Forty 2 Days Page 7

  ‘I’m very happy to help you, Miss Bloom.’ He nods happily towards Sorab. ‘He looks exactly like his father. A very handsome boy, indeed.’

  I freeze.

  But Billie is quick off the mark. She grins broadly. ‘Sorry, mate, but this one here is my baby. Don’t you think he looks like me? Everyone says so.’

  Mr. Nair’s dark, confused eyes look to me.

  ‘I’m only his godmother,’ I say weakly, filled with a sharp sense of pain. I am terribly proud of Sorab, and not being recognized as his mother is far more difficult than I expected.

  ‘Oh, I’m very, very sorry. I spoke out of turn,’ Mr. Nair apologizes. Poor man. He looks embarrassed and flustered.

  ‘Please don’t worry about it, Mr. Nair. I know you meant no harm.’

  ‘Better be going. The desk is unmanned,’ Mr. Nair mutters awkwardly and hurries away.

  I close the door and turn towards Billie. ‘Oh my God, Billie. He knew.’

  ‘Of course he did. He is Indian. They are into astrology and all that shit, aren’t they?’

  ‘Billie,’ I wail. ‘Recognizing a family resemblance has nothing to do with astrology.’

  Billie crosses her arms. ‘I know that! I was being sarcastic. For God’s sake, Lana, what’s got into you? Sorab is a three-month-old baby and all babies look alike. I wouldn’t even be able to pick him out from a line-up of six babies.’

  I frown unconvinced. I believe that Sorab is one of those children who have very definite features. ‘He does have his father’s eyes.’

  ‘Look, you said Blake’s secretary sent a whole list of baby stuff, including pram and cot, to the apartment, right? So he’s obviously seen it all go into the lift, put two and two together and come up with four. Unfortunately for him, the correct answer is five. Now, quit fretting over things you don’t need to worry about and give me a tour of this awesome flat.’

  I smile. I am such a paranoid fool. Of course, she is right. I give her a grand tour.

  ‘Wow!’ she enthuses. ‘Guess how much this crib costs?’

  ‘I don’t know. Five hundred quid?’

  ‘Add another zero and you’re almost there.’

  ‘Really?’

  She pulls the price tag off and holds it out to me. ‘Five thousand five hundred and fifty-nine pounds for a fucking crib when a third of the world is starving.’ She shakes her head. ‘Still it is dead cool to be so stonkingly rich, isn’t it?’

  My phone rings. It is Laura. She is calling to tell me that Tom is on his way with my morning after pill and to tell me to be ready for 8:00 pm. She has made a dinner reservation for Blake and me at The Fat Duck.

  ‘It sure looks good from the outside, though,’ Billie says, having listened to my conversation with Laura.

  Billie finds a box of chocolates in the kitchen and then lunges headlong into the bed and, lying sprawled on it like a sultan, makes me try all the clothes on, one by one. She insists I keep a pair of pink leather pants. ‘You got to. They make your bum look all ripe and trapped and in need of saving. Blake is an ass man, right?’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Just a guess. Now go try on the long black dress,’ she orders.

  The black dress makes her gasp. ‘Very, very sexy.’

  I grin.

  ‘How many are you allowed to keep?’

  ‘As many as I want, I think.’

  ‘Really? What’s that like?’

  For some reason I think of the white dress. ‘Nice, I guess.’

  ‘What happened last night?’

  ‘He’s angry with me, Bill. Very angry.’

  ‘He didn’t hurt you, did he?’ I can hear the protective anger come into Billie’s voice. She is such a firebrand.

  ‘No,’ I say, but I find it almost impossible to discuss how I feel about Blake with Billie. For Billie sex is fun, something to do when she feels horny. For me, and I suspect for Blake as well, it is a clawing need. I know it is the reason why he is angry. He hates losing control. Control is important to him. In fact, if I am given only one word to describe his personality, I would have to use the word controlled. His whole life is about control of himself and others. He is controlled in everything he does, what he eats, how he eats, all his dealings, the precision of his time keeping, his immaculate appearance. I don’t think I have ever seen a single scuff mark on his shoes.

  Until I came everything was perfectly in order, compartmentalized. There was room for a fiancée and a mistress. Now it is all a mess. I am like the lock of hair on his head that will not be tamed. He wants to walk away and feel nothing but disgust for me, but he can’t. I look Billie in the eye.

  ‘His real anger is not directed at me, but at himself for still wanting me.’

  ‘I’ve no beef with him. I only fear it will all blow up and he will not be able or willing to protect you against his family and the bitch.’

  I do not tell her about my near run-in with Victoria in Harvey Nichols. That would be putting the cat among the pigeons. She stays until the five o’clock rush hour traffic abates at six. I send her home with a heavy heart and a couple of tins of the goat’s milk formula.

  At seven I come out of the bath and slip into a blue dress. It is long and straight with a demure neckline, but it dramatically deepens the blue of my eyes and suggests the curves that I no longer possess. I am stepping into a pair of peacock blue shoes when I hear him come in. I look at my watch. He is early. I turn in surprise when he comes directly into the bedroom. For a moment we look at each other. He is wearing a silver-gray suit, a white shirt, and a black and red striped tie.

  ‘I hope you haven’t dressed in a nun’s habit on my account, because it is coming off the first chance I get,’ he says.

  Once he might have come up to me and told me how beautiful I looked. My hands flutter upwards uselessly and settle down to my sides. Now he will not accept anything except that which suggests I am a slut. He goes towards the bed. The journal is lying on the bedside table. He picks it up and opens it to the empty first page. He comes towards me expressionless. He reaches a hand into his jacket and emerges with a sleek black fountain pen. Swiss. Very expensive. He holds the journal and the pen wordlessly out to me.

  I take the offered items and go into the dining room. I sit at the long, polished table and write.

  Day 1

  Blake ripped the first dress that I have actually loved into two and fucked me hard against the bedroom wall. Then he threw me on the bed, didn’t deliver on his promise, and used the C word on me.

  I go back into the living room where Blake is pouring himself a shot of whiskey so large my eyes actually widen. I hand him the book and his pen. He opens the book, reads the two sentences I have written and looks at me with amusement.

  ‘The C word. May I remind you that you come from a council estate where the…er…C word is almost an adjective?’

  I lift my chin. ‘I first heard that word in the playground when I was six years old. A mother had sat on one of the benches by the swings and described her toddler daughter as a ‘clever little cunt’. So I came home and used the word in front of my mother. She didn’t scold me or wash my mouth out with soap. “I have obviously failed in my duty as a mother that you feel comfortable to allow such a vile word to sit on your tongue. I will not eat until I realize where I have gone wrong,” she said. She put dinner on the table and refused to eat. “Of course you have to eat. You have done nothing wrong,” she told me. I had to sit there and finish all my food. She would not let me leave a single pea behind. She did it again at breakfast. By lunchtime I was so distraught I could not eat a single mouthful. I promised her I would never use the word again. And I haven’t until today.’

  He steps away from me, as if knowing that little bit about me is poisonous to his sanity or well-being. ‘If you are ready we should leave now.’

  Outside he remote unlocks a white Lamborghini. The wings lift upwards. It is the kind of flashy car I associate with the spoilt sons of Saudi Arabian oil she
iks. I settle in. ‘What happened to Aston?’

  ‘Wrapped it around a tree.’

  I swing my head around. ‘With you in it?’

  ‘Yes, cracked a couple of ribs, but, as you can see, I emerged unscathed. It’s hard to hurt me.’

  There is an edge to his voice. Of course. He is telling me I have hurt him.

  The Fat Duck is the same as I remember it. Great service and divine food, but there is a large difference that I cannot not notice. Blake is drinking far more than he used to. He orders the obligatory bottle of wine that perfectly matches our meal, but hardly touches it. Instead, he goes for the whiskey. I have already counted seven.

  ‘You were completely drunk when you had your accident, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yup. Miss Marple solves yet another mystery.’

  ‘Didn’t they do you?’

  The alcohol has relaxed his tense shoulders somewhat. He laughs and I want to press my mouth against those hard lips. ‘Have you forgotten everything I told you, Lana dear? The Barringtons are above the law. Cream always floats to the top.’

  ‘So does shit.’

  He raises his glass and chuckles without mirth. ‘Let’s see how bright you can be when you are naked in my bed.’

  ‘Depends how full my mouth will be,’ I retort unwisely.

  ‘To bursting, darling.’

  I feel my cheeks heat up. ‘Are you planning to drive home tonight?’

  He picks up his glass and shoots it. ‘I wouldn’t risk your pretty face on my windshield for anything. Tom is coming to pick us up.’

  In the car we do not touch each other. Our conversation is stilted and shallow, unsustainable.

  What did you do today?

  Billie came around with her baby.

  Fun?

  Yes.

  Both of us are already thinking of the time we will be alone. When only our bodies will speak. There is something about this man that makes my hands itch to touch his skin, suck that firm mouth, meld with him…forever. Desire fogs my brain.

  I pretend to drop my purse. He bends to retrieve it, but I reach out for it and brush his clothed thigh. Immediately I feel him tense.

  ‘Don’t push me, Lana. I am already on the edge,’ he warns.

  We are like tinder and kindling.

  Eleven

  In the lift I raise my eyes to meet his.

  Fuck. What the hell?

  The door whooshes open.

  He takes my hand and drags me behind him. Opens the door and pulls me through, and leaning back against it tugs me to him so I fall smack onto him. My purse finds a quick path to the carpet, opens its guts, spills. His hot mouth finds mine. The kiss is rough, crazy intense, and full of urgent need. It is what I saw in his eyes. I go astray. I don’t want to come back from this. His hand locates the zip at the back of my neck. That hapless zip flies down and the nun’s habit pools around my shoes.

  His hands expertly release the clasp on my bra. One tug and it is gone the way of the dress. I am so lost in the jaws of desire that I barely hear the sound of light lace tearing. Once again, I am naked and he is fully dressed.

  For a moment he holds me at arm’s length simply looking at me, the way he used to do in the beginning. Then he takes me to the gilded mirror on the wall.

  ‘Look at you,’ he snarls. ‘Your pupils are searching for someone to pleasure you. Anyone would do.’

  I want to back away from what I see. My eyes are glazed with lust. I look…hungry, feral…electrified. Yet he is wrong. Anyone would not do.

  He strokes my heated cheeks then he bends his head and his strong white teeth nibble at my earlobes. ‘Cream and sugar and venom,’ he says and bites my neck.

  In the mirror my eyes widen with shock and pleasure. The sensation is exquisite. The rush of it makes me feel reckless. He begins to gently suck my skin. I moan. His mouth moves to my nipple. The skilled precision of his mouth starts an aching that travels into my core. I am in a sex-induced frenzy thirsting for him to enter me. The taste of true desire is sweltering. I push my ass into the thick, hard snake between us and yearn for it driving inside me. He puts a finger on my lower lip and lets his finger enter my mouth.

  ‘Suck it.’

  I take the finger between my lips and suck it gently at first, and then harder. He starts to unbuckle his belt.

  I get on my knees. The carpet digs into my skin. I open his fly, pull up his shirt, and kiss that hard, tight stomach. He becomes very still. My tongue flicks out. Tentative, but not for long. I lick the golden brown skin, find the line of fine hair and follow it all the way to the elasticized band of his shorts. My teeth grasp the material and pull. His cock springs free and hovers, swollen and angry over my mouth. I take the throbbing ready meat in my hand. The head swells, surges, pulses, and comes alive in my hand.

  I use both my hands to quickly pull the briefs down his thighs while my mouth takes in that gorgeous, rock-hard cock. I look up at him and watch him draw his breath sharply. Slowly, I move forward and let him witness every inch of his dick sliding between my lips. He pulses in my mouth and that pushes me into sucking greedily at the head of his erection. I devour him, taking him deeper and deeper into my mouth.

  He thrusts his hips forward, jamming himself down my throat. It makes me gag, but it still feels right. His cock should always be inside me. It is where it belongs. Anything else would be wrong. I am struck by the potency of my obsession.

  ‘Yes. Yes, like that… Exactly like that.’

  He keeps my head in place with his hands as his thrusts become more and more urgent until with rigid muscles and a fierce groan, he buckles, and I feels his hot seed jet to the back of my throat. It is slick and leaves a tang on the back of my tongue as I swallow. He stays in my mouth, his head thrown back for a few moments more. My eyes look up at him, waiting for what I do not know. His face drops down, shadowed, to look at me, my mouth stuffed with his meat.

  ‘Very pretty,’ he says softly. ‘You were born to suck dick. I’m surprised I never realized it before.’ He pulls out of me. ‘Now go and sit on the bed.’

  I stand and simply look at him. He wants to humiliate me. It will be a cold day in hell before I allow him to succeed. Naked and barefoot, but head held high I walk to the bedroom. I go up to the bed and as instructed sit on the edge. He appears at the door. Again he is fully clothed and in control while I am naked and defenseless.

  ‘No, with your back against the headboard.’

  I scoot up and lean against the plump pillows.

  He comes and sits on the bed beside me. His voice is casual, conversational. ‘What did you do for sex in the past year?’

  I flush.

  Some hardness barely leashed has crept into his voice. ‘Did you take a lover?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Did you go without?’ Curious.

  I shake my head again.

  ‘Show me what you did?’

  ‘I can’t,’ I whisper.

  ‘Show me.’ An order.

  I open my mouth, but he silences me with a finger on my lips, his head shaking gently. ‘You obviously don’t understand how this works,’ he explains. ‘The only words I want to hear pass those delectable lips are yes, please, and more.’ He takes his finger off my lips. ‘Was it any of those words or a combination of them?’

  I shake my head slowly.

  ‘I thought so. Show me,’ he says, and now his voice is coldly authoritative.

  I press my lips together. I feel that flash of defiance return. That’s what he wants. He wants to watch me masturbate in front of him. Fine. Let him see that. He has seen everything else. He folds his arms. Slowly I open my legs. He smiles slightly at my submission. I bring my fingers to my clit and close my eyes.

  ‘Open your eyes.’

  My eyes snap open. Locking my gaze with his glittering ones I move a finger into the opening of my sex. The folds are covered in slick juices, and collecting some from the opening I move my fingers around the sensitive nub, slowly teasing
it to attention.

  His carefully guarded eyes never leave me. ‘What did you think of while playing with yourself?’

  ‘You.’

  His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes flicker. ‘Didn’t you miss my dick inside you?’

  ‘Very much.’

  He makes a small disbelieving sound and reaches over to what had always been his bedside table. He opens the drawer and I am surprised to see it full of sex toys. All of them still in their packaging. I even catch the glimpse of a pair of handcuffs. Rummaging around he finds and fetches a vibrator to our bed. It is black and bright orange and large. Scary large. I close my legs in horror. This has nothing to do with sex. This is him punishing me. Filling me up with a large black and orange object. Reducing me to a piece of meat. Letting me know I’m nothing to him. My resolution to be strong and my conviction that he can never humiliate me if I don’t allow it crumble into dust.

  ‘Don’t worry. This won’t hurt a bit,’ he promises, and switches it on. It makes a whirring sound.

  I open my eyes and look at it humming in his hand. ‘Don’t, Blake. Please don’t,’ I beg.

  ‘Open your legs.’

  I shake my head. ‘Please. If you insist on punishing me like this… I’ll run away.’

  ‘No you won’t. Remember I paid for this. Mine to do with as I please. We had a deal. I give you what you want and you give me what I want. I gave you what you wanted. Now it’s your turn to give me what I want. And I want to see this big black and orange machine buried inside that sweet, tight pussy of yours.’

  I swallow a lump in my throat and lick my lips. ‘Why do we need that when we have your cock?’

  ‘Because,’ he explains patiently as if he is talking to a particularly obtuse child, ‘you won’t always have my cock.’

  I look into his eyes. I am looking for the passionate lover I adore, but his eyes are purposely blank. I know I will do anything to bring him back to me. From deep inside me I find the strength. He wants to push that inanimate object into me. Let’s give him what he wants and see what comes up. Let’s see how he fares!