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“Amsterdam?” Chantelle couldn’t contain her excitement. She’d never been to any other European country. It was something she’d vowed to do once she was more financially able. She’d dreamed of going to Paris on a romantic weekend at some point, but Amsterdam and its reputation for decadence was the place she most longed to visit. “For how long?”
“For the night only.” The twinkle in his eyes promised that she would enjoy some the delights the city was noted for.
“One night? We’ll be exhausted by the time we get there and back.”
“No, we won’t,” he promised and pressed his lips against hers briefly. “We’re going by jet.”
“Jet?”
Surprisingly, she and Dominic hadn’t been anywhere yet that warranted a flight on a private plane, domestic or international. She could have gone with him when he’d gone to visit Rosalind and her family, instead she had decided to stay in the UK and pamper Shawn for his birthday which had been a few days away.
“Yes. And pack something that will make me want to rip it off you later.”
“If you keep ruining my things, I’ll be walking around naked soon!” Even if he was the one paying for it, she still couldn’t get used to the wanton destruction of her under things. Her panties suffered the most—she always had to pick a couple of extra bottoms for each set of lingerie she purchased.
“Then don’t wear anything at all.”
“I don’t think so.”
She would perhaps one day be comfortable enough to go around without underwear, but the idea had no appeal at the moment. She didn’t wear dresses anything nearly as scandalous as celebrities did, so it was unlikely that she would inadvertently flash herself to the paparazzi on entering or exiting a vehicle. But just the idea of any part of her body she considered private appearing in the media for the world to gloat at mortified her. And as much as he liked her to look sexy, Dominic didn’t really like her to reveal too much either.
He confirmed her thoughts with his next words, “You’re right. Your beautiful body is for my viewing pleasure only.”
“I’m sure I can find something you’ll like,” she promised.
“I’m sure you will, you minx.” He pulled her to him, cupping her behind and pressing her against his semi-hard cock to let her feel the reaction her words triggered. Then he smacked the left cheek of her bottom. “We have to leave in half an hour. Get packing.”
Not sure exactly what he had in mind, she carefully packed an evening dress she hadn’t yet worn, as well as two more casual outfits. She had been saving a few pieces of lingerie for a special occasion—this might be as good as any.
***
THE FLIGHT FROM LONDON City Airport to Amsterdam Airport Schiphol took less than forty-five minutes. Expecting some naughty Mile-High shenanigans, Chantelle was surprised when Dominic tucked her into the fold-out bed and told her to rest.
The man who met them at the foot of the jet when they disembarked was just taller than Dominic, but was bulkier even in the shoulder and through the waist.
He was a bodyguard, Chantelle realized, as his eyes swept their surroundings in a swift, comprehensive manner.
And one she recognized.
She had wondered if Dominic employed men for personal protection. She hadn’t broached the subject because quite frankly she didn’t like to think that either of them was in any kind of danger, but she’d seen this man several times before—hovering unobtrusively in the background, but not quite blending in because of his size.
“Everything set?” Dominic asked him, as he settled himself in the seat facing them in the back of the limousine that had been waiting on the tarmac.
“Yes. Dave and Mike are holding him until we get there.”
Holding him? Chantelle’s blood froze. Who are they holding?
“Good.”
Dominic settled back against the seat and put his arm around her shoulders.
“I have to take care of this little matter and then we’ll hit the Red Light District,” he informed her. His voice was conversational, as though the bodyguard hadn’t just told him that a man was being held!
She sat stiffly beside him. She was trapped in a speeding car with him and the bodyguard. There was no escape...unless she jumped out as the car sped along. She’d forgotten that he had a dangerous edge. How could she have forgotten that he might have harmed the builder in Jamaica if she hadn’t made him promise not to?
Her first view of Sofitel Legend The Grand would have been breathtaking, if she had any left in her body. All she could think of was the fact that someone was being held against his will and it appeared as though it was for Dominic’s benefit.
The suite they were shown up to was as magnificent as the hotel’s outer facade, but Chantelle hardly noticed it.
Two men stood, their arms across their massive chests, beside a rounded armchair in which a slim man lounged, trying to look nonchalant and unconcerned, but there was a visible tremor in the hand holding his half-empty glass of brandy.
Paul, the man for whom her father had sacrificed his family.
For a while it had been easier to blame him rather than her father for destroying their family. It had been less heartrending than admitting her father had made a conscious decision to simply walk away and never look back. She understood how a woman could blame another for stealing her husband instead of placing the blame where it belonged—squarely on the husband’s shoulders. But, already hurting from the rejection and the loneliness, it would be too much to accept the reality than she was no longer wanted. Focusing her rage on the husband-stealing harlot would keep her from feeling abandoned. In some situations, women exonerated their partners entirely. After all what man, no matter how much he loved his partner or wife, could resist a woman who threw or flaunted herself at him?
It was only at the age of seventeen, the age Paul had been when he’d run off with her father, that she’d finally understood how impressionable the young man had been at the time—over the age of consent, but too young to vote or drink. Her father admitting months ago that their affair had started a year earlier made it even more appalling. She just hoped that Paul had been at least sixteen at the time.
Paul appeared unharmed, but while time had stood still for her father, it had marched on for the younger man: his skin looked sallow; his violet eyes which his mother claimed were a throwback to her grandmother were bloodshot and his curly black hair was rapidly receding from his high forehead. He was months, a year at most, older than Dominic, but he looked ten years older. The ‘pretty bwoy’ who had been too great a temptation for her father to resist had lost most of his looks.
“What’s he doing here?” she asked Dominic, although she suspected she already knew the answer.
“He called The Sun hoping to give them an exclusive. I intend to dissuade him.”
“How do you plan on doing that?” she questioned.
“By whatever means necessary.”
Paul raised the glass to his lips and took a gulp of the amber liquid. Dominic’s bodyguard went to stand beside one of the men and Paul flinched.
Surely Dominic wouldn’t go as far as having Paul killed, would he?
“How much were they going to pay you?” Dominic asked the now visibly-nervous man.
“Five...five thousand pounds.”
“What have you given them so far?”
“I didn’t want to say too much in case they decided not to pay me.”
“What have you said?”
“I told them I had a very interesting story about Frederick.”
“Is that all?” Dominic demanded.
“As I said before. I didn’t want to say too much.”
“Okay, here’s the deal.” Dominic might not be the size of the other men, but he looked every bit as menacing. “I will give you ten times as much as they’re paying you, but it will be a one-off payment.”
“How much?” Paul still looked uncertain that he would leave the room alive, but his greed got the better of him.
Fifty thousand pounds, dunderhead, Chantelle wanted to shout at the man. Can’t you fucking multiply?
“Fifty thousand pounds after you have a stint in rehab,” Dominic clarified.
“I don’t need rehab! I haven’t used in months.”
“Only because you can’t afford it.” Dominic had clearly done his homework. “Frederick told me that you want to come back to London.”
Chantelle stared at Dominic in surprise. Her father knew about this?
“If he’d sent me a bloody ticket, I wouldn’t have to sleep around just to get money to eat, or call the frigging newspaper!”
“Look, Paul. I’m giving you a chance to turn your life around, but I won’t give up a penny for you to snort up your nose!”
Paul looked as though he wanted to argue for a minute, then he collapsed back onto the chair and said, “Okay.”
The two men, Dave and Mike, as the third had referred to them, each took hold of Paul by an arm and got him to his feet.
“Where are they taking me?” he appealed to Dominic.
“To a private clinic where you’ll get the best chance to dry out.”
The man released Paul and he relaxed further at Dominic’s words.
“I won’t have to stay there long,” Paul bragged. “I’ll be done in a week.”
“You will stay until the staff and the doctors think you’re ready. If you try to escape, these men have my permission to kill you.”
Both Chantelle and Paul gasped in shock.
Dominic nodded to the men and they all left the room, Paul walking unfettered between the two in front, looked as though he was wearing invisible handcuffs.
“Dominic!” Chantelle turned to Dominic, her eyes still wide from the shock of his last words.
“Hush, my sweet.” He cupped her face and held her gaze steadfastly. “That last part was only to scare him. Your father swears he wasn’t Paul’s first lover and that he was sixteen the first time they slept together. But...”
If their first time had been the summer before they had run away together, then Paul would have been over the age of consent. He was born in May. But if anything had occurred before then her father could be charged with statutory rape.
“If Dad hadn’t insisted on me going to that stupid opening last week, all of this might have been avoided!”
A month ago, her father and Monty had found a rundown shop to rent in an otherwise trendy part of Shoreditch. After three weeks of refurbishment and refitting, the grand opening was held eight days ago. Wanting some kind of ‘celebrity’ presence, her father had begged her to attend it. She had protested that she wasn’t even rated as a ‘Z-List’ celebrity, but he pleaded until she had finally acquiesced.
The turnout had been larger than she’d expected.
Later she’d realized that her father had lured the press and the attendees there with the promise of free champagne, oysters and caviar.
Initially, she’d been annoyed at his deception, but after a glass or two of champagne, she’d realized that the money he’d spent gave him the best chance of succeeding in a very competitive market.
She would have preferred, however, if he hadn’t insisted on having a few photographs taken of the two of them together. She and her father looked nothing alike, but one journalist had commented on their shared surname. Chantelle had neatly sidestepped the question, but it must have roused the man’s suspicion enough for him to do some research.
The story had appeared two days later and hadn’t been anywhere as salacious as Chantelle thought it would have been. But then, she’d reasoned, with over three-quarter million UK adults being gay, lesbian or bisexual the story was not that unique.
“Paul saw the story on a gay UK website and called your father. At first he wanted a ticket and a job at the salon. When your father refused, he threatened to go to the press and tell them that he was underage when he became your father’s lover.”
“I don’t want to shield my father if he committed a crime.” Chantelle felt torn between loyalty and doing what was right. “But I don’t want him jailed for something he didn’t do.”
“I’m sorry about all of this, baby.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Her throat ached and her eyes felt dry and itchy.
Paul’s mother and hers were both trained nurses and had known each other casually in Jamaica. They hadn’t particularly liked each other before arriving in the UK but in an alien environment they had banded together, finding comfort in the familiar. Pauline, a mixture of black, Indian and white, married a handsome Irish man and together produced a beautiful boy with what people referred to as ‘Elizabeth Taylor eyes’. Pauline had dark eyes herself, but claimed Paul’s eyes were exactly like her white grandmother’s not his father’s whose were a similar blue. She had been inordinately proud of her son and was never the same after he’d left. She had come around to their house and physically attacked Carol Payne, blaming her for marrying the pervert who turned her son gay. The fight had ended quickly. Her mother, though clearly shocked to finally receive news of her husband’s whereabouts, had brushed the shorter woman off like a fly.
But Chantelle had never forgotten the woman’s accusation. It was entirely likely that Paul was born gay—he had been exceedingly pretty for a boy—but had her father with his what she recognized now as ‘camp’ behavior influenced him in any way?
She, Paul and Shawn had been playmates of sorts when his parents had visited hers. She and her brother had vied for the older boy’s attention: she wanting him to play with her dolls and Shawn insisting that they played with his toy train set, or go outside to play any kind of ball game.
At the time it hadn’t seemed odd that Paul would play with her dolls when he was already a young teenager. Later she would wonder how she could have been so blind to what had been staring her in the face.
“Are you sure those men won’t hurt him?”
“I promise you they won’t touch a single hair on his head.”
“Then why all the strong-arm stuff?” One of those burly men would have been enough to scare most people.
“Because I want him scared so shitless he won’t think of contacting the newspaper again.”
“But what if he’s telling the truth about my father?”
“Your father might have been foolish and indiscreet, but I believe him when he says that Paul was already sixteen.”
“And why did you offer Paul so much money?” It felt like he was forever shelling out money for her and her relatives.
“I protect what’s mine,” he replied and then smiled when he realized that his tough guy act wouldn’t cut it on this occasion. “I wanted to give him enough for a chance of a new life. It’s not enough money to buy a house, but he has enough for three or four years’ living expenses if he lives conservatively. If he fails to turn his life around in that space of time, then he probably never will.”
Paul did deserve another chance. Her father had been twice the young man’s age and therefore more foolish, yet Dominic had given him a chance. Yes, Paul had tried to blackmail her father, and yes, there wasn’t any guarantee that he wouldn’t try again, but he had been robbed of his youth and had inadvertently lost his family. The money wouldn’t make up for those things, but he had more years ahead of him than had passed. Dominic had given him a chance that many would give their eye teeth for—it was now up to Paul to make those remaining years matter or not.
“I like to think of the sum as a life-changing amount—enough to get the person out of moderate debt and leave them with something in hand.” He winked at her. “I’ve been known to spend that exact figure in a single night before.”
Yes, he had, and it had definitely changed her life in ways that still humbled her.
“Did I tell you how wonderful you are?” she asked him, her eyes sparkling with tears of happiness and relief.
“Not today,” he replied and proceeded to look totally offended at her omission.
“You’re more than wonderful. You’re amazing.”
“Show me how much later, but for now my sweet, let’s go take in the sights and sounds that give Amsterdam its name, City of Freedom.”
“Yes, please.”
The three men fell in silently behind them as soon as Chantelle and Dominic exited the hotel on foot.
Chantelle breathed a sigh of relief. She had trusted Dominic’s word, but this confirmed his earlier promise—surely they couldn’t have killed Paul and disposed of his body in the brief space of time, could they?
The men kept a discreet distance, yet seemed to flank them as they walked along the cobbled streets.
Finally Dominic paused in front of a doorway and pressed the lowest of three buzzers.
“Hallo?” The voice was female, Dutch and very seductive.
“Client Delta Omega Bravo.”
“Enter, please!”
The door opened at the press of Dominic’s hand. He placed his hand at Chantelle’s waist to guide her forward, gave a brief nod to the men and entered the building. He closed the door behind and kept his hand on her waist as she mounted the polished wooden staircase that led to the first floor. She was conscious of how close he was. When his hand tightened on her waist, she knew he was getting the full benefit of the warm and sensual Caroline Herrera’s 212 Sexy he loved her to wear. It wasn’t the most expensive of scents, but its tangerine, bergamot and floral accent seemed to work perfectly with her body chemistry. What she loved in particular was the way subtle hints of cotton candy and musk unexpected fought their ways through the overlying scents. The perfume made her feel glad to be a woman.
The woman who opened the door was a Rubenesque goddess in her early- to mid-twenties with pale skin and dark hair that fell to her waist in a profusion of curls. The belted red dressing gown she’d draped over her stacked body barely contained her curves.
“Welcome.” She bowed to them and for a moment Chantelle worried that one or both breasts would escape the plunging ‘V’ of the garment. She wondered just what was in store as the woman indicated a three-seater sofa and bid them to be seated. “He will be right with you.”
The apartment was airy and light and minimalist in design. A wood Labyrinth medallion nestled in one corner made a bold statement against the plain wood flooring, but it wasn’t as eye catching as the well-made up bed in the center of the room.
Chantelle took a seat at one end of the comfortable chair and as Dominic sat down close beside her, a slim blond couple came down the inner staircase also dressed in silk dressing gowns, but theirs were black.
Both smiled as they approached. When they got close enough the man nodded to Chantelle in greeting, extended his hand to Dominic and said in a crisp British accent, “Sorry to have kept you waiting. I thought the business you had to take care of would have lasted longer.”
“So did I, but the matter was resolved swiftly and to my satisfaction.”
“Excellent.” The man wrapped an arm around the shoulders of the two women who had now come to stand on opposite sides of him. “Is there anything in particular you would like?”
“No. Do whatever you want.” Dominic responded to the question that was directed at him.
Chantelle didn’t have a clue what was going on.
Without saying a word, the slimmer couple who appeared to be their mid-thirties, each took the other woman by the hand and led her to the bed.
The older woman untied the red dressing gown and the man then eased it slowly off the younger woman’s shoulders and let it fall to the pristine, polished floor. The woman’s body was lush and perfect in every way. Her youthful firmness could give way to flab if she didn’t take care to exercise regularly to keep the muscles toned, but at the moment she was in her prime physically. Some would find the gentle slope of her stomach too rounded, but it fit the curve of her soft, round buttocks and the rise of her large jutting breasts.
The couple proceeded to do, what Chantelle could only describe as ‘worship’ the younger woman with their eyes, hands and tongues. In unison, they teased her nipples until they were standing out from her chest like strawberry spikes. Then as the woman knelt and placed her lips at the junction of the younger woman’s thighs, the man went behind to support her weight. He must have anticipated the effect the other woman’s caresses would have because soon the woman was leaning her full weight against him, as she spread her legs wider and gave the woman fuller access.
When she climaxed, in a series of shudders and shakes and sexy moans, Chantelle stole a look at Dominic. He was engrossed in the spectacle, but not in a leering, perverted sort of way.
The couple helped the younger woman up onto the bed and then like dancers responding to a change of music, they changed the tempo. The older woman lay back and pulled the younger woman’s head between her sprawled thighs, grabbing a fistful of her hair to control her movements. The man climbed onto the bed behind the young woman and plunged his sizeable erection into her with a practiced thrust.
For the next few minutes the room was filled with the older woman’s moans as she neared and reached her sexual peak. Then she sat up and kissed the younger woman on the lips, as though needing the taste of her own essence, and got off the bed.
The man slid himself out of the younger woman’s body and then lay back to allow her to climb onto him and ride him. The other woman in the meanwhile strapped a harness and a slim dildo onto her hips. She lubricated the implement with a gel from a tube, made a small adjustment to the fit of the harness and then joined the two on the bed. She eased the dildo into the younger woman’s behind and then leaned forward so that the voluptuous brunette was sandwiched between her and the man below.
Their movements as they reached completion were synchronized and natural, rather than studied and artificial. It was as old as the hills and yet seemed new and exciting.
They lay unmoving when they achieved the ultimate bliss.
Dominic reached into the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out a thick envelope which he placed on the small table next to the sofa. Then he rose to his feet and extended a hand to Chantelle.
Her legs were just a little shaky as he turned and headed towards the door.
“Shouldn’t we say goodbye?” she whispered. It seemed completely rude to just walk away.
“They have probably forgotten we are here, my sweet.”
It was a strange thing for him to say, but as Chantelle sneaked a peep backwards over her shoulder she realized that he may actually be right.
“Did you enjoy the show, my love?” Dominic asked as he closed the door and tested it to ensure that it was firmly shut before turning in the direction of their hotel.
“Yes,” she replied still bemused by the fact she’d enjoyed something that she would have never thought of witnessing herself.
Curiously the performance had been more about closeness than it had been about sex and yet it had aroused her. She could feel the slickness of moisture between her nether lips, her nipples felt swollen and sensitive...all she could think about was Dominic lavishing the same attention the couple had to the younger woman’s until they had hardened and elongated to twice their normal size.
As if by magic the three men once again fell in behind them. Chantelle hoped that they hadn’t been standing around in the cold. Though, with their bulk they wouldn’t feel the cold quite so much as regular-sized men.
“Do the three of them live there?” she asked. Then clarified as she realized that there were three bodyguards too, “The man and the two women.”
“Yes, the man and his wife are British. The younger woman is Dutch and someone who answered an advert they placed in a swingers’ magazine. They’ve lived together for over five years and share everything.”
“She looked young.”
“Yes, she was eighteen when she first joined them. It should have been for one night, but the three of them hit it off so well, she stayed.”
That was quite young, Chantelle mused, but the woman looked happy and contented.
“So you liked the show?” he questioned again, searching her face as it was illuminated by an overhead streetlight.
“It was really good.” She could have played down her enthusiasm and said the dreaded words, ‘it was not bad’, but the truth was she’d found it incredibly stimulating. The novelty of it and the way the three had made love tenderly and with an element of familiarity. It was clear that they knew exactly what pleased one another and yet it wasn’t some boring, tired routine for them.
“I think you’re ready for a trip to my little island paradise, my sweet.”
“Really?” He hadn’t mentioned the island in a long time and she’d begun to wonder if it was just a myth, like several of the misguided claims on his Wiki page.
“Tonight you’ve seen my biggest indulgence and didn’t run screaming from the room. I’m what some people would call ‘a voyeur’.” He laughed and hugged her closer to his side. “Not the kind that peeks through other people’s windows, but the kind that likes to watch people who like to be watched.”
“Is this what you do on your island?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “I have worldly, sophisticated friends who are exhibitionists. I offer them a platform and they perform for me.”
“Do you also perform, Mr. O’Brien?” She hoped he didn’t. It would be a step too far in her book.
“My kink, my sweet, is watching, not being watched. I’m selfish with my personal pleasure. Only a few get to witness it.”
“And only one now,” she said hopefully.
“And only one now,” he confirmed.
A mouth-watering display in a shop window caught Chantelle’s eye as they passed. “Are those ganja cakes?”
“Yes, although I’ve been told that tourists don’t get the real thing.” He moved closer to the window for a closer look. “Would you like to try one?”
“I’m not sure. My father’s mother drank ganja tea all the time and swore that it helped with her ‘aching bones’ as she called them. I’ve never smoked a joint, but a bit of cake might be nice. I’m not sure, though.”
“Let’s get a couple and we’ll decide what to do with them later.”
*****
