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PAINT OF PASSION 11
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Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 12
Francesca continued to tongue her lover’s nipple, by turns biting it teasingly, but her hands had another purpose now. They were creeping up Clare’s stockinged legs, under the fluid jersey hem of the dress. Francesca reached Clare’s suspender belt and moved her hands beneath the lacy straps which held her stockings up. For a moment or two she savoured the pleasure of having Clare’s beautiful, firm thighs beneath her hands, before moving higher still. A small laugh escaped Francesca’s lips when she realised that, once again, her companion was not wearing any knickers. She twisted her fingers in the silky hair, traced them down the warm, waiting labia, then up again, to Clare’s aching clit. Lazily she circled the little bud with a finger, watching with great pleasure as Clare closed her eyes and bit her painted lip. ‘Carry on,’ Clare breathed. ‘Please carry on.’ She let her legs fall more widely apart. Francesca traced a languorous path between Clare’s swollen lips, making her lover s
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 13
BACK AT THE hotel, Clare headed straight for the mini-bar to calm her frazzled nerves. Francesca and Clare had waited for two hours at the club before the waiters finally showed up but now Jean and Bertrand were comfortably ensconced on the green leather sofa, with Francesca between them. She had her leg crossed towards Bertrand, her shoeless foot twitching predatorily, brushing from time to time against his trousered calf. Clare opened another bottle of champagne and filled four glasses. She sat down opposite the other three but wasn’t on her own for long. ‘See you later,’ called Francesca as Bertrand swept her up off her feet and carried her giggling into the darkness of her room. Jean had made his way over to Clare and was now perching on the edge of her chair. His arm snaked around her shoulder and he fixed her with his chocolatebrown gaze. She told him that she didn’t normally do this kind of thing but to no avail, since his English seemed to be as bad as her French. ‘Let’s jus
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 14
***The boys stayed the night at the hotel. Francesca was obviously paying so much money that the manager made no complaint when she rang up to order two extra breakfasts in bed. 'What do you want, Clare?’ she called across the room. Clare shrugged her shoulders and let Francesca order. Francesca laughed, ‘Oh, I forgot that you'll eat anything that comes!’ ***The next day, Jean and Bertrand didn’t have to work at the restaurant until the evening shift, and while Bertrand and Francesca were happy to stagnate in bed all day, Jean agreed that Clare should see more of Paris, since it was her first time in the city, and he offered to act as her guide. Strangely, in the daylight, Jean looked far more attractive to Clare than he had done across that crowded restaurant. His brown eyes were so friendly, perpetually crinkled up in a smile. As they walked, he held her hand naturally and they talked falteringly. First trying to tackle each other’s languages, which, on Clare’s part at least w
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 15
‘Oh ...’ Jean’s first eager thrust made Clare suck her breath in sharply. She tightened her thighs against his body and held him still for a moment while she relaxed and let him further inside. But he couldn’t hold off for long and soon he thrust into her again. His face hovered above hers. She looked up at the eyes, now tightly shut. He was biting his lower lip as he pushed himself into her again, feeling the divine resistance of her vaginal walls. ‘Ah,’ he thrust again. Clare clasped his buttocks. Clenched her fingers into his hard, firm flesh. He responded with a deeper thrust, a longer moan. She raised her body again and again to meet him. But still it didn’t feel deep enough. Jean stopped his frantic pounding for a moment and pulled her legs so that they were wrapped around his middle. He curled his knees beneath him and rocked backwards so that he was sitting up with her astride him. Clare released her legs and used her own knees to help her move up and down on his glorious c
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 16
***Francesca and Bertrand lay entwined on the green leather sofa again. Their naked bodies were lit only by the light of the television which flickered and danced along their complementary curves. When she heard the door open, Francesca looked up but didn’t bother to cover herself at Clare and Jean’s entrance, as Clare probably would have done in her position. Bertrand also looked up lazily from his resting place between Francesca’s silky thighs. He looked knackered and Francesca looked frustrated. Cursory greetings over, Bertrand was content to settle back down again but Francesca had already wriggled out from beneath him and was tripping across the room. She headed straight for the little kitchenette where Clare and Jean had gone to fix some drinks. Francesca slid to a standstill across the tiled floor and Jean couldn’t help but find his eyes drawn to her breasts which still jiggled from her little jog. ‘Nice evening?’ she asked brightly, insinuating her naked self between Jean a
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 17
SHE MUST HAVE been very tired, because she didn’t wake up until midday. The weak winter sun was streaming through the window, but it was freezing and her breath made smoky patterns in the air. And Daniel still wasn’t beside her. Why hadn’t he sorted out the thermostat so that the heating came on? They weren't that skint. Clare pulled on her jeans again without getting out from beneath the duvet and it was as she was doing this that she noticed that the room didn’t look quite the same as usual. For a start, it was tidy. There was not a solitary sock to be seen on Daniel’s side of the room, which usually looked like an explosion in a Chinese laundry. Something else was odd too ... The walls, usually graced with three paintings Daniel had done when they first arrived in Cornwall, were bare. ‘My God, we've been burgled,’ was Clare’s first thought as she leapt out of bed and ran through into the lounge. But nothing had changed there. And Daniel’s painting rucksack was still lying on the
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 18
CLARE SPENT THE next short day down by the harbour again, absently running off three more paintings for Graham. These watercolours were coming more and more easily to her and she finished them in less than two hours. On her way back to the flat she stopped at a bakery and bought two éclairs. It was almost dark as she opened the rusty gate. No lights were on in their flat. Clare thought nothing of it, but was a little disappointed that she would have to wait to eat her éclair. Perhaps she would eat hers straight away anyway. Whistling, she pushed open the door, turned on the light, tossed the pastries on to the table and made straight for the studio to put her painting gear away. There was an ominous crunching sound as she opened this door with her hip. Something must have fallen against the other side. She flicked the light switch with her elbow, and the sight which greeted her this time rooted her to the spot. A torn canvas was scattered around the floor of the studio. Which one w
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 19
‘I want to believe him, Clare.’ Francesca was suddenly firm again. ‘I’ll call you.’ She rose from the sofa without any of the usual lingering caresses that preceded her goodbyes and walked purposefully to the door. She stood silently as she waited for Clare to let her out. ‘I will phone,’ she promised. Clare closed the door behind her.***Two days later, Francesca did call. She sounded happy, too happy, and babbled on about the preparations for Steven’s birthday party as if the girl on the other end of the phone was her grandmother and not her ex-lover. Suddenly she asked, 'You will finish the painting won’t you?’ Clare hadn’t told her that Daniel had already finished it off in his special way. ‘I want you to finish it,’ Francesca added, after a disconcerting moment of silence. ‘Yes,’ said Clare, ‘I will.’ ‘And,’ Francesca took a deep breath, ‘I’d like you to come to the party yourself. To deliver the painting in person.’ ‘I don’t think I . . .'‘It’s important to me. I want you
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