Page 18 of Isle of Beauty

The cold air of the car makes me shiver when it comes in contact with the slight perspiration at the back of my neck. Goosebumps prickles my skin.

Pierce immediately notices, shedding his jacket to settle it on my shoulders and using the movement as an excuse to sit closer to me at the back of the car. The fabric of his dress pants is soft against my thigh.

“Better?” he asks with a playful grin.

His right hand is around my shoulder, his other grazing the skin of my inner thigh on display where my dress rode up. Our eyes lock, my breath hitches from the intensity of his scrutiny and my hands scrunch his shirt when his fingers skim closer to my panties.

Before anything can happen, the car comes to a stop in front of a grim abandoned building and I purse my lips before taking a long calming inhale.

“Don’t move.”

Pierce exits the car and comes to my side, opening the door and reaching out his hand.

His manners really do something to my insides.

I take his hand and let him take me to the door on which he knocks in a rhythmic pattern. Four slow counts, three fast ones. The massive door that looked barred a moment before creaks open to reveal a well-lit hall with a massive chandelier, a staircase on each side of a grand room and a red carpet in the centre, leading to panel doors that open on a theatre room with hundreds of seats.

The place is buzzing with activity. People are dressed to the nines and waiters carry glasses around the place in a rehearsed dance. The loud noise of conversation fills my ears. I’m in awe of this place I’ve never heard of, would have never discovered if it wasn’t for the man on my arm. I take a moment to turn in a circle, looking around me and above me to the chandelier.

Everything I’ve ever visited in London has been in plain sight. The secrecy surrounding this theatre amazes me. I look around at the people gathered here. I can tell from their outfits and poised manners they’re probably amongst the most affluent people in the city.

Pierce must know many of them if the nods of acknowledgement are anything to go by but it seems that this place isn’t for socialising and being seen.

Taking it all in, I turn to him to find his eyes already riveted to me. Something akin to affection lights his face, his eyes soft, but that can’t be right.

Something I can’t quite place ignites in my chest but before I can contemplate it, Pierce walks us to a private box.

SEVEN

PIERCE

THEATRE IS THE GREATEST OF ALL ART FORMS. OR MAYBE SEX IS…

I’ve never had anyone stay the night before. I’ve never wanted them to, but the idea of waking Lana after she fell asleep in my arms last night made me see red. A sense of rightness settled over me then, futile possessiveness taking over, and I took her to my bed.

She didn’t rouse and simply curled onto herself on one corner, making herself comfortable and burrowing under my thick comforter.

My chest had squeezed almost painfully at the sight. I stayed way too long rooted in place, listening to her soft exhales and watching her sleep. It soothed something inside me.

It felt wrong to take advantage of her vulnerability even though I wanted nothing more than to keep her warmth against my body. Instead, I slept in the guest room and made sure breakfast was ready for her, just to keep her in my flat for as long as possible.

When she emerged from my bedroom wearing my shirt, I thought I was going crazy. I knew the little minx wasn’t wearing underwear since they were still in my possession. The primal part of my brain roused at seeing her in nothing but my clothes and my cock had thickened uncomfortably. Resisting setting her up on the counter again and sinking into her perfect pussy was sweet self-inflicted torture.

Tonight would be bliss because I denied us both.

Now, the chandelier of the theatre brightens up her cheeks like thousands specks of gold and I can’t take my eyes off her.

The red dress she wears shimmers and clings to her figure in all the right places. Her long chestnut hair is up again, giving me the perfect view of her slender neck and the small heart tattoo hidden behind her left ear.

I want to lick it. My skin feels tight with the need to have my lips on her again.

She was a vision splayed open for me on my kitchen counter, pliable and willing, but it’s the mesmerised look in her green eyes that brings me to my knees as she takes in the secret theatre we just entered. I won’t ever get enough of the surprised child-like expression on her lovely face. It softens her hard edges somehow.

I don’t know much about her upbringing yet but I gathered that it was demanding. The pressure of her takeover for the family business is evident in the way she carries herself. She’s taking her role very seriously and I can tell she doesn’t confide in many or delegate. We have that in common; the need to prove ourselves, to compete, always growing and doing better, thinking bigger.

Her ambition shines in the way she speaks, dresses and walks. I admire that in her, I recognise a twin soul.

“My old mentor owns this place.” I want her to know all the secrets I hold onto and all the ones I’ve never uttered. The easy intimacy we initiated yesterday grows as I share something new no one else has ever been privy to. “He was looking for a place he could enjoy theatre without the posturing. He regularly invites performers to show their original work here as well as rehearsed popular plays. I try my best to come here as often as I can. I’ve never brought anyone with me before.”

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