by Lily Harlem
She dared not open her eyes, because then it would definitely be the end of the dream. Instead she squeezed her eyelids closed tighter, stilled and prayed he’d come back to her. Mammon had been so vivid, so real, there had to be more.
As she lay there, the storm raging, her heart rate calmed and so did her breathing. She ran her hands over her breasts. Her long night gown was back in place, covering her breasts and down to her waist. But from there it was dragged up, bunched so her nakedness was exposed.
She swallowed, wishing evidence of his kiss was on her tongue, but it wasn’t, all she could do was try to remember his taste. Delving between her legs, she found her clit was still sensitive. The orgasm had been real, even if created within a dream. A wet dream; she was sopping, her pussy thick with liquid, more than if she’d masturbated, much more.
She drew her fingers up from the sheets, then with her other hand flicked on the bedside lamp.
Spread on her fingers was thick, pearly-white liquid. It sparkled in the light and was warm.
“What just happened to me?”
Chapter One
Paris.
Twenty-Five Years Later
Darius
“Darius, this way, you’re doing great. Amy, can you just…a bit to the right, yes, drape your whole arm over, no, more of a casual pose…try and look relaxed…yes like that.”
I glanced at Amy as the photographer, Malik, barked his instructions. She was a pretty thing, not as tall as some of the other models but still long and willowy; they all were. Her cheekbones were high, her lips violent red, and right now, like me, she wore a flamboyant Venetian style eye-mask and very little else.
“To me, to me.” The photographer had his camera held up again. “Benjamin, lighting. Come on, we haven’t got all day.”
His assistant, Ben, rushed to do Malik’s bidding.
I maintained my sultry expression with my lips downturned and my chin tipped nonchalantly. We were supposed to look like Italian hipsters from the eighteenth century. Apparently that look matched the scent of Oui’s latest designer fragrance, Phantom’s Kiss.
Amy’s slight weight tipped against me, and her hair tickled my chest as she swathed herself across my lap.
“Yes, that’s better, more, like that,” Malik said. “You’re bored, bored but beautiful, and over-indulged too, in everything, get that look, good, good, fuck yeah, that’s the look!”
The camera clicked and whirred as he took his shots.
My peripheral vision was hampered by the eye-mask, but I could see people watching—lighting assistants, make-up artists, wardrobe. Malik was a big deal when it came to the world of photography, and I guessed as the last three years had gone on, I’d also become a big deal in male modelling. I had more jobs than I could ever dream of, and my agency demanded higher and higher fees on my behalf.
“Good, that’s it. Now, Darius, can you slide your hand over her hair, look possessive. She’s yours and you’ll fight anyone who comes near her, her scent has bewitched you. You’re under her seductive spell.”
I did as he’d asked, smoothing Amy’s silky blonde hair against her scalp. The strands were warm from the spotlight above and they slipped over my palm and through my fingers. I summoned a glare for the camera, daring anyone who looked at the picture to mess with my woman.
My woman!
The truth was I’d never had a woman, despite being surrounded by some of the most beautiful females on the planet day after day. Not one had captured my attention in the capacity of anything other than friendship.
Oh, I could admire perfect bodies, pretty smiles and sweet natures but there was always something missing. None of them lived up to my dreams of what a soul mate should be.
“That’s it. That’s the money shot.” Malik lowered his camera. He wore a wide grin and his cheeks were flushed. “It’s a wrap, great work people.”
I blew out a breath, relaxing my cheek muscles then closing my eyes and squeezing the lids. Hours under bright lights was drying, and holding still was surprisingly tiring.
“I need a smoke.” Amy rested her hand on my thigh and pushed upright. “You coming for one?”
“No, I’ve quit.”
“Wish I could, but if I don’t smoke I’ll eat, and I can’t do that.”
“You have to eat, Amy.” I frowned at her. “It’s important, you know that.”
“I do eat. A bit…occasionally.” She stood, her bare breasts just inches from my face. Her nipples were small and such a delicate shade of pink they were only just discernable from her flesh.
She plucked at her eye-mask and pulled it off. Like mine, it had long feathers pluming from the side. “This thing is hot, right.”
“Yeah, it is.” I stood.
A small smile crossed her face and she touched the tip of her finger to my collarbone. “So what are you doing later, Darius? Want to go get some dinner?”
“Yeah, sure, but my flight back to London is early so nothing late.”
“Well that doesn’t sound very exciting, does it?” She traced lower, to my chest, stopping at the base of my left pec. “And you don’t sound very enthused either at the thought of a date with me.”
The cogs of my mind clicked into gear. This was the third time I’d worked with Amy, and the third time she’d mentioned getting together. I’d said yes to be polite, as I’d been brought up to be, but now…now she thought our evening was a date—a date that might extend to something more.
I sighed and stepped back. “Actually, thinking about it, I might give it a miss, Amy. If you don’t mind.” I paused. “I’ve got a headache coming on. The lights, you know.” I gestured upward.
“So take some drugs.” She shrugged and allowed her hand to drop to her side. “Legal or illegal, I’m easy.” She laughed, a high-pitched tinkling sound.
I smiled. “Tell you what, I’ll lie down for an hour and give you a call if I feel better.”
“Okay. You do that.”
“But it’s fifty-fifty. I might just get room service.”
She placed her hands on her hips. A frown creased her usually perfectly smooth brow.
“What?”
“You’re a funny one, you know that?”
“I am?” I tugged off my eye-mask, then rubbed at the mark it had left on my forehead.
“Sure. I mean look at you, you’re like some kind of Adonis, so beautiful it’s hard to believe you’re even human—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I chuckled.
“I think your pay packets tell you I’m not the only one who thinks that.”
She had a point.
“And,” she went on, “you could have any woman you want, but you don’t. Yet…”
“What?” I was curious as to where she was going with this conversation.
“But you’re not gay either, are you?”
“That’s a very personal question.” I bristled.
“No it’s not, not in this industry, everyone knows everyone’s sexual persuasion. But we don’t know yours, Darius.”
“I’m a private person.” And hardly about to shout to the world that I was a virgin—and, as she suspected, probably gay.
“I think…” She turned and scooped up a citrus yellow t-shirt, then tugged it on. Her nipples poked at the material. “That you need to lighten up. Have some fun, experiment.” She stepped close, really close, and set her lips by my ear. “Find out what you do like,” she said breathily, “then do it some more.”
“I know exactly what I like, Amy, but for the record, I don’t date colleagues.”
“You don’t date colleagues,” she repeated, then sighed. “So how are you ever going to meet anyone? From what I see, all you do is work, work, work.”
She was pushing me too far. Heat was growing in my tightening chest, never a good sign, and my vision was blurring slightly. “Maybe I don’t want to meet someone. Perhaps I like my own company.”
“No one likes being alone.” She stepped away and held up her right
hand. “Apart from anything else it makes your wrist ache.” With a cackling laugh, she turned and walked from under the glaring lights. Being rejected wasn’t something high-end models were used to, there was always going to be a sting in her tail.
And it had stung. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever meet the one. But it was a thought I’d been suppressing. A worry I hadn’t dared give much light to.
“Puis-je avoir le masque s’il vous plait?”
A middle-aged woman from the wardrobe department stood at my side. “Sure, here you go, thanks.” I passed the mask to her, then strode to my dressing room.
I have to get out of here.
The dressing room was cool and quiet, and I quickly dragged on faded Levi’s, sneakers and a tight black Diesel t-shirt. I couldn’t shake the irritation Amy had created in me. It was as if she’d seen into the dark recesses of my mind. A place I hadn’t even been allowing myself to visit.
Quickly I fastened my necklace, a chunky stone cross my mother had given me years ago. I hadn’t worn it for the shoot.
The dressing room had a fire-escape door, and not wanting to face anyone, I grabbed my rucksack and went outside. I found myself in a small, bricked courtyard set against the Seine. It was steeped in shadows as twilight approached, the corners gloomy, the high windows unlit.
There was no one else there, though there could have been, the path along the river was right in front of me and made the courtyard accessible.
I gulped in air, wishing the heat from my conversation with Amy would leave me. But it wouldn’t. Once the emotional power, the electrifying build had begun, there was only one thing for it.
I walked to a set of black wrought iron railings half shielding the courtyard from the path and gripped their cool speared tips. The river was moving with gusto, a plastic bag giving away its speed. On the opposite bank ornate street lamps had illuminated, spreading an amber glow over the ground.
Trying to concentrate on the light didn’t help. The energy was churning inside me now, reeling from the very center of my chest up to my neck, my shoulders and down my arms.
I’d hoped the cold hard metal of the railings would hold it off.
It didn’t.
“Fuck it!” I released them, turned and spotted a pile of litter—a newspaper, crumpled cigarette box, some fast food wrappers, and a glass bottle.
The burn in my right arm was intensifying. It was painful now. There was only one way to get rid of the pain. I’d have to do it. See this through.
I clenched my teeth, tensed my belly and squeezed my fingers together. The blistering pain was making me sweat. It had turned into a ball of flames in my guts.
I held my breath and directed my hand toward the litter.
Sparks glistened from my fingertips, frenzied and brilliant, then shot through the air. They took the agony with them, tearing it from my body.
The litter whooshed to life. Bright yellow and orange flames sprang upward then licked against the brickwork.
I repeated the action, sending more flashes of heat from my fingertips toward the fire and getting rid of the last bit of my frustration. It wouldn’t do to keep it in. I knew from experience that didn’t end well.
I blew out a breath and let my hand fall to my side. I sagged against the railing. Releasing sparks always left me exhausted. It drained not just the negative energy from my body, but also some of the good energy; the energy that meant I could function.
Watching the flames, I waited for my heart rate to settle. My pulse was loud in my ears and my fingertips still hot. But at least the frustration had gone from the pit of my stomach. My chest no longer felt tight with irritation.
The fast food wrappers quickly shrivelled to ash, the cigarette box lit bright for a few seconds then imploded, and the newspaper was creating pretty dancing flames, enjoying their moment in time.
I straightened, set back my shoulders and brushed a crease from my t-shirt. I needed to put Amy’s comments from my mind and get to my hotel room. Tomorrow I’d be back in London. I’d visit my mother, tell her how the shoot had gone and that I’d created sparks. I always told her, only her. She was the only person who understood that I was different.
You were made different, Darius, you came to create light in my life, so much light it sometimes sets you on fire.
She often said that to me. I didn’t know how she’d come to that conclusion but I couldn’t think of any other explanation so I went along with it and was careful not to let anyone see my sparks.
A sudden movement to my right caught my attention.
I turned to the farthest corner of the courtyard which was in near blackness.
From it stepped a man wearing a dark hoody pulled up over his head and black jeans.
Surprise bombarded me, it quickly turned to anxiety.
Did he see?
He walked toward me. There was something a little sinister about him but I told myself it was just the way he had the hood pulled up and his hands shoved into his pockets.
Part of me wanted to move, get out of there, but equally I didn’t want to be thought of as afraid. He was just a man, the same as me, after all.
“Do you have the time?” he asked, his voice deep and husky.
I’d been expecting him to speak French. “I…er, yes.” I glanced at my Rolex. “It’s just gone seven-thirty.”
“I thought so.” He stopped and pushed his hood back, revealing super-short blond hair and a diamond earring in his left ear. His nose was long and straight, his eyes pale and his lips plump.
“Have a nice night,” I said, wondering why he’d asked if he’d had an idea of the time.
“You too.” He paused, then when I stepped away, he said, “though the night is young.”
I hesitated. There was something in his tone that made me curious. What did he mean, ‘the night is young’? And why had he been standing in the shadows?
“I’ve had a long day,” I said, keeping my back to him but not moving.
“I’m sure you have.”
Maybe he recognizes me from a magazine or billboard.
“I’ve had many of them,” he went on. “Long days, that is. Never prompted me to start a fire by shooting sparks from my fingertips though.”
Shit!
A wave of panic fluttered in my chest and I had to push down a sense of nausea. I’d been so careful for years. Why had I let Amy push me to the point my caution had slipped?
“It’s okay,” he said, walking to the dying flames and crouching down to stare at them. “We all have different methods of stress relief.”
“And what are yours?”
Change the subject, Darius.
He didn’t look at me, instead he picked up a stick and poked the glass bottle. It rattled away from the pile of ash and clinked against the wall. “I suppose my ‘thing’ is drink.”
“Ah, I see.” That explained everything. He was a drunk who’d been sleeping in the corner of the courtyard, likely in a doorway. Chances of him even remembering this conversation tomorrow were slim.
Thank goodness.
“I like to drink,” he said. “But I go months without it.” He tossed the stick to one side and stood. “Like now, not a drop.”
He stepped closer to me, almost as if to prove he didn’t smell of alcohol.
He didn’t. If anything his scent was sweet and spiced, an expensive cologne I couldn’t identify. There was a hint of tobacco too, a smell I liked but resisted.
“Not a drop has passed these lips.” He smiled and ran the tip of his tongue over his top lip.
I watched him and my own lips parted slightly.
“For so long,” he spoke quietly. “Not a drop.”
“It sounds as though you’re doing really well…”
“Lloyd, that’s my name.” He held out his hand. “Lloyd Oakley.”
“Oh, I…I’m Darius Linnet.” I placed my hand in his and shook. “Nice to meet you.”
His flesh was cool, but at the same time a st
range heat traveled up my arm. It wasn’t like when I had the sparks, it was more like a fizz of excitement, a small shock-wave of interest.
“You’re quite beautiful,” Lloyd said, keeping my hand in his grip and studying me.
I laughed, a sudden burst of noise that was filled with relief he’d moved on from my flame throwing antics to my looks; my looks was something I was used to discussing.
“Why is that funny?” he asked.
“Well, you’re a guy, I’m a guy, we’ve just met and you’re telling me I’m beautiful.”
“But you are, you must know that.”
“I guess. It’s how I make my living. I’m a model. That’s why I’ve had a long day. I’ve been shooting an ad campaign for a new cologne, Phantom’s Kiss.”
“A model.” He released my hand and took a step back. He folded his arms and allowed his gaze to roam from the top of my head to my sneakers then back up to my face.
For some reason his scrutiny made me shift from one foot to the other. I didn’t know why, having people survey my physical attributes was an everyday occurrence.
“Mmm,” he said. “I can see that you would make a very good model, it just wasn’t what we were expecting.”
“Expecting?” What is he talking about? “Who’s we?”
“But we should have, though.” He frowned as though talking to himself. “Why would it be any other way? Of course you’re perfectly stunning, how could you not be?”
Chapter Two
Lloyd
I could hardly believe it, after all this time—years, decades, centuries of looking—I’d finally found him.
Or at least I hoped I had.
Darius Linnet.
The man who held the key to saving our souls.
He just didn’t know it…yet.
I wanted to touch him again, then take him with me, to meet the others. There was so much to do. So much to explain, to discuss, but that couldn’t happen.
Not yet.
Already I sensed his skittishness. He’d thought about bolting when I’d walked from the shadows. I could tell by the way he’d glanced at the river, then at the door he’d emerged from. He’d also been ready to leave after he’d told me the time. My usual ability to snare both men and women into wanting my company didn’t seem to be working on him.