Virtually Perfect (18 page)

'You didn't like it,' said Ben, studying her as they sat in the back of the Rolls Royce.

'No, no.  It was nice,' Eve attempted.

'Liar!' he said with a grin.  'Come on.  You can tell me.'

'...Well, it was a bit weird,' she admitted.  'One minute she's Atilla the Hun, the next she's Barbara Cartland...  It was nicely done, the singing was lovely.  I believed the bit with Liù...  But the rest of it?  I don't know.  It just went a little bit... odd.'

'...You're really fucking smart, you know that?' 

Eve turned to him, wide-eyed.  Was he having a pop? 

He kissed her hand, smiling proudly. 

'You know there are native Italians who'd never get that?'

Ben explained how Puccini had died before he finished the opera.  Someone else had penned the end.  It was based on the Persian fable,
One Thousand and One Days. 
The only part that was real to Puccini, based on actual events from his day, was the character Liù.  She wasn't a king's maidservant.  She was his. 

Puccini's wife suspected that he was having an affair.  She decided it was Doria and filed a lawsuit against her.  Doria was only the go-between between Puccini and his real mistress, but she protected him, right to the end.  Puccini's wife made her life hell.  The shame of the accusations, the public humiliation, made Doria take her own life.  

'They should have left it,' said Eve.  'It's like that Da Vinci charcoal we were looking at earlier.  You can see it isn't finished, you can see it isn't perfect, and yet it is, in its own way.  It's like Rolf Harris going and finishing it off.'

Ben smiled back at her.  

Eve remembered the story of the old lady in Spain who decided to retouch a painting of Jesus.  By the time she'd finished, she'd reduced a beautiful, priceless fresco of The Messiah, to a chimpanzee wrapped in a blanket.

'Anyway,' said Ben, wrapping his arm around her.  'About your Italian...'

Eve smiled shyly.  She didn't feel quite so bold here.  She flinched as she felt Ben's lips on her neck.  He watched her eyelids flutter shut.

'...Did I say it wrong?' she whispered.

'No,' he whispered in her ear.  'Voglio fare l'amore con te.' 

She shivered.  She understood.  He'd said it much more politely than her.  He'd said the 'L' word.  She'd chickened out with 'F'.  Eve's heart was racing.  She felt his arms tense around her.  His lips on her neck again, he went on in Italian, his fingers wandering down her back, stroking her thigh.  She didn't understand anymore; it didn't matter anyway.  Her arms wrapped around him too, her mouth kissing him back.

The doormen barely had chance to open up before Eve and Ben burst  through, Ben carrying her in a fireman's lift, Eve giggling like a kid.  They were going to get thrown out.  She didn't care at all.  She craned her neck to look up from the marble floor to the reception staff in their smart black uniforms, turning their backs, pretending not to see. 

A white haired lady stood in front of the check-in desk.  Eve recognised her.  The little old lady from the washbasins at the Wembley.  Her face crinkled in a smile.  Eve caught a wink.  She winked back, grinning, giggling, as Ben carried her off to the lifts. 

He set her on her feet, his hands closing around her face as the doors shut, Eve slumping against the mirrored wall of the lift.  His tongue pushed into her mouth.  Her fingers pushed under his jacket, up his back, feeling his muscular shoulders, his waist, pulling him to her.  She could feel him, hard against her, pushing against her, his mouth gasping from hers.  She saw him reach for the emergency button, she grabbed his wrist, shook her head.  No.  They couldn't do that. 

He marched her down the hallway, flicked the keycard into the slot, flung the door open.  She slammed him against the other side of it.  Eve pushed the jacket from his shoulders, heard it slump to the floor as she kissed him.  He kissed her back hungrily, hands running all over her, pulling her against him.  Eve grasped the errant black strip of his bowtie, yanked it.  The black silk slid away from his throat.  She struggled with his buttons, kissing his neck, pulling his shirt apart, burying her face in his warm downy chest.  Breathing his scent, her mouth exploring him, her tongue flickering against him.

'...I can't do this.'

Eve paused, panting.  She looked up at him.  Ben wasn't messing around.  He stared straight though her.  She followed his gaze across the room. 

Mr Bojangles stared back.

'...I can't do it with him watching.  It's too weird,' said Ben. 

Eve took Ben's hand and led him to the bedroom, flicking on the lights, closing the door, leaving Bo to his chicken platter.  Full marks to Ben for calling room service in advance.  That should keep him busy for a while. 

Ben sat down on the bed, shirt open to his waist.  Eve stared down at him; his tanned chest, the ladder of dark hair sweeping down to his belt buckle.  He kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, sat back on his elbows.

'I want to see you,' he growled, eyes burning up at her.  A smile played on his lips.  'Take off that dress.'

She paused. 

She turned her back on him.  A stray dark curl had slipped from the pins, meandering down the nape of her neck.  He watched her turn her face to one side, her big dark eyes staring into nothing, cute button nose, soft cheek, cherry red lips.  Her fingers reached up behind her.  Ben heard the zip slide down, watched the deep red taffeta fall open.  He stared at her white skin.  The black lace bra, black lace knickers.  He stared at her pert white bottom as she leant forward, her toned, black stockinged thighs.  She stepped out of the dress.

'Turn around.'

Eve stood looking down at Ben, his eyes flickering across her breasts, drifting down her stomach.  Staring at her knickers, his Adam's apple dipping as he swallowed, his gaze wandering down her stockings, then all the way back up.

He found her looking down at her shoes. 

'It's OK,' smiled Ben, sitting up, holding out his hands.  'You can take those off too.  I'm not a weirdo or anything.'

She took his hands to steady her.  He heard her sigh as she peeled her feet free, faltering as she kicked off the other stiletto, standing there, four inches shorter, smiling back at him.

His arms wrapped around her waist, his face pressed against her stomach.  Eve felt his warm lips on her skin, tracing the dent of her abdomen, his fingers gently stroking her thighs.  He drew his face back.  Eve's fingers ran through his hair.

'I'm sorry about tonight.'

Eve paused.  His sharp blue eyes looked pleading.

'...What do you mean?'

'I know you didn't like it,' he shrugged.  'I don't always get it right.'

Her fingers stroked his face, tilting his chin upwards, forcing his gaze back to her dark stare.

'I loved it,' she told him.  '...You know, that was probably the sweetest thing anyone ever did for me.'

Her arms wrapped around his neck.  She leant down to him.

'Really?' he murmured into her mouth.

'Really,' she murmured back.

'We'll have to see what we can do about that,' he said, pulling her down on top of him, kissing her back.

She was different tonight.  The first time they slept together, she barely opened her eyes.  She barely looked at him.  He watched her kissing his chest, her hungry eyes drinking him in.  She pushed the shirt from his shoulders, started kissing his neck, running her hands through his hair.  Ben closed his eyes.  Maybe it was just like she'd said.  Maybe she didn't trust him.  But something had changed.  Ben's eyes blinked open.  He felt her touching him.

She playfully coaxed him further up the bed.  He quickly freed his arms from his sleeves, tossing the shirt on the floor, shuffling back on his elbows.  He wasn't going to put up a fight.  She reached up over him, her breasts inches from his face.  He could smell her perfume.  She grabbed a pillow, gently lowering him back onto it.  Ben smiled up at her.  Her hands drifted down, her face buried against his warm stomach, her lips caressing him, tongue tasting his skin.  Her fingers drifted, feather light, down his taut thigh, then slowly back up.  Eve touched him again.

Her hand stroked his soft black trousers, caressing the hard bulge at his thigh.  She felt him throb beneath her fingers.  He gently stroked her face.  He felt her breath on his stomach.  He heard the flick of leather as she tugged the flap of his belt through the loop, the chink of it coming undone.

She undid the button, slid the zipper, saw him looking achingly down.  He raised his hips as she pulled at his trousers, her gaze traversing his tanned, supple thighs, the soft bronze down, his muscular calves, his beautifully arched feet.  His trousers fell to the ground.

He laughed nervously as her hand glanced his foot.  She smiled, slowly stalking him on her hands and knees.  His fingers caressed her waist as she came back up, her lips tantalisingly close to his.  He craned his neck to kiss her.  She drew her face just a little further away, just far enough to keep out of his reach, a smile playing on her lips, her dark eyes sparkling down.  She leant in again.  He raised his head.  He felt her lips on his cheek.  A stream of soft kisses caressed him.  He shuddered as she breathed in his ear.  He swallowed as he felt her lips on his neck.  She touched him again, stroking him through the flimsy fabric of his briefs.  He tried to stifle a groan.

Ben's fingers stroked her silky thighs, slipping beneath the top of her stockings, tugging at them.  Her kisses meandered down his chest.  She could hear his rapid heartbeat, see his breaths grow faster and faster, feel him pulsing in her hand.  Ben ran his fingertips across her shoulders, watched her let go of him.  Watched her pull his briefs down.

Her little white fingers curled around him, gently sliding forwards around back.  He watched her, staring at what she was doing, hungry black eyes, saw them flick back to his.  He ran his hand through his hair nervously.  He watched her mouth open, the bright red lips come apart.  She hesitated for a second.  He groaned as he felt her go down.

His hands gently cupped her face as her lips slid down and up, her fingers still wrapped around him, moving in time with her mouth.  He felt her hot, wet tongue flick against him, circling him.  He stared down at her, the black French knickers, the pert white ass thrust high in the air.  The coral pink semicircles spilling from her bra.  The bright red lips; the indentations in her cheeks; the long black spidery lashes.  Eve didn't miss a beat.  She was getting faster.  She was watching him.

His eyes were black, his breaths short and laboured, the hollow of his naval growing deeper and deeper.  His skin was glistening.  His hands slid from her face, falling to the white cotton bedcover, his fingers grasping it, pulling it.  She upped the pace, her hand, her mouth, her tongue moving faster.  She saw his brow clench in a furrow, heard him start to gasp.  He pursed his lips together, bit them hard, groaned.  Just a couple more seconds.  His hands slid from the bed.  She felt them under her arms.  A second later, Eve was up on his chest. 

She felt him, hard between her legs.  She heard the rip of fabric, felt him tear her knickers away.  He lay there, panting, eyes pleading up.  She felt his hands gripping her hips, pushing.  She moaned loudly as he pushed in.

He thought she was going to stop him.  He half wanted her to.  He knew it was stupid, but Ben just wanted to feel her.  She cried out as he thrust again. 

Ben groaned as she began thrusting back.

He watched her, rocking on his hips, lifting herself up, sliding up and down him.  It wasn't like last time.  Last time he'd felt isolated, connected physically, yet each totally separate.  This time, her eyes were wide open.  She moved like she was part of him, her hips sliding down to meet every thrust in perfect, fluid rhythm.  Their lips locked together, tongues entwined.  Gasping and groaning into each other simultaneously, wrapped up tightly in each other's arms. 

His toes curled, gouging the starched cotton cover, driving into the soft, duck-down duvet beneath them.  He thrust harder, faster.  She matched him perfectly.  Panting, gasping into his ear, their muscles tensing together.

She was up on her elbows over him, fierce eyes staring back; sliding up and down the length of him, panting at him through her parted red lips. 

Ben's hands ran down her back gently in long, sweeping strokes.  He could feel her contracting around him. 

'Princess,' he groaned.  She groaned loudly back. 

He saw the look on her face, almost panic - eyes squeezing shut, mouth falling open, gasping desperately.  She couldn't get her breath, the pearl choker tightening around her neck as her head fell back.  Ben thrust harder, faster, gripping her ass, eyes fixed on the breasts spilling from the black lace.  She cried out; he felt her fluttering around him, her body sinking down. 

Ben started to gasp, still thrusting.  She was a dead weight.

'Don't stop,' he growled impatiently. 

He gripped her waist, pushing her upright.   She lolled back like a rag doll, throwing out her arms just in time to catch herself, her hands either side of his knees.  There was a sharp crack as his hand connected with her ass.  She yelped.  She started moving again.