Boxed Set: A Possessive Billionaire - Vol. 1-3: His, Body and Soul (4 page)

“Emma! Emma!”

Elisabeth gets out of a taxi with two gigantic paintings.

“Can you help me bring these up to Charles’ place?”

“Sure. Is it a present?”

“No, a delivery! From the Emirs of Dubai, I think. Careful, they’re worth millions!”

“Why are we bringing them to Charles’ house?”

“He’s going to appraise them and then sell them to those famous Emirs…”

“Ah yes, of course.”

I put a little too much emphasis into that last sentence. Elisabeth looks at me, amused.

“You don’t know what Charles does, do you?”

I’m happy to note that she’s referring to me in informal French. I admit my ignorance, relieved that I don’t have to keep playing along. She laughs again.

“Charles and his famous sense of mystery! Come on in, let’s have a coffee.”

She takes out a key and goes to open the apartment door.

“But Charles?”

Her expression suddenly sours.

“He’s out of town, he won’t be back until the weekend.”

She carefully places the frames against the chaise lounge and invites me to sit down on a barstool. She roots through the cupboards.

“Goddamn Italian design! He’s got to have some coffee in this house. There’s a coffee maker over there, is it just a conversation piece?”

“Maybe it’s in the fridge?”

“Bingo!”

It’s amusing to see such a sophisticated woman act so naturally! I’m completely at ease, I take advantage of the moment to continue asking questions.

“So Charles? That’s his job, selling canvases?”

“Among others, yes. He’s busy selling artwork around the world. He’s also a well-known expert. He’s the only one who’s able to categorically recognize the mark of certain artists. Lately he’s also been interested in contemporary art, he’s the kind of guy who discovers new talent. He’s able to make or break an artist with a single twitch of his eyebrow.”

“But I thought he was a rich kid!”

“Well he is! Except that he decided to not continue with his father’s business. His dad was into weapons…But Charles always does whatever he wants to do, he studied art history – that’s when I first met him – against his parents’ wishes, and when they died, he didn’t think twice about selling the family business. He preferred to invest his immense fortune into something else. And luckily, he has a knack for it…”

My relief must have been obvious.

“You were afraid that you were going out with some sort of crook?”

“But I’m not going out with Charles!”

“Ah…I thought.”

“Why? Did he say something?”

I must have seemed too eager with this question. I’m not very believable. Elisabeth gently smiles.

“No, not at all. I must have gotten mixed up.”

We continue to chat, carefully avoiding the subject of Charles. This isn’t really the kind of person I had imagined the first time I saw her. Of course, she’s very beautiful and super-sexy, but she doesn’t seem to notice it. She seems incredibly down-to-earth. I feel like I’m talking to an old friend. She tells me a lot about her work. About her love life, too. Her husband died three years ago in a car accident. She says that he was her one and only love. Of course she goes out and sleeps with other guys (even Charles?) but she’s done with love. She says all this with so much aplomb that I’m tempted to believe her. She doesn’t seem depressed by the idea of a life without love. That’s just how it is, she explains.

It’s getting late, I need to get back to work. I leave without really wanting to. Before I go, she invites me to an art opening at her gallery. We kiss each other’s cheeks goodbye, à la française.

I don’t know why I always think it’ll be different, a special day. But every year, I fall asleep feeling the same frustration. It’s my birthday. This year, more than any other year, I should have known that nothing would happen. My father isn’t even the type to make pancakes…And anyway, I don’t know anyone at school except for Manon and Mathieu. I told them at lunch, and they don’t understand why I’m in such a crabby mood.

“Want to go have a drink to celebrate?” Manon suggests.

Which was really nice, considering both of them have been sick with a nasty cold for the past three days. I feel sorry for them, with their runny noses. I must admit that I still find them cute. It makes me want to have a cold and a boyfriend to share it with. I swallow my pride and accept their invitation for a drink after class.

I shouldn’t have. I had called their bluff. My friends struggle to stay awake and act like they’re having fun. I decide to put an end to their suffering after two hours. I roam around the city, lonely and sad. I don’t want to go back immediately. I have the impression that if I come back before midnight, my day will truly have been a waste. As if someone would ever notice…

I get back home at midnight sharp. A ridiculous consolation…strangely enough, the hallway lights are on. Charles. He came back. He’s waiting for the elevator. He’s waiting for me. I don’t know what to tell him, I think I’m all red. It’s probably the alcohol. And him. Obviously.

“You know it’s my birthday today.”

I don’t know why I said this so suddenly. He looks at me for a long time.

“You’ve been out celebrating, then?”

“No.”

My tone speaks for itself, perfectly encapsulating how I felt all day long. He seems (sincerely?) moved while he opens the elevator door for me.

“Am I mistaken or are you disappointed?”

I sigh.

“Will you press the stop button for me, please?”

I do it without saying a word. I want to know what’s going to happen next. I hold this button down as if my life depends on it. He’s behind me. It feels as if an eternity passes, and then he says:

“I think we should play a little game. If you want to stop, just let go of that button. But if you want to keep playing, don’t move a muscle.”

Ok, I should go. I’m still immobile. I feel his body behind mine, but he doesn’t touch me. I’m hot. Suddenly, a nearly imperceptible caress against the back of my neck makes me shiver. He moves closer. I feel his breath on my neck. I would move but I can’t. His hand returns to my neck.

He caresses me very lightly, like a wispy veil tickling my skin. Every time his fingers touch me, I stop breathing. He’s closer, just a few centimeters away, I can feel him. His mouth plunges onto my neck while his hand lingers on my right shoulder. I don’t even notice as it brushes away my shirt, and his kisses replace the fabric. He stops all of a sudden. It takes me a few seconds to understand that it’s because of me. With all of these caresses, I almost stopped pressing the button. I push down on it again.

“Watch out. Next time, I’ll stop for good. Got it?”

“Yes,” I manage, in a sigh.

His fingers return to my nude shoulders. This time, the contact isn’t so light. I feel his broad, warm hands and each of his fingers on my skin. It’s as if someone was trying to sculpt me. His hands travel along my arms, my elbows, my hands. They come to the end of my fingers, he stops for a moment. His left hand rests on my hip while the other begins to stroke my arm, stretched out towards the stop button. He runs his fingers under my arm. Ordinarily, I would burst out laughing, but now I feel electrified. I close my eyes. I feel his caresses again, brushing underneath my arm, touching my breasts through my blouse. I can’t hold in a sigh.

“You know what to do if you want to stop…”

I feel each of his words through his hot breath on my neck. I don’t care about what he’s saying…I just want him to continue what he’s doing.

It takes him just a few seconds to open my blouse. I glance down at my bra, I suppose it’s alright. His fingers graze along my body nonchalantly, almost indifferently across my chest, where my heart is beating way too quickly. My nipples harden and I clench my thighs without thinking. I shiver, caught up in a new sensation. I can’t think anymore, all I can do is watch these warm hands and my body, anticipating the sensations. My skirt falls to the ground as if by magic. His gentle fingers continue their delicate exploration. My hips, my thighs. I can’t bear his touch any more. He strokes my knee and pushes my legs apart to make room for his ravenous hands, which overwhelm me. I regret wearing tights and panties, feeling his fingers on me makes me hotter than hot. I can’t stop my hips from following their movement.

“You should wear thigh-high stockings,” he says, pulling down my tights and panties to mid-thigh. I can’t help but let him do what he pleases, even though I’m sure I look ridiculous. But I can’t let my mind linger on this thought. I moan without realizing what’s happening. His right hand returns to my breasts and his fingers twist my nipples. It’s both painful and delicious.

His other hand explores in between my thighs. His fingers are curious, I guide them despite myself, bending my legs. My heart beats as if it’s going to explode. I’m not in control anymore, my hips move on their own to follow and press against his caresses. I close my eyes.

“Calm down,” he breathes while suddenly biting my neck. Now I feel his entire body burning against mine. His powerful torso through his shirt, his muscular thighs, and especially his sex against my butt. I want him inside of me. He must be able to read my mind. With a confident gesture, he grabs my thigh, places my foot on the side of the elevator and penetrates me all of a sudden. The sensation is brutal and exhilarating, I feel as if I’m possessed. I think I’m going to scream. I feel his breath on my neck and his teeth in my flesh, biting deeper with every thrust of his hips. And then, everything speeds up, I lose my bearings, I no longer know who or where I am.

When I finally snap out of it, I find myself looking at his hands once again. My skirt is back where it belongs and my blouse is being buttoned up. He gently grabs me by my wrist and moves my finger away from the stop button. The elevator resumes its ascent. The doors open. I mechanically walk towards my door like a sleepwalker.

“Emma!”

“Yes?”

“You forgot your bag…”

He hands me my bag with a smile I’m not sure how to interpret. Looking at his lips, I realize we didn’t even kiss.

The next instant, I collapse onto my bed, exhausted.

I woke up around noon, still dressed on my bed. It took a little time to get my mind together. When I finally regained consciousness, I was horrified. I had slept with Delmonte! No, worse than that. I let Delmonte take me in the elevator! Like a maid. He didn’t even bother to kiss me. I’m furious…and still upset. All I have to do is think about it and I shiver, it’s as if my body still resonated with his caresses. It was nothing like the passionate night I might have dreamed of, but I had never felt anything like that before. So intense, such a loss of control…I need to think about something else, and quick.

That said, this adventure again brings up the question of what our relationship is all about. At least, it does for me. I don’t know about him, though. Is this something he usually does? Seduce the maids in the elevator? Oh my god! Did he sleep with my cousin? No, he couldn’t have! I have to talk to him. But I don’t dare. Yet we’re so intimate now, it shouldn’t be too hard. ‘Hello, Charles, I was wondering, actually…what exactly is going on between us?’ Perfect, excellent. This relationship, if it is one, starts with healthy communication.

There’s noise in the elevator. It’s him. He leaves his apartment holding something. I’m glued against my door, spying on him, I hold my breath. He’s there, looming in front of the elevator. Oh my god! He saw me! He’s looking at me! He moves towards the door. I can’t move, I can’t breathe. And then he disappears. I’m crazy, no doubt about it, this guy has bewitched me. I need a glass of water, I need to get myself together…and then I return to my lookout. He hasn’t disappeared, he’s getting into the elevator. This time, alone.

I slide down to the ground, out of breath, as if I’d been running. I’m ridiculous. How could this guy have such an effect on me? Obviously, if I had had a more normal sex life in the past, I wouldn’t be acting this way. I’m going to get some air, I need it. I open the door with a completely different energy. On my doormat, there’s a little paper bag that I must have overlooked in my haste. I go back inside.

It’s an ancient box. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so pretty, it’s wooden and has accents of what look like mother-of-pearl. The accents are arranged in Arabic diamond-shaped patterns. It’s magnificent. Inside, two papers. The first is a certificate of authenticity. The box is indeed inlaid with mother-of-pearl, it dates back to the beginning of the last century and comes from Syria. The second paper is a white card, which simply reads “Happy Birthday”. It’s soberly signed ‘C. Delmonte’. I’m in heaven. After all, that crazy moment in the elevator, could it have been the prologue to something romantic? But looking a little closer, I notice there’s something else. I thought it was the inner lining of the box, but I was wrong. It’s a silky, black material…stockings!

I don’t know how to interpret this. Holding these silk stockings in my hands brings me back inexorably to the moment when he pulled down my tights. And again, I’m breathless, this is going to have to stop!

What should I think about all of this? A charming and probably priceless gift. And then another, overtly sexual one. Does he think I’m his girlfriend? I can’t stop thinking of the 19th century French novels, where the rich aristocrat keeps his mistress in an apartment to take advantage of her as he pleases…The situation is humiliating, but the memory of last night is still too fresh in my flesh, I yearn for the sensual pleasure. The next moment I’m in my underwear and stockings in front of the mirror. He’s right, it looks much better. Except my light blue bra and panties are pathetic and these stockings will never stay up on their own for more than ten minutes. My bra and panties fall to the ground. I’m in the stockings. Nude. I inspect myself. What would Delmonte think? What would he say if he was here? Behind the door…I close my eyes for a moment, I savor these new sensations aroused by simply think of him.

“Mademoiselle Maugham! A package for you!”

If ever a voice was capable of extinguishing all of my ardor, it’s that one. The building caretaker.

“I’m coming!” I yell, as if I lived in a 120 m2 apartment. I throw on a robe and cough, as if to justify why I’m not dressed at noon in the middle of the week…

It’s from my father! A care package for my birthday! Cookies, sweets, a card, a scarf from my grandmother and a nice letter. I decide to enjoy my day walking around Paris. I deserve this, after all of this emotion. When I get back, I’ve made my decision, I’m going to clear things up with Charles Delmonte.

I don’t have the opportunity to clear things up. I haven’t seen him for five days. I’m still as lost as I was before. I don’t know where I am. What I want. What he might see me as. What I’m willing to accept. I feel that, at least for me, it’s more than sex. But what about him?

I work like a fanatic to forget about the images that race through my mind when I stop concentrating. His hands on me. My skirt on the ground…I spend my time at the library. Manon makes fun of me. She’s saying that I’m projecting. That I’m pouring all of my sexual tension into my studies. She’s not exactly wrong…