my T-shirt again. The discomfort in that would have blunted the terrible longing that tore me like a constant scream.
I hadn’t even asked him about the Bailly. Truth be told, I wanted Dominik more than I wanted the violin back. I’d have lost the Bailly a thousand times over to have another chance with him. If I could have made a pact with the devil at that moment, I’d have sold my soul to him and destroyed the violin with my own hands, if it would bring Dominik back.
But it was no good. He was on his way to London, and to Lauralynn. Knowing them both as I did, they must have an open relationship. I couldn’t see Lauralynn settling down, and though Dominik never seemed able to quite release his jealousy, he had a fiercely independent streak. I doubted that he would agree to a monogamous relationship with anyone. Nonetheless, I wished I knew what our night together had meant to him. Lauralynn didn’t have a submissive streak in her body, so perhaps it had been a chance for him to top someone who appreciated it. A fling with an old playmate, and nothing more. I wondered if he’d tell Lauralynn, if they’d laugh at me together and reminisce fondly about the silly fiddler they both once knew who liked her sex hard and rough and didn’t appear to have a romantic bone in her body. Well, I did, but only for the right person, and that right person was Dominik. Without him, I might be reduced to relationships like the kind that I had with Simón for the rest of my life. Friendship, and nothing more. I didn’t want to hurt anyone again the way that I had hurt Simón, so had no plans to try my hand on the dating scene.
Luba had seemed rather interested in Dominik, and I’d been so enormously thankful that he hadn’t wanted to pursue her, or to go to the swingers’ club. Sharing him with another was the last thing I wanted to do right now, while whatever connection we had left still felt so uncertain, so fragile. Even if he hadn’t wanted to spend time with me, seeing him with someone else would have broken my heart.