Primula Bond - The Unbreakable Trilogy

He is listening intently. The rain is pattering. The fire crackles in the grate. The bubbles pop and fizz in the glasses. The music has slowed.

‘The only good thing they ever did was die. I was like Harry Potter living with the Dursleys.’

‘The muggles.’ His smiling eyes glint in the firelight. ‘And you the little orphaned witch.’

‘Yeah. But it feels great to be alone in the world, especially when you have some money. You can do whatever you want. And here I am, doing it. I want to relish every minute of it, Gustav.’

There’s a slight pause as we think about the truth of my words.

‘And so you shall, Serena. You look enchanting in that negligee by the way.’

I gasp at the unexpected quiet compliment. Tilt my head demurely. ‘Glad my lord approves.’

‘Bewitching. Now’s the time, Serena. I know you’re going to please me, very much.’

I lift my shoulder coquettishly. Thank the champagne. ‘Your wish is my command.’

He takes a deep breath, as if daring himself. Runs his tongue over his mouth. ‘Dance for me, Serena. Forget everything that’s gone before. I want to see you move. I want to see your spirit. I want to admire you here in private. I want to see if a mere garment can change you into my dream woman.’

I fold my arms. ‘Please, Gustav. I’ll feel stupid. I didn’t mean that kind of command. Why can’t I just kiss you?’

He frowns and leans forward. ‘Pretend it’s not just me, if that inhibits you. Pretend your cousin and your friends are here. You’re stepping out on stage.’

The volume rises in the speakers, a sultry Latin tempo with a wailing saxophone accompanied by a low, hypnotic bass beat. Gustav walks in front of me and there’s the chain, looping between us as he leads me across the hallway into the big drawing room, where another fire is burning in the kind of fireplace you could roast a whole cow in. He goes to stand by it, stroking his dark chin like a forbidding Victorian patriarch.

‘Will you dance with me?’

He shakes his head and sits back down on the sofa. Stretches his arms along the back. So confident suddenly, so sure I’ll do what he wants. And I will. I want to. I want to make his eyes gleam with desire. I want to make the pulse in his neck race like a jack hammer.

I pause in the middle of the huge dark red carpet, breathing fast like a frightened animal as the thunder still grumbles outside. Gustav shifts in the cushions, his thighs slightly parted, so relaxed that the casual shirt untucks from his belt where he hasn’t bothered to fasten the lower buttons, and I can see a sliver of stomach and a dark line of hair twining enticingly down into the cool jeans.

Remember what he’s doing for you, Serena. There’s no going back. This is the start of your new, colourful life. The one that you’re going to relish. Remember how he makes you feel. How you wanted to stay with him in that bar. How he’s gotten under your skin. How you even rejected the advances of that rich, cute American guy at Polly’s party because this man had already taken possession of your mind.

I kick my legs out like a pony and start to pace up and down the floor like a matador, glaring at him. Gustav grins and lifts his glass to me in response.

‘You look angry,’ he remarks quietly, his eyes roving over me hungrily. His hair looks wilder than ever, pushed in damp spikes off his forehead. ‘Like you’re going into battle.’

‘You made me talk about my family. It always makes me angry.’

‘Anger’s good. But forget them. I’m here now. That’s all you need to know.’

‘But you inhibit me.’

I tilt my chin so that the glare becomes seductive rather than sulky, then shake my hair round my face. My crowning glory. Rapunzel. I’m thinking mermaid now, not witch. A siren from another world.

‘So like I said. Pretend. Think of all of this as a game. Then you’ll realise how sexy that can be.’

He reaches above his head to dim the lights totally so it’s only candlelight now. He doesn’t see me glancing again at his stomach when he stretches, the shirt flapping open as if he’s a schoolboy running late. The bare strip of skin that my fingers are itching to touch.

He settles back down, biting his finger now as he focuses on me. I let the music direct me, closing my eyes and rotating my neck until I’m dizzy. But dizzy’s good. It makes me feel lightheaded, energetic, daring. An exhibitionist. Best of all, the centre of attention.

I edge the negligee upwards, revealing my ankles, then my knees, pausing as he continues to stare at me. Those eyes appreciate me. I lift the negligee up my thighs, my feet freer now to step apart and together while I run my hands over my ribcage.

A sudden, firm jerk on my wrist reminds me we are still linked, the nearly invisible thread joining us together. The thunder rumbles more distantly now, and the show-off in me takes shape. Let’s see what happens. How long will it be before he comes begging. Preferably on his knees.

My hands wander down my throat, over my shoulders, then they’re over my breasts, hovering an inch over them, tracing the soft outlines, the protruding little peaks, outlined under the silk and even the suggestion, the threat of touching triggers a sharp tug in my nipples, then another much lower down. My nipples scrape and catch on the silk. I run the tips of my fingers between them, squeeze my breasts briefly together, then flicker and tease down my stomach and down between my legs, holding my softness there for a moment, licking my lips like a stripper. Hands sliding down my thighs, pushing them open and closed.

As the music grows louder I accelerate my moves, bending and straightening and sliding my legs further and further apart. This is a private dance, just for him, no audience. I’m not sure of the programme, what will happen next, but I’m turning myself on, that’s for sure, dancing in my new negligee. My fingers want to creep inside to play, but I slap myself away.

‘Don’t stop, Serena.’ He can’t hide the animal groan of arousal in his deep voice. ‘This is strumming all the right strings.’

My hair sways in front of my face, down my back, I sweep my hands down my body, cup the dampness growing between my legs. I pull the silk up so high that any further and I’d be totally bare to him.

He is leaning forwards, his hands dangling the champagne glass between his knees as he watches me, his eyes burning with desire but the rest of his expression so concentrated it’s as if he’s at the ballet. It’s flattering, but strange. All I’m doing is prancing around his drawing room, really. Awaiting further instructions. The streak of warmth across his cheekbones, the working of the muscle in his jaw give away what’s really on his mind.

The daring is like a pair of hands pushing, pushing me on. I go over to the sofa, bend over him, let my hair fall in a tent around our faces, tip his watching dark face up close to mine, then I push him back into the cushions and swerve away as I see the gleam lighting up his eyes.

I’m making it up as I go along, but I’m tired of dancing solo. I want him to join in now. I’m dancing as I assume he wanted me to dance, burlesque style but without the tassels and the props. I sway towards him, aware of how all my curves push against the shimmering silk.

I hold my hands out to him, wriggling and gyrating.

‘Dance with me, Gustav. Let go. Hang loose.’

I twist away from him, dance to the other side of the room, crooking my finger like a Scheherazade. And at last I get my reaction. His mouth snaps open in a wicked grin and my wrist is suddenly pulled out in front of me so that my arm is straight.

‘You’re gorgeous, Serena. I could watch you all night. Maybe one night I will do just that. You move like a sea creature. But I want you over here now.’