by Evie Blake
‘What was the painting?’ asks Valentina, trying to stay calm as she sips her Bloody Mary.
‘It was by the French artist Watteau.’
Valentina drops her eyes, stares into the juicy scarlet of her drink. What is her lover involved in?
‘But what has Theo got to do with all of this?’ she asks, dreading the answer.
‘I have a source,’ Garelli says. ‘It seems that your partner has happened to be in the vicinity of all these mistaken robberies. And since he is a celebrated art critic . . . someone who knows about these pieces . . . I felt bound to question him. It could all be a completely innocent coincidence, of course,’ he adds lightly, hooking her with a sinister smile.
Valentina knocks back her drink.
‘Well, it sounds very tenuous to me,’ she says haughtily. ‘I mean, paintings that are stolen and not stolen. There isn’t even a crime. Maybe you shouldn’t be wasting your time investigating Theo, and instead investigate all these victims of fake robberies.’
Garelli’s eyes light up for an instant.
‘Why, Signorina Rosselli, that is an excellent idea. Thank you for that tip.’
She gets up, not sure whether he is being facetious or not.
‘I have to go,’ she says brusquely.
She marches out of the Avatt Park Hotel, not sure whether it is Garelli or her lover she is angry at. What the hell is Theo involved in? This isn’t their world. Robberies, conspiracies and the police. Or maybe it has always been Theo’s and she just didn’t know. She can’t work it out. There is one thing she knows about Theo, and that is his sense of justice. He is a good man, not a thief. Why is he hiding all of this from her? Despite her best efforts, it makes her furious.
She is still a little angry when she arrives at Leonardo’s club later that evening. One advantage is that her fury at Garelli, and Theo, helps her get over her nerves at seeing Leonardo again after their last intense encounter. After having dressed so carefully the last couple of times she came here, tonight she didn’t think twice about putting on her new corset and stockings underneath a little black vintage dress. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, she says to herself as she storms through the door.
Leonardo is waiting for her in the reception. He is dressed simply in black jeans and a pristine white T-shirt. To her surprise, he is also wearing a pair of glasses, as he sits behind the desk in reception, reading a book.
‘Oh, Valentina,’ he says, looking up and taking off the glasses, smiling at her as if nothing extraordinary has happened between them at all.
Valentina wishes he would put the glasses back on. They take the edge off his Mediterranean stud look. He closes the book and she notices it is Watt, by Samuel Beckett. It is not the sort of book she imagines someone like Leonardo would be reading. She hardly took him for a fan of obscure literary works.
‘I have been trying to call you, but your phone was switched off,’ he says.
She pulls out her phone, registers two missed calls from Leonardo.
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise. I forgot to turn it on.’
Leonardo puts the book away in a drawer.
‘First of all I wanted to check you were all right after the other night.’
She bites her lip.
‘I’m fine,’ she says sourly.
‘And secondly, I know we were supposed to be doing another shoot today with Celia in the Velvet Underworld, but unfortunately she is sick, and I couldn’t find another girl.’
‘Oh.’
‘You look very disappointed, Valentina.’ Leonardo puts his head on one side and balances his glasses playfully between his fingertips.
‘Not at all,’ Valentina lies, wanting to appear indifferent. ‘I just cancelled other plans.’
‘I really am sorry. I will set it up again, unless . . .’ She looks at him enquiringly. Please don’t suggest watching another dominatrix session, she begs inside her head.
‘I was actually thinking that for you to be able to take sensitive pictures of a submissive and her dominant . . . well, it would be good for you to try it on your own. I mean, the dynamic would be different if it were just you and me.’
Valentina feels a cold hand clasping her heart, a terror filling her belly.
‘I’m not sure I am the submissive type.’
Leonardo smiles at her, his eyes dancing with amusement.
‘I think you are,’ he says. ‘I can always recognise a born submissive when I see her. You know, it’s not about being a doormat. It takes courage to be a submissive.’
Valentina says nothing for a minute. She watches Leonardo putting his glasses away, all the while wondering if she has the courage to do what he is asking. She takes a breath before speaking.
‘Will Theo be there?’ she asks quietly.
Leonardo looks up at her.
‘Have you not spoken to him since Saturday?’ he asks.
She shakes her head, her cheeks colouring.
‘I don’t understand what’s going on,’ she whispers hoarsely.
‘I can’t tell you what Theo wants, Valentina,’ Leonardo says. ‘You have to work that out for yourself.’ He gives her a kind smile. ‘But I can tell you that if you want to experience being a submissive, then it will be just you and me in the Velvet Underworld tonight.’
They stare at each other, the silence heavy between them. Even though she has already had sex with this man, the thought of Celia not being in the room with her makes his proposal all the more dangerous. There is no way she can do this. What about Theo? But then another voice starts up in her head. What about Theo, Valentina? He has abandoned you for a whole week now, with no explanation apart from an old photographic album full of erotica. To suddenly appear like that on Saturday night and fuck Celia in front of you! To wind you up like that. And what does he think those erotic pictures are doing to you alone in your bed every night?
‘I live with Theo,’ she says, not taking her eyes away from Leonardo’s. ‘He wants me to be his girlfriend.’
Leonardo blinks back at her.
‘And I have a girlfriend too. Raquel. I think you met her. Unfortunately she is busy tonight, otherwise she could have taken Celia’s place.’
The blonde in the corset is his girlfriend? She never imagined Leonardo in a relationship.
‘This is a lifestyle choice, Valentina. It has nothing to do with issues of fidelity. You are choosing to experience something I believe you will find erotic. An experience you can use to enhance your sex life with Theo. Besides,’ he adds, ‘he need never know.’
He need never know. Yet she will know, always. She tries to reason with herself. If she does this, it will help her let go of Theo. She can prove to herself that she can’t be the woman he wants her to be. It will save him from who she really is: a cold, heartless companion just like her mother.
‘Okay,’ she says, hardly believing her own voice. ‘But I am a little frightened . . .’
Leonardo takes her hand in his, holds her warmly in his gaze.
‘That’s what makes it so erotic. You need to have a little fear, Valentina, otherwise it won’t work.’
‘What are you going to do to me?’ she whispers.
He drops her hands, and she sees his eyes harden.
‘I am going to take you to the part of yourself that is most hidden. First we will explore my version of the Velvet Underworld.’
Valentina shivers involuntarily, recalling the whips, and canes she saw hanging on the wall.
‘And then, Valentina, I am going to take you into the Dark Room inside yourself.’
Belle
HE LEANS HIS BACK AGAINST THE WALL OF HER BEDROOM, legs crossed, hands in his pockets, and watches her. His eyes are searing through her clothes as she begins to unbutton her jacket. Her hands shake with trepidation as she unties her scarf, drops her bag by the bed and bends down to unbutton her boots. He walks around her, to come up from behind. She can feel her skin prickling, reacting to his proximity. He lifts her hands into his,
up over her head.
‘Here, let me do that for you,’ he says, kneeling down and unbuttoning her boots, delicately pulling them off her stockinged feet.
She places her hands on the top of his head, pushing her fingers through his thick mane of black hair. He looks up at her, and the concentration of their mutual gaze is something tangible, spreading thickly in the air, like honey on her tongue.
He stands up, towering over her, forcing her hands to drop. He scoops her up and carries her over to the bed, laying her down carefully, as if she is made of glass. She lies there watching him. There is no need for her to seduce this man, or for him to seduce her. No effort is required. She can feel the charge between them, the current of their longing. He comes towards the bed, loosening his tie. He looks at her, lying in her silk chemise, as if he is looking at his heart’s desire.
He leans down. With one hand he pulls her chemise up to her chest, and with the other hand he removes her underwear so that he is looking at her nakedness. She slips her arms out of the straps of her chemise so that now all she is wearing is her black stockings. She reaches up to him, and he bends over her and kisses her. Belle rarely kisses clients. But this man is no client. He is the possessor of her heart. A whisper of doubt occurs to her: maybe he thinks she is only a prostitute. She doesn’t care. She has never been kissed so deeply and with such intensity. It is a kind of kissing that makes her want to give him every single drop of her essence. Their lips and their tongues are speaking to each other, with no words. Eventually he pulls away.
‘Belle Blackbird,’ he whispers. ‘I would very much like to make love to you. Will you allow me?’
‘Yes, Santos Devine. I will.’
He takes his clothes off and she admires his firm, lean body. This is a man who never rests, is always on the go. He doesn’t have an inch of fat on him, unlike her sedentary husband. No, she will not think of Signor Brzezinski tonight. She knows she is sailing close to the wind. Risking scandal, losing everything, but it is worth it. To experience this intensity of passion, even if it is just this one time.
When Santos pushes into her, she cannot help but gasp in awe. Sex has never felt like this before. It has been pleasurable, exciting and erotic, but this feeling is all of those sensations and more. She is becoming a part of Santos. She can feel his pleasure, his ecstasy, which in turn deepens her own.
She has been found at last by this man. This transient Santos Devine, who she will probably never see again after tonight. He fits in her so perfectly. He moves at the same time as her; his spicy, salty scent is one she has always known; the feel of his skin, surprising soft, and the thickness of his black locks have lived inside her memory since the day she became a woman.
Santos and she are bonded. One minute he is on top of her, the next they roll over and she is on top of him. She feels him inside her, going deeper and deeper; she yearns for him to reach all the way into her soul and fill her up.
Take away my emptiness. Take away my loss.
And now something is happening to Belle. A sensation she has never felt before. She imagines the tip of him touching the tip of her, and she is hovering, like a sea swallow over the lagoon, wings flapping, faster and faster, beating inside. Oh, this feeling is impossible. So exquisite and yet so unbearable. She opens her eyes and looks at Santos. He is watching her as her guard drops. Don’t stop, her eyes beg him. He puts his hands behind her back and lifts her up, so that she is above him, and he is still thrusting inside her. She gasps, as all self-control is washed away by the power of his touch. She flies. Santos has set her free.
After they climax, they lie side by side on her bed. Without saying a word, Santos picks up her hand and presses her palm to his lips. She turns to him and looks into his eyes. She can see all the places he has been within their golden blue, and she wishes she could be there too in his adventures. She leans forward and kisses his plush lips, which are as soft as baby’s skin, incongruous for such a rugged man. She reaches up and twists the gold ring in his ear, moving her mouth to kiss him on his lobe. He pulls her to him and holds her tight against his naked body. She lifts her legs and wraps them around his waist, then reaches down and touches him. He is hard again. She knows he is. Caressing him until she feels he is full and ready, she guides him into her. Oh, she wants to make love to this man until they disintegrate. Until they are no more in the real world but become moths of desire fluttering around the light of her love. For she really has fallen in love for the first time in her life. Maybe it was even in that first moment of recognition when she passed by him in the piazza, but Belle knows that whatever happens to her now, Santos Devine will be the love of her life. And this night is filled with joy, as she forgets so completely about Signora Louise Brzezinska and her caged life, as she even forgets about Belle and her clients. She is the young Polish girl before her life in Venice, before she lost her country and her maidenhood. She is Louise in her innocence making love to her true love nine times in one night.
Valentina
HOW DO SHE AND LEONARDO START? HOW DO THEY GO from exchanging pleasantries to playing this very serious game of dominant and submissive?
It was so much easier with Theo. Their first language was with their bodies. It was so seamless, so very natural the way she and Theo came together. She didn’t expect it to last, and yet the beginning of their affair flowed without effort. It was heady, and exciting, all those unexpected, anonymous appointments in the hotels. She had never felt so alive as those first few weeks with Theo.
Valentina takes a breath and tries to shove thoughts of the Theo she first met out of her head. Things changed, remember, when he moved in with her. Now he wants to possess her, just like her mother warned. He is playing mind games with her, getting some kind of revenge for her lack of commitment. She is not the girl Theo wants her to be. The kind of girl who is eager to meet the parents. With a sinking heart she realises she is just like her mother.
Leonardo pours them both a big glass of red wine, and Valentina wonders if he is nervous too. They are sitting in his office. He is at his desk, and she is opposite him. He hands her a piece of typed A4 paper.
‘I just need you to sign this disclaimer,’ he says. ‘That you consent to whatever is going to happen tonight.’
She sits up with a jolt, her expression a question.
‘A disclaimer?’ she asks incredulously. ‘But we’ve already had sex. . .’
He picks up a pen and sucks on the end of it, looking pensive.
‘I am sorry to be so formal,’ he says. ‘It was remiss of me not to get you to sign it the other night . . . but then the whole point was that you had to act spontaneously.’
She frowns. He makes it sound as if she has been manipulated. She looks at his hands as he passes her the pen. Is she really going to submit herself to this man? Her hand shakes uncontrollably as she signs her name.
‘I just want to reassure you,’ Leonardo says matter-offactly, as if he is outlining a normal event rather than a night of wild sex, ‘that we practise safe sex here in my club. So you don’t have to worry about that side of things.’
His baldness makes her blanch.
‘It goes without saying that I will be using condoms if we do end up having intercourse, just like I did on Saturday.’
If? Haven’t they just agreed that that’s what they are going to do?
Leonardo has his glasses on, and as he speaks, Valentina can see herself reflected in them. She tries not to look at herself. She wants to be as far removed as she can be from what is about to happen. Is she really going to do this? Isn’t it treachery? Only a week apart from Theo, and she is entering into a sexual liaison with another man, without his involvement or knowledge. She can’t help it. She wants to understand another side of her sexuality. Ever since her night with Rosa and Celia, something has changed within her. She is not just curious to find out about sadomasochism; deep down inside her, she has this need, this longing to experience being dominated. It is hard to admit this truth abou
t herself. Yet it is the truth. She needs to explore it outside the perimeters of her and Theo, with an expert so to speak, someone like Leonardo who knows what he is doing.
‘So.’ Leonardo has his elbows on his desk, his fingers knotted and his chin resting on them. ‘Is there anything you want to ask me first?’
‘When did you know that you were into . . . this?’ she stumbles. ‘I mean, how did you find out?’
‘I have always known,’ Leonardo says simply. ‘Since I was a child. I was six, and playing with a girl a couple of years older than me. You know, according to Freud, all children have these sadomasochistic tendencies.’
‘That’s a very politically incorrect thing to say,’ Valentina comments, feeling her hackles rise. Keep children out of it.
‘I know.’ Leonardo nods. ‘But I think it is true. It doesn’t mean that children aren’t innocent or vulnerable.’
Valentina remembers something. She has tried to suppress it, but a vague, shadowy memory is emerging from her subconscious. A time when she was about eight years old. Something she saw. Her mother was such a free spirit that after Valentina’s father left, she had a succession of boyfriends. There was always this atmosphere of new demonstrative love, until her mother blew her new man out. This one time Valentina saw something. A glimpse of her mother in her bedroom, tied to a chair. The image is quite clear. Her mother facing the back of the chair, wearing a bra and petticoat, her hands tied behind her back, her feet tied to the chair and her mouth gagged. Yet Valentina wasn’t scared or horrified. In fact a few weeks later she played a game with one of the boys in her class in which she asked him to tie her to a chair and kiss her. The boy not only obliged but also pulled her skirt up over her head to look at her knickers.
So that was how this desire was planted inside her? It was from her mother. The other day Leonardo said that a submissive often had narcissistic tendencies. That would certainly describe her mother, and if she was honest, probably herself.
‘You know,’ Leonardo is saying to her, ‘sadomasochism can be cathartic. The experience of being exposed and humiliated can actually be a way of reconnecting with a part of your personality you have put aside and repressed.’