Read The Berkeley Method Online

Authors: J. S. Taylor

Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary Erotic Romance

The Berkeley Method (9 page)

BOOK: The Berkeley Method
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James walks me to the door and reaches in his pocket.

“Here,” he says, handing me a card. “Don’t lose this. This card lets you in and out of your chalet. You can also use it anywhere else in the studios. Like a credit card.”

The card is flat and purple, with my name embossed in gold type. I take it hesitantly, feeling dizzy with privilege. I’m not sure I’m ready for all of this. Last week
, I was a drama student with a part-time waitressing job. Now, I’m an actress with free access to an entire leisure complex.

“Use it in the door lock here.” James takes the card and shows me how to swipe it slowly downwards. “And press your finger on this scanner.”

He gently takes my finger and pushes it down. I feel a wave of desire sweep through me. How does he do this with the slightest touch?

“Have they registered my fingerprints so quickly?” I ask, trying to distract myself from a sudden urge to rip his shirt off.

“It’s an instant process,” he says. “Your prints are now matched all over the studio. You can get in anywhere you want. Almost anywhere,” he adds as an afterthought.

Must be an expensive security system, I think as the door clicks unlocked.

James opens the door and gestures me inside.

I walk past him into an incredibly beautiful room. It’s double height, with huge panes of glass mounted halfway up the wall, letting in large quantities of light.

The walls are a mix of pale wood panelling and white, and a wooden stair leads from the large open room into a mezzanine level.

The whole effect is the kind of open-plan interior you might see in a décor magazine.

“It’s lovely,” I say, taking in the feature fireplace, large plasma TV, and designer furnishings. “Truly lovely.”

James smiles. “I’m so glad you like it,” he says softly. “But I’m hoping you won’t be here for too long.”

I turn to him in confusion.

He takes my hands in his.

“I had this room specially fitted out for you,” he says. “Because I didn’t want you to feel crowded by me. I wanted to make sure I didn’t frighten you off.”

Hmmm. Crowded by James Berkeley. That doesn’t sound so bad.

“But I was hoping that, at some point, you might decide to spend your nights with me,” he continues. “In my apartment.”

In his apartment?

The suggestion surprises me.

“Every night?” The words are out of my mouth before I realise.

“Not if you don’t want to,” he backtracks hastily. “I just wanted you to know that I’d like us to spend as much time together as possible.” He stares into my eyes.

Whoa. Can I handle this? It’s not like he’s asked me to live with him. But
every night in his studio apartment is still a big deal.

“Of course, we’ll have to take steps to hide where you’re staying,” he adds.

I feel any enthusiasm for the suggestion vanish.

Is this all we are?
I think resentfully.
Some shameful thing, to be hidden?

“I’ll think about it,” I say flatly, taking in the beautiful interior of the chalet. It would be a shame not to enjoy this, in any case.

I step towards a hand-crafted bookcase and run my fingers along the titles. There are both novels and DVDs on the shelf.

“I chose them for you,” says James from the other side of the room.

I turn back to him in surprise, and then return my attention to the shelf.

He chose these titles for me.

As my eyes flick along the DVDs, I can see they are mostly romance movies. My eyes touch on
Casablanca
and
Amelie
. Is this his way of showing me he cares? I feel a lump well up in my throat.

He is by my side suddenly, leaning over my shoulder.

“I am trying to be a better man for you,” he whispers in my ear.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I say, feeling tears in my eyes.

“Those movies say what I feel about you better than I could say it,” he says, moving to nuzzle my neck. “I am a damaged man, Isabella. I am broken and I am difficult. But since I met you I… It is the first time I have thought it might be possible for me to change.”

I stay rigid with his head on my shoulder, not trusting myself to speak. James kisses me lightly on the neck.

“I have work to do,” he says suddenly. I realise I might have hurt him by staying silent. But the threat of tears is still overwhelming.

“James…” I mutter weakly, “I…”

He kisses my cheek.

“I’ll come collect you later and give you a proper tour,” he says. “For now, I want you to settle in and enjoy yourself. Some of the other actors are already on set. You’ll likely find them in the coffee shop or the restaurant.”

Then he turns and walks out of the open-plan living space, leaving me staring at the love letter he’s written me in movies.

Oh James
, I think, staring at the range of classic romances.
You are a much better man than you give yourself credit for. How can I make you see it?

 

Chapter 11

 

Left alone in the room, I have free reign to be completely over-awed. And the accommodation certainly doesn’t disappoint. The beautiful open-plan living space leads to a designer kitchenette, complete with cappuccino-maker and a fridge stocked with gourmet food.

I open one of three small cupboards to find Italian coffee, loose-leaf teas, and some kind of hot chocolate from an organic plantation in Venezuela.

Just a little bit higher end than I’m used to.

I close the cupboard door softly, trying to make sense of my giant leap in circumstances.

There’s a menu on the countertop of food which can be delivered to the chalet, and at what time. Fresh pastries can be brought from 6am, and after midday there’s a selection of hand-cut sandwiches and salads.

There’s a separate form for breakfast options where I can tick what I’d like to be sent and leave for the housekeeper to manage. I can also specify food I would like the cupboard and fridge to be stocked with.

A housekeeper? I glance around the chalet distractedly. I’d better keep this place super tidy. I hate the idea of anyone having to pick up after me.

In a dreamlike state, I wander out of the kitchen and up the open wooden stair to the mezzanine level. There’s a single door up here, and I open it to reveal a large bedroom.

The walls are an elegant faun colour, and the floor is polished wood with a thick wool rug. There is a large sleigh-bed, in the style of the chalet, made up with crisp white sheets and a fur throw set in artful contrast.

Over the top is a hand-stitched bedspread which doesn’t match the rest of the décor.

I walk over and study the quilt in puzzlement.

It looks almost identical in style to the friendship blanket I have at home. Though it lacks Lorna’s rough and ready patchwork.

The realisation clicks into place. James had this bedspread put in especially for me. He must have remembered the friendship blanket from my bedroom, when he visited my apartment. So, he’s had something similar made to make me feel at home.

For some reason this act of consideration prompts tears to rise up. I brush them away hastily.

Stop it, Isabella
, I admonish myself.
You can’t cry over every little act of kindness.

The bedspread makes me wonder what other little touches he might have added for my benefit. There’s an antique bedside table with three drawers, and I pull open the first.

As my eyes fall on the contents, I gasp and shut it quickly. Then I force myself to open it again.

Certainly, James has ensured I am well-stocked. Though I can’t say this is quite as considerate as the bedspread or the romance movies.

Inside the drawer is an array of sex toys. Some I understand immediately, and others are more mysterious. I recognise the branding though. It’s the same make James made me familiar with in the Met Hotel - Kiki de Montparnasse.

Since the kit in the hotel cost over £200 for panties and a vibrator, I can only assume this selection has cost thousands.

Carefully, I take out the largest item in the drawer. It’s a sleek wave of black silicone over steel, and I’m guessing by the shape it’s a vibrator.

I’ve seen vibrators before and thought they looked a little smutty. But this is so elegant. I turn it carefully in my hands. It’s wide at one end, and the length is pushing towards what I’d call intimidating. I see a tiny discrete switch, and when I flick it on, the vibe pulses noiselessly.

Wow.

From the effect it’s having on my hand, I can only imagine what it might do in more intimate areas. I turn it off and return it to the drawer.

The next item I remove is a black leather-bound rod with a puff of fine white marabou feathers on the end. I touch them, marvelling at their softness, and then run them experimentally along the inside of my forearm.

Hmmm.
That tickles.

I place the rod back in the drawer. Next I take out two more vibrators of different sizes. One is shaped like a flat round pebble and made from cream-
coloured silicone. The other is short and wide, fashioned out of shining black plastic.

Where are these for?
I wonder.

Finally
, I pull out what looks to be a string of freshwater pearls. On closer inspection, the string is attached to a light silk material. I turn it in my hands. It’s a G-string, I realise. The pearls are designed to sit inside the buttocks.

Ok
aay.

I wonder how comfortable that would be. I place the G-string back in the drawer, letting the pearls drop heavily back, one by one, through my fingers.

I close the first drawer and open the second.

Underwear. This is less intimidating.

I take out three bra and panty sets, two black and one soft pink.

I lay them out on the bed, trying to decide how I feel about them. They’re certainly far sexier than anything I would ordinarily choose. My eyes rest on the most audacious set. The top half is a balcony bra cut very low, at a height I judge will put my nipples on display. Eyelash lace peaks over the top of the cups, but offers barely any coverage. Straps of wide black satin come over the top, as though representing where a normal bra would end, but only serve to highlight the absence of material at the top of the cups.

The accompanying panties are a black G-string satin with more panels of eyelash lace, and wide black ribbons which tie at the sides. The set is beautiful, decadent and shocking all at once.

I move my attention to the next set of black underwear.

The bra looks revealing, but more ordinary and is made out of sheer black material. The accompanying panties are made of satin but have a heart-shaped viewing panel of sheer fabric at the rear.

I pick them up, realising my entire behind would be showcased in the heart-shaped rear of these panties. Overall they’re kind of fun. I like the frivolity of the heart-shape. This set I wouldn’t mind wearing at all, I decide.

The third set is a lovely soft pink, made from the most delicate handmade vintage lace. A pink ribbon forms the bottom of the tiny bra cups, and tiny Swarovski crystals are stitched throughout the lace.

Oh. I love it!

The panties are similarly delicate and beautiful. At the back they offer not much coverage at all, being made almost solely of thin straps of pink ribbon.

Hmmmm
. I’m detecting a theme here. Mr. Berkeley has a thing about rear ends.

There are still a few items left in the underwear drawer. I pull out a boned
waspie in purple and black satin, finished with strings of diamante and pearl. It reminds me of something a burlesque performer might wear.

There are also two suspender belts – one lacy and revealing, and the other a barely-there strip of perfectly cut satin.

Silk and fishnet stockings finish the collection.

I stare back at the lingerie on the bed, and then, on a whim, scoop up the first, most revealing set.

I slip out of my denim skirt and cream camisole top and remove my underwear.

Then I slide into the silken panties, tying the ribbons at the side where I think they should finish. Next I slip my arms through the satin straps of the half-cup bra and secure the fastening.

Everything about this underwear feels decadent and shocking. The quality of the cut and finish makes it like a satin skin on my body. The shape of the fit sets my shoulder back, pushing my breasts firmly forward.

There’s a full length mirror in the room, and I turn to survey myself in the underwear. I’ve never minded how I look in bra and panties. I have an old-fashioned kind of shape – more fifties pin-up than fashion model – and my slender curves sit nicely in matching sets.

Nevertheless, I stifle a little gasp of shock to see my reflection. There is no denying this is the sexiest I have ever looked. My naked nipples jut forward provocatively from the black cups, and the G-string panties frame my naked buttocks suggestively.

BOOK: The Berkeley Method
10.68Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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