“I’m fine. I’m just hot.”
“Me, too. We’ll be heading back to the house soon, so we can shower and have a bit of a rest before the party tonight.”
“Sounds good.”
I stand quietly beside Sasha as she finishes up with her emails for the next few minutes. Just as she’s done, Robert comes out carrying a small bag and one of those plastic suit covers thrown over his shoulder.
“Oh, her highness Naomi Campbell has finally decided to grace us with her presence,” Sasha jokes.
“Funny,” says Robert, deadpan.
We walk back to where Robert parked the car earlier, but just as we get there, he throws his keys to Sasha. “Get in and wait for me. There’s something I forgot. I’ll be five minutes.”
Sasha shrugs. “Okay, but if you take any longer, I’m driving home with Lana and you can get a taxi.”
Robert nods and rushes off on his errand. Sasha turns on the radio as we wait, and Robert gets back five minutes later on the dot. He throws a small bag in the boot and hops into the front seat. I wonder what all that was about.
During the ride Sasha gets a phone call. This is a common occurrence and not normally something of interest to me, but her voice is different than usual – low and kind of hushed, with a small note of excitement.
“Yeah, yeah. Look, I can’t really talk right now,” she says. “I’ll call you later.” And then she hangs up.
I catch Robert’s eye in the overhead mirror, and he arches his brow at me. Clearly, he noticed the phone call, too. Perhaps it was the girl Sasha was out with the other night when she said she’d been with work colleagues.
When we get home, I make dinner and then go to figure out which dress I’m wearing tonight. Nothing jumps out at me as I look through the wardrobe, and I momentarily think that maybe I should have bought something today when I’d had the chance. But then I come across my black velvet cocktail dress. It’s got short sleeves and a long A-line skirt, with heart-shaped cleavage. It actually cost me over one hundred euros in a vintage shop. Sometimes vintage can mean cheap, but more and more often it’s coming to mean overpriced.
I take a shower and blow-dry my hair before putting in some rollers to give it a bit of a curl. As I’m sitting by the dresser putting on some moisturiser, there’s a soft knock on my bedroom door.
“Come in,” I call, finishing rubbing in the cream.
Robert steps inside carrying a small powder-blue shopping bag. “I brought you something,” he says, eyeing the towel secured firmly around my chest. He drops the bag onto the bed and sits down, crossing one leg over the other.
“What’s that?” I ask, screwing the cap back onto my moisturiser.
“I want you to wear it tonight.”
“I’ve already picked an outfit,” I say, gesturing to my dress hanging at the front of the wardrobe.
“That’s lovely, but I want you to wear these under it.” He picks up the bag and throws it to me.
I catch it and look inside to find a ball of cream-coloured lace. When I pull it out to see it properly, I find it’s a corset bra and a matching pair of knickers.
“You’ve got to be joking me,” I whisper, running my hands over the expensive material. I sift out the tag on the bra. It reads 32C. My eyes whip up to Robert.
“How the hell did you know my bra size?”
His face grows serious. “Well, I like to look at your body a lot.”
“And take pictures,” I add.
“And take pictures,” he agrees.
I’m not sure if I want to wear these, but considering what I let him do to me today in the store, it might be kind of hypocritical to tell him no. I can’t say there’s nothing going on between us now, because there so obviously is.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell him, turning back around and taking some items out of my makeup case.
He stands up and walks towards me. I watch him through the mirror. He reaches down and in one swift movement releases the towel. It falls to my lap, revealing my breasts.
He lets out a sigh of pleasure and grabs my waist, twirling me around to face him. His eyes flutter as he scans my naked form. Then he goes down on bended knee and takes one nipple into his mouth while cupping the other breast. A small, gurgled cry escapes me at the sensation of his hot tongue as it swirls and his lips as they suck.
I guess this is what I’ve needed all along. Someone like Robert who moves so quickly that I don’t have the chance to get anxious.
“Touch me, Lana. Please,” he entreats.
“Um,” I say through my laboured breathing. “Where?”
“Anywhere,” he urges, staring up at me. God, he really looks good from this angle.
I move my hands to his shoulders before running them along his neck and up into the clipped ends of his hair. He groans and abruptly pulls away.
I shiver at the loss of him.
“Fuck,” he swears. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”
I hold in my grin and try to keep a straight face. “You better go, then.”
He gives me one last mournful look and then slips out the door. I turn back around, stunned at what just transpired, at how I turned into a sizzling mess when he took control.
I quickly do my makeup and take the rollers out of my hair. When I go to put on the dress, I pause, considering whether or not to wear the lingerie he bought me. God, why does he have to do stuff that’s just so bloody sexy? I run my fingers over the lace, thinking of how he must have been visualising me in it when he purchased it. It’s also slightly reminiscent of the white lace I’d had on in the garden the day he’d looked up my skirt. Hmm, is that why he bought it?