The Director's Cut (8 page)

Of me.
My heart starts hammering. I’ve posed for pictures before. But something tells me these won’t be regular modelling shots.

His eyes move to the chaise lounge.

“What kind of photographs?” I venture.

His look is enough to silence me. James leans
forward and gently removes the riding crop from my hand.

“Take off your clothes.”
His mouth is inches from mine.

I feel a surge of uncertainty.

“Now.”

Something about the tone of his voice is impossible to resist. I feel my hands reach up and unhook the back of my dress. Then I let it slide to the floor.

I am left standing in a set of black underwear, which he bought me.

I he
ar him make an intake of breath.

The bra is low, and my nipples jut over the top. The panties are little more than an arrangement of ribbons.

James steps back, and assesses.

“Interesting that you should choose that underwear,” he observes. “A man might assume you were looking for a certain kind of treatment.”

I lick my lower lip nervously. I wore this underwear for him. But I hadn’t envisaged it being revealed in quite these circumstances.

James walks towards a desk in the corner and opens a drawer. When he turns around, he’s holding a camera with a professional looking lens.

“It’s important to your education,” he says, “that you allow yourself to be objectified by me.”

“Objectified?”

“Make you my possession,” he clarifies.

Is that what I want?
Reduced to my underwear, my courage is deserting me.

James raises the riding crop and signals to the chaise lounge.

“Lie down,” he says.

I head for the chaise lounge, keeping my eyes on the riding crop. Then I lower myself slowly onto it
, facing forward.

James takes a few steps nearer and lays the riding crop on the floor, directly in my range of vision.

“The crop won’t be in the photographs,” he explains. “But I want to capture your reaction to it.”

I find myself wondering what my face is showing.

“I don’t want you to act,” he says. “I want you to let the feelings show naturally in your face.”

I nod
slowly.

James raises the camera.

“When I’ve finished taking these pictures,” he says, “I’m going to slide off your panties and whip you with the riding crop.”

Oh!

I haven’t time to moderate my expression as several thoughts converge at once.

The camera clicks, and whatever I was feeling
is caught on the lens. I try to assess it in retrospect. Arousal? Fear?

James raises his eyebrows as he examines the screen.

“You have no idea how incredibly sexy you look,” he murmurs, “when you’re struggling between decency, and arousal.”

I feel my face burn. He’s described it so accurately. Part of me is so ashamed. Another part is
undeniably turned on, and I can feel how wet I am already.

“Take off your bra,” he orders.

I unhook it, and as I do so, James unleashes a flurry of shutter shots. I let it fall away to the sound of more photographs being taken.

“Lie back,” he instructs.

I let my bare back recline. The fabric of the chaise lounge feels cool against my bare skin.

As I’m thinking this, James clicks a few more times. I wonder what it is he’s seeing.

He moves the camera away from his face for a moment. And there’s something in his expression I haven’t seen before.

“I adore you,” he says quietly. “So much of your beauty is in your strength.”

He puts the camera carefully down and walks towards me. For a moment, I think he intends to pick up the riding crop. But he leaves it on the floor as he steps closer.

Then he seats himself next to me on the chaise lounge.

I look at him questioningly.

He runs a hand slowly along the curve of my stomach and lets it rest on the thin fabric of my panties. I feel my body surge with heat.

“I had plans for you,” he murmurs, letting his thumb slide along the top of my panties. My skin shudders as he moves it slowly from left to right.

Then he moves the other hand, so he has a thumb positioned under either side of my panties, resting on each
hip bone.

He gives a firm tug, and I moan as he frees my panties and works them over my thighs.

With one hand, he moves them across my knees and gently over my feet. Then he swings them idly for a moment, and lets them fall to the wooden studio floor.

He holds one of my knees and slowly pushes the other one downwards
, so I am completely revealed to him. The sudden cool air between my legs makes me gasp.

“So wet already,” he observes.

I feel myself falter, to be so laid bare to him. Instinctively, I move to close my legs, but he restrains me, putting a hand on my knee.

“I planned to take a variety of pictures,” he explains, his green eyes on mine.

His eyes flit towards the riding crop. And then something loads into his expression.

“I want to make love to you,” he says simply. “Issy, I can’t resist you. Lying here.
So beautiful. I love you so much.”

Whoa. This feels like a complete change in direction.

He’s asking my permission, I realise, and I open my arms out to him.

“Yes,” I say, pulling him close.

His mouth meets mine, and the combined feelings are like an explosion. Lust and love are a heady mix, and as his tongue touches mine, every cell in my body is calling for him.

“I
want you naked too,” I whisper. He moves back slightly, and starts to pulls away his clothes so fast, that I suddenly realise just how much he wants this.

Within moments, his T-shirt and jeans are on the floor. My hands reach to tug at his boxers, and they catch, for a tantalising moment, at what’s underneath, before he springs free.

Wow
. No matter how many times I see the size of him, it still takes me by surprise.

He’s breathing heavily, and I feel him, hot on my neck, and he moves back into my arms.

“Oh Issy,” he groans, and his mouth is on mine again.

Everything seems to fall away, and for that moment, there is nothing but him.

Then I feel him hard against my leg, and in the next moment, he is rolling on a condom and pushing himself deep inside of me.

“
Ahhh!” I cry out, and he begins to move. It’s urgent, but not rough. As though he needs my body. I open myself up to him, pushing my hips up to let him in deeper.

“Wait
.” He grabs my hips and lifts me up whilst still inside of me. Then, with his free hand, he pushes a cushion under the small of my back.

“
Mmmmm,” I moan. The cushion has lifted my clitoris to be in contact with him as he thrusts in and out.

I push even further forward, melting into the feeling.

“Am I touching where you need me to?” he whispers, slowing down his urgent movements inside of me.

“Yes,” I gasp, grabbing his hips with my hand. “Please James. Don’t stop.”

He groans again, and begins moving faster. And with every thrust, I feel something build from my clitoris through my entire body.

James’s hand moves up the side of my neck, to hold my head, and his mouth is close on mine, following my every
movement.

Then his thrusting seems to hit a new place, and all at once, I explode. My body pulses, and my hands clutch at his hips.

I cry out, and as I do so, James moans, and I feel him come inside me.

Then he’s holding my face in his hands,
staring into my eyes.

“Oh Issy,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” I answer, losing myself in his green eyes.

We lie like that, across the chaise lounge, tight in one another’s arms.

My eyes flick to the riding crop on the floor, and James catches the gesture.

“Don’t think you’ve got away without your punishment,” he warns. “This is just a reprieve.”

“Oh really?” I let my bare foot caress the side of his leg.

“Yes,” he says. “I’ve still got a lot planned for you, Isabella Green.”

Chapter 9

W
e emerge from the artist’s studio onto the sunny backstreet. And it’s as though the mood of the whole day has shifted.

The last hour has loose
ned our tensions, and we could almost be like any other holidaying couple as we fall out into the Barcelona sunlight with our arms around one another.

James turns to me, and his face is beatifically calm. His green eyes are alive.

“I think this is the happiest I’ve seen you,” I smile at him.

“Really?” He pulls me a little closer against his body. “This might be the happiest I’ve been.”

His eyes fix on mine, letting me know I’m part of the reason. And I grin back at him. We’re lost in straight-out beaming at one another, for a second.

“I’ve only got you to myself for another hour or so,” says James. “Let’s do something a normal couple would do.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

He grins. “I honestly have no idea. I’ve never been
in a normal couple.”

“That makes two of us,” I admit.

James steers me around in a full 360 turn and begins walking me away from the seafront. “Actually, I don’t want us to be normal,” he says. “But I’ll settle for happy. I want to take you somewhere.”

“Where?”

“There’s a famous park a few blocks north of the city. We can leave the car here and have a walk around it.”

“Sounds very normal,” I say approvingly. “I accept.”

“Not quite,” he admits, “It’s a Gaudi park. Gaudi the artist. There’s a lot of interesting sculptures and art.”

“Oh Mr Berkeley,” I tease, “
of course it’s not just an ordinary park. I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.”

The entrance to the park is like a themed tribute to quirkiness. Two giant Hansel and Gretel style buildings sit on either side of the entrance, complete with white terracotta roofs which look like icing. Up ahead, I can see two huge curving sets of steps lined with colourful tiled murals on either side.

“It’s amazing,” I say to James, taking it all in. It’s quite the oddest and most interesting park I’ve ever seen.

With the bright blue sky overhead, the park entrance has a surreal feel. As though we’ve stumbled into a Spanish version of paradise.

“Do you like it?” asks James, steering me through the entrance.

“I love it,” I admit. “It’s almost too much. But not quite.”

“Sounds like a girl I know,” says James, echoing his words from
one of our first dates, after he rescued me in Camden.

I laugh and lean in closer.

“It feels like so long ago,” I say, “when you first said that to me.”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” says James, raising an eyebrow. “If anything, you’re careening towards the right side of too much.”

I laugh again and let my gaze wander up the winding curved stairs ahead, to the riot of greenery at the top.

With my arm looped through
James’s, this feels like heaven. I close my eyes for a moment, not wanting the feeling to end.

James turns me on his arm and tilts my chin so I’m gazing into his eyes.

“Happy?”

“Did my great big grin give me away?”

He laughs and gently kisses my mouth.

“I’m so grateful,” I say, “for you flying Lorna out here. You didn’t have to do that. It was amazing.”

“Good,” he says. “I know I didn’t have to do it, Issy. But I’m glad I did.”

“Was it expensive?”

He frowns a little. “I would have flown her out here a thousand times over,” he says, “just to see the look on your face.”

“Oh Mr Berkeley!” I laugh. “You say the
nicest things.”

“It’s true,” he says. “Seeing you so happy. It felt like a privilege that my actions could do that.”

He looks down suddenly, and I sense it’s time to change the subject.

Oh James.
Your demons again?

I remember what James said when the stalker was loose. That he fears everyone he cares about gets hurt. And I still don’t know what painful part of his past caused that.

But James also said he felt he could protect me, after the stalker was caught.

Are his insecurities coming back to haunt him?

“Hey,” I say, an idea forming as I spot a mosaic temple construction at the top of the steps. “How about a little bet?”