Vintage Pride (13 page)

“You need to be able to give me a signal whenever you’re uncomfortable with what is happening and need me to stop. For many people in the submissive role, saying, ‘No, please, I don’t want to do this’, is all part of the fun and their physical responses are indicating the exact opposite. So you need to have a word you would never normally utter during sex.”

Ethan cast his gaze around the room. It settled upon an antique silver candle holder on Jean-Luc’s desk. “Candlestick,” he said without thinking.

“
Bon
. Perfect. So if at any moment you have had enough, say ‘candlestick’ and the game will end. Understood?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“And so we begin.”

Jean-Luc led him over to the bed and ordered him to lie on it, face up. Once Ethan had made himself comfortable—or as comfortable as he could be, knowing he was about to be tied down and tormented in some unspecified fashion—Jean-Luc took one of the lengths of cord and fastened it to the bedpost. The other end he wrapped around Ethan’s wrist, knotting it in place.

Ethan wriggled experimentally. The binding wasn’t too tight but as he tugged at the rope, he knew he wouldn’t be able to free himself unaided. While his mind processed the implications of that, Jean-Luc was busy tying the rest of his limbs to the other three corners of the bedframe. By the time he’d finished, Ethan was spread out like a star, with all his most intimate places exposed to the Frenchman’s gaze. His heart raced and his breathing was tense but the strength of his hard-on hadn’t faded.

“You’re okay with this?” Jean-Luc asked, obviously needing Ethan’s assent before he could proceed.

“Yes, I am.” His whole being strained to learn what would happen next. The word ‘candlestick’ couldn’t have been further from his lips.

Jean-Luc rummaged once more in the drawer where he stored his equipment. He brought out a slim, wand-like vibrator with a tapering end and a bottle whose label Ethan couldn’t quite make out, though he guessed it to be lube of some kind. Ethan’s arsehole clenched in his nervous anticipation.

When Jean-Luc turned the base of the vibrator, it let out a low hum. He turned it again, increasing the speed of the vibrations, and nodded to himself in apparent satisfaction. Then he put the tip of the toy to Ethan’s nipple.

“Ohhh…” The groan was ripped from Ethan’s throat as sensation spread from the tight bud, as if a thousand tiny fingers tickled his flesh. He bucked against the mattress but his bindings held him secure.

Jean-Luc chuckled and applied the vibrator to Ethan’s other nipple. Like its twin, it tautened to a peak, standing up from the firm plane of his pec. Jean-Luc bent and took each of the little nubs in his mouth in turn, sucking each one for just a moment. Then he returned to teasing them with the vibe, sending Ethan wild with want.

“Oh, if you could only see yourself,” Jean-Luc purred. “So beautifully helpless… But there is more to come.”

With that, he played the vibrator down the length of Ethan’s body, brushing the insides of his thighs but being careful to keep it away from his straining shaft. For a brief instant, he let the head of the toy rest against the root of Ethan’s cock. Ethan howled and his body went rigid, as though a powerful electric current rushed through him. Agony mixed with ecstasy till he couldn’t separate one from the other and he knew he was in danger of shooting his load where he stood.

Jean-Luc switched off the vibrator then set it on the bed but it signaled only a momentary respite. He flipped open the top of the lube bottle then squeezed some over his fingers. He pressed first one, then a second, slick digit into Ethan’s hole. After a couple of seconds, Ethan felt a warming sensation in his arse, the secret of the slippery liquid becoming apparent. The feeling only intensified as Jean-Luc continued to probe deeper into his channel.

“You like that?” Jean-Luc sounded smug. “I thought you would. You have no secrets from me, Ethan.”

With that, he withdrew his fingers. He turned the vibe to its lowest setting and pushed the slim head into Ethan’s arse.

“Look at me,” Jean-Luc commanded. “Don’t break the contact for an instant. I want you to be staring into my eyes when you come.”

As Ethan did his best to obey, he thought he could see the need on his face reflected in Jean-Luc’s penetrating gaze. The vibrator buzzed, sending shards of pleasure splintering out from his core. Every nerve was as tightly strung as the ropes binding him to the bed. He couldn’t hold out any longer if he tried. Still staring into his lover’s eyes, he yelled out as Jean-Luc wrung the most intense orgasm from him. His spunk shot into the air to land on his belly in a creamy arc of droplets. It felt like he’d never stop coming, his muscles convulsing and his cries echoing off the walls.

When he finally became aware of his surroundings once more, Ethan felt wetness on his cheeks and realized he was crying.

“Hey, it’s all right.” Jean-Luc cradled Ethan’s head in his hands, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “For some people, the first time they come while they’re in bondage can be a little emotional…”

He couldn’t speak, could only hope Jean-Luc would see the gratitude in his eyes. He’d never believed anything could be so all-consuming and wondered why he’d never thought to submit to anyone’s command before now. Maybe he just hadn’t met a man who understood him as perfectly as Jean-Luc seemed to.

“So you will make sure you have my express permission before you climb those stairs again?” Jean-Luc spoke softly as he released Ethan from the ropes, his tone teasing.

Ethan thought of the pleasure he’d just received in the course of learning his lesson. He looked up at his lover and smiled. “I’m not sure. It depends what will happen if I don’t…”

Chapter Fourteen

The cellar smelled of must and neglect. In contrast to the area on the other side of the wall that had been converted for wine storage, it seemed to Ethan this space had been all but forgotten about. In the four years they’d been making the show, he and Kim had spent plenty of time in vaults beneath churches and subterranean rooms in abandoned buildings. Casting the beam of his flashlight over the rough-hewn walls, he was irresistibly reminded of those places.

“So what kind of activity has been reported down here?” Kim’s voice was hushed.

“Noises, mostly,” Ethan replied. “The people who’ve experienced it say it sounds like either something is being thrown around down here or someone’s banging on the cellar walls. And the strange thing is that this has only become noticeable in the last few months.”

Thomas had told them he’d heard the noises while he’d been in the kitchen and he thought that Agathe the housekeeper had, too. However, when Ethan had spoken to Agathe, hoping to include her testimony in the show, she hadn’t wanted to discuss it. More than that, she’d suggested the incident had simply been a product of Thomas’ overactive imagination. Something in her attitude had struck Ethan as a little odd but he hadn’t pressed her. Not everyone wanted to appear on television, after all.

“Was this place ever used as a cell, maybe?” Kim asked.

Ethan shook his head. “It’s not old enough for that. Yes, there are castles that have oubliettes where prisoners were left to rot, but those usually date from mediaeval times. The justice system had gotten a little more sophisticated by the time this château was built.”

Kim looked up at the ceiling. “If there is anyone who would like to make contact with us, we’re here to talk to you.”

As he raked his torch over the wall, something caught Ethan’s eye. He concentrated the light on the spot then bent to examine it more closely.

It appeared someone had taken a heavy implement to the bricks, dislodging a couple of them. He put his hand to the hole and rubbed the dust of centuries-old cement. It was impossible to tell how recently this damage had happened. “Hey, Kim, this is weird.”

Before he could investigate any further, or ask Pete to train his camera on the spot, Kim said, “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Caught up in his discovery, Ethan had tuned out everything else.

“I’m sure it was someone moaning, but not a woman. A deep, low-pitched moan. D’you think there could be another spirit here, as well as the woman in gray who haunts the scullery?”

“Well, no one’s mentioned a man in any of their stories, but I’m prepared to be convinced.”

Kim screamed. “Oh my God, Ethan! Something just touched the back of my neck.”

“Are you sure?”

“I felt it. Whatever’s in this cellar, I don’t like it. I need to get out of here.”

Kim dashed up the steps, Pete following behind to record her reaction. Ethan sometimes wondered if she wasn’t secretly a little claustrophobic. It would be a better explanation for her panic whenever she was in a low-ceilinged, enclosed space than any ghostly presence.

He shrugged and cast a glance at Leon. “Okay, buddy, let’s go. Maybe we can calm Kim down before we come back.” Even as he said it, he suspected their exploration of the cellar was over for the night. Maybe he should return with Dex and they could try to find out what had made the hole in the wall. Some kind of impromptu demolition work could have caused the banging noises Thomas had heard. But from what Ethan had been told, no one in the household had been down here for months.

In the passage that led to the kitchen, Ethan and Leon bumped into Pete, minus his camera and with a cigarette dangling between his lips.

“Hey, it just seemed like the right time to take a break.”

“How’s Kim?”

“She’s fine. Said she was going to use the bathroom. I’m sure she’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

Ethan wandered into the kitchen to be greeted by the sight of Thérèse LeBlanc sitting at the table. She wore a white toweling robe over her nightgown and had her legs propped on the seat of one of the ladder-backed chairs. In her hands, she cradled a mug. From the warm, spicy aroma permeating the kitchen, she’d added a generous grating of nutmeg to whatever she drank.

Thérèse looked over as Ethan entered then gave an apologetic glance toward her feet. “I’m sorry. It’s just that they swell up so much these days and it’s the only way I can get comfortable. I came down for some warm milk to help me sleep. I hope I’m not in your way.”

“Not at all,” Ethan assured her. “If anything, we’re in yours.”

She sighed. “I can’t believe I still have another three months of this. I just want the baby to hurry up and arrive.”

“I’m sure it’ll all be worth it in the end.” Ethan went to the sink and poured himself a glass of water, needing something to wash the stale taste of the cellar air from his mouth. Then he went to pull up a chair at the table alongside Thérèse.

“So how is your investigation going?” she asked.

“Well, we were just in the cellar and Kim swears blind that someone came up behind her and put a hand on her neck.”

“And do you believe her?” Thérèse’s eyes were that same strange amber shade as her brother’s.

Ethan found it hard to meet her gaze. “People always accuse us of faking our reactions for the show and say that if something touches us it’s just a stunt by one of the film crew. But I’ve been friends with Kim long enough to know she’s no liar. And something strange has definitely been going on down there…” He thought again of the disturbed brickwork. Would a hole that size be big enough to hide something valuable in? “Thérèse, what do you know about those paintings that are supposed to be hidden in the château?”

“Oh, Marcus loves to tell that story.” Thérèse smiled. “And there’s definitely some truth to it. In 1940, when the Germans occupied this part of the country, a man called Henri Deschanel came to see my father.”

Ethan cut in. “Don’t you mean your grandfather?”

“
Ah, oui
. But of course. When I’m tired, my English isn’t always so good.” Thérèse sipped from her mug then went on with her tale. “This Deschanel—he was a lawyer, a well-respected and popular man by all accounts. But he was Jewish, and he knew that made him a target for the Nazis. He was supposed to have a couple of valuable paintings that had been given to him by a wealthy client as thanks for his help in a complicated court case, and he wanted to store them here, rather than let them fall into the wrong hands. Like everyone in the area, he’d heard all the stories of our home being an impregnable fortress. Deschanel arranged to bring them up to the château one night but he never arrived.”

“What happened to him?”

“There were collaborators in the village, apparently, and one of them had let the German forces know of Deschanel’s plans to leave the country. Henri and his entire family were picked up and taken to the concentration camp where they perished. And no one knows what really became of those artworks. They weren’t in Henri’s house when it was searched and he never had the opportunity to pass them on like he intended.”

“Maybe the guy never owned them in the first place,” Ethan suggested.

“You are the cynical one, aren’t you?”

“If what you’re telling me is true, why do people continue to believe those paintings are somewhere on these premises?”

Thérèse shrugged. “Because it suits them to, I suppose. We LeBlancs have gained a reputation over the centuries. We live in a haunted house. Wild beasts come to save us when our lives are threatened. Who knows what other secrets we might be keeping?” She set her mug on the table then carefully eased her feet off the chair. It caused her a visible effort to stand, and Ethan went to help her, but she brushed his efforts aside. “Thanks, Ethan, I’m fine, honestly. I’m not an invalid. Everything just takes me a little longer than it used to.”

“Thanks for the story, anyway.”

“You’re welcome. You know, I wasn’t sure I wanted to have you and your team in my home but you’ve brought some of the life back to these quiet rooms. Marcus and I are going to miss you when you leave.”

“And Jean-Luc?” He tried to make it sound like he didn’t really care about the answer.

“He keeps his own counsel as he always does. He might be my brother but sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever know what he really thinks.” She stifled a yawn. “Well, goodnight, Ethan. I’ll see you in the morning.”