Читать книгу The Deep End - AM Hartnett - Страница 7

‘This is a little like being the personal assistant to some high-maintenance celebrity,’ she teased from her perch on the edge of the conference table. ‘Must I really be at your beck and call at every moment of the day?’

It was her second weekend with Taureau, and like the first Grace arrived in the evening to find a bottle of wine on the conference table. The first had been red. She drank it, but couldn’t disguise her grimace. This weekend, now that he knew she loathed red wine, the Riesling had been left to chill in a dripping bucket of ice.

It was a funny little thing, like something most lovers did when they were separated by distance. In Grace’s case, she didn’t even know what he looked like or what he smelled like. She didn’t have the warmth of his arms to miss like she would any other lover who was away from her.

‘I don’t expect you to be at my beck and call,’ he said, and she could have sworn she caught a bit of sheepishness in his words. ‘I can give you something more mundane to do, if you’d like.’

‘I’m a little underdressed. Or maybe it’s overdressed.’

She gestured down her body with the hand that held her wine glass. This was not something he provided. The satiny red bustier, mesh panties and black stockings were from her closet. The matching red pumps were an impulse buy. Judging by the growl that came through the static when she slipped out of her raincoat earlier, Taureau approved.

A low laugh from the computer speakers, and she had to bite back the sudden burst of annoyance that went through her.

She didn’t know what his voice sounded like, not really. With the majority of people she came in contact with in this job, she did so via phone and email. It always gave her a turn when she finally came face to face with someone. The voice on the phone was never the same as the live one, just as a photograph could never truly capture how beautiful or ugly a person was.

The volatile feeling in the back of her throat went down hard, and she chased it with the wine.

That almost-smile appeared on the screen to accompany his laughter. ‘Actually, I was thinking I could send you on a little field trip.’

Instantly intrigued, Grace leaned forward.

‘Define field trip.’

A thrill went through her at the sight of his tongue touching the corner of his mouth. It was a quirk she was getting used to, revealing itself when he hit upon some dirty little task for her to complete. It was almost as good as those filthy phrases he dropped around her like bombs once she gave himself over to his demands.

‘A little drive through downtown. That’s all I’ll give you right now.’

‘You’re a cruel master, Jacques.’

‘That’s an interesting way of putting things.’

Grace found no words, and Taureau let his response hang there for her to chew on. She wondered what he was really like in the bedroom. His dominant streak was clear, but did he have rules he expected his lovers to adhere to, or would he simply use his body and his strength to push her around?

Though her mantra these days seemed to be ‘Yes, Mr Taureau’, she wasn’t sure how open she’d be to a demand to submit to any sort of ritual.

She set the glass aside and eased herself back onto her hands. Taureau tilted his head just slightly, enough for her to see the pucker on his mouth as she crossed one leg over the other.

‘You really like this little ensemble, don’t you?’ she said.

‘Very much.’

‘What is it about this that you like?’

‘Every inch, but since you’re clearly fishing I’ll indulge you.’

That struck her as funny. She tipped her head back as she laughed, and when there was only a little left to fizzle out she swallowed it and tried for a serious face. ‘Please, yes, indulge me.’

‘Your shoes,’ he said.

Grace stretched her foot out. ‘They are a little much, aren’t they?’

‘They’re perfect. I don’t care for those ones you wear with the straps across the foot, and the red really stands out.’ He leaned to the side, resting his chin on the edge of his chair. ‘I can image how they’d look if I had your legs draped over my shoulder, maybe one hanging off one foot. I could make a game of it – see how much I can make you squirm before the shoe drops.’

A sprite of mischief danced through her, tweaking a smile on her lips. ‘You know, it’s always about my weaknesses, what you could do to me. I wonder about your weaknesses and what I could do to you.’

‘Hold your horses, I’m getting there. Stand up for me.’

Though she rolled her eyes, her grin widened as she hopped off the edge of the table. Her laughter returned as he raised his hand and twirled his finger around, and she threw out her hands as she spun.

‘Stop. There. That’s my weakness.’

Grace placed her hands on her hips and looked over her shoulder at the screen. ‘My ass?’

‘I can see through those panties,’ he went on. ‘I like that they cover you completely, but I can slip my hand inside and play with you, and you can watch my fingers moving.’

‘Do you want to watch my fingers now?’ she asked, plucking the lace ruffle at her hip bones.

‘No. You like hearing me talk, so I’m going to give you what you want.’

A shiver ran through her, but she didn’t bother to suppress it. ‘Go on, then.’

‘Do women know how inviting garters are?’ He spoke as though to himself. ‘They set off the same compulsion one gets when someone places a wrapped parcel in front of them at Christmas. It would be so easy to tug and tear, but isn’t it better to savour the unwrapping? Try to get those flimsy little panties over those bits of metal without snagging them, playing with the garters and watching your face when I give them a little snap.’

She ran her hand down and over, following the curve of her ass, and slipped her fingers under the garter. Though tempted to do just what he had described and let it snap back against her skin, she simply gave it a tug.

‘Stockings worn all on their own are always a nice touch,’ he went on. ‘Isn’t it funny how those things that are supposed to be practical make a man feel like an animal? I want to see you in nothing else when I have you in bed.’

Grace leaned back against the table and held on, desperate to do something far more wicked with her fingers than press them against the surface. ‘I want … I want … always what you want …’

‘What you want,’ he said with a sharp bite. ‘Not just me, you want it too. I know you. I’ve watched you. You perform, and what you wear, like this, turns you on as much as dirty talk. Try and deny that you wouldn’t want to be spread out, hands holding the flushed insides of your thighs apart. Tell me that seeing the contrast of the black stockings framing your pussy while you’re being fucked doesn’t turn you into a firecracker.’

Keeping her gaze low, she pressed her tongue to her upper lip and enjoyed the heat that filled every part of her. Once the fluttering in her head abated and the fever in her blood became a simmer, Grace was left with the suggestion perched on the end of her tongue.

She had no choice but to let it leap. Even though her throat burned with the need to swallow it back, she was powerless, and so she said, ‘We don’t have to talk about it any longer, you know. If that’s what you want, you can have it.’

For a few moments there was nothing left but her limbs taut with nervousness as she stared at the floor and the slight crackle coming from the computer speakers. Regret nipped her, but she bullied that thing with the sharp teeth back into whatever fathomless void it had come from.

It had been said, and it needed to be said, even if it was a mistake.

What came next was a guttural sound: Taureau clearing his throat, followed by his quiet words.

‘If you’re done with your wine, I think it’s about time to go.’

The electricity leapt from her body and left her feeling small and cold. She pressed her lips together as her regret squirmed, victorious, and she pushed away from the table.

‘Shall I call a cab?’ she asked, reaching for the coat she had tossed over a chair in her eagerness to show off her lingerie.

‘Use the service, but get the phone and the headset first.’

She didn’t say anything to him as she disconnected the computer and turned off the projector. Only after she had washed the glass in Caroway’s sink and tucked the bottle in his credenza did Taureau call her back, this time on the phone.

She quickly tucked the headset into her ear and answered the call, then slipped the phone into her pocket. ‘Where am I going?’

Taureau was quiet for a moment. ‘If you’re not in the mood …’

‘No, I’m fine.’

Her answer came out more as a retort. She had a sour feeling like she was heading out into the town in the midst of a lover’s spat. It made her feel foolish, and as she buttoned up to conceal every inch of the naughtiness underneath she filled her lungs and expelled it. She pulled her hair free of the collar.

‘Where are you taking me, Mr Taureau?’

He gave another pause, not as long as the first, and then he cited an address not far from the Taureau-Werner building. She called the car and was assured it would be there shortly.

‘Is this the executive condo?’ she asked as she headed for the lobby.

‘No, it’s mine.’

‘But you don’t live there?’

‘The last time I was there you were still in university.’

She wanted to probe deeper, to ask about the blank slate between his very tumultuous young adulthood and his present closeted existence, but she was still feeling the sting of his first rejection and didn’t care to receive a second.

‘You seem to know a lot about me,’ she said as she pressed the call button for the elevator. ‘I’d hate to make an enemy out of you.’

‘I only know what I can find on paper,’ he said, and Grace caught the sound of glass clinking against glass.

It was these little things that made her froth with curiosity on the inside. Where was he? What was in the blackness beyond where he sat day after day? He could have lived in that supposed compound in Saguenay or in a trailer park in Australia. She wouldn’t know the difference.

‘Tell me what I don’t know,’ he said, followed by another clink. ‘Tell me your story.’

She couldn’t help the bark of laughter that let loose. Even when she clapped her hand over her face to stave off another she failed, and dissolved into hysterical giggles as she waited for the elevator.

‘I’m sorry, but that sounds like a first-date question.’

‘Humour me,’ he said, and his inability to conceal his own laughter inspired another fit in her.

‘I can’t. It’s just so silly.’

The elevator doors opened and she stepped in. She leaned against the wall and, as her stomach flopped with the descent, her laughter died to a chuckle and her jaw ached from it.

‘Are you still there?’ she asked as she stepped onto the street.

He didn’t answer. It seemed as though the elevator ride had cut them off, and Grace prepared to disconnect. Her finger was on the narrow button on the face of the headset when he answered.

‘I’m here.’

He spoke barely above a whisper, and she lost her breath at the thought of having offended him with her fit.

But then, softly: ‘You have a beautiful laugh, you know.’

She was grateful that she was free of the Taureau-Werner building and his cameras. For him to see her face at that moment would have killed her. His gentle, admiring tone touched her deeply and spread warmth into every part of her body. She faltered down the steps and the buzzing city before she slowed down.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and lowered her gaze even though the one she wanted to hide from was miles away.

‘Please, tell me about yourself.’

‘Did you compliment me to butter me up into talking?’ she teased, but a little part of her believed the nasty little suspicion.

‘No, I didn’t.’

The sincerity in his voice won her over, and as she stepped to the curb to wait for the car she relented.

‘What do you want to know about?’

‘Who were you when you were growing up?’

It seemed like a poignant question, given the origins of the man who posed it. If she were to pose the same question to him and if he were to be honest with her, the picture he would paint would no doubt be filled with shadows.

She tucked herself deeper into the coat. ‘Nothing exciting has ever happened to me. I grew up with just me and my mom, mostly. When I was really small we lived with my grandmother. It was her house. She smoked like a chimney, as they say, and after she died my mom tried to scrub the nicotine off the walls. Have you ever tried to get rid of fifty years of smoking from a wall? Eventually she gave up and just painted the house a combination of yellows, browns and oranges.’

She laughed, rocking on her feet, as the scene before her eyes transformed into the tiny ginger room she’d grown up in. ‘God, do I ever hate the colour orange. I won’t wear it. I won’t even wear pantyhose that are too close to orange.’

‘I prefer the nude stockings with the black garters.’ He spoke so low the traffic drowned him out, but his voice was a frequency embedded in her brain. Even if he had whispered and she hadn’t caught a word, she’d still feel his sentiment in her blood.

‘I wasn’t dirt poor or anything,’ she went on, ‘Though we probably would have been homeless if my grandmother hadn’t left us the house. My mom – man, could she burn through a line of credit. There were always bill collectors on the phone. She only got out of debt when I moved out and she sold the house. She married an American about ten years ago and they live in Florida.’

‘No siblings?’

‘Not growing up. Tony, my stepfather, has a son and a daughter.’

‘Then you’re all alone in the world.’

So many people had said the same thing to Grace, and their condescending tone was always like sandpaper on her nerves. Like their first meeting in the boardroom, there was none of that in Taureau’s observation. No, there was kinship to be found in there.

‘I can tell you’re uncomfortable,’ he said. ‘I’d bet money you’re even twitchy.’

‘I’m not,’ she lied. It wasn’t that his asking about her past made her ‘twitchy’, but answering made her uncomfortable. She’d had a good upbringing. Taureau’s eventual spiral into drug use suggested to her that he hadn’t.

Her life hadn’t been charmed, but it was warm, and she thought that perhaps her warmth was what he was looking for.

The car arrived before she could say any more, and, once she was nestled into the cushy backseat, Taureau spoke again.

‘Tell me about something else,’ he said. ‘Tell me about why you started taking your lovers at the office.’

‘Oh, that’s an easy one, but I don’t think now’s the time.’

‘Are you actually shy about talking sex in front of a stranger?’

‘Actually, yes, but I’ll give you the short answer: convenience. I can work and have my fun without giving up either of them. I have little time to myself outside work, and when I do I have all of those mundane little things that everyone needs to do. If I want sex, I don’t want to have to get to know someone first, and hooking up with people I meet in bars or online isn’t my thing. At the office, I at least have a sense of the calibre of man I’m screwing and there’s an understanding. So, for me, sex and work are a perfect combination.’

‘Efficient.’

She laughed and combed through her hair with her fingers. ‘Your turn. Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘You could write a book,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Really, you could write a book.’

‘And many have,’ she pointed out, ‘but you know that I’m not interested in tabloid sludge. I want to know about you. Tell me something. In fact, tell me something that you haven’t told anyone before.’

He paused, and Grace didn’t mistake his silence for a disconnection this time. After at least a minute, she murmured, ‘Not so easy, is it?’

‘No, it isn’t,’ he said, sounding irritated. ‘I’m thinking.’

‘Don’t make something up, either.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it. All right, Miss Neely, you want something no one else knows about me? I’ll tell you, but brace yourself; it’s a shocker.’

She couldn’t tell if he was joking, and wondered if she would have been able to read him even if they were face to face, so she did what he said and braced herself.

‘When I was nine years old, a kid at school was giving me a hard time. I wasn’t small, but I was smaller than he was, so he started roughing me up where he could. One day he told me that he would kick my ass after Art class, and so I told him that my family hadn’t gotten its fortune from buses and airplanes. I told him that we were actually a mafia family, and if he laid another finger on me I’d have one of our hit men take him out.’

There was a shake to his voice, not quite a laugh but getting there.

Grace sat for a moment, hands folded over her knees as she stared out the window. She hadn’t been expecting an admission like this. She had steeled herself for something sordid and shocking, but this confession was just so … human.

A coughing laugh burst from the back of her throat, and then she smiled. ‘Did it work?’

‘Of course it did. I even named the hit man. Red “The Butcher” Belliveau. Red was actually a gardener, and we did call him “The Butcher” in my family because of the way he seemed to relish hacking the brush along the fence around the house. I told the kid this, too. I told him it was a front. I told him that Red’s speciality was castration by pruning shears.’

Grace laughed. ‘That is just evil. You were an evil child.’

‘I’ve always had a solid sense of preservation.’

‘And this is something no one else knows – aside from the kid who thought his dick was going to be snipped off.’

‘Not a soul,’ he said, and she heard the creak of him sitting back in his chair. ‘Are you close?’

Grace asked the driver, and reported to Taureau that they were just a few traffic lights from their destination.

‘I’m going to disconnect now,’ he told her. ‘Tell the driver to wait for you. Once you get there, identify yourself to the concierge and he’ll give you the key and tell you where to go. Put the phone in the dock to keep it charged.’

‘Am I going to be there all night?’

‘You can stay if you want, but I’m only interested in keeping you until just after dark. Keep the headset in. I’ll call you back in about fifteen minutes.’

After the click in her ear, Grace once more wondered about his surroundings. It almost seemed absurd to think that he was something more than a disembodied voice occasionally joined by a partial portrait on a screen. The idea of him doing things that normal people did, like running errands or answering the door to a pizza delivery, was laughable to her.

As the car passed through the gate of a park-like condominium community, Grace had to admit to herself that the initial lure of Jacques Taureau had been his mystery. The idea of some faceless man directing her from the shadows would have made her laugh a month ago, but once it became her reality she had been intoxicated by the mystery.

Now, things were changing. He was giving her little facets of himself that didn’t fit the image of the ubiquitous stranger. In her mind, Taureau was like the mummy from the horror movies who, piece by piece, went from dust and bone to flesh and blood.

The driver told her to have the concierge notify him when she was ready, and she watched him leave to no doubt while away the evening at one of the nearby eateries. The concierge greeted her with a practised smile and promptly produced a key to an apartment on the third floor.

She took the elevator up, and as she slid the key into the lock a sudden dread of the unknown came over her. No boundaries had been set with Taureau. None had been needed, what with the digital nature of their relationship, and she worried now that she was about to walk into something abhorrent.

As much as she enjoyed sexual experimentation, there were things that had never appealed to her. Group sex, for example. The occasional threesome was one thing, but a handful of times in her adult life she’d politely declined an invitation to take part in an orgy. The same went for sex with other women. She’d never had a lesbian experience, not because of any particular aversion to it – enough of her fantasies included women – but because she’d never met a woman she was so attracted to she could feel it in her bones.

Those were the soft scenarios of what might be behind the door. She refused to entertain the more chilling ones. Sucking in a deep breath, she turned the key and pushed the door open, and was relieved to discover an empty apartment.

Well, almost relieved. Part of her had still held out hope that she’d open the door and find herself face to face with Taureau, even though deep down she knew she had a better chance, that night, of being struck by lightning.

The apartment was what one would expect of an executive condo. The space was tastefully furnished and decorated in neutral colours and had the unlived-in smell of air freshener hanging in every room. Grace doubted that the chef’s kitchen had ever been used to its full potential. The bedrooms, perhaps, though when she peeked in both the master and the spare she saw nothing short of showroom perfection.

She was headed back to the living room when Taureau called back in.

‘What would you do if I told you I wanted to move in here like a kept woman?’

‘I’d say yes.’

‘Good to know.’ She dropped her handbag onto the sofa and walked towards the window as she unbuttoned her coat. ‘Cameras here, too?’

‘Temporarily. This condo is typically used for contract workers and their families. I give them their privacy.’

‘I guess I was wrong about the kitchen not being used much,’ she murmured, and swept out of her coat. She spun around like she had for him in the conference room, her gaze moving to every corner of the room. ‘Where’s the camera?’

‘Guess.’

Grace focused on a piece of metal art hanging over the sofa and took a step towards it. ‘This?’

‘Not even close.’

Turning away from her first deduction, Grace tucked her hands behind her and thumbed the bottom hook of the corset.

‘Don’t do that,’ he warned.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t take off the corset.’

‘Why not?’

‘Do I really need a reason? You can take your panties off, though. Slowly.’

‘After I find your little hiding spot.’ She fingered the elastic clinging to her hips as she moved around. ‘Shall we make a game of it? Hot and cold?’

‘I don’t play games. You’re a smart girl; figure it out, and quickly.’

‘Patience is a virtue.’

‘It’s been a very long time since I’ve had any virtues, but by all means keep spouting clichés if it helps you.’

She ruled out anything that wasn’t at least eye-level and named a few more harmless pieces in the room. Not the dock where she had left her phone. Not hidden on the flat screen hanging opposite the sofa. Not the wireless modem in the little business area off the kitchen.

She grew tired of what wasn’t a game and could tell by Taureau’s clipped answers that he was too. Lifting her hair off her hot neck, she sank down on the sofa with a growl.

‘Just tell me.’

‘Look, and think.’

‘Seriously, just …’ A grin crept up to her mouth and twisted it. ‘It has to be the flower urn on the balcony.’

‘Smart girl. Wave hello.’

‘I can do better than that.’

She got to her feet and turned to make a show out of wriggling her panties over the garters and stockings. She left them in a twisted rosette on the floor and knelt on the edge of the sofa.

‘No objections?’

‘I have you right where I want you.’

‘This is very odd, Jacques.’ She brushed her palm across the hump of her ass and twisted her face towards the balcony. ‘Something tells me you didn’t get me out of the office because you wanted me to be more comfortable.’

‘Just go slowly for now.’

Draping one arm over the back of the sofa to take her weight, she ran her hand from her ass to her abdomen, and kept it out of his sight as she crooked her middle finger over her clit.

‘Slowly.’

He delivered his seductive command in a whisper, eliciting a shiver from her as she thought of hearing that accented baritone urging ‘slowly’ as he did just now, as he pressed his lips to her ear’s shell, hands on her shoulders and fingers gripping harder, his body hot and demanding against her back.

She closed her eyes and lost herself in her imagination. In none of these wicked little episodes of fantasy could she conjure up his face. He was always in hiding, or behind her, sometimes slipping something over her eyes to keep her blind. It was vexing and stirring all at once, and even when frustration nipped at her she gave herself over to it.

‘Don’t you want to know what I’m thinking?’

Her breath hitched on her last word as her touch evoked an ecstatic, throbbing ribbon around her clit.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he told her. ‘It’s not so hard to read you. You tell me everything I need to know by the way you hold your pose.’

‘Tell me,’ she said, more of a chant than a plea.

‘You’re thinking of how you’d offer yourself up to me like you are now. You’ve got this silly little notion in your head that you might bring me to my knees this way, that I’d bow and follow your fingers through that wet gash, that eventually you’d be able to rest your head against the seat and let me finish you off.’

She slipped her fingers lower, not only to give him a glimpse of the tips slipping into her cunt but to gather the wetness there.

‘Tell me why I’m wrong.’

She adjusted her pose in anticipation, lowering her head and lifting her ass so that he could see her smear the shining juices through her swollen lips.

‘You tell me.’

It was uncanny how quickly this storytelling came with Taureau. Grace had always been what some would consider masculine in her arousal: dirty movies and dirty talk, kisses seeking a tongue from the start while she made her demands with her hands. It was always about the pulsing, breathless end and how she could get to it as quickly and furiously as possible.

With Taureau, she relished the wait, and relished the sanctions he imposed upon her. These scenarios flowed through her like music, and in return she sang for him.

‘Oh, if you had me like this, I’d still offer myself up to you,’ she said. ‘You’d give, too, wouldn’t you? For all your words, you’d give me just enough. You’d stand over me and watch the goose bumps rise on my hands and arms, and watch me get wetter and wetter just from having you where you are. You’d watch me play with myself, like this …’

She cranked her arm and used all four fingers to rub through her slick labia.

Slowly.

The word was unspoken, but the fact that she heard it nonetheless was a testament to how her psyche was getting used to absorbing his commands. She slowed down, forcing herself just to tease even though she still needed to go fast and hard.

‘Finally, you’d tell me you’ve seen enough, and put your hands on me: on my hips, my ass, or in my hair. It doesn’t matter except that you’re holding me when you start to fuck me.’ She used her fingers in her pussy once more, then held her breath and listened. She heard nothing, no static, no breathing, no tell-tale sounds to indicate that he had his cock out. ‘Jacques?’

‘It’s time to turn around, Grace.’

His voice carried that flint that signalled the change, and the animal inside Grace was tamed and lowered its gaze as she pushed away from the sofa.

‘Yes, Mr Taureau.’ She spoke the words as if bowing before a ruler. She went onto her ass and shifted, looking for the angle that would best suit him from his vantage point on the balcony.

‘Do you see it?’ Taureau asked breathily.

Grace paused. ‘See what?’

‘Look at the camera. Now, above. Straight above, I believe.’

She looked towards the urn, then up, and narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t … oh. Oh, my.’

The scene was blurred by the doors and the glass partition surrounding the balcony, but she saw it all right: a man and a woman in their living room in the building just across the courtyard. They didn’t quite stand before their window, but close enough. They were in a sordid profile: the man leaning against a chair, boxers around his thighs, and the woman completely naked and on her knees in front of him.

‘Did you hire them?’ Grace asked absently, riveted by the movement of the woman’s head as she sucked the man’s cock deeper.

‘I didn’t have to. Apparently they put on this little show every Saturday night. I was alerted to it by a man I had staying in the apartment for a month. They’re a fairly normal couple, two kids. They bundle the kids up and the father leaves with them, including the family Pomeranian, and then he takes them away somewhere. While he’s gone, she gets dressed for dinner. He returns and they go out. When they come home, they enjoy their kid-free time like this. I didn’t even see it for myself until last weekend. I have another camera on the opposite side of the planter.’

‘I thought you said you didn’t like to intrude on families.’

‘Families, no, and I only tuned in long enough to confirm what I was told. Once they’re alone, it’s not so much of an intrusion. You’ll see.’ His tone was rich with amusement. ‘I thought you might like to have a little show of your own for tonight.’

‘I …’

She didn’t know what to say. It did give her an odd creep across her bare shoulders to watch from afar as the woman used her lips and hand to milk the man’s cock, but she got the sense that there was little intimacy to the act.