HIS HEAD LIES DEEP IN a pillow of goose down, his body on the soft mattress. His lips are apart, his eyes half-closed, and his blue silk robe open. Valérie, on all fours, plays with his cock. She leans on her elbows and knees, her ass high and ripe, milky-skinned, splayed with its pores and tiny blue veins; juicy. From it, her back swoops down and then up in a great curve to her head—a tumble of dark hair like thick waves—which is buried between Valfierno’s thighs.
She goes to work on his cock, cradling it in her left hand, squeezing it with her lips, licking it with her tongue—great loud wet licking. In a low voice, Valfierno groans and watches, especially the quivering of those tits, which hang low now like an udder, suspended from the chest; her slight belly hanging down as well.
Her ass sticking up, her tits hanging down, two and two, flesh and flesh, white and white, a balance to be broken over and over. Valfierno watches her ass rise up as her head descends further. Being sucked off is sex without working, he thinks, without effort—either a pure gift or a business transaction, and his eyes close as her lips close on his cock. As he closes his eyes, he gives himself over for a moment to ecstasy, the promise of ecstasy, but no—he grabs a handful of her hair and pulls her head away from him and covers himself with the robe.
“Wait, wait.”
Valérie straightens up and wipes the back of her hand across her mouth; she looks at him, her lips full and swollen.
“What is it? What do you want?”
“Not me—I want to know what it is you want.”
“Marqués: isn’t it obvious?”
“No, I mean from me. What is it you want from me?”
Valérie remains looking at him, her mouth agape. He can see her teeth, crooked, yellowing. Valfierno tries not to look.
“You sound like something out of a cheap magazine, or more like one of those naughty posters you can get for fifteen centimes!” she tells him, forcing a smile.
“Don’t play around, Valérie. Women only suck men for love or money, and with me, love is too much and the money’s too little.”
“Did you ever consider that I might like it?”
“Don’t be stupid, Valérie. We all know how this works.”
Valérie looks at him and sees that he’s struggling to control his hatred. Valfierno knows he picked the worst moment to come out with this, but for days now it has nagged at him, bothered him. In the beginning, his nights with Valérie were like so many others, often much better than the others. But lately he has noticed a change: she attends to him too much. It is no longer the equal exchange of two willing bodies; she has become his slave, an awkward geisha, and Valfierno’s suspicions are aroused.
Very slowly, he repeats: “I ask you again, Valérie: what is it you want from me?”
Suddenly, he understands, though “understanding” is not the word. He knows, in that inexplicable way that one knows certain things, that he is old for her, soft and affected; a prissy, middle-aged fool. He knows too, that that ass is looking for something in particular. That he was stupid to think that because he had no money to give her she wanted nothing from him. How stupid he was; how could he have believed that?
“Nothing, Marqués. Nothing you can’t give me. Nothing that’ll cost you even a penny, don’t worry,” she tells him, teasing now. Valfierno’s own fears prevent him from taking the high ground.
“Don’t screw around, Valérie,” he says, unable to come up with better.
“I already told you: I’d like us to work together.”
“You’re just being ridiculous.”
“No, listen—at least listen. There’s a lot of money in it.”
“You’re completely insane.”
“No more than you. And this is the sanest thing I’ve ever said. Maybe the only sane thing.”
“And what makes you think that anything like this would interest me?”
Right away Valfierno comes up with an answer he doesn’t want to consider: what would interest me is that it could be a way to keep her. But I mustn’t love, I don’t want to love. If she uses me I can use her, too, for my own ends, he thinks, though he knows it’s not that easy. He wishes she would desire him; he wishes he wouldn’t desire her. It’s not that easy. She goes on talking to him with his cock in her hand, his defused cock.
“Come on. Marqués, don’t say anything, just listen for a moment. Listen like you were listening to some silly girl’s story.”
“That I can do.”
“If that makes you feel better.”
“My love…”
“Your love. Perhaps more, Marqués. It’s very simple: do you remember my telling you about that man the other day, the one who works at the Louvre?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Don’t pretend, Marqués, I saw that you paid attention. It’s quite simple: I have the in, and you have the contacts. All we need is a plan.”
“A plan for what?”
“Marqués, please,” she says, and takes his spent cock in her mouth. Valfierno looks up at the ceiling. He feels himself hardening and tries to resist. He will show her that she cannot make him do anything he doesn’t want to. Valfierno extricates himself from her mouth, gets up from the bed, and ties his robe. He understands now why he has never let himself undress completely in front of her. Him so old, close to fifty. How could he have been such an idiot?
“Don’t you realize? This could be the chance of our lives.”
“Our lives?”
“My life. Your life.”
Valfierno forces a smile. The best way to get through a bad moment is to move to the next one.
“Do you really think your friend could be useful?”
“Not for many things, it’s true, but yes—for some things that you don’t much care about, and also maybe for taking a couple of paintings.”
“And what on earth makes you think that I’d be interested in, as you say, ‘taking a few paintings’?”
“Valfierno, please. Don’t. Are you interested or not? You don’t have to tell me now, but think about it, please. Don’t be silly. A chance like this comes only once in your life.”