Forbidden Reading (11 page)

‘No.’ Sartine smiled.

Justine pursed her lips in frustration. ‘Then, why am I here?’

‘You might be trying to acquire
La Coste
. But that’s not why you’re in my hotel.’

She raised an eyebrow and studied him guardedly. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Do you think we make a pretty sight?’

The question came from Marie.

Justine was forced to look away from Sartine and glance up at the woman to meet her gentle gaze. She was a truly beautiful example of femininity. Naked, her bare breasts were visible and the stiff tips of her nipples swayed ever so slightly as she raised and then lowered herself on the erection between her thighs. Her flesh was a swarthy olive tone that complemented her enticing dark hair. The colour of her nipples and areolae was as dark and tempting as the café au lait in Justine’s cup.

‘I’m sorry?’ Justine gasped. She had been caught by Marie’s hypnotic gaze and discovered it was almost impossible not to be enthralled by the woman’s charm. She had to blink and shake her head to distance herself from the excitement and interest the woman inspired.

‘Do you think we make a pretty sight?’

Her voice was heavily accented and she concentrated on each word as though it took an effort to consider and pronounce. There was a husky undercurrent in her tone and Justine didn’t think she had ever heard any voice sound so inherently sexy. She squirmed against her seat as she realised an answer was expected of her. Lowering her head, blushing as she nodded, Justine said, ‘Yes. I think you make a very pretty sight.’

‘Would you like to touch?’

Beyond Marie, lounging idly at the head of his table, Sartine graced Justine with a benevolent smile. His attention seemed relaxed and casual but there was something in the furtive glint of his eyes that made Justine think he was studying her with bright interest. She didn’t know if her paranoia came from all that had happened in the church the previous evening, or if some sixth sense was warning that her response to Marie’s question would govern her success in acquiring
La Coste
.

Slowly, she extended her hand to Marie.

The French woman grinned and took her fingers. Her touch was warm and moist with a film of perspiration. Holding her hand, Justine was struck by an electric tingle: as though she could feel echoes of Marie’s excitement. It was thrilling enough to watch Marie and Pierre as they boldly enjoyed each other in the centre of the table. But the knowledge that she was close to becoming involved in their intimacy made Justine dizzy with arousal.

‘I think you would do this much better than me,’ Marie confided.

‘I doubt it,’ Justine said honestly. Bashfully raising her gaze to meet Marie’s she added, ‘I certainly wouldn’t look as attractive.’

Marie’s slender fingers encircled Justine’s wrist and she guided her to touch the centre of her back. ‘Pierre has been ignoring my spine,’ she pouted. ‘And I adore the sensation of fingers trailing down my back. You can do that for me, no?’

Obligingly, Justine allowed her fingers to glide gently down the centre of Marie’s back. The skin beneath her fingers was silky-soft and she shared an echo of the woman’s obvious pleasure when Marie shivered and whispered a breathless, ‘
Merci
.’ Delighting in the sensation of touching the woman’s bare body, Justine couldn’t resist the temptation of stroking her again. Her fingers slipped easily against the curve of her back but, this time, she allowed them to trail lower until they reached the split between Marie’s perfect rounded buttocks.

‘You want to touch more than my back?’ Marie enquired. She was glancing over her shoulder. Her large dark eyes were darkened by the shadows from her fringe.

Before Justine could think how to answer, Marie’s fingers had encircled her wrist again. Her hold was firm but not punishing and Justine watched with detached awe as her hand was coaxed toward the union of Pierre and Marie’s bodies. Before her fingers connected with the wet flesh she could feel the heat radiating from the pair. Her senses seemed peculiarly attuned to every detail and she sensed herself being won over by the excitement that the couple were obviously enjoying.

And then her fingers were caught up between them.

She found herself stroking the tight sac of Pierre’s scrotum. Her touch lingered over the wrinkled flesh, lightly caressing him before moving up to the thick and quivering length of his erection. Justine heard him moan beneath Marie and she was elated to feel his pulse quicken as though he was particularly excited by her caress. Sliding her hand upwards, relishing the wetness that had coated him and now slipped against her palm, she touched the dewy haven of Marie’s pussy.

The lips were tight around the thickness invading them. Justine could see the skin was stretched and sensitive. She supposed that was why Marie moaned with such enthusiasm when Justine stole a caress between the inner and outer labia.

The French woman muttered a string of breathy thanks, working herself more quickly against Pierre and clearly approaching her own peak of delight. Beneath her, Pierre’s well-defined muscle tone became more rigid and Justine guessed they were both hastening toward their climaxes. Marie’s toes were curled impossibly tight and the swarthy complexion of her face had darkened with a rush of heady arousal.

Not sure if she was meant to carry on touching them, or if she had now fulfilled her usefulness to the pair, Justine allowed her hand to trail away. Her fingers were sticky with their wetness and, while the temptation was to inhale their perfume and maybe savour its taste, she wouldn’t let herself rise to that impulse while Sartine was watching.

Not that there was a great danger of Sartine noticing her, she thought dourly. His attention was riveted on Marie and Pierre as they rode each other with greater ferocity. The table trembled as they moved against each other with increasing force. Justine watched concentric circles shiver through the surface of her coffee and she was struck by the notion that each one represented a quiver of delicious pleasure.

Struck by a sudden impulse to be involved in the climax, she reached out to touch between Pierre’s legs. Her fingers discovered his sac and she found his flesh was virtually pulsing with the tension of an unreleased climax. Circling her hand back around the base of his shaft and squeezing lightly she felt Marie’s sex repeatedly kiss her fingers. She knew the orgasm was almost on the pair and when Pierre groaned and Marie sighed she realised she had chosen to touch them at exactly the right moment.

Pierre’s shaft pulsed beneath her fingers. The muscle of his erection grew thick and then repeatedly shivered as he shuddered through his climax. Justine had intended to remove her hand but Marie chose that moment to squirm down hard against Pierre’s throbbing release.

When Sartine had mentioned the pleasure he got from watching Marie’s orgasm, Justine had dismissed the comment. But now, hearing the woman’s dramatic sighs and feeling her wet flesh tremble, she understood exactly what he had meant. Marie stiffened as the climax gripped her body; her face flushed; her muscles strained; and she gave herself over to the moment with blatant abandon.

Justine’s fingers were trapped between Marie and Pierre and she could only savour the tremors that shook through both bodies. He grunted and writhed against the table while she threw her head back and babbled her gratitude. When Justine was able to draw her hand away the fingers were greasy with the combination of the couple’s spent juices. The ends throbbed as though they had experienced their own miniature version of Pierre and Marie’s orgasm.

‘Didn’t I say they were a pleasure to watch?’ Sartine murmured.

She glanced up and saw his gaze was now fixed on her. Justine remembered that Mrs Weiss had described Sartine as a ‘slippery bastard’ and she considered her response with appropriate caution. Waiting until Marie and Pierre had climbed from the table, catching her first glimpse of Pierre’s face and surprised by his handsome good looks, she regarded Sartine carefully before giving her reply. ‘Why have I been brought here? If you don’t possess the manuscript I wish to acquire, what reason is there for me being here?’

He sipped his drink before replying, reminding Justine that she was also thirsty. When she raised the cup to her lips she could detect the scent of Marie and Pierre from where it lingered on her fingers. The musky fragrance was intrusive and threatened to lead her thoughts back to the decadent display she had just enjoyed. Annoyed by her own inability to concentrate, Justine wiped the back of her hand against her skirt and glared at Sartine.

‘You aren’t here to acquire the manuscript,’ he explained patiently. ‘
The Society
asked me to consider whether or not you are suitable material for acquiring
La Coste
. That is why you are here.’

She frowned. ‘I thought that the priest was considering my suitability.’

‘He was,’ Sartine agreed. ‘The priest you met with yesterday assures me you were able to meet his standards on the subject of sacrilege. But you have to pass through two more tests before you can be deemed worthy.’

Justine was amazed to hear the events of yesterday evening being summarised in one clinical sentence. The inner turmoil she had suffered, and all of the loathsome pleasures, had seemed like a lot more than simply meeting someone’s standards on the subject of sacrilege. ‘If the priest was testing my aptitude for sacrilege,’ she began warily, ‘what will you be testing?’

Sartine’s grin was seductive. ‘That’s a very perceptive question,’ he acknowledged. ‘
The Society
have asked me to test you, and I’ve put my hotel staff at your disposal. I’m sure you’re aware that the Marquis was renowned for his indulgence in sacrilege and sadism but people forget the strongest of his motives. That’s what we’ll be testing.’

Justine could feel her heartbeat racing as she finally noticed the army of maids that lined the walls. A pair of them had helped Marie and Pierre out of the room but those that remained were now staring at her with avaricious interest. Each one was as beautiful as Marie and, dressed in their skimpy costumes of black skirts, white blouses and dark stockings, each looked exciting and inviting. Certain that her mind and body needed some time to recover from the excesses she had so far endured, she quickly racked her brains to find a way to distance herself from the giddy indulgences that were apparent all around. Forcing her voice to remain steady, and dragging her gaze back to meet Sartine’s, she asked, ‘What do you define as the Marquis’s strongest motive?’

‘Pleasure. Nothing but endless hedonistic pleasure.’

She opened her mouth, not sure if she was going to argue or ask him how he intended to test her. Taking the moment to think and finish the remainder of a croissant, she finally saw a way to give herself the necessary break from Sartine and the demands of
The Society
’s tests. She met his gaze and said, ‘I won’t be submitting to any further tests until I’ve seen proof that the manuscript exists.’

He shook his head and laughed. ‘I really don’t think you are in a position –’

‘No,’ Justine said firmly. ‘I am happy to undergo any relevant tests that the seller deems necessary. I think I proved myself in that regard last night. But there will be no more tests until I’ve seen proof that your Society really does possess
La Coste
.’ She rose from the table, intending to storm majestically back to her bedroom: but Sartine was fast.

His hand fell to her shoulder and, when she turned, she was overwhelmed by his broad bulk. His mouth continued to smile at her but his eyes remained perversely unreadable. She saw he was holding three pages of plain copier paper in one hand, almost as though he had expected this particular demand. A cursory glance at the quality of the print and the distinctive lettering at the bottom of each page told her she was looking at documents that had been faxed to his hotel.

‘Here,’ he said, pushing the pages against her chest.

Justine took the three sheets of paper and tried not to show her confusion. She had been hoping merely to allow herself a day to recover from the ordeal at the church and prepare herself for whatever it was that Sartine demanded from her. Staring at the clumsy scrawl of foreign writing, struggling to make sense of a language she didn’t understand in a handwriting she couldn’t properly cipher, she heard herself thank him.

‘Take them to your room,’ Sartine encouraged her. ‘Study them for the next hour.’ He glanced at his wristwatch and added, ‘At twelve o’clock I’ll have two of my staff collect you once you’ve ascertained the authenticity of those pages.’

His words echoed through her mind like the sound of an escape door clanging shut. She was now in possession of papers that were virtually worthless. And, not sure how she had managed to do it, Justine realised she had committed herself to submitting to the man in exactly one hour. The thought made her feel ill with a blend of dread and arousal.

Marie and a maid collected Justine from her room as soon as the clock struck twelve. Leading her toward their destination the two women plucked fussily at Justine’s clothes and hair. The band was removed from Justine’s ponytail, forcing her chestnut tresses to spill down her back and over her shoulders. A single button was first released from her throat; then one at the side of her pencil skirt; and then another at the front of her blouse. The modifications to her outfit were only subtle – nothing so grand that Justine thought she ought to protest – but they had the cumulative effect of making her feel as though she was being prepared for something bold, outrageous and decadent. She glanced from one pretty feminine face to the other and asked, ‘Where are we going?’

‘Captain Sartine would like you to enjoy the facilities in the penthouse.’

‘What does he have planned for me?’

‘Nothing you won’t enjoy.’ Marie whispered this declaration as she opened a door and ushered Justine inside. The room was vast and made light by picture windows on every wall. As in the dining room, Justine was able to see majestic views that would have kept her entertained for hour after hour under other circumstances. But it was the suggestion of hedonism within the room that caught her attention. The opulence of the furnishings – a four-poster bed draped with swags of voile; an array of cushioned couches and padded chairs – suggested a boudoir elegance that made Justine think of perfumes, passion and pleasure. She could see the semi-naked figures she had expected to encounter – a maid with her dark skirt hitched up to show the lacy tops of her black stockings and the white triangle of her panties; Pierre lounging in an open robe that revealed his lean athletic body – but she wouldn’t let herself dwell on any one of those figures. She kept her gaze fixed on Sartine as he walked over to greet her. His arms were extended to deliver a welcoming embrace and Justine remained stiff as he caught her with a hug. She struggled not to show any of the natural reservations that made her want to distance herself from the comparative stranger and his intrusive clinch.