Love under contract (15 page)

His friends showed cover photos of him, fashion shots for different publications, perfume advertisements, and background films that showed him half-nude, drinking, with other models at parties. Zara was not the only one who had to admit that he was a knock-out. Even Catherine sighed when a photo of his back was shown, in which he wore not a stitch of clothing. The moderator’s comments were witty – between the funny, sexy photos one saw him finishing his academic pursuits in London and France, and that was also cleverly described, in good-natured fun.

Zara looked at Gregor as he watched a part of his past flickering across the screen. She saw a serious, perfect face and she had the desire to trace the features of this perfect face with her fingers. As if he had read her thoughts, he suddenly looked at her and noticed that she was looking at
him
and not the video.

She was serious again and thoughtful. Gregor had to take a deep breath, because at this moment he would gladly have taken her home, no matter how many guests were still present.

In the early morning hours, Gregor read the contract from beginning to end.

Almost nothing remained from the original contract that he had prepared! The stocks did not seem to interest her any longer; instead of marriage, there was sexual intercourse. The contract had been reduced to sex. That was not what he wanted. Only a few pages survived from his thick original document. 

David had to laugh when he first saw Gregor’s baffled face. He had warned Gregor; this crazy blueblood was not about to says yes and amen to a semi-legal contract.

He looked at Gregor thoughtfully after he finished reading the new contract.

“So, what is really important to you? A trophy wife? A status-symbol for New York to envy?”  he finally asked. “Simply stated, I want her,” Gregor said and sank into a chair, crossed his legs, and waited for David’s advice as to how this would be possible.

“We’re not living in past centuries any longer – in the days of slavery. You can’t bind someone to yourself forever and ever, with any contract in the world!” “So what do you suggest?” “Just sleep with her, if you think sex with this cold patrician will be good, which I personally doubt. Give her money for it. – And if after a year you’re still with her, then marry her; she won’t say no then. You can have other women who are more beautiful.” “You don’t understand, David. I want her, not any other woman. Deal with her attorney!” Then he got up and left David to ponder their next move.

Gregor paid a great deal for it, a very great deal, and she had to deliver her body and a signature promising a marriage contract after a year; a child after five years, and conversion to Judaism. Zara knew she wouldn’t need that long before she broke his heart. She didn’t need a marriage for that.

She arrived at his house at night, he saw her coming from his window, as the taxi stopped and she got out in her tight black dress, her hair loose. The idea itself, that she was coming to him, aroused him. He had bought her, just as she was, all of her, completely. He didn’t even have to be gentle if he didn’t want to be; she belonged to him . . .

She climbed up the steps to the entrance, and he opened the heavy door and let her in. She smelled strongly of a perfume, which he had never smelled on her before; she smiled. As the door closed behind her, she tossed her handbag on a side-chair, sat down on one of the white chairs, and looked at him provocatively.

Did he want sex that was a little out-of-the-ordinary? She crossed her legs and her dress slipped apart.

She was wearing only the dress, without underwear. She sensed that would please him, and it was also quite pleasant to feel the expensive fabric on her naked skin. She bounced her foot, shod in a high-heeled sandal fastened with a strap around her narrow ankle, up and down. She left room for his imagination – and, by God, it was working overtime at the moment. “So, Levy, would you like anything in particular?” she asked coquettishly, with a particularly strong French accent.

If he paid her ahead of time, then he would have the feeling of having a prostitute. Not that she was entirely uninvolved. She found it quite exciting, very exciting, and he really was a handsome man, as he now stood across from her, with his unbuttoned white shirt and black pants, studying her.

Gregor didn’t know exactly if he had the same woman before him that he had a few days ago, when they signed the contract.

Then he said quietly, “The bedroom is upstairs . . .” His throat was dry; he definitely needed something to drink.

Zara lifted herself off the chair lasciviously and went upstairs slowly. He watched her, closing his eyes; the way she walked, this was a different woman; the way she swung her hips, this was seduction incarnate. He noticed that she wore nothing under her dress – no bra, no slip, no stockings; she was naked – and it took his breath away.

Zara stood completely nude in front of the mirror and shook her hair. She knew that she was beautiful – and tonight she would seduce him, make him dependent; he would do everything for her, everything . . . and he would break, fall apart with pain . . .

She stepped into the darkened bedroom with the low bed. A fire burned in the fireplace. Zara found the remote control for the stereo and turned it on. He would never forget a night with her; she would make sure of that.

She lit the candles in the room – he should see her, he should see her beauty, everything, so that he would never ever forget her and always have her on his mind.

One could hear the French music throughout the house. Gregor was in the kitchen, getting some Champagne. This was it then, this is what he had paid for. As he went upstairs, he thought that the music sounded like something in a porno film.

He saw her standing naked in front of the window wall leading to the terrace, her hair loose, completely nude, without jewelry, so perfect . . . The soft light made her seem as if she had been painted; her curves were so smooth.

He put the cooler with the bottle and the two glasses down and opened the Champagne; it bubbled over the rim of the bottle.

She turned around and took the Champagne glass that he offered her. Without a word, they touched glasses and took a sip. His eyes did not stray from her body, the tight breasts, the absolutely flat stomach, the narrow hips and her girlish, hairless vagina.

With one hand he pulled her to him.

Zara would have preferred to remain uninvolved, but that proved to be more difficult. He was handsome, his chest muscles, the perfect, masculine, naked body, which she felt in her hands. She looked at him with half-closed eyes. In a couple of minutes, she had completely undressed him.

Gregor had a few misgivings as he held her in his arms; she seemed so girlish, so delicate. Had she slept with many men? He didn’t want to hurt her, to injure her.

He leaned toward her, and his lips found hers. These soft lips, they almost drove him out of his mind. She opened her mouth a little and his tongue slipped inside. He pulled her closer to him. One hand held her tightly at the waist, another stroked her long curls; her kisses became more intense. She apparently had enough experience, he thought, relieved. Her skin was soft and warm, silky soft.

Oh, it was good to kiss him, it was simply indescribable, the coolness of the Champagne still tingled on her lips, and his tongue was in her, everywhere.

Zara embraced him at the shoulders; he was considerably taller than she. As she noticed that his breathing had become heavier, she tore herself away and turned half over, reached for the Champagne glass and took a long sip. The tingling drink cooled her hot lips . . . he would have to have a little patience, she wasn’t going to make it that easy for him. But Gregor had no patience for these games.

She had hardly swallowed the Champagne when he picked her up and put her down on the bed again. She sank back and he leaned over her. Her legs around his hips pulled him to her.

But everything wasn’t that simple. She stroked his hair and lightly touched his skin. She softly traced a line down his back with her finger and suddenly grabbed his buttock cheek roughly. Gregor hardly knew what had happened – this little girl! With one swoop, she turned him over and lay on top of him. She smiled seductively, her eyes shone, her mouth was slightly open and her lips were moist.

He moaned as she began to kiss him from his neck upward and touched him gently with her tongue. Her hands were everywhere, she lay between his legs and he would never have believed what the arrogant little aristocrat was doing to him.

His fingers dug into the pillow, he moaned, but every time he thought it was over, she stopped briefly and stroked him between his legs. This he couldn’t have imagined; where had the shy blueblood gone? He looked at her, saw how she had his member in her mouth. He reached for her arm and pulled her away. He didn’t want the evening to end too quickly. She smiled enticingly and said nothing.

No, this wasn’t punishment for Zara, this was pleasure, great pleasure. The man was so handsome, much more so than when dressed. More beautiful than in her mental images and she had had quite a few of those lately, especially because of the months of self-inflicted abstinence.

He turned her on her back and she felt his entire weight on her, and he touched her between her legs. She was warm, moist, aroused, and she sighed quietly as he worked his long fingers while he kissed her. She pushed her pelvis toward him and wrapped her legs around his hips and whispered hoarsely, “Take me . . .”

He smiled, and had just that intention, but she still had to wait a little, just a little . . .He pressed her hips down and stroked her some more; now and then his fingers wandered from her hot interior along her thighs. Her entire body seemed to tremble. He wanted her just like that, and lifted her hips high, and while he pushed inside her, he looked at her. Her eyes were half open, she dug her fingernails into his shoulders and cried out with joy.

And then she came in his arms, crying out and burying her face in his shoulders; her muscles twitched, and at the same time he also couldn’t last any longer.

Afterward, as he lay next to her, Zara sat up and looked at him. His breathing had quieted, his hair was disheveled – that was probably her fault, she thought. And the impressions of her fingernails in his shoulder apparently too. She had to smile. Gregor didn’t quite know if that was a smile caused by happiness or satisfaction or a smile of the victor. She had surprised him; he had already feared the worst after the last weeks, but he had been wrong, and was very happy about it.

“So?” she asked. What did she mean? She leaned toward him and stroked his cheek with her finger. “Tired, Doctor Levy?” she asked, and kissed him lightly on the mouth. Would she continue to address him so formally as time went on? It had its charms in bed, but only there and only sometimes.

Then she rolled over to the edge of the bed, got up, and went over to the Champagne. He watched her – where was she going? She looked at him over her shoulder, smiling, and picked up the Champagne bottle. He would regret that he desired her. He would forget all other women; none other would compare.

She came back with another bottle of Champagne. The trace of his sperm on her upper thighs didn’t seem to bother her; she moved as if she were walking the catwalk. No, as if she had already slept with countless men and as if sex belonged to her daily schedule. Jealousy welled up in him. But that couldn’t be, he had her checked out, she was ambitious, alone, no men in her life. He calmed down; there was something to be said for natural talent.

What was she going to do with the Champagne, he asked himself. She took a sip out of the bottle and remained standing in front of the bed, swallowed the Champagne, knelt down and bent over him. She took the Champagne bottle and began to dribble the liquid on his stomach. The cold Champagne ran down his stomach muscles, and his body. He cried out. Then Zara bent over him and began to lick off the Champagne with her tongue, in circular motion, lower and lower. Her hands were between his legs, stroking the interior of his upper thighs. He moaned, she had magic in her hands. Then she interrupted her game, sat up and looked at him, or rather at his penis. She grinned and said, “Apparently not tired after all . . .” “Zara!” He pulled her toward him by her arm, her legs were behind him, wrapped tightly, she pressed his hips to hers, and held him tight, stroked his hair gently and nibbled on his earlobes. “You beast,” he murmured and lifted himself, stroking her back, kissing her breasts; she let herself fall and lay before him, her legs still crossed behind him, her Venus-mound jutted toward him, swollen, shining with moisture. He briefly closed his eyes and pulled her up.

She sighed, he kissed her ear, she felt his breath, moaned and whispered, aroused, “Fuck me.” How could she utter such words? This stiff snob? The longer the night lasted, the more astonished about her he became. It wasn’t as if he could think about it now, he was so aroused that he pulled her hair roughly and said, “Yes, now!” As he took her for the second time, sitting up, she kissed him passionately and softly bit his lip as she came.

Then she lay next to him and put an arm around him. He pushed her hair back from her face. He thought Catherine was passionate, but this woman – and he had to smile at these thoughts. She had surprised him and she surprised him twice more. She didn’t seem to be able to get enough, although she had an orgasm each time; she was demanding and said what she wanted. She had muscles that almost drove him out of his mind when he pushed into her-- he had never experienced anything like it, and he certainly hadn’t been a monk during his life before now.

Half-asleep he said to her, “You’re going to kill me!” She laughed and sat cross-legged next to him, looking at him. “Hmm, I don’t believe it. You’ve forgotten; I had the stateroom next to you and Catherine, and you robbed me of my sleep.” He grinned and reached for her hand. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, tired out. “At least I knew what to expect,” she said, shrugged her shoulders and stood up.