Read an Excerpt
The frustration of her search evaporates as wide-eyed she explores shelves and clothes racks so suddenly revealed within the small room.
How come the closet is unlocked today?
There are leather suits in women’s styles, lingerie, DVDs, explicit books and, hooked over a rail, a collection of canes of varying size, schoolmaster’s canes with curled handles. There are pairs of fine leather gloves, masks, belts, ropes and a tawse, its split leather ends cut into many tails. George’s secrets are there to behold. Fenella thumbs the pages of a slim volume, a tale of a Victorian chambermaid stealing her Ladyship’s jewellery forced to take stern consequence from his Lordship. Tinted line drawings show the maid’s glowing buttocks, but the smile of her full-lipped glance, and the look of pleasure on the Lord’s face with his breeches round his knees, indicates the punishment is not quite what her Ladyship intended.
The closet’s secrets champion deep stirrings; Fenella needs to share its excitement imagining George tall, dark and commanding standing in front of her, his eyes scanning her willing body submitting to his punishment. But why the neatly folded lingerie on the shelves, the female-wear hanging on the rails? Would she be dressed in this finery to kneel as supplicant before George? Could she lure Julian to Apartment C2 to share the bounty she had found?
A window from floor to ceiling in the en-suite wet room with thin curtains draped across looks out over the garden; Fenella pulls them back, opening the window; she wants no barrier between her showering nakedness and the outside world. Her body responds to her daring, her flesh tingles priming her nipples to stand hard and proud. She shuts her eyes wanting to be seen her glistening body lit by ceiling spotlights, wanting a stranger, the young man working in the gardens to watch from his distance, wanting to take her.
‘What the hell is going on here?’
Fenella gulps a mouthful of foaming water and gags; she stares wet-eyed at the tall figure in the doorway of the master bedroom.
‘What are you doing in here?’ Fenella’s voice cracks. She tries to clear her throat, excitement tingling deep within as the intruder’s eyes explore her exposed flesh dripping in the shower.
‘Never mind me. What are you doing in the shower?’
‘This is Mr George Hawker’s apartment, and I work here.’
‘I see. Perhaps you won’t work here much longer. Let me introduce myself. I’m Georgina Hawker. My friends call me George.’
How has she never realised Apartment C2 isn’t a man’s lair? The tall woman is wearing a black suit of a finely cut three quarter length jacket, tailored trousers to her calf and exquisite wedged sandals laced to her ankles with red bindings and hints of crimson nail varnish.