Chapter 54
Chapter Fifty-Four
Twelve years passed before I considered setting foot in Madam Rouge’s illustrious home.
Despite its reputation, I found myself reluctant to pursue any kind of personal pleasure in her private East London house. For an hour, I’d lingered outside, trying to coax myself to enter.
Eventually, with hope that my depression would lift, I headed inside. Such a spontaneous visit would be a nice surprise for Sunaria, and I wondered if Marcus would be enjoying another evening here.
Wall to wall guests mingled in every room.
Admittance wasn’t something to be taken for granted.
It took a notable recommendation and a great deal of money.
Endless decadence, although not reflected by the unassuming exterior, could be found once inside the exotic den.
Large couches were positioned here and there, with love seats scattered amongst them.
Dark colors painted upon the arched walls and minimal candles threw mysterious shadows, enhancing the sultry mood.
Socializing here were the forward thinkers, holding late night discussions into the wee hours, and when conversations became tedious, guests were encouraged to roam the upper chambers and search out amusements that would keep them coming back for more. Wine flowed non-stop.
This sumptuous home, nestled in the heart of London, welcomed those who desired to forget their realities, a promise of feeling human again, if only for a night.
Or for the mortal, the chance to embrace what it is to be bohemian.
Although many of the mortal visitors had no idea they were mingling with vampires, there were a few who did, and the chance to taste our blood was the motivator for their risk taking.
Just as Archer’s documents had suggested, we were integrating more with society and disappearing into its very heart.
If I could appear normal to them, then perhaps I could find the confidence to finally reveal myself to my son.
Jacob was now nearly twenty-two years old, and had made a life for himself, having realized his dream.
He had followed in Dr. Potts’ footsteps, becoming a physician.
Although I’d never have chosen such a life for him, I did have a sense of pride that, despite everything, he’d prevailed.
I resigned myself to remaining in England for the duration of his life.
He still did not know me.
I’d gone to great lengths to discover the classic nuances within the city, forcing myself to find captivating elements, searching for a pathway that would not lead to sadness.
Within me was the desire to grasp the last trace of whom I’d once been and find the answers to the questions I’d once been afraid to ask. To let go would be self-betrayal.
Although we’d invested in property, it wasn’t out of a fondness for the city, but rather to secure several safe houses.
Marcus often joked that if we lived for over one hundred years, taking inflation into consideration, our net worth would be substantial.
Although as a young man, I’d strived to obtain wealth, my motivation had been that it would bring with it freedom.
Sunaria and Marcus had taken over the day-to-day dealings of our business.
Marcus also discussed the importance of creating wills, so that by the time we were meant to be dead, we’d inherit our property back.
He always looked to the future. I, however, preferred living in the present.
As I now found myself in the most erotic of places, I wanted to explore and shake off this moodiness and rekindle the old Daumia.
Holding my tall glass of red, a house special, I strolled on through the house, following the trail of rose petals that cushioned my feet. The fragrance still sparked a visceral response.
This place enabled people-watching at its best. Music struck up from somewhere in the house. I recognized the violin and another instrument with a deeper base, one that I was unfamiliar with. The dark melody enhanced the already risqué atmosphere.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a young blonde woman staring at me.
She nudged the man next to her and mouthed, “Déjà vu.”
Trying to work out why she’d uttered it, I followed her gaze.
It settled on a man ascending the staircase.
To my astonishment, he not only appeared to have the same haircut as me, but also a similar physique.
He reached the top step and headed along the balcony.
I quickly followed him, making my way down the dusky corridor, hugging the walls.
I backed into an alcove, transfixed, watching him.
His age and height equaled mine. Astonished, I realized that his jacket, white shirt, and black trousers had come from my own wardrobe. Now that was creepy. His hair, a contrast to my unruly black mop, lay where he’d combed it.
He knocked on a door and then disappeared inside the room.
From within, I heard two men talking. A young couple passed by me and shared a suspicious laugh.
With them out of sight, I turned the door handle.
Marcus, wearing a blue robe, stood by the edge of the bed, talking intently with my double.
The man sunk to the floor, kneeling before him.
I took in the vision as the intimacy between them unfolded.
Marcus ran his fingers through my counterpart’s hair, ruffling his dark locks so that they resembled mine.
Marcus then untied his robe, exposing the erection that rose out from titian curls, and his cock entered the mouth of his lover, receiving expert treatment, as the man licked, suckled, and maneuvered him, his lips and hand tightening along the shaft.
Marcus swooned.
I slid into the room, lingering just inside.
The woman downstairs had looked at me and mouthed, ‘déjà vu.’ She was right.
This situation brought back memories of observing Salvador with his lover.
Regrets of all that could have been crashed over me like a wave.
Salvador’s kind eyes, his dashing smile, the way he’d held me and what I’d missed, and I longed for him even now.
Marcus was staring at me.
I sipped my drink, savoring the awkward moment.
Marcus gestured for the man to stop, and the stranger stared up at me with equal fascination.
He also saw the resemblance. I placed my glass down on a cherry side cabinet and approached them.
Marcus’ cheeks flushed. I lifted the kneeling man’s chin, studying his features, an uncanny likeness, both pleasing and yet disturbing.
He remained obediently at Marcus’ feet, still poised, ready, seemingly unsure of what would transpire between us.
“Resume,” I ordered the stranger.
Without missing a beat, he buried his head into those red curls, his tongue lapping at Marcus’ throbbing head, and his pout widening as he worked Marcus with his warm, wet mouth.
“Forgive me?” Marcus whispered.
I rested my thumb on Marcus’ trembling lips and then kissed his tears, tasting their wetness, and then pressed my mouth against his, tonguing him with such firmness that he almost lost his balance. With my hands on either side of his face, I held him in an ironclad grip.
This was the kiss I should have given Salvador, stealing precious time with him, holding him like this in my arms again, perchance to trust where the moment might take us.
My heart still ached for him. He’d been stolen from me, but here, now, the opportunity had arisen for me to show my true affection to another friend and prove that my love for Marcus endured.
My own hardness brushed against Marcus’ thigh, bringing pleasurable spasms, as the music from downstairs carried up to us, and the low-pitched tones of the mysterious instrument vibrated though the floorboards.
The man’s elbow bumped against my leg, but I ignored him, feeling the rhythm of him handling Marcus, speeding up his pace, and eliciting moans from them both.
Marcus clutched my forearms, his fingernails digging in.
The deeper I kissed, the closer he moved to me.
Marcus rocked, responding simultaneously to the movement of the jerking between his legs, and the motion of our mouths ever widening, our fangs grazing, our tongues brushing together, increasing to a brutal roughness.
My strokes deservedly punished him and at the same time rewarded him.
Marcus’ entire body shuddered. He was on the verge of climaxing.
I pulled away. “Five more minutes and then you are permitted to come.”
Marcus gave a nod, eyes half-closed, dazed and delirious from the scene.
Glancing down at the man at our feet, I threw him a smile. “Nice jacket.” I stepped back and headed out of the room, following the pathway of petals, once again crushing them underfoot. I strolled out the back door into the garden.
In the corner was an ornate fountain, a stone angel pointing a bow and arrow right at me, out of which a stream of water poured. Nearby, under the low-lying leaves of a maple tree, lay Sunaria. She reclined upon a burgundy chaise lounge, surrounded by several admirers.
She smiled when she saw me. With my subtle gesture, she knew to remain seated. I needed some to cool off. Marcus wasn’t the only one left breathless. Thoughts returned to our kiss, and I gave a wry smile, wondering how much longer he’d lasted after I’d left.
Breathing in the exquisite scent from the many exotic trees and flowers within the garden, I tried to get a feel for the place – and feel an affinity for the people, find a commonality that would help me believe I belonged.
These open-minded individuals had been invited into our private world, to one of London’s most exclusive parties. Madam Rouge had established what could be best described as a gentleman’s club, offering its guests a rich assortment of erotic entertainment.
Words flowed along with the liquor. Controversial conversations were encouraged and guests were sworn to an oath of secrecy. Delicious foods, tasty delights were offered up in abundance, rich delicacies that satisfied the palate and stirred one’s passions, setting the mood for what followed.
Taking a seat in the corner enabled me to have a discreet vantage point.
Sunaria held court, arguing with a young fop who failed miserably to impress her.
It amused me that we’d both developed flawless English accents, two iconoclasts living it up, the ultimate aristocrats, easily mingling with mortals, and often receiving frequent glances of respect from our fellow immortals.
London continued to flourish.
We were witnesses to the city’s growth. Increasing political stability brought an increase in business and a thriving economy.
Architecture had advanced in both common structures and the homes around us.
London had become the center for European trade, introducing the newest fashions, entertainment, and both modern and ancient art.
Westminster became established as the seat of the royal court and here too, England’s political office grew in power.
Urban crime, such as that of street gangs, became more discreet, with the threat of hanging as a form of punishment for commoners. As their activities became subversive, it transformed into a feeding ground like no other.
An argument pulled me back into the garden. Two men were fighting over a young brunette. Madam Rouge stepped in to intervene, and with aplomb offered the woman to both of them. Several mortals strolled by gawking.
A servant topped up my cup.
Sunaria approached and flopped onto my lap. “Well,” she said, “what do you think?”
I wrapped my arms around her waist. “This is a den of iniquity.”
“I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”
I sighed.
“You used to like this sort of thing,” she said.
“My tastes have changed.”
Sunaria whispered into my ear, “Do you see anything you like?”
Glancing up at the bedroom windows, I wondered what kind of guilty pleasures Marcus might be enjoying.
Sunaria followed my gaze. “Let’s throw a party like this at Belshazzar’s.”
“Let’s not.”
Just as I started to explain that I didn’t want strangers strolling all over our home, Madam Rouge appeared, looking frantic.
“It’s time to leave,” she said.
Sunaria pouted. “What, why?”
“One of my staff just let in a new guest.” Madam Rouge gestured towards the house.
Despite the long, dark cloak and heavy hood over his pale face, I recognized those piercing eyes. I jumped up and almost knocked Sunaria to the floor.
“What’s going on?” Sunaria easily regained her balance.
“Out the back now,” I snapped. “Elijah’s here.” I headed for the side of the house.
“Where are you going?” Sunaria asked, panicked.
“I’m not leaving without Marcus.”