Lauren stumbled past the bar, slamming down the tray with the broken glass next to Alexis, who stood talking to the barman, and pushed through the door into the circular area where Vera sat, scribbling on a sheet of paper. Vera raised her head and stared, but didn't move from her seat as Lauren rushed through, tearing the mask from her face, her breathing coming in great heaves.
Lauren felt the suit close around her skin as though it would squeeze her lungs and she would never breathe again. She swung the door open and entered the backstage area, near the kitchens. She stopped and tried to lean her hands on her knees, but the PVC had become hot and rigid; she began to fay it with open palms, tearing at the neckline, and in a quiet part of her brain she knew she was beginning to panic.
"Let me, let me," said Alexis, in a voice that tried to soothe. Lauren still tore at the suit, trying to reach the zip at the back.
"Get it off," she said, unable to find the cool metal of the zip that would release her.
Alexis unzipped the suit and opened it wide at the back, and Lauren felt the cool air on her skin as she doubled over and took several deep breaths.
"What happened?" she asked, taking a step round so Lauren could see her out of the corner of her eye.
"I don't know," Lauren lied. "I broke the glass and I panicked because he spoke to me."
"Who did?"
"The guy who walked into me."
Alexis laughed and Lauren looked up. "You mean the watcher?" asked Alexis.
"Do I?"
"The guy who bent down to help you pick up the glass?"
Lauren held the suit to her chest at the front as she stood upright, allowing the back to flap open, cooling the clammy sweat that had erupted on her skin. She nodded at Alexis. "Why do you call him that?"
"Because he never touches anyone. He never takes his clothes off. He just watches." Alexis flicked a hand in the air, "which is funny because all the escorts want to try him. He's gorgeous."
"How can you tell? You can't see his face."
Alexis gave Lauren a knowing look. "You can see enough. His nose and jaw. His mouth. Even his eyes if you're close enough. Don't tell me you didn't notice." She laughed. "You just ran out here like a crazy woman."
Lauren let herself slump against the wall.
"The escorts are always trying it on with him. It's hilarious, the way they rush about him when he arrives. And I've heard them talking about it. They actually want him to try and fuck them; but he never does. They say he's a European Prince who's unhappily married, but too afraid to cheat on his wife"
Lauren coughed to catch the laughter than had bubbled up in her throat. "What nonsense."
Alexis shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not." She put a hand on Lauren's shoulder. "Let's get you out of these clothes, and then we can go home."
*
Henry pressed his feet into the floor, feeling the muscles in his thighs to harden as he forced himself upright. He watched as the barman cleared the broken glass from the tray and wiped it down. Henry took a few steps forward until he stood at the bar; the only customer.
The barman nodded, waiting for Henry to give his order. "What's her name?" he asked.
The barman tilted his masked head and Henry could see his eyes narrow as he shook his head slightly.
"Tell me. The girl who broke the glass. What's her name?" He placed his palms on the bar and leant forward, in what he hoped was a threatening manner; but still the barman kept silent. "I'll make it worth your while," said Henry, pulling out his wallet and dropping two fifty pound notes on the bar. He pushed it forward with one finger, but the barman just looked at it and pushed it back.
"For Christ's sake, what's her name?" said Henry, grabbing the money and stuffing it into the pocket on the front of the guy's shirt.
The barman stumbled backwards. "I don't know. She's new. I can't take your money," he said, looking around as though he were being watched before pulling it out and thrusting it back at Henry.
Henry gritted his teeth. "Fine. But when I come back I want you to have found out. I need to know her name." He turned away, but just as he did the barman called him back.
"What?" asked Henry, leaning forwards.
"Isobel. Her name is Isobel."
Henry flinched, disappointment weighing down on him. Could he have been mistaken? Why would Lauren be here anyway? She didn't need to take a waitressing job. She was clever and well-educated. She could have done anything she wanted. Why would she do this? "I'll be through in the usual room," he said. "Bring me a bottle of whisky. Send one of the escorts."
Henry stepped away from the bar and moved through the darkened club, his throat hoarse from shouting over the music. He watched as the feathered and bejewelled women began to dance for him, their bare breasts pert, waiting to be cupped, the nipples begging to be touched.
He left the main room and wandered down one of the circulating corridors, where rooms spilled off each side. There was strobe lighting here which he found disorientating, and it lit and concealed what was going on in bursts that ran in time with the pumping of the music.
On one side of the corridor, against the wall, he caught the eye of an escort who stared at him over the bare shoulder of a man who pounded into her. Under the music Henry could make out the false sounds of her pleasure, watching as the man's taught buttocks flexed, his hips grinding between her legs.
Henry pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, preparing for the exquisite torture of his own denied arousal. He came here to watch and to feel; to deny himself what the place made him want. To deny himself the climax that begged to be released.
He stepped into another room, pressing in behind a crowd of men who watched two escorts pleasuring one another, their naked bodies grabbed by delicate hands with painted nails. Around the walls most of the men were openly touching themselves, bringing about their own climax, their hands moving rapidly about their own tumescence.
He focussed on the women, ignoring a younger man, little more than a boy, who reached out to him, trying to pull him into an embrace. Henry shook off his touch without so much as looking at him, staring at the toned flesh of the bodies that writhed in the centre of the room. But he felt distant, as though he wasn't really there at all. As he watched, he tried to make the women look like Lauren, tried to imagine her nakedness, but the arousal that it brought was too much to bear. He pushed back out of the room and into the main club area and back to the bar.
"Forget the whisky," he said. "I'm leaving."
*
"I can't take photos. They practically strip search you in there. It's a total lockdown," said Lauren, one hand on her hip as she stared at Lydia, who sat curled up on the sofa with a blanket drawn up about her legs.
"There must be something you can do?"
Lauren shook her head. "I don't know."
"What about the guestlist?"
"There's a woman, Vera, who keeps it. She seems like a complete weirdo."
Lydia sighed. "You'll have to work something out. Befriend her. We need that guestlist; then I can start working on the members. We need some proof to link them to the club. Did you see Henry?"
Lauren let her eyes drift from Lydia's face to the floor. "No." Lydia's eyes narrowed, and Lauren knew she didn't believe her. She shrugged. "I'm really tired. I have to get some sleep."
"Wait," said Lydia, standing up. "I wanted to ask you. Christmas. What are you doing? Are you going home?"
Lauren jerked her chin involuntarily; she had forgotten all about Christmas. Despite the fact that the lights were up all over London, the approach of the day itself had entirely slipped her mind. She hadn't even called her parents in weeks. "I don't know."
"Well think about it. You're welcome to stay. I'll be here. With any luck we can get this whole thing wrapped up before then, and you can find yourself a proper job."
Lauren thanked her and made her way upstairs. Each step felt heavy and difficult as she forced her legs to take her to her bedroom. She had been surprised, and not entirely pleased, that Lydia had been awake when she got home. She needed to think.
Could Henry have known it was her? There was no way he would have known, and it was unlikely that he would have guessed. But she wanted to go back and wait for him, just to be near him. Why did he go down there, if only to watch?
Lauren struggled out of her clothes and stood before the full length mirror. Her body was nothing compared to those of them women in the club. And yet Henry had wanted her; he had kissed her and, she had no doubt, would have made love to her had she not stopped him. Perhaps 'made love' was a misnomer. But regardless, Henry hadn't wanted to just watch her. He had wanted to touch her. To take her. Lauren felt a warm arousal stir within her as she thought of him, and she turned on the shower, letting the water heat up until the room was full of steam and she could no longer see her naked body.
She let the water beat down on her back, warming her muscles, removing the tension, and then she slid her fingers between her legs, touching herself until a shuddering orgasm rocked her body and she was no longer able to stand.
*
"Why did you desert your sister?"
"I didn't desert her," said Henry, sliding awkwardly in his seat. He felt the disapproving glare of Dr. Merryweather like a red hot iron that seared his skin.
"When I woke up you were gone," said Aurelia, her hands twisted together on her lap. "He rushed out in the middle of the night and left everything. He left me to deal with his guests in the morning."
"You're a grown woman," said Henry. "That shouldn't be too much to ask."
"You didn't ask," she said.
"But why did you do it?" asked Margaret.
Henry turned to the doctor. "I'm busy. Far too busy to be able to devote all my time to her," he said, pointing at Aurelia.
"You liar. Tell them where you really went," said Aurelia, her eyes sparkling with a cruel delight.
Henry looked at his watch and stood up. "I have a meeting in the West End. As much as I would love to, I can't stay."
"You see! You see how he is, always running away," said Aurelia, rolling her eyes.
"The session is over," said Henry, raising his eyebrows at his sister. "And I sincerely hope that my being here is helping you Aurelia." He knew he was being false, and he knew Aurelia would know it. It was cruel, but he resented her for her illnesses, for the things she put him through.
He said his goodbyes and wandered out until he reached the car park. The air was crisp and cold, but the sky was the bright blue that only occurs in winter. There wasn't a cloud in sight. If he were a smoking man, he would light a cigarette.
But just then he saw something that unsettled him. On the other side of the car park, a blonde woman was getting out of car. She looked just like...but it couldn't be. Why would she be here?
Just then the woman looked up and raised a hand to wave at him.
It was her. Lydia Tybell. What the hell was she doing here?
Henry felt panic still his heart, and squeeze it until it gave a gulping beat before settling back into a regular rhythm. Lydia was walking towards him.
"Hello Henry, fancy seeing you here," she said.
Henry blinked, unsure how to respond. "Are you -"
"Here to see your sister?" Lydia held up a takeaway Starbucks coffee cup and sipped on it. "Yes. She needs someone who actually cares about her." Lydia chuckled, emitting an infuriating sound that sent a ripple up Henry's spine. If she had been a man, he would have considered hitting her.
"Stay away from her," he said. "You've done enough damage."
Lydia smiled. "Damage? You don't know what damage is."
Henry watched as Lydia sauntered into the clinic, no doubt to give his sister comfort, to be a shoulder to cry on. He pitied Aurelia, tgat the best she could do was Lydia Tybell. But was surprised that they were on speaking terms. He had thought that any relationship between them was over long ago...
He went back to his car and gave Andrew the instruction to drive to Marcus Bonham's office. Marcus had left a rather confused voicemail message on Henry's phone, and Henry wanted to go and see what was going on.
*
"Ah you came, excellent," said Marcus, reaching out and grasping Henry's hand in both of his fleshy ones. When he let go, Henry resisted the urge to wipe the clamminess from his skin. "Sit down."
Henry took a seat before Marcus' desk and watched as the fat man rubbed a hand over the swell of his belly, his stubby fingers catching on the buttons that threatened to pop off.
"I've decided to resign from the club," said Marcus, dropping into a large leather chair on the other side of the desk. For a moment Henry wondered whether Marcus had deliberately sat with the desk between them; it gave Henry the disadvantage, as though he were a naughty schoolboy.
"But why?" he asked.
Marcus rubbed his hands together before wiping a strand of grey hair off his forehead. "I'm too old. I want to retire."
"But plenty of retired people come to the club. You know that. Half the members are of my father's generation. Your generation," said Henry.
"I know. But I want to retire" - he paused and rubbed his nose with his palm - "clean. I want to hand it over. And you're the best man for the job, Henry. It was what your father wanted."
Henry felt a tension between his eyebrows as he looked at Marcus' red cheeks. "But you love the club. Why now? Has Lydia got to you?"
Marcus squirmed in his seat. "That's not it at all. I just want to take a step back. Spend some time with my wife. We're thinking of moving to the Caribbean." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "And besides, the club doesn't have the history for my family that it has for yours. It's a Banville legacy. I only took charge after the death of your father died in the interim. Until you were ready. The place is yours, Henry."
Marcus got up and waddled to a filing cabinet against the wall and pulled it open. He rifled through some papers before letting his fingers rest, pulling some pages apart, skimming them with his eyes. Then he ripped them out and brought them back to the desk.
"Sign here and the whole thing is yours. Do what you want with it. Shut it down if you don't want to run it." Marcus pushed the papers over the desk and held out a Mont Blanc fountain pen for Henry to sign. But Henry didn't take the pen. Instead he lifted the papers and began to read through the document.
"You're giving me total control? Why?"
"You're the best man for the job. The freehold to the building is still owned by your estate. We could redevelop it. Turn it into residential property. There would be millions in it. We could make a fortune. Sell them on long leaseholds-"
"You want me to shut down the club?"
Marcus shrugged and blinked his eyes closed. "I think it's the sensible thing to do."
"Because of Lydia? But what about the members?" asked Henry. "We have a duty to them."
"They'll find other places to go."
Henry scratched his forehead, still holding the papers in one hand. "I'll take the club. I'll be chairman. But I won't shut it down." He snatched the pen and signed, passing everything back to Marcus. "And if you want nothing to do with it because you're afraid of that woman" - he held Marcus' gaze with a fiery one of his own - "then don't expect to do any more business with me. And if I ever redevelop it, it won't be with you."
"Wait." Marcus held out his hand and waddled around the desk in an attempt to reach Henry before he left the room. "This is foolish." Marcus' fat palms started padding at the air in front of him. "Our work together is brilliant; think of Banville Tower, CrossPoint Gardens. All of them. You would be nowhere without me. Your father would have lost the club if I hadn't -"
"If you hadn't what? I found the money and you know that," said Henry.
Marcus rolled his eyes. "If you change your mind about the redevelopment, you know where to find me."
*
As Lauren changed into her PVC suit her heart thrummed like a butterfly in a net, waiting to be released. There was every possibility that on the other side of the doors, she would see Henry. She let Alexis zip her up and fixed the mask over her face, feeling the irritating scratch on her skin.
For several days she had come down for her late night shift and Henry had been there, sitting in the corner, swirling whisky in the bottom of a crystal glass. She had watched him drinking continuously, but never speaking to anyone. And although she was sure he had no idea who she was, sometimes she got the strange feeling that he was watching her.
"He asked me who you were," said the barman, whom Lauren had since learnt was called Chris.
"He did?"
"After you spilled the drinks on him. Wanted to know your name. Looked a bit disappointed when I told him it was Isobel-"
"I reckon he's looking for someone. Wouldn't that be romantic?" said Alexis, leaning so close to Lauren that the feathers on their masks touched and tickled one another. Lauren pulled away.
"I doubt it. He probably wanted my clumsiness punished or something," she said, but the warmth in her heart belied her words. Could he have thought it was her? Would he have asked if he thought it was her? Did Henry care that much? Certainly he had made no move to approach her at all since then.
"Can I take over his drinks?" she asked.
Alexis gave a pretend look of disappointment, her lips, the only visible part of her face, forming an unturned smile before she thrust the tray into Lauren's hands. "He's all yours," she said, and Lauren fervently wished it were true.
The platform stiletto heels that Lauren wore troubled her less now; it was true that you could get used to anything. She could just make out Henry's long legs, crossed at the ankle, poking out from the booth where he sat looking out into the room. She recognised his leather shoes with the tassels that swung over the toes. No doubt the cost a fortune. Probably more than her monthly wage here.
The flickering club lights made her head spin and she felt the blood thud in her ears in rhythm with the bass of the music, and with every step she took closer to Henry the more aroused she became. As she approached he looked up and she could almost make out the pure green of his eyes beneath his mask. She felt his eyes on her as she set down the drinks on the table before him.
Every time she reached out and placed something down, a bottle, a glass, she waited for him to touch her hand, but he didn't. He just watched her fingers. He must recognise her hands? Lauren knew she would have recognised his fingers if they were the only part of him she could have seen. When she was finished, disappointed, she stood upright and went to move away.
"Sit down," he said.
Lauren twisted back to face him, surprised that he had spoken. She shook her head.
"I'm asking you to sit with me," he said, tilting his head and piercing her with his bright eyes. Although he hadn't touched her, Lauren felt as though he stroked her all over, pulled her closer to him. She felt physically unable to move away from him. "Isobel."
Lauren took a sharp intake of breath as he whispered the false name. Did it mean anything to him?
"Sit down." Unable to walk away from him, Lauren dropped onto the seat across the table from him and set down her tray. "Why are you working here?" Henry sat back and waited for her to reply.
Lauren shifted uneasily, feeling the PVC tug at her skin as she moved. She shook her head.
"Will you not talk to me?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his hands on the table.
Lauren stared at his lips as he spoke, watching them move over the words. She wanted to kiss them.She opened her mouth, desperate to speak to him, to tell him who she was. To tell him why she was there. To remove all barriers between them.
But this was the man who had fired her. Taken her job from her; her money; her independence. Because of him, Lauren had been too ashamed to call and speak to Emily and George, or even her mother. She had been too good for the PA job anyway. Overqualified. She had only taken it to prove a point to this arrogant man who sat opposite her now. If he weren't so good looking, would she feel anything at all for him? Lauren stared at his hands; he had removed his signet ring as though that would have been the giveaway in a place like this. But still he wore his shoes, his Cartier watch, sometimes even a tie that she recognised. She imagined those hands touching her. Yes, despite everything he had done, there was a goodness in Henry that called out to her. Something beneath the facade that appealed to her.
A shadow swept over them, blocking out the coloured lights that flicked across the room. Lauren looked up to see Alexis standing over them. She leant forward and hissed into Lauren's ear.
"What are you doing? You'll be in so much shit if someone reports you. You'll piss off the escorts. You don't want to do that."
Lauren nodded and shuffled out of her seat after Alexis, whose long strides had already taken her away from the table. But just as she moved, Henry finally touched her, reaching out and grabbing her hand. She looked over her shoulder at him, his eyes pleading with her as he whispered:
"Room forty-nine. Three o'clock."
Lauren's heart hopped and she pressed a hand to her chest, hoping to settle it back into a normal rhythm. She nodded and walked away.
She checked her watch. It was just gone two in the morning. She had just under an hour to find some way of escaping to room forty-nine, wherever that was, without anyone noticing. But why did Henry want her there? If he knew who she was, was he angry? And if he didn't know who she was, then he was just asking a random waitress to meet him. And if she went, what would happen? If Henry Banville had asked her to come to his room in the middle of the night when she had been his PA, she would have told him in no uncertain terms where to get off. But down here, where sex was normal and nudity was ubiquitous, it didn't feel the same. Lauren shook her head and wondered if she were going crazy. Was she totally losing perspective on what was right and wrong?
It occurred to her that the real purpose of her being here at all was to help Lydia uncover the truth, the lies and corruption in British society. But did she want to ruin Henry? She sighed. No. Absolutely not. Perhaps she could negotiate with Lydia for Henry's name to be left out of any article. There would be bigger fish to fry once she got her hands on the guest list. And the sooner she got a copy of it, the sooner she could get out of here.
Lauren walked past the bar and out into the customer services area, where Vera sat at the desk, enthroned in the lush of red fabric that lined the carpet and walls. Her shock of white hair contrasted like a snowball in a sea of blood. Vera didn't look up as Lauren sat down opposite her.
"I want a promotion," said Lauren, hardly sure where she was going to take this conversation.
"On what basis?" asked Vera, who still sat reading papers on the desk in front of her.
"On the basis that I am better qualified to help you with administration than to carry drinks to punters." Lauren's eyes narrowed as she waited for Vera's response.
Vera plucked her glasses from her nose and set them on the table. "I don't need help with administration. I manage perfectly well, Miss Willoughby." She picked up her glasses again and continued reading.
Lauren put her hand down over the papers, pressing her splayed palm to the desk. "Give me a trial."
"Get out," said Vera. "Go back to work. I don't need any help."
Vera's stare felt as though it sliced Lauren's skin, and she stumbled out of her chair and backed out of the room.
"Isobel?" said Vera, just as Lauren was halfway through the door. "I'll be watching you."
Lauren cursed as she let the door close behind her, back into the fray of the club. That wasn't how she had wanted it to go. Vera was like a little ice dragon. Didn't she ever leave her desk or go on holiday? Lauren would have to enlist help to get a look at the guestlist. Perhaps Alexis would help, although she was rather over-cautious. Not a rule-breaker.
Chris beckoned her over to the bar and handed her a tray of drinks. "Do these and you can have a ten minute break," he said, winking at her. Lauren checked the time again; if she handed the glasses out slowly she could finish that and go straight to room forty-nine.
*
Half an hour later Lauren set the empty tray down at the bar. "Where are the private rooms?" she asked.
"Why do you want to know?" asked Chris.
"I just want to see them," she said, shrugging.
Chris poured a drink and handed it to her, nodding to indicate that she should drink it down, which she did. "You'll need that," he said, laughing. "Do you just want to look round?"
Lauren nodded. "Yeh exactly. I don't get to do the drinks round there. I want to know what goes on."
"Anything you can imagine, it goes on," said Chris, filling champagne glasses and putting them on a tray. "But you'll be spotted in that suit," he said, looking her up and down. "If you really want to get in there, you need to get some escort wear."
Lauren frowned. This suddenly didn't seem like such a good idea, and she had very little time to get to room forty-nine. "Well how am I supposed to do that? I can't very well walk right past Vera in escort wear."
Chris chuckled. "I can help you out. I have some, behind the bar. I'm borrowing it to take home to my girlfriend. Just for fun, you know. But you can put it on if you promise to bring it straight back."
"You'd let me wear your girlfriend's sex underwear?" asked Lauren, her lips pursed.
"Yeh why not? It's clean. Just don't make it dirty. Don't get up to anything too exciting back there," he said, laughing. "Actually fuck it, just clean it and get it back to me," he said, pushing open a door behind the bar, checking the coast was clear, and ushering Lauren inside. "It's hanging up," he said, just before the door closed.
Lauren found herself in a tiny store cupboard that was lined with bottles of booze. Above her head was one tiny bare lightbulb that cast a dim glow of the bottles, the rounded glass of which reflected the light like a million tiny eyes.
On the back of the door was a corset of royal blue, purple and green, bejeweled to look like a peacock's feathers. About the hips were genuine feathers, and purple and green diamante ran up and down the corset. There were suspenders and stockings, and a mask that continued the peacock theme, with feathers and velvets in blues and purples and greens. It was stunning.
Lauren struggled to unzip her suit and pulled it off, removing her shoes too. The floor was cool against her throbbing feet. She pulled the corset off the hanger and fastened it, pulling it up over her breasts. It was too small so she almost spilled out of it entirely, barely keeping her nipples covered. She slipped on the matching thong, which feathered and sparkled the area between her legs. A suspender belt slipped over the top and Lauren fastened the stockings and put her shoes back on. Finally she pinned up her hair and put the mask on. There was no mirror so she couldn't tell what she looked like, but when she came out Chris whistled and murmured something under his breath, so she knew the effect was good.
She headed in the direction Chris pointed, and left the main entertaining hall. The men looked at her differently now, some reaching out and stroking her breasts or buttocks, and it suddenly occurred to Lauren that if someone approached her it was going to be difficult to get away. These men had paid good money to be able to have any woman in here. The thought made her hurry, and the feathers on her mask wobbled in her peripheral vision as she began to trot down the corridor, ignoring the spectacles on either side, refusing to take the time to peer inside. She could do that later, if she wanted.
A few minutes later she stood outside room forty-nine, every part of her body throbbing with a cruel anticipation. One drink hadn't been enough to cope with this situation. She was too sober. What the hell was she doing, turning up at Henry's request dressed like an burlesque dancer?
She knocked on the door and waited. The seconds felt like hours as she waited, and If he took any longer she would walk away...
The door swung open and she stepped inside. It was dark, candles lit on all sides, and when Henry closed the door behind her all sound was locked out. There was nothing but the sound of her own breathing to disturb the still air. She heard him lock the door.
"Isobel?" he asked, walking round to stand in front of her.
Lauren nodded, holding her breath. They stared at one another and she noticed his eyes rove over her body, taking it all in. He licked his lips so that they glittered in the candlelight. She felt like she were dreaming; how could this actually be happening?
"Take off your mask," he said. But Lauren shook her head. She wasn't sure whether or not he knew who she was, and if he didn't, then she didn't want him to. Couldn't this be anonymous? Couldn't they just for once be two people taking pleasure in each other without everything else that got in the way?
"I thought you were a waitress?" he said, cocking his head and staring at her clothes. "But now..." he tugged on his earlobe and stopped talking.
Lauren bit her lip. Did he or didn't he know who she was? She couldn't bear it any longer. Did he want her or not?
Henry stepped closer, so close that if she hadn't been wearing a mask she was sure she would have been able to feel his breath on her cheeks. He ran his fingers up her bare arm and over the neckline of the corset, tracing the curve of her breasts. Lauren held her breath, wondering what he would do next.
He bent to her neck and she was sure he would kiss her there, but he didn't. He inhaled, slowly, steadily, and stepped back. "Tell me who you are," he said, whispering the words like a deadly secret.
Again Lauren shook her head, and Henry snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her into him. And then he did kiss her neck and her breasts, his lips soft and full. Lauren felt herself helpless in his arms. "Do you want me?" he whispered. "How far would you let me go?"
Lauren twitched. How far? What did he mean 'how far'? It seemed an odd thing to ask. But then he began to kiss her skin again and the thought dissolved in her mind. He pushed her back against the door so she had no way of escape and, slipping a finger inside her corset, he eased her breasts out, letting them rest above the fabric, kissing her nipples, teasing them with his tongue.
Lauren felt an ecstasy like none she had ever known as he kissed her, and she wanted nothing more than for him to satisfy the desire he had kindled, ignited, within her. To deny her that much was cruel. She closed her eyes and let herself feel how he touched her.
But then he stepped away and she no longer felt his touch at all. As she opened her eyes she saw him staring at her, his chest heaving as he struggled to regulate his breathing.
"God dammit Lauren, what are you playing at?" And with one swift movement he tore his mask from his face and threw it to the floor.