A Dangerous Game (6 page)

that I was.

She remembered lying in bed that night, drowsily listening to her

friends talking about their conquests.

"And then he said, open your legs, I'm going to put my tongue right in

there and lick you.
 
And he did."

"What did it feel like?"

"Nicer than having them stick their cocks in.
 
I came so fast, I

couldn't believe it.
 
And then he made me do it to him."

"Suck him, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Urgh!
 
I couldn't."

"Did he come?"

"You bet he did.
 
I'm good."

"Kinky cow!
 
You'll be asking them to pay for it next."

"Good idea.
 
Maybe I will.
 
It'll pay for my next holiday."

Jacey remembered feeling sorry for them as they giggled together.
 
They

made sex seem sordid and cheap.
 
She had something special, something

they would not understand.
 
A man who wanted her for herself and not

just for what he could get from her.
 
But the crude descriptions her

friends were bandying about sparked up pictures in her own mind.
 
She

imagined Faisel's glossy head between her legs, his tongue working,

giving her the same kind of pleasure that she gave herself sometimes

with her own fingers.
 
The idea excited her but it embarrassed her,

too.
 
What an innocent I was, she thought.
 
I was unreal.

I thought he would give me a nice clean, romantic orgasm, wrapped up in

tissue-paper like a pretty gift.
 
We'd make love differently to

everyone else because we were special.
 
We were in love.

She remembered her first time.
 
They had spent the day on the beach

then she had gone back to her apartment to change before meeting him

for a meal.
 
She told him she was flying back to England the next

morning.
 
He had reacted with a suitably shocked expression, and had

reached across the table and taken her hand.

"Will I see you again in England?"

"If you want to," she said.
 
She felt her heart beating.

"I'd like us to be friends."

His fingers had tightened round hers.
 
He tugged at her gently, forcing

her to lean towards him.

"I want more than that," he said.

"But we can be just friends, if that's what you prefer."

She remembered that she had actually blushed.
 
No, she had told him, it

wasn't what she preferred.
 
She wanted more than that, too.
 
She had

expected him to look grateful but he simply smiled and said:

"That's what I thought.
 
I have rooms here, you know?
 
We can go up

after our meal and you can stay as long as you like."

Thinking back on it now she realised how mechanical his love-making had

been.
 
She let him use her because she did not really know what to

expect.
 
And he had known that, had counted on it.
 
She forgave him all

the things she did not like.
 
She convinced herself he was the kind of

lover she wanted and ignored the truth.

He had undressed her and encouraged her to undress him.
 
Her hands

shook when, as his clothes came off, her fingertips touched his skin.

She wanted to linger, to caress his chest, his nipples, the hollow of

his neck.
 
Kiss his ears, his eyes, his lips.
 
But he seemed

uninterested.
 
He hurried her on, pushing her hands to the buttons of

his shirt and the waistband of his trousers.

He said very little until they were both naked.
 
She noticed that

although his penis was large, he was not erect.
 
Because she was so

inexperienced, she thought he was deliberately holding back so that he

did not rush her.
 
When he pushed her on to her back she was startled

but compliant.
 
When he straddled her and pushed his limp penis into

her mouth, she struggled briefly.

"Do it."
 
He put his hand under her head and lifted it slightly.

"For me.
 
Do it for me."

She was not even sure what to do.
 
His penis filled her mouth.
 
She

tried to suck, to nibble and caress.
 
He moved his hips and she felt

him swell and heard him gasp.

"Yes, good.
 
It's good."

She was pleased because he seemed pleased.
 
When he was hard, he

groaned, pulled out of her mouth and pushed her legs open.

"Are you ready for me?"
 
She felt his hands on her pussy and shuddered

with unexpected pleasure.
 
He made no attempt to excite her, but simply

inspected her quickly.

"Yes," he muttered.

"You're ready.
 
Now I'll make a woman out of you."

He entered her quickly, thrusting with rapid movements, and she felt a

keen sense of disappointment.
 
She wanted to be touched and kissed. She

would have liked to feel his lips explore her secret places.
 
She would

have liked a slow build-up to the final pleasure.
 
Instead he came with

a violent jerking of his hips and a groan of relief, and immediately

pulled away from her and lay on his back.
 
She felt nothing.
 
No pain,

no pleasure.
 
And even then, she remembered, she did not blame him.

She thought this was how it should be, the first time.

"Was that good?"
 
he asked.

"Yes," she lied.

He knew very well it wasn't good, she thought,

remembering.
 
And when I lied, he knew I was his.
 
He'd baited the hook

with pretty words, some pretty gifts and a couple of nice meals, and

he'd landed his prize.
 
A silly, besotted, sexually ignorant

teenager.

Just what he wanted.
 
The bastard!

She made a determined effort to shut off the film that was running

through her mind.
 
Why do I still think about the past?
 
she

wondered.

Why torture myself?
 
She turned restlessly in the bed.
 
She knew why.

She blamed herself for everything that had happened to her, for every

horrible detail.
 
And after ten years, it still hurt.
 
It hurt like

hell.
 
Especially at times like this, at night, in the darkness, when

she felt alone.
 
She felt her teeth clench with anger and frustration

as she thought about Faisel.
 
Bastard!
 
I didn't know what hate was

until you taught me!

And yet I can still be turned on by a beautiful young body, she

thought, after all that Faisel did to me.
 
I must be crazy.
 
Although I

don't think I'd fuck Paulo, even if he asked me to.
 
From now on I'm

sticking to adults, men who want the physical fun without the emotional

baggage.
 
Men who don't want to get married.
 
She stretched out under

the light sheet that covered her.
 
Men like Nicolas Schlemann.

The thought jolted her.
 
Why the hell am I thinking about him?
 
she

wondered.
 
She remembered Paulo's warning.
 
She had no doubt that he

was right.
 
Nicolas Schlemann was clever, ruthless and powerful.
 
He

was used to getting his own way and he considered all beautiful women

were available for his entertainment.
 
He probably also thought they

would feel HONOURED to perform for him.
 
Was that really the kind of

man she needed?
 
No, she decided, it wasn't.

Dr.
 
Peter Draven turned out to be a pleasant surprise.
 
For some

reason she had been expecting someone middle-aged, not a loose-limbed

young man with a charming smile, casually dressed in jeans and an

open-necked shirt.

His shock of blond hair and tanned skin made him look slightly

Scandinavian, she commented.
 
He laughed.

"My grandmother was Swedish.

The hair missed a generation and decided to favour me.
 
My mother has

never forgiven me.
 
Do you want coffee before I show you round?"

They sat in the spacious staff room, which overlooked a garden full of

exotically colourful shrubs and flowers, and swapped stories about

their student years.
 
By the time he decided to show her the hospital,

Jacey knew a great deal about Peter Draven's hopes and ambitions.
 
He

had no steady girlfriend, and she suspected that he would jump at the

chance of sex with her if she gave him the slightest encouragement.

Well, why not?
 
she thought, as she followed him into the airy

corridor.
 
He could be just what I need.
 
We already have a lot in

common.
 
He has a sense of humour and he's not bad looking; nice smile,

nice eyes, and nice hands.
 
We can have some fun and games, just as

long as he doesn't want a long-term commitment.
 
She hung back and let

him lead her down the corridor.
 
Nice bum, too, she noted.

Her tour of La Primavera confirmed her suspicions that this was no

ordinary hospital.
 
It was incredibly well-equipped, with beautifully

furnished private rooms.
 
Many of them were empty and the occupants

that she did see looked more like guests relaxing on holiday than

patients suffering from any kind of disease.
 
Mostly middle-aged men,

they lolled comfortably on their beds, reading magazines or sleeping.