Secret Surrender Page 10

  He was standing there in the middle of the room that was little bigger than the studio flat he had occupied in Cannes when they had first met. But this room was elegantly furnished, with seagrass carpeting, an elegant steel kitchen tucked into one corner, a couple of tasteful paintings and a plasma TV set. The studio was dominated by a vast white bed. Jacques wore only a pair of jeans and his feet were bare.

  ‘Join me on the bed,’ he said. ‘Just come and sit with me.’

  Alice did so. It was the first time they had been alone like this since Jacques had come back into her life. No one was watching (as far as she knew), there was no danger of discovery, no threat of being caught, no sex toys, no games. That attractive leer of cruelty had gone from his face. She sat next to him, suddenly feeling as shy and clueless as she had done as a teenager.

  Jacques had a remote control in his hand. When he pressed it, the screen opposite the bed flickered into life, and images of the first film Alice had ever starred in began to play. The quality of the film was very poor, because of the quality of light and the age of the tape, but it was beautifully shot. Jacques’ filmmaking had perfectly captured the spontaneous, joyful, playful and intensely sexual nature of the amazing thing the four young people, high on lust and life, had shared one summer’s evening. Alice was entranced to watch herself writhe and moan in ecstasy on the screen. She had been worried the tape would look like a drunken fumble, or worse, that it would be the kind of gynaecological, overly graphic close-up shots which she found so unappealing about most mainstream pornographic films.

  Alice was used to seeing herself on screen, but this was no ordinary performance. She realised that although she had been filmed a million times in her life, she had never actually seen herself reflected on screen. She watched as her eighteen-year-old image arched her back and stretched her arms over her head as Jacques, lithe and nimble as an alleycat, slid a perfectly smooth, impressively large cock in between her legs and effortlessly penetrated her. She could remember how it had felt exactly that time, the completeness she had felt when his dick was in her cunt. She tasted his lips on hers, remembered the wine they had shared and the smell of the bedclothes.

  Then came the scenes of Alice and Julie: these shots were artistic and beautiful, erotica not pornography, as they captured the moment Alice tasted a woman’s body the first time. She was aware of a fluttering in her clitoris and hardening in her nipples as she watched Francis and Jacques have a mock swordfight with their hard pricks, whacking their rods against each other, laughing in delight as the tips of their cocks touched and something like an electric current passed between their young male bodies. Alice had missed this the first time around as she had been so absorbed in exploring Julie’s body. The two men were kneeling on the bed, touching and tugging each other’s balls and placing their hands on each other’s chests. Seeing the two men like this aroused the voyeur in Alice. She felt herself grow wet.

  Ignoring Jacques’ number-one rule that she was not allowed to approach him, she leaned over to his side of the bed and kissed him, slowly, deeply and passionately. It reminded her of the first kiss they had ever shared, but this one was tinged with sadness, regret at the way she had treated him, despair at the state of her marriage, anger at the way Jacques had come back into her life and tried to control her: all these feelings mixed into a great big bubble of lust and frustration that needed to be burst. Jacques resisted her kiss at first, allowing his lips to remain passive and his jaw slack while she pressed her face against his, but the hardening dick on his lap as Alice straddled him told a different story. After so long playing games of power and domination, neither of them was in control. Their bodies took over and they began to make love. Alice unfastened her button-down dress; Jacques slid out of his jeans like a snake shedding its skin while Alice slipped out of her panties.

  Their nude bodies were pressed together like layers of paper, Jacques on his back with his hard-on pressing in between Alice’s legs, Alice face down on top of him, losing track of where her flesh ended and his began. Sliding her body up so that her breasts were on his shoulders and his dick was nestling near her clit, she allowed the tip of his penis to brush her clitoris for a few seconds before lowering herself down on to his erection. His cock was thicker and firmer than she had ever known it, and it filled her up perfectly. Spreading her legs wide, Alice thrust and ground her pussy against Jacques’ pubic bone, letting the rasp of his pubic hair tickle and tease her clit, enjoying the extra stretch her cunt received when he pressed his hips up towards hers, forcing his dick even deeper inside her. His hands were on her arse, not spanking or being rough with her, but gently stroking the creamy skin of her buttocks, guiding her hips, tracing a faint line up and down her spine, sending shivers of desire all over her body.

  He took her face in his, and she did the same to him, finding that the slow, lazy kiss they exchanged got her wetter and hornier than the urgent, probing kisses she had been used to of late. Jacques thrust upwards once, twice, three times, until she felt she would burst with the bulk of his cock, and her swollen clit would explode with tension. He pulled his tongue away from her lips then pushed his thumb in her mouth to lubricate it and then parted her arse cheeks before stabbing at her anus with the slippery digit, jabbing it inside and twisting his hand around so that every secret area of her was explored and conquered. She surrendered to the hot, liquid orgasm that rippled from her clit to her tits to her fingers and toes. She felt her cheeks and chest grow warm and prickle with heat. Her pussy squeezed his prick and he emptied his balls, jets of spunk pumping into her, his balls slapping against his thighs as he jerked and convulsed.

  They lay in silence with Alice’s pussy occasionally twitching around Jacques’ subsiding hard-on. Jacques wrapped his arms around Alice, and the last words she said before she abandoned the wakeful world for a deep sleep were, ‘I’m so sorry I hurt you. I wish I’d never left you. How could I have let this go?’

  When Alice woke it was dark outside, and she was alone. The one-bedroom apartment was illuminated by a single floor lamp, and on top of the television was the videotape they had watched a few hours ago. Alice felt a surge of panic. Where was Jacques? She ran to the tiny bathroom. No Jacques. She flipped the light on. The pile of books that had been on the bedside table were gone. Feeling sick, Alice pulled open the wardrobe. The space inside was empty apart from a few jangling wire coathangers and a small blue envelope. Stifling a scream, Alice tore it open and read the message inside.

  Now it’s over.

  She understood. He had given her the tape, removed the threat to her career. She was safe and need not fear his games any more. But the last game he had played had been the cruellest of all and he had finally got his revenge on her. He had made her fall in love with him. And then he had gone. She knew that however long she waited at that apartment, he would not come back. There would be no more letters.

  Alice placed her hand between her legs, rubbed her pussy and sniffed her fingers, as though inhaling the vanishing traces of their last fuck would preserve the feeling and the memory. She placed her fingertip on the tip of her tongue and tasted the tang of his spunk for the last time. Naked and alone in a bare apartment in a strange district, Alice Daumier, the cool, composed actress, threw herself on the floor and howled.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE LATEST FILM directed by Pierre Daumier and starring his wife Alice was being premiered at the Cannes film festival. These days, Alice always travelled to Cannes by air. Often, Pierre had suggested they take the train for old times’ sake but that would have awoken the memories that Alice had tried so hard to suppress. It had been years since he had suggested the train. Now it was a given that they would travel in a private jet and this year was no exception.

  Just one month ago, Alice would have adored the luxury of the private jet, the champagne, the masseuse, the glittering showbiz gossip that could be exchanged on board. The plane’s human cargo was precious: the passengers included Alice, Pierre, Delphine
, a stylist and make-up artist and Duke Levante, the handsome co-star of the film. Tall, black and extremely flirtatious, he teased Alice in his deep Southern American drawl about the questions the press would ask about their on-screen chemistry.

  ‘So, ma’am,’ he said, turning his career-defining smile on Alice. ‘You happy to talk about all the hot sex we been havin’?’

  The sex scene they had filmed – Alice’s first in mainstream cinema – was a saccharine, Hollywood cliché but it was the first time Alice had ever done a nude scene for Pierre and press speculation was rife. Alice thought back to the early days when Pierre had promised that he would establish her as a serious dramatic actress. Now he was directing romantic comedies that made the couple materially rich but left her feeling hollow and unsatisfied.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Alice, laughing. ‘Our torrid affair.’ There had been chemistry, but she had forced herself not to get turned on by Duke’s hard muscle which contrasted so beautifully with the softness of his skin, the squareness of his jaw, and the tenderness of his lips. Ever the dutiful wife, Alice had not allowed herself to become aroused. Of course, that had been before Jacques had come back into her life and reawakened her. Before he had abandoned her.

  Alice had long been nursing a suspicion that Duke was not the red-blooded, heterosexual action man that his movie career portrayed him to be. Throughout the whole time they were filming, he had turned down offers from stunning actresses, extras, make-up girls and fans. Few women could resist flirting with Duke, and while he was always happy to indulge in highly flirtatious banter, he had never to Alice’s knowledge taken things further with any woman.

  When the plane touched down at the airport, the party were ferried to the hotel in separate cars. Delphine dashed to meet journalists, Duke had his own car, and Alice found herself alone in the back of a chauffeur-driven limousine with Pierre. She wondered if she was being paranoid, as she felt that Pierre was once more radiating a silent disapproval in her direction. Her fears were proved right when he told her what to wear for that night’s press conference, and later premiere.

  ‘We need to make sure you project the right image, Alice,’ he said. ‘Lately, there has been something strange about you. I don’t know what it is, and I hope you’ll snap out of it, but our marriage is a brand and we have to present it to the world as such. You’re here as my wife first, star of your own film second. Do you understand?’

  Alice reeled from Pierre’s harsh, controlling words and the chilly tone in which he spoke them. Once he had wanted her to be his muse. Now he only saw her as another business proposition. Alice felt resentful. How dare he try to control her? To dictate the very clothes she wore? Only one man had ever earned the right to tell her what to do, and that was not her husband.

  The hotel suite was vast. Alice claimed the main bedroom as her own, telling Pierre she would need a separate space to dress in. He didn’t demur at the prospect of spending the night in separate beds. Alone in her room, Alice looked out on her balcony that overlooked the seafront. It was already swarming with press, yachts bobbing on the horizon, red carpets and marquees springing up on every patch of green space. She heard the chink of ice in a glass to her right, and realised that her balcony almost immediately gave on to Duke’s. He was drinking vodka on the rocks and was shirtless. His ebony skin glistened in the early evening sunlight.

  They exchanged pleasantries about the interviews they were scheduled to do that afternoon and moaned about how intrusive it was when the press asked about your private life. I wonder what you’ve got to hide, thought Alice, looking slyly at Duke. I worked with you every day but you’re still a mystery to me. She could recognise a man with something to hide. They had that in common.

  Alice gave her interviews on autopilot, switching between English and French and saying nothing of real interest in either language. She was well versed in giving up the same standard reply to all questions and it wasn’t as if the journalists were ever after anything original anyway. Effortlessly she deflected any questions about her and Duke by praising his acting skills and ignoring sexual innuendo. She was relieved when the interviews were over and it was time to dress for the premiere. The dress her stylist had selected was a 1980s vintage Valentino gown, a backless blue dress which scooped in her boyish figure and gave her curves in all the right places. Her make-up artist piled her hair up in a loose, messy chignon with a couple of strands tumbling down to frame her face. Alice’s eyes were ringed with navy kohl and royal blue eyeshadow, and false eyelashes made her eyes look huge. Alice looked dirty, rocky, edgy, far from the wholesome image Pierre wanted her to project, but she was sick of by-the-book elegance and wanted to make her own mark on the festival.

  She and Pierre walked the red carpet in silence, professional smiles fixed to their faces. Flashbulbs dazzled Alice and fans and paparazzi screamed her name. Even with the lenses of the world’s press trained on her, she still didn’t feel watched as she had done when Jacques was there. She would know if he was watching her. And she didn’t feel it. Couldn’t smell him on the sea air. Didn’t feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise and her nipples stiffen.

  The second they entered the marquee, Pierre dropped Alice’s arm and ingratiated himself with a circle of Hollywood executives in black ties. Alice found herself hanging out with Duke and his companion Maurizio Villeneuve, a young French male model who was trying to make the transition between the billboard and the big screen. Maurizio was good-looking in an angular, feline sort of way, with a deep tan and cropped blond hair. He also had a filthy sense of humour and a bitchy aside for every other guest at the party. Alice found herself laughing in a way that she had not done for longer than she could remember. Not just since Jacques had come back, but also, perhaps, the years before that. At midnight, the music got louder and the guests younger and sillier.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this place,’ said Duke, reading her thoughts. ‘We might as well continue the party back at my hotel room. You two are the only ones worth talking to in this room anyway.’

  So, with a devastatingly handsome man on each arm, Alice Daumier strode back down the red carpet, winking at the paparazzi. She knew that the image of her flanked by such fine specimens would ensure front-page coverage for the film the next day.

  Back in Duke’s hotel room, they drank cocktails on the balcony. Alice kicked off her shoes, suddenly aware of how tiny she was next to the huge men.

  ‘The lights and the glamour are so much better when you’re far away from them,’ she said, as they watched yachts bobbing in the harbour and listened to the sound of parties drift up from the street.

  ‘I’d rather be up here with you two, anyway,’ said Maurizio. ‘It’s rather exciting hanging out with the couple from the poster.’ There was something suggestive in the way that he spoke, and Alice realised that he was flirting with both of them. Duke’s voice took on a deeper and more serious tone when he replied.

  ‘We’re a very attractive threesome,’ he said.

  The word ‘threesome’ sent a sexual charge through Alice and she suddenly had a vision of these two men satisfying her body at the same time. She felt the familiar heat begin to grow between her legs. Her nipples began to harden and a blush crept up her neck and cheeks. And was it her imagination, or were Maurizio and Duke moving closer in towards her? She was pressed on one side by lithe, lightly tanned flesh and felt Duke’s chiselled bulk on the other. They moved in closer and closer until Alice could hear both their heartbeats and feel their pulses hammering. This was definitely not her imagination. She let out a whimper of excitement as the men, towering above her, began to kiss, their bodies drawing even closer and crushing Alice’s fragile frame. As two erections pressed into her flesh at waist height, Alice felt that she would suffocate between their bodies, and contemplated with a smile that it wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

  The men pulled apart just before Alice fainted and turned their attention from each other to her. Duke’s hands travelled down Alice’s bare b
ack and then slid underneath the fabric of her dress to caress her ribs and stomach but tantalisingly avoided her tingling breasts. Maurizio bent down and kissed Alice on the mouth, slowly and tenderly. Alice reached one hand out towards Maurizio’s crotch and the other behind her and felt for Duke’s dick. Both men were big and hard. She began to rub her hands up and down the bulges in the men’s trousers, a leisurely motion at first, but then increasing in size and speed. Duke bent down and nibbled the top of Alice’s ear. His breath on her sensitive skin was warm and sweet. Maurizio’s tongue continued to explore Alice’s mouth while Duke’s large hands finally made their way to her breasts and massaged the soft flesh and hard nipples. All three of them began to moan in unison, Duke’s voice soft in Alice’s ear, Alice and Maurizio groaning through their kiss. Alice rubbed their dicks harder and faster, astonished that the men were still getting bigger and harder, fumbling with their buckles, eager to unleash the two pricks.

  The three bodies began to undress each other in movements so deft, slow and tender that they might have been choreographed. Alice raised her hands up over her head and Maurizio and Duke both gathered the shiny blue fabric of her dress and lifted it over her head. Alice pulled at the buttons of Maurizio’s shirt as Duke slid his fingers around the waistband of her panties, stroked her through the damp cotton of her gusset and slid them all the way down her legs, his fingers tickling and teasing her inner thighs, the backs of her knees, and finally her ankles. Alice kicked the panties off, grateful to have the fresh air on her throbbing pussy, standing there with her legs slightly parted. Alice took a step back and watched the men undress each other, all the better to savour the moment when their cocks were unveiled for the first time. Duke and Maurizio tore at each other’s clothes with an aggression that Alice found overpoweringly masculine and thrilling. Duke grabbed Maurizio’s hips, unzipped the other man’s fly and forced the black trousers down over a pair of snake-like hips. A long, thick hard-on popped up from underneath a dark-blond bush. Maurizio reciprocated, sliding his hand inside Duke’s trousers and holding on to the erection inside before allowing the trousers to fall to the floor. Duke was bigger and thicker even than Maurizio. Alice’s clit was calling her, and her fingers found their way between her legs. She began to stroke the swollen nub of flesh, wondering if the men would fuck in front of her while she watched, or if they would take it in turns to penetrate her, or if she would take both dicks in her mouth. Her eyes kept darting between Duke’s chunky ebony body and Maurizio’s younger, slimmer, tawny one as the two men embraced face to face and shared a deep, lingering kiss. As one, they reached out to pull Alice towards them and she was back where she had started, her body pressed between theirs, their now-naked flesh providing an overwhelming sensation. Alice felt Duke’s dick jab at the small of her back while Maurizio’s prodded her belly button, her arse squashed against the solidity of Duke’s thighs while her tits rubbed against the light down on Maurizio’s chest.