I sit down and lift the glass to my lips. It is a beautiful, hand-blown work of art. The long slender stem rises into a decorative figure of the lion of St. Mark’s before it meets the delicate flute.
‘Mmnnn.’ He takes my wrist in his hands and runs his finger lightly along the inside, up to the crook of my elbow. The sensation is unbearably sensual. The desire to straddle him in that vast red room is undeniable.
‘I have never met a woman with skin like yours,’ he purrs. He looks into my eyes. ‘Do you have any idea how desirable you look right now?’
I clench my thighs and shake my head.
We go up the curving staircase to our bedroom. Moonlight is flooding in through the tall windows. There are long rectangles of light on the floor.
He turns to me and gently takes off my dress. He throws it behind him and it lands on a squat green and gold brocade chair. He drops to his haunches, bends forward and kisses the tightly bound mound of my sex. The gesture is so unexpectedly charged with erotic possibilities that my body screams for him. He slides my knickers off.
‘Spread your legs.’ I obey instantly. He removes the gadget and I actually feel my body sag with relief. He lets his fingers graze the sticky opening. ‘You are so, so wet,’ he says.
I nod helplessly. My hands are frustrated fists, waiting for him.
‘What do you want, Principessa?’
‘You.’
He shakes his head gently. The eyes looking up at me are almost black. ‘I need more details. The low-down of what you want.’
‘I need you inside me,’ I mutter.
Again his head moves negatively. ‘Details, Lana. Details.’
And in this way he persuades me to describe in minute detail exactly what I want, to use words that would have at any other time made me blush furiously. That thick prick of yours, your dirty big, cock, deep into my cunt, suck it, fuck me hard…
He gags me. ‘The walls are thin and may even have ears,’ he whispers. It jars in my head, but only a little; I am too far gone to search for hidden implications.
His large hands grab my hips and impale me on his dick.
The pillar of solid meat is thrust far into my body. Instead of moving me up and down the hard length, he pulls me to and fro, making me ride him like a bull. I grind myself on him. My body is thrust far forward like one of those cyclists in the tour de France race, so that his mouth has easy access to my breasts.
He latches on and sucks hard and my sweaty thighs slip and slide against his muscular hips, the thick cock inside me acting as my brakes. It is too intense to last. In seconds I lose it. Screaming like a banshee, I come fast and hard. Thank God for the gag. I have lost it. Completely. Even my teeth, fingertips and toes are vibrating.
I rest my lips on his damp forehead. Sated. He is still hard as a rock inside me. My nipples are still pinched between his thumbs and forefingers. They throb painfully, exquisitely. Now it is his turn. And then it will be mine again. The day will come when all I will have are memories of what we have done together.
I am awakened in the early morning hours. Must be the unfamiliarity of my surroundings. It is two o'clock and it seems all of Venice is asleep. I get out of bed and walk barefoot across the highly polished dark wood floor, towards the windows overlooking the interlocking canals and cobblestone pathways. Shivering slightly I stand in the cool night listening to the sounds of the murky waters lapping against mossy, old stones. The sulfuric smell like that of slowly rotting eggs rises from the canals and slips into my consciousness. Not that that bothers me. For me being with Blake in this city with its crumbling glory and beautiful stonework is a dream.
And then a thought—clawed and dangerous. Who or what is Cronus?
I hear a rustling and, turning my head, see Blake, raised on his elbows and watching me. In the silvery moonlight he is Atlas or Mars or Apollo. A god. He gets out of bed, nude, and with the lithe grace of a beautiful animal, prowls over to me. He bends and kisses me. I luxuriate in the warmth emanating from the length of his body. But my thoughts make me kiss him a touch too desperately.
He lifts his head and looks at me. In the moonlight his eyes are dark wells of curiosity.
'What's the matter?' he asks, crouching beside me.
'Nothing,' I lie. 'I think I'm too excited to sleep.'
He sighs and persists, 'What's wrong, Lana?'
‘What did you say to the usher at the theater?’
He sits back on his heels. ‘What usher?’
‘You know, when I went to the toilet.’
‘Ah… I was asking if there was an ice cream bar nearby. Why?’
I look down, unable to meet his eyes, unable to help the sadness that creeps into my voice. ‘I just wondered if you…if you found her attractive.’
‘What?’
I look up at him.
He takes my cold fingers in his large warm hands. 'Shall I tell you a secret?’
I nod. That will be a first.
‘From the first moment I saw you I wanted you. Not in the compartmentalized way I wanted the others, the length of leg, the jut of a butt, or the strain of material caused by a well-shaped chest. When I saw you I had to have all of you as mine. I would have paid any price that night to buy you.’
'Oh, Blake,' I sigh. I want him to say he loves me, even if it is just a little, but I won’t push anymore, I might hear something I don’t want to. It is always cleverer to quit while still ahead.
'Shall I show you just how much I want you?' he asks quietly.
I nod and he stands up. I stretch my arms out to him as if I am a child, and he picks me up and carries me to the kingly bed. I sigh deeply with pleasure under him. For a time there is only the soft rustle of white linen and the occasional gasp. Then a fierce, rapid rhythm. Until a shudder like a silver explosion shivers through me, and I am back among glittering stars. Here I can hide from Cronus. I hold onto the exciting firmness of his buttocks as he finds his release and spills his seed inside my body.
Dreamily I snuggle deeper into his body and am soon as deeply asleep as everybody else in that stinking, sinking city.
Eighteen
After a trip to the glass blower’s we return the way we came. By private plane: without queues, passport control or waiting for baggage. Blake does not get into the car with us. He has a business appointment that he must keep. He tries to convince me to let the nanny go back to the apartment with me, but I refuse. She is put into a taxi.
I hold Sorab in my lap and stare out of the window. I cannot help feeling a little depressed. While I was away I had temporarily put away the things that Victoria’s mother had said, but now they have all come crowding back. Their whispers are loud in the quiet apartment. I feel very alone and frightened.
When Jack calls I immediately invite him to come around.
‘You’ve just come back from holiday. You must have a thousand things to do. I won’t disturb you. I’ll come tomorrow,’ he says.
‘No, not at all. Do please come today, now if you can. I’d love to see you again.’
‘Is everything all right, Lana?’
I laugh. ‘Of course. I just want to see my son’s godfather again. Is there anything wrong in that?’
He laughs. The sound is familiar. ‘No, but you will tell me if there is, won’t you?’
‘Yes, yes, yes. Now how long will it take you to get here?’
‘Half an hour.’
‘See you then.’ I terminate the call and feel relief.
‘Mr. Jack Irish at reception for you, Miss Lana,’ Mr. Nair calls thirty minutes later.
‘Brilliant. Send him up,’ I say, and opening the front door go out to wait by the lift. The lift opens and there is Jack. He doesn’t look comfortable. I can see he is overawed by his surroundings.