Tony Marx opened his eyes slowly and waited for the room to stop spinning. He allowed himself to focus on the ceiling, adjusting to the darkness around him. After a while his gaze settled on the only source of light in the room, coming from an open window to his right. The girl was leaning out of the window, in her underwear, smoking. He remembered her name. Sandrine.
Sandrine whom he'd made love to last night, as the trains thundered into Kings Cross, the noise drowning her screams. Screams of ecstasy and screams of pain both. Maybe even at the same time. He saw the slash marks on her pale skin now, bright red, where he'd used the belt as an impromptu weapon.
Now she turned towards him, stubbed out her cigarette and tossed it onto the railway line.
This is a no smoking room, he reminded her.
She placed a finger on her lips. Full ripe lips, made to be kissed.
Naughty Sandrine, she said.
Yes, he said, naughty Sandrine.
She climbed onto the bed and spread out next to him, leaning on her elbow, staring into space.
Tony felt great, and he felt terrible. Last night had been possibly the most exciting uninhibited night of sex in his life. But he'd betrayed his wife, something he'd vowed never to do. There was however something about Sandrine that had aroused his desire. He simply hadn't been able to resist her charms.
His mobile phone rang, and he reached across her to answer it.
Darling, he said, a note of surprise in his voice.
Still in London, yes, he said.
When will I be home? later today, I think, he said.
Sandrine pulled back the sheet and started to massage his penis, which stiffened instantly.
Look, I'm a bit busy right now, he said. I'll have to call you later.
Sandrine was licking him now, slowly moving her lips over his erection.
Shit, he said. Love you too, darling. he put the phone down.
You fucking bitch, he said.
Sandrine started giggling.
He slapped her on the arse, quite hard.
She rolled over onto her back. then stood up suddenly.
My train leaves soon, she said. I'll have to go now.
Can I see you again, he said.
Of course, we haven't finished the article yet.
No, I meant, can I see you again.
Screw me, you mean.
If you must put it that way.
Never say never. But what about your wife. I thought you loved her.
I cant explain.
And he couldn't. why? Ever since he'd first met her, he'd become intoxicated, seduced by her glamour, by the air of sensuality that surrounded her. That night, at the Soho party, when they'd been introduced, the air was full of coke and booze. Now she'd become like an illicit drug to him. He was hooked, he realized. Cold turkey would be inadvisable.
How did I get here, he asked himself, watching her get dressed. Almost forty, married, two children, good job, nice house. I don't need this. But I can't do without her.
Now she pulling on her coat, tossing her hair back, staring coolly at him.
Well, it's been fun, she said.
I'll call you soon, he said.
I'm sure you will. Au revoir, Tony.
She disappeared, off into the streets, heading for St Pancras, and the euro star.
Tony swore to himself. He wanted her again, already. Wanted to tear her clothes off and screw her, violently, over and over again. To feel himself inside her, the smell of her all over him. he banged his fist on the table. Shit, he said to himself. She's driving me crazy.
Sandrine, on the other hand, was trotting into St Pancras, her heels clacking on the pavement. She smiled to herself, aware that another man had been ensnared in her game. She felt the eyes of the men on her bare legs as she descended the staircase. Tony had been easy, but he might be useful. Good publicity, and all such contacts were worth having.
