Tasmina Perry - Gold Diggers

‘Come over here,’ she said, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, ‘The breeze is lovely.’

Marcus walked over hesitantly. His eyes were hungry but nervous.

Molly gently took his hand and placed it on her breastbone, sliding it down her dress until his fingers brushed her hard, erect nipple. ‘Look what you did to me,’ she whispered, leaning so close that her bottom lip brushed his ear lobe.

‘Molly, Harry is my friend,’ said Marcus, the words catching in his throat.

‘I don’t want Harry,’ she purred, brushing her lips across his neck as she spoke. Her fingers traced down the line of his shirt buttons until she found his zip. ‘I want you,’ she whispered, ‘I’ve wanted you from the second I saw you.’

Suddenly their mouths were together, Marcus hurriedly undoing his trousers and pulling his boxer shorts off as they shuffled towards the bed. Pushing Molly back onto the expensive linen, Marcus hiked up her dress and roughly pulled down her panties, dipping two fingers into her wetness.

‘Now, don’t wait,’ she said, her voice shuddering. She wrapped her legs around him and guided him into her inch by inch, slowing him, taunting him, until he was fully inside her. Marcus was groaning in pleasure, reaching down to spread her legs wider, lifting her buttocks off the sheets so his cock could reach deeper and deeper.

‘Oh God, yes, harder,’ she begged, arching her back as Marcus thrust faster and faster into her, before he erupted, crying out, his face twisting, his nostrils flared.

He held on to her for one moment, then rolled to the side; they were both gasping.

‘Can I call you tomorrow?’ asked Marcus finally, as Molly sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling her panties back on.

‘ I’ll call you ,’ she said with a dirty smile, before smoothing down her short gold dress and moving towards the door. Three minutes later, she was back at the party, where Harry was frantically searching for her, clutching her jacket.

‘There you are darling,’ she said, kissing Harry on the lips. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

The weather in Venice was remarkably good for late winter. A strong sun dazzled the city, the colourful landscape of ice-cream coloured buildings and red-brick palazzos looking even more striking against a clear blue sky. Karin and her friend Ileana Totti, heiress to her family’s luxury goods company, were in the lobby of the Danieli Hotel catching up.

‘So you lied to Adam Gold that you were going to be in Venice for carnival?’ laughed Ileana, taking a sip of her Bellini. ‘I never knew you were so devious.’

‘It was a white lie,’ said Karin. ‘I am in Italy, aren’t I?’

She had spent the last two days visiting a fabric manufacturer in Bologna. ‘I mean, I didn’t honestly expect him to want to hook up in Venice. He said he was only coming for a couple of days. Now he wants me to come with him to some masked ball.’

‘What a drag,’ said Ileana, teasing Karin with a hint of sarcasm.

Karin chuckled. She had tried to sound disgruntled, but they both knew she had been delighted when Erin had called her two days after the Knightsbridge Heights launch to arrange a Venetian rendezvous with Adam.

‘So will you sleep with him tonight?’

‘Illy!’ said Karin, feigning shock. ‘He hasn’t even been in touch to say when or where we’re meeting. It might not even happen.’

‘Well, call him then!’

‘No.’

‘ Mia cara ,’ purred Ileana, playing with the large canary diamond on her finger, ‘you’ve just faked a trip to carnival. Now is not the time to play hard to get.’

‘You’re right,’ smiled Karin, imagining herself naked in bed with Adam. ‘I don’t need games – he’s already in the bag.’

‘I know he is, darling,’ smiled her friend, and they clinked glasses.

After she had said goodbye to Ileana, Karin took a shiny walnut and chrome motor launch over the Grand Canal to the Cipriani to check in. When there had been no message from Adam waiting for her on arrival, she had felt a slight rumble of anxiety. Don’t panic , she reassured herself, He’ll call. Why wouldn’t he? By 4 p.m., however, that confidence had evaporated, to be replaced by an unfamiliar sense of insecurity.

‘Sigñor, can you check again?’ asked Karin, calling down to reception.

‘Sigñora. I assure you il Sigñor Gold has not left a message. I will let you know if he does,’ was the polite but firm reply.

Karin paced around her suite, a sumptuous, spacious room where marble and velvet managed to feel modern rather than dowdy. She couldn’t settle, throwing down a book after just a few lines, flicking the TV on and off. Earlier that week she had requested a local costumier send over a selection of gowns for the party which had been laid out on the bed. She tried to distract herself by pulling them out of their heavy plastic wrappers. There were two glorious period dresses, one scarlet brocade, one a thick jade silk, both with low scooped neckline, a big bustle and layers of lace under a thickly gathered skirt. But even the beautiful clothes couldn’t distract her from Adam and she flung them back on the bed angrily.

Karin looked out of the window; the sky was beginning to darken, low clouds glowing rosy on the Venetian horizon. She would give Adam until 5 p.m., and then that was it. Or maybe 6 p.m.

She ran herself a hot bath, letting herself sink into the suds and willing her anxieties to melt away. Surely she hadn’t misread the situation so badly? After all, he had contacted her to meet in Venice, not the other way around. And yes, it was through his PA, but that was how rich men dated, just another window in a busy diary. Besides, if he wanted some bimbo model, he could have settled down years ago. And yet here she was, successful, sexy and clever, exactly the kind of woman Adam Gold needed – even if he didn’t know it yet. Ah, fuck him , she thought, jumping out of the bath and stomping back into the bedroom. I’ll meet up with Illy. She’ll be more fun, anyway.

She was just wrapping a bathrobe around her when the suite’s buzzer went. She opened the door to find a bellboy holding an envelope. ‘This have just arrived for you, signora,’ he said in broken English, trying hard not to look at Karin’s curvy wet body.

Back inside, she tore it open and a stiff white invitation peeked out from gold tissue paper.

You are invited to dinner, drinks and dancing at the Palazzo Sasso. 8 p.m. Dress: Masked ball.

She noticed some black inky squiggles on the back. See you later. Adam. Karin jumped on the bed and whooped.

Molly was meeting Marcus at the Ivy. The restaurant was one of Harry’s favourite places for supper and she was half hoping to bump into him, as she still hadn’t quite got round to breaking the news that it was over between them. The morning after the Knightsbridge Heights party, she had given him one last mercy fuck, cleared all his coke from his sock drawer and disappeared. But, instead of getting the hint, Harry had left a dozen increasingly soppy messages on her answerphone, his latest communication informing her that he had booked them into the Paris Ritz for that weekend. While she was tempted to make contact, if only to slip into the fluffy peach robes at her favourite French hotel, she exercised restraint. Overlapping lovers didn’t usually bother Molly; it wasn’t unusual for her to have two or three on the go if they were particularly generous or useful. But Harry and Marcus were friends. She had principles , for God’s sake!

The taxi waiting on the street tooted its horn once more. Molly tutted and painted on a final slash of lip gloss, then stood back to check the black Alaïa dress that clung to every curve in the mirror. Then she grabbed her bag and ran for the stairs. She was just closing the front door when she saw a scruffy young man standing at the bottom of the steps.