She paced the length of the balcony, her heels clicking sharply on the tiles, and laid one hand on the sloping wall that was all that stood between her and a several storey drop to the bustling city streets. A warm breeze caressed her face, ruffling the raven wings of her hair, as the last dying breath of the early summer sun seduced her skin.
She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the city. The hazy smog of the daylight hours seemed to have lifted a little, replaced by the crystalline vitality of night, and the sharp scent of the night-flowering plants made her think unexpectedly of Versailles in a former age, the tangy aroma of citrus and the rakish Vicomte who had corrupted her innocent body with his blandishments so many decades ago.
She smiled to be reminded of him here, now, in such an incongruous fashion. "Even now you haunt me, Monsieur," she whispered to the night sky. "It must be a century or more since you held me in your arms, yet still I cannot forget you."
She shook herself, pulling herself back from such memories. He was far away, she knew not where, and it did her no good to dwell on him now. She had come to this newborn metropolis in an endeavour to escape the memory of those long, rampant nights in the Orangerie, not to surrender to them as she had every night she remained in Paris.
She sat down at the table, her long satin dress parting deliciously to reveal one stockinged thigh. Her polished scarlet nails snapped open the gold cigarette case and she raised the Parisian smoke to her lips, rolling the taste of it around her mouth as she lit it and breathed in deeply its almost painfully evocative flavour.
She drummed her fingers against the case, trying not to trace the curling initial V etched into its surface. A frown creased her perfect brow and she exhaled a plume of blue smoke impatiently. "Damn you Valmont!" She flung the cigarette case onto the table, ground the barely lit tobacco into the tiled floor with the toe of her shoe and rose abruptly again, pacing into the beautifully decorated apartment and angrily yanking the bell pull. "I'll show you just how over you I am!"
The Vicomte in question, had he seen her little burst of frustrated outrage, would no doubt have laughed at her tantrum, infuriating her all the more. All the better that he was not here to torment her and mock her and only succeed in making her want him all the more.
The boy's quiet knock at the door was firm enough, and Cécile gave only a moment's hesitation, to casually scrutinise herself in the ornate mirror above the fireplace, before bidding him enter.
'Boy?' she thought as the baggage clerk stepped into the room. A vulpine smile haunted her scarlet lips. She had dangerously underestimated him; she saw that now as the bright light of the chandelier assaulted his features. In the uncertain light of the elevator he had seemed desperately young, but now – she noticed with pleasure – his extra few significant years were all too apparent. For all that seducing an innocent boy appealed to her, she felt in need tonight of a man's confident touch to exorcise the lingering spectre of the Vicomte's influence.
"You rang for me, Ma'am?"
His voice was delicious, the accent warm and sun-soaked and thoroughly unlike the lazy, studied drawl of her one-time tutor.
Cécile smiled again, stepping towards him and fighting a suddenly overpowering urge to just pounce upon him and devour him right there in the doorway. "Come in, please," she said softly. "There's something I hope you can do for me."
He looked her full in the face and something in his eyes made her think irresistibly of... "Whatever I can do, Ma'am, don't hesitate to name it."
She scanned his face for amusement, irony, mockery – all the things she half expected to find in every man's face when they spoke to her – but there was nothing so devious there. Just honest courtesy and a friendly smile that made her ache deep inside.
She came closer to him, her steps slow and measured across the thick creamy carpet. She watched the hint of surprise filter into his head as he realised her request would have nothing to do with opening stiff windows or attending to a drippy tap.
"Sit down." She had meant it to be an invitation, but the ardour rising in her made it sound like an order, and he obeyed mutely, his long legs folding as he found himself crumpling into the sofa beneath her bright, hypnotic eyes. She held his gaze long enough to be sure he was snared then turned around and slinked across the room to the bar, watching in the tall mirror as his eyes followed the snake-like movement of her hips in the tight satin dress. "Drink?" she asked in as casual a tone as she could manage. She looked back at him, and adored the way he blinked at her, ashamed to be caught ogling her so obviously.
He nodded and she poured two generous shots of bourbon and returned with them, exaggerating the sway of her hips as she walked.
She sat down beside him and clinked her glass against his. "Salut!" she said with a wink and threw the shot back in one, watching him as he mentally sized up her challenge and then met it.
She barely gave him time to swallow the fiery liquid before she leaned closer to him and snaked one hand around his neck, and though he put out his hands as though to fend her off she negotiated her way deftly between them so that his fingers grazed against her light cape, sending the scent of wild roses thickly into the hot space between them. She tore the ridiculous cap from his head and ran her scarlet nails through his soft golden hair, laughing gently at his bewilderment.
She put one finger on his lips as he tried to protest at this unexpected behaviour, but as their eyes locked she saw the desire flare up in his gaze. His hands closed around her upper arms, crushing the soft fur of her cape and pinching at the skin beneath.
She bent over him, her lips parted, and kissed him hard on the mouth, the acrid taste of the bourbon setting her nerves jangling afresh as her tongue wound about his. She moaned to taste him: his desire, his willingness, his lust. That first kiss was always so breathtaking, so unknowable!
It took him little time to respond to her however, and he pulled her down against him, one hand fumbling with the clasp at her throat and unbuckling the little cape, which slid glossily to the floor. His hands were hot; hot and strong, his fingers capable and over-familiar as they scooped her tumbled hair away from her face and pulled it back so he could see her.
Cécile loved him already. The wiry strength of his arms, the exquisite warmth of his mouth, his inquisitive, demanding tongue... Oh yes, he would do admirably for this evening's pleasure!
She ran her hands down the front of his uniform, her fingers trembling with the shiny buttons of his jacket, undressing him in a feverish haste to find out if the rest of him was as agreeable as what she had seen so far. She kissed him still, working his jacket open even as their tongues sparred in frenetic combat, the urgency of knowing they had so very little time.
At last she had unbuttoned the coat, and the thin shirt all but fell apart in her hands as she tore at him, ripping it from him and caring little how he would explain such a thing to the management. They had probably seen it all before in any case, no matter how desperately unprofessional it might be.
She turned now to his trousers, regretfully breaking the kiss so as to concentrate on releasing from its bondage his already swollen cock. His hands hesitated in their examination of the soft curves of her throat and shoulders as she slid one cool hand beneath the fabric and found what she had ached for from the moment he had stepped into the room.
An oath in her native tongue escaped her lips as she took hold of him, for he was generously blessed indeed, and his breathless little laugh assured her that he knew it all too well. She looked up at him with a wry smile. "Well well," she purred, massaging his thick length with her perfectly manicured hand. "Aren't you the lucky one?" She arched one eyebrow and slowly licked her crimson lips. "Or rather, aren't I...?"
He groaned as she took control of him, her slim fingers working on his tumescence until he was quite enormous in her hand. She turned about and slid her lips hungrily over his swollen head, devouring him deeply and sighing at the spicy heat of him as his flesh filled her mouth, her throat.
But this was not what she had summoned him for... She pulled back, her tongue aching at the taste of him. She straddled him as he sprawled on the sofa, her dress riding high up her legs, revealing the lacy tops of her stockings. She made sure he got a good eyeful before she caught his mouth up once again in a fierce kiss, and now there was no holding him back. Whatever reserve, whatever respect, he had tried to cling to because she was a guest of his employers was gone under her aggressive assault. Since it was all too clear what this woman wanted, he saw no reason not to do as she wished. It was, after all, what he was paid to do...
He slid his hands hungrily over her satin-hugged breasts, and crested the curves of her hips, pushing the dress even higher so that the soft hairless lips of her cunt were revealed to his eyes. He moaned appreciatively at this new revelation of foreign sluttishness in her, and slid one hand between her lips to touch her. He gasped at how wet and juicy she was, and they shared a secret, knowing smile as he buried two fingers deep inside her.
Cécile cried out as he impaled her, pushing down and back onto his fingers to take them deeper still, to push his hard digits so far into her that she burned with her need for him. God, if his fingers could feel this good, it boded well for the intrusion of his enormous cock, and she could barely retrain herself at the thought of that!
She reached behind her and grasped his cock again, urging it to new heights of arousal and making him cry out softly as though surprised by how expertly she played with him. She teased him as long as she could bear to then leaned over him once more and kissed him, wanting him so much it was just like being back in the palace gardens before the Revolution had seized all of Paris in its bloody maw.
'Damn you, Valmont,' she thought. 'Even now you have to intrude?'
She glared down at the man beneath her, who slowly focussed on her expression and jolted when he realised its fierceness. At once she resumed her mask, smiling angelically at him and stroking his hot face. "Forgive me, my love," she whispered. "A memory, nothing more."
He jabbed another finger inside her, as though to stake his claim upon her attention, and Cécile laughed. "You're right, I am rude to neglect you for a mere phantom." She laid her lips close to his ear and sighed gently. "Do you wish then, sir, to fuck me?" she whispered.
His breath caught in his throat and for a moment even his fingering of her ceased at the shocking brutality of the question. But he was hardly in a position to argue, so he returned her smile and grasped her about the hips with his free hand, eagerly pushing her towards their shared goal.
And as she sank down upon him, her cunt slick with her juice, Cécile cried out for her absent lover, even then, even now. His name. His damnable name. And at the quiet click of the opening door handle she looked up and smiled across the room at him as he sloped in, an ironic, impossibly amused grin on his timeless face.
'Now,' she thought with a delicious shudder of pleasure. 'Now the real fun starts...'
[10th December 2000]
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