La Suite Page 6

  “Oh, it hurts,” she said, wincing, “but it looks so, so good, don’t you think?”

  Good wasn’t the word Gaëlle would have chosen, but, thinking back to her night with Vivienne, when her sex and nipples had been subjected to the effects of a pump, she said, “It looks very, very erotic.”

  Odile looked hard at Gaëlle. “This is turning you on, too, isn’t it?” she said. “Just look at your pants!”

  Gaëlle glanced down and saw that the pale grey material had a darker patch between her legs. “It’d be hard to deny it, wouldn’t it?” She didn’t feel it necessary to explain that much of the darker patch was because of sweat from her workout. On the other hand, she knew she was damp.

  Odile got to her knees and pulled Gaëlle’s pants down. “Oh. No knickers!” she exclaimed. She parted Gaëlle’s thighs and lapped at Gaëlle’s wet labia with an eager tongue. Gaëlle sank back on the sofa and luxuriated in the sensations.

  “I’ve never done this before. Am I doing it right?” Odile asked, between slurps.

  “Oh, yes, it’s wonderful. This is lovely!”

  It didn’t take long for Gaëlle to come. Gaëlle blew out her cheeks, sat up and looked at her friend. Odile was kneeling in front of her, Gaëlle’s juices still smeared on her lips. She was twisting and wriggling as her congested nipples became more and more tender.

  “Don’t you think those should come off, now?” Gaëlle asked, waving at the rubber bands.

  “Yes, I want you to pull both of them off at the same time. Be as rough as you like.”

  Gaëlle could feel the heat in Odile’s nipples as she eased her fingernails under the tight elastic. Odile nodded and Gaëlle ripped off the rubber bands. Odile screamed and collapsed in a heap, scrubbing at her tortured nipples in a big orgasm.

  Later, as they cuddled on the sofa, Gaëlle had to be honest with Odile. “That was fantastic and I’ll be happy to do it again, but you have to understand that it can’t be exclusive. I intend to have a sex life of my own. You can be a part of it, but only a part, is that fair?”

  “If I get sensations as strong as I did today, I’ll accept whatever you can offer,” Odile said, kissing Gaëlle again.

  Gaëlle went home to her belated shower, thinking hard about yet another erotic complication in her life, but buzzing with this new and unexpected experience.

  Chapter Ten

  The phone rang early the following morning. It was Gabi, announcing her imminent return from Brussels.

  “I’ll be coming straight round to you, Gaëlle, so listen out for the bike early this afternoon!” Gabi declared. True to her word, she roared onto the street just as Gaëlle was finishing laying the table for a late lunch. Gabi tore up the stairs and nearly knocked Gaëlle over with her enthusiastic hug.

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” she burbled. “I’m all sweaty and buzzing. I had a great run down, almost no traffic for once.”

  Gaëlle led her into the apartment.

  “I’ve made us a little something to eat,” she said. “But would you like to have a shower first?”

  “I’ve nothing to change into, but if I can borrow something of yours…” Gabi suggested.

  “Of course. Off you go. Towels are in the cupboard on the left,” Gaëlle called after her. “I’ll sort some clothes out for you and put them in the spare room.”

  She laid out one of her tee-shirts, choosing a pale green one that she thought would contrast nicely with Gabi’s olive skin. She added a short black skirt and a pair of white cotton knickers. Ten minutes later, Gabi emerged, wrapped in a bath towel. She left the door open while she was changing but, Gaëlle, unsure of whether it was deliberate, chose not to peep.

  “I left the skirt on the bed. This tee-shirt is long enough to wear as a dress,” Gabi announced, appearing in the dining room

  “On you, it is,” Gaëlle agreed, trying to sound non-committal. The tee-shirt reached below mid-thigh on Gabi.

  “And on you it wouldn’t be? Have you ever worn it as a dress?” Gabi inquired, looking hard at Gaëlle. “I bet you have, haven’t you? I’m learning to read your facial expressions. That must have looked really sexy.”

  “Um,” Gaëlle said. “Are you hungry?”

  “Ravenous.”

  As Gabi sat herself down at the table, Gaëlle was aware of a slight feeling of vertigo. Gabi had dried herself, but not very thoroughly, and the dark pink of her nipples was noticeable through the damp cotton of the tee-shirt. Gaëlle tore her attention away and served the quiche she had made. She’d learned that Gabi preferred to eat in silence and talk afterwards, so while they were eating, Gaëlle allowed her mind to drift away…to Venice, in fact, four years earlier, and to the occasion she had indeed worn that tee-shirt as a dress.

  “Why Venice?” Gaëlle asked Jérôme.

  “You can always count on the bigwigs of aid agencies to pick somewhere nice for a conference,” Jérôme said. “I know it’s illogical, but there it is, and I have to go. The only question is whether you have the time to come with me.”

  “Oh, I’ll make time, don’t worry. I’ve never been to Venice. I pay for myself, though, no freebies.”

  “I hadn’t even thought of that. It’ll be lovely to have you there with me, to maintain some degree of sanity…and it’ll be fun, too.”

  As they travelled on the waterbus from the airport to the Lido, where they would be staying, they suddenly turned to each other and simultaneously began, “You know, it’s…”

  They burst out laughing, then Gaëlle said, “You first.”

  “I was going to say it looks just as it does on the postcards,” Jérôme admitted.

  “My thought exactly. This is going to be good.”

  The conference was on the Lido, too, a fifteen-minute waterbus ride from St. Mark’s Square. The following morning, Gaëlle saw Jérôme off to his morning session, then prepared herself to go into the centre of Venice. The weather was hot and muggy, usual for September, she’d been told. She chose a calf-length cotton dress and sandals with low heels, as she intended to do quite a lot of walking. She looked at herself in the mirror and decided she was decent enough to visit some of the many churches to see the amazing range of great art on display. On her return, she found Jérôme grumpy, so she cajoled him onto the bed and did her best to cheer him up. Afterwards she said, “Why don’t you come with me tomorrow afternoon? There’s so much to see, and after a morning stuck inside, it’ll be good for you.”

  Jérôme was happy to comply, so the following afternoon they went to take the vaporetto. As the waterbus arrived, they couldn’t help hearing a voice from behind them, “Oh, come on, you can’t be serious. This is Venice, babe. I made a list. We do, like, Harry’s Bar for a Bellini first, then across to the Cipriani for cocktails. Your stupid museums can wait until after the important things.”

  Gaëlle and Jérôme looked discreetly across at the owner of the voice.

  “She’s pretty, but you can see how she’ll deteriorate already, can’t you?” Gaëlle murmured.

  “Quite easily,” Jérôme agreed. “The luscious lips that will become a discontented pout and the big eyes that will turn fishlike.”

  “Leaving only the whining and the dissatisfaction. Poor fellow, I hope he escapes in time.”

  The companion of the voice was a pleasant-looking young man, clutching a folder with the title Treasures of Venice.

  “There’s a load of stuff I need to see,” he protested. “Paintings, buildings, the Arsenal…”

  The voice went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “And we have to have pizza, because, hey, this is, like, Italy. They better have proper deep-pan, like at home. I noticed this place on the map, the Pizza San Marco…”

  Gaëlle had to bury her face against Jérôme’s chest to hide her choked laughter, as the young man patiently explained that what the map was showing was the Piazza San Marco, St. Mark’s Square, rather than a pizza restaurant. At the vaporetto stop, Gaëlle and Jérôme chose to go in the opposite directio
n to the voice and her escort. In a city the size of Venice, however, it was inevitable that they would bump into them again.

  “Look, it’s the oppressed Englishman,” Gaëlle said, nudging Jérôme as they came out of the Scuola San Rocco.

  “Actually, he’s an oppressed Irishman,” Jérôme said. “I recognise the accent.”

  The couple sailed past on a gale of recrimination from the voice, who was making it clear that her shopping had to take precedence over anything anyone else might want to do. Even when Gaëlle and Jérôme were returning to their hotel, they found they were sharing a vaporetto with the voice and the Irishman. It came as even more of a shock to realise that they were at the same hotel as the couple.

  “A nightcap?” Gaëlle suggested to Jérôme, later that evening. They went down to the bar, ordered a beer apiece, sat down and relaxed. They’d been there for five minutes when the Irishman arrived, alone and looking even more harassed than before. He sat at the bar, ordered a beer and slumped, elbows on the bar and head in hands.

  “Would you like to sit with us?” Jérôme called across to him. “You look as if you can do with some company.”

  The young man smiled a weary smile and came to join them.

  “Is it so evident?”

  “Oh yes!” Gaëlle told him. She introduced herself and Jérôme, and learned that the Irishman’s name was James. They chatted, taking care to avoid the subject of the voice. James was studying the history of art and had been awarded a bursary to see Venetian art in situ. He’d thought it was a good opportunity to take Poppy, his new girlfriend, to a romantic city, discovering, too late, that she was seeing the trip as a free holiday and an opportunity for a lot of retail therapy. Gaëlle and Jérôme let James talk, recognising that he needed to release the tensions built up during his abortive attempts to see some of what he was there for, rather than be dragged round yet another outlet for imitation Murano glassware.

  It was almost midnight when James stood. “Thanks for listening,” he said. “I’ll sleep better for it. Good night.”

  Shortly afterwards, Gaëlle and Jérôme also headed for their own room. “He’s lacking in self-belief, our James,” Jérôme commented as they went up the stairs.

  “Yes, he is, but then I don’t think he’s aware he’s a rather attractive young man. I can do without meeting his friend Poppy tomorrow. I’m going on an early waterbus. I bet she won’t be an early riser,” Gaëlle said, turning off the light.

  Once Jérôme was away to his conference the following morning, Gaëlle took a shower and thought about what to wear. She wasn’t planning on visiting any churches, so she could afford to wear something less conservative than the previous day. The fewer clothes the better, she decided, in view of the weather. Eventually she opted for a pale green tee-shirt that reached a little above mid-thigh, together with a shawl that she tied round her waist as a skirt. She did her makeup and set off. It was later than she’d anticipated, but she still hoped to avoid the voice. Her heart sank when she saw them waiting at the bus stop. James flashed a quick smile at Gaëlle, as if afraid that Poppy might notice. By the time Gaëlle reached the crowd at the vaporetto stop, she couldn’t avoid knowing that it was imperative for Poppy to go to Murano, as she was sick of old paintings. The voice, like nails on a blackboard, set Gaëlle’s teeth on edge. She was about to move to the back of the queue and wait for the next boat, when she felt someone tug at her arm. She looked down and saw that the hand belonged to an elderly Italian woman, dressed in black, who indicated that she would welcome some help to get over the step and into the boat. Gaëlle smiled and relaxed as she assisted the lady, unable to understand a word of the little woman’s thick dialect. She made sure she was as far as possible from Poppy and James for the trip to San Marco.

  By one o’clock, she was ready for some lunch, and had found a little trattoria. She had ordered and was waiting for her food when she saw James, wandering along and obviously unaccompanied. She waved to him.

  “All alone?” she asked.

  “But with some peace and quiet,” he replied. “I put Poppy on the vaporetto to Murano, so I’ve been able to do what I’m really here for. It’s just as well, because we leave this evening.”

  Gaëlle patted the seat beside her, for James to sit down. He refused her offer to buy him lunch, but was happy to have a glass of wine. For the duration of the meal, Gaëlle heard all about Poppy, how she was too good for James, too pretty for James, too everything for James, it appeared. The only evidence offered for this was Poppy’s conviction that it was so. It almost spoiled Gaëlle’s appetite.

  “I’ve never had a beautiful girlfriend before. Uninteresting men like me don’t usually get a look-in with beautiful women,” James concluded.

  “James, that’s bullshit,” Gaëlle said firmly. “Any woman with a smidgeon of taste would tell you so. You’re an attractive young man, and you’re certainly a far more interesting person than Poppy. I think it’s a major error for you to allow her to decide what and who you are. You deserve better than that. Now, I’m going to the Doge’s Palace this afternoon. Will you come with me?”

  “You’re sure you want me?”

  “I’d love it…if Poppy will allow you to escort an older woman, of course!” Gaëlle added, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

  “She’ll be off doing the shops again, once she gets back from Murano,” James said. “It’s just as well, because she’d be hopping mad to think I was talking with another woman. Especially an attractive one like you,” he added, colouring up slightly.

  “I’m sure you know a lot more about the palace than I do, so to have you as a guide will be great,” Gaëlle said, choosing to ignore the compliment. “My visit here was arranged at very short notice and I haven’t had time to read up on Venice.”

  She thoroughly enjoyed the visit to the palace with James as her informative and animated guide. The pleasure continued afterwards as they wandered through the streets, over footbridges and along canals, doing their best to remain in the shade.

  “I’m sticky and too hot,” Gaëlle said at last, unable to stand the heat any longer. “Do you mind if I take this off?” she asked, indicating her shawl-cum-skirt. James blushed.

  “Er, no, of course not,” he said.

  “Ouf, that’s better,” Galle said, folding the shawl and putting it in her little backpack. The extra length of leg on show attracted a few whistles from passing Italian men. James looked, too, although rather more discreetly, Gaëlle noticed with pleasure. It was late afternoon before they decided to return to the Lido and headed for a vaporetto stop. The rush hour was in full swing, and they were jammed like sardines into the standing area. Gaëlle smiled at James.

  “You’re looking much more cheerful,” she commented.

  James blushed. “I’ve really enjoyed this afternoon. You’re very kind.”

  “Nothing kind about it. It’s to do with sharing pleasure. I’ve enjoyed myself, too.”

  At San Marco, they got on to the waterbus for the Lido. This boat was just as crowded. As they got on, Gaëlle heard James’ muttered expletive. She looked down the boat and saw Poppy, sitting in the cabin area and looking daggers at both James and Gaëlle. The boat pulled away from the landing stage.

  “Have you done anything wrong? Apart from enjoying yourself, that is?” Gaëlle asked James. “Stop looking guilty, then. She doesn’t own you.”

  James looked at Gaëlle with some sort of epiphany in his eyes.

  “You’re right, you know,” he said. “This is the first time Poppy and I have spent more than a few hours together and it’s not working. I’ve been letting her dominate me. It has to stop. I’ve realised that I don’t even like her very much. It’s over between us.”

  The boat crossed the wake left by one of the huge skyscraper cruise liners going across the lagoon and lurched heavily. Gaëlle grabbed hold of James’ arm to steady herself. An idea crossed her mind. She clung on to him unnecessarily, and turned his arm so she was holding it fi
rmly against her body. The mass of people around them ensured that nobody could see, as she took hold of his hand and curled his fingers inwards, so they pressed against her sex.

  James looked at her, surprise evident on his face.

  “You look so guilty, you may as well have something to be guilty about, now you’re a free agent,” Gaëlle said. She moved her feet slightly further apart, ostensibly to have better balance, but in fact allowing James’ hand to slip more deeply between her thighs. She bent her knees slightly, loving the extra pressure of his hand against her. She gently raised the hem of her tee-shirt. Now his hand was touching her knickers, which she could feel were damp.

  “You do know what to do, don’t you? You’ve caressed a woman before, I’m sure,” she murmured.

  James nodded, and wiggled his fingers against Gaëlle’s sex.

  “Don’t look down,” she said. “Just do it for me, please.”

  For the remainder of the trip, Gaëlle was treated to gentle arousal as she became more and more turned on. James’ fingers played a tune on her swollen labia and on her clitoris. She was able to regulate her excitement by pressing harder or more gently against his hand. James might have been shy, but he knew what he was doing. It occurred to Gaëlle that Poppy hadn’t known when she was well off. Finally, as the swell caused by their arrival at the Lido swung the boat one last time, Gaëlle let herself come, hiding her trembling in the movement of the mass of passengers hurrying to get home.

  Gaëlle and James became separated in the course of the disembarkation and Gaëlle was about to step up onto the landing stage when again she felt a tug on her arm. The little old lady of the morning was seeking her assistance again. Gaëlle smiled and supported her as she got off the boat.

  Once off the boat, though, the old lady didn’t let go, talking volubly. Gaëlle looked down at her, unable to decipher the heavy accent and patois. The old lady paused, then pointed significantly to her eyes. She took hold of Gaëlle’s hand and gave it a sharp tap, then stroked the skin gently. She spoke slowly. Gaëlle guessed that she didn’t often speak standard Italian, “Ti ho visto fare. Sei una ragazza cattiva…però anche una donna molto brava,” she said, with a wicked smile as she turned and waddled off. Gaëlle stood for a moment, working out the words. Then she laughed out loud.