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“Dear, this is the girl in the movie,” Damien told his wife. The woman was a carbon copy of all the other woman at the luncheon. Her nose was so pinched, it looked as if she’d just removed a clothespin from it. Her nostrils flared slightly when she spoke, and she reminded Tessa of a cartoon character, but she could quite remember which one.
“Really?” the woman said, her eyebrows raised in glee, as if she couldn’t wait to get on her gossipy way, telling the rest of the manicured crones, who Miles’ slut really was. “Such an interesting work of art that movie,” she said, “not my taste, Damien has such depraved inclinations, though I figure that’s his prerogative at his age.”
“What a strange thing to say,” Tessa spoke her feelings aloud.
The woman smiled obliquely. “You’re quite charming, my dear,” the woman continued. “But I do have to run now.”
“I’d like to see her butt whipped,” Tessa said under her breath.
“Please don’t mind her, my dear, she appreciates your art, she just doesn’t quite understand it,” Damien said.
“Maybe she’s afraid of it,” Tessa said. “Seeing all these ridiculously groomed bitches here, I wonder why any of them are feasting on Miles’ porn if it weren’t for their own secret fascination with it.”
“You have a point, but even try to get one of these woman naked, and you’ll have a fight on your hands,” Damien noted.
Tessa shook her head. “Then why bother with them, if they’re frgid in bed, what good are they?”
Damien didn’t reply, though he noted Tessa’s spunk with a slight smile.
“Really Tessa, you might want to suck up to Damien,” Miles told her, “he has paid me well for the videos.”
“I didn’t know you already sold them.”
“Actually, they were commissioned.”
“Commissioned?”
“Damien has an ever increasing interest in S M.”
“Unusual and very original S M,” the man qualified. “I’m not looking for mindless flagellation and heartless dominance. Miles manages to provide something more.”
“I’m glad you like what we did,” Tessa replied, though she was suspicious of the man. To add to her misgivings, there was something guarded in both men’s manner, something they were not telling her. “I didn’t realize that Miles had done other films like mine.”
“I haven’t, Tessa,” Miles answered.
“No, not to the depths you two traversed in the last one—the one with the dark haired vamp,” Damien agreed.
“That was hardly a week ago,” Tessa said.
“Humph! Then your stripes have probably not faded,” Damien surmised.
“Most have, but not all.”
“I’d like to have her now.” Damien turned to Miles, his softness vanishing with the turn of his head, replaced by a familiar darkness that she’d seen often in her ma
ster.
“By all means,” Miles graciously said, then he turned to his submissive saying, “Accommodate him, Tessa, whatever he asks.”
This twist in the plot was ominous; Tessa could tell by the way she shivered at the sound of Miles words, and the way her nether jewelry suddenly felt heavier than it had felt before.
With a sly smile on his face, Damien led Tessa through the halls of the ageing Victorian mansion turned Art Gallery, stopping just inside a round drawing room. “I hope you won’t mind,” Damien said, “you’ll likely miss the poached salmon and crepe suzettes.”
“No, I don’t mind missing lunch,” Tessa replied warily.
“Good, that’s very good.” He was smiling, but not as warmly as he had been when Miles introduced them. She detected something devious in the works. The man was unsettling, his eyes beguiling and changeable—hard to read—turning from sly to sweet, from sweet to chilling.
“Take off your scarf,” he ordered her.
