Chapter 25
Gen
Jesus Christ.
I stand like the sofa’s on fire.
‘I’m out,’ I tell him. My body’s in a mad panic, a whirlwind of emotions and danger cues wreaking havoc with its ability to function.
I bend to pick up my handbag—no way can I forget my prized black Birkin—and make for the door, but Anton’s too quick for me.
He’s up and out of his seat, bolting in the same direction.
I half expect him to block my exit, but he merely puts a hand on the door handle and opens it for me. He ushers me through and follows me out, shutting it behind us and taking a step forward, his huge bulk looming over me.
‘You can leave right now, Genevieve,’ he says in a voice that’s barely above a whisper, although we’re alone in the spectacular marble-floored lobby.
‘Of course you can. I’d never want you to feel uncomfortable, except in that very particular way I know you need, because it’s written in every perfect hair on your head. ’
I stare up at him, speechless.
‘I will always respect your boundaries.’ He raises his free hand as if to stroke it down my bare arm before letting it drop to his side.
‘You’ve told me I can’t touch you, and I won’t.
But we’re far more similar creatures than you’d like to admit.
We both get off on the same thing, and those guys are so up for it it’s indecent. So let me give you this.’
I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.
Yeah, I’ve had group sex before at Alchemy, because it’s my safe place.
It’s the only place in the world I’ve ever been able to discard my perfect, immaculate, over-achieving, good-girl persona and unveil what lies beneath.
Revel in it. Wallow in the filth like an animal.
Allow those dark urges to take over my mind and consume my body.
This isn’t Alchemy.
That fact should make the decision to leave an easy one, but, strangely, it’s making it harder.
As is Anton’s face, which, for once, looks wiped of any smugness or cynicism or machinations. It looks totally sincere, and that’s far more powerful than any of his usual tricks.
‘Please, Gen,’ he says, and I watch his mouth enunciate my nickname.
A nickname he hasn’t earned the right to use, but which sounds so gloriously intimate, so confiding, on his beautiful lips.
His eyes are almost all pupil, and they’re burning right into me.
‘Let me give us what we both need so badly.’
I close my eyes, because I can’t make sense of my thoughts when I’m looking at him. ‘What are you proposing I do, exactly?’
‘Nothing,’ he says quickly. ‘You don’t need to do anything. Just submit. Let us… take over. I’ll orchestrate it all.’
Orchestrate. Jesus. Like he’s the godlike puppet master and I’m his pliant little puppet. There is no doubt in my mind he can pull every string I have.
There’s never been any doubt on that front.
‘You put yourself in our hands,’ he says, ‘and we’ll do the rest. It’s been a hectic week, I know. Just let us fucking wipe your mind clean. I promise you I already know what you need better than you do. I can make sure they give it to you.’
God, yes.
How can he be speaking my language so beautifully? How can he know that it’s his competence, his ability to dominate every situation he’s in, that attracts me to him more than anything else? It’s almost as if he’s a trained hypnotist.
Nothing would surprise me when it comes to Anton Wolff.
I open my eyes and jerk my head towards the door. ‘What about Athena? Are you making her do this?’
‘Certainly not. Athena’s a professional, in every sense of the word. She takes her duties very seriously, and serving me gives her enormous fulfilment—and pleasure. You’ll see. I’m happy to explain our arrangement to you another time.’
‘Is she your sub?’
He laughs. ‘Do I look like I have the time and energy to devote to dealing with a sub? Fuck, no.’
‘Can you kick her out?’
‘I can put a blindfold on her, if you want,’ he says, ‘But she stays. I’m not as strong as you. I can’t watch them with you and just stand there.’ He pauses. ‘If you won’t touch me, she will.’
My heart breaks a little, right there. It’s partly the knowledge that, once a-fucking-gain, another woman will get to be with him in a way that I’m denying myself for God knows what fucked-up reason. But it’s also his words.
If you won’t touch me, she will.
He makes it sounds vulnerable, somehow. Almost human. Which, coming from the Big Bad Wolff, is no mean feat.
Like this weird, fucked-up dynamic is hurting him too.
And it’s that little gesture from him that’s my undoing.
I let my bag drop to the floor, and the dull thunk of defeat has him smiling a smile of genuine surprise and delight.
It’s beautiful.
Of course it is.
His teeth are white and even, and those gorgeous dimples flash before the double laughter lines swallow them up.
‘You won’t regret this,’ he tells me. ‘This is for you as much as for me. I told you when I sent the flowers, I’m not playing games with you.
I have a pretty good idea of what this beautiful body is capable of’—his dark eyes rake down my front—‘but I want, very much, to see it with my own eyes. And if you won’t let me be the one to unravel you, then at least put me out of my misery and let me watch. ’
My hand goes to the door handle.
‘You’d better not make me regret this,’ I tell him, and I open the door.
Inside the room, I lean heavily back against the wall, weary with the weight of trying to out-manoeuvre the master while my body prickles with anticipation. Anton steps in beside me, not taking his eyes off me as he says, ‘Athena. Prepare the room, please.’
His voice is still low.
It’s the voice of a man who knows he doesn’t have to raise it to get what he wants.
And still we eye each other up.
Athena rises and moves about gracefully.
Quickly. She’s done this before. I tear my gaze from Anton and watch her.
She’s so placid, so submissive. Anton has clear dom tendencies—he made that clear in his interview—but I wonder if this is what he actually wants in a woman.
Does he like them sweet and pliable, or does he prefer a challenge?
A click of a remote and the charcoal grey blinds lower over the windows, blocking out the evening sun and casting a pall of intimacy over the room.
Some music that sounds a bit like a sexed-up version of Gregorian chanting starts up.
And lights that weren’t needed when the blinds were up appear as dim dots along the skirting boards.
Day to night.
Business to sin.
Just like that.
The atmosphere in the room which has, until now, been easy, celebratory, darkens. It’s not menacing so much as heavy with promise, and I give myself tacit permission to embrace it.
To allow the sensual beat of the music to seep into my bloodstream.
To give myself up to these strangers.
To take from Anton what he’s willing to give by proxy and to inflict on him the very thing he inflicted on me—the agony of watching the person who’s got under one’s skin get off. The agony of standing by, helpless and frustrated and eaten up with longing.
Above all, I allow myself to do the very thing I promised I would not.
Yield to him.
Because he may not be planning to lay a finger on me, but he’ll sure as hell be pulling all the strings tonight.