Free Enthralled (Dark Passions) by Sarah Bailey Page A

raised an eyebrow at
him, and glanced up at the balloons.
     
      
“The balloons were your touch?” I asked, remembering that Warhol was known for
bringing in silver helium balloons a few times a week to the original Factory.
     
      
“Yes, aren’t they wonderful?” he asked, his voice buoyant, and his eyes fixed
on one of the balloons. “I always felt they livened the old place up a bit.
Gave it a festive feel, you know?”
     
      
I nodded vaguely, and continued to stare in wonder. “Why did you? I mean, go
through all this trouble?”
     
      
Andy glanced over at Bradley, who was smiling to himself. “Well,” Andy began,
“My dear friend Bradley here asked for all of this. And believe me, he’s
certainly paying a pretty penny for it.”
     
      
I narrowed my eyes at Bradley, and he grinned devilishly at me. “Well Bradley
certainly is a generous patron of the arts,” I said, not taking my eyes off his
handsome face. As I spoke, some mischief crept into his expression. He leaned
back against the doorframe, and gave me a burning look that almost made my
knees buckle.
     
      
“This commission is for my private collection,” he said, caressing the curves
of my body with his eyes. “My very private collection,” he added. I felt my
face flush, and a surge of heat pulse up from between my legs. With trembling
hands, I smoothed down my lace dress, trying to gain control over myself.
     
      
“Your private collection?” I repeated back, with a tremble in my voice. Bradley
continued to look at me, his eyes smoldering, his expression amused.
     
      
“Yes,” Andy said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Bradley has commissioned me to make
a portrait of you. I’ll take a photo now, develop it at my studio later, and
then produce a silk lithograph. I’ll get you set up for that right away.” He
put his finger on his lip, and gave me another assessing look. “But that’s not
all,” he added, looking slyly at me. “We’re also shooting a film,” he said, his
voice suddenly becoming animated. “Bradley has asked me to film a version of Blow
Job for him. The cameras will be riveted to your lovely face, Melanie, as
Bradley goes down on you and gets you off.”
     
      
I gasped and took a step back. My gaze shot over to Bradley; his eyes were full
of a fierce hunger as they prowled along every inch of my body. My breath
caught in my throat, and a strange thrill pulsed through me. But then my gut
twisted into a knot, and I felt heat flaming my cheeks. “I can’t,” I whispered,
shaking my head. “It’s too…intimate. I’ll feel too exposed,” I muttered, with
my eyes fixed on the door.
     
      
Bradley’s expression darkened. “Too intimate?” he asked, his eyes still full of
heat and fixed on my face. “Are you afraid of intimacy, Mel?” His tone was
challenging.
     
      
I took a deep breath and folded my arms across my chest. “If being afraid of
getting off while being filmed by a 20 th century cultural icon is a
sign of intimacy issues, well, then, yes. I guess I’m afraid of intimacy.”
     
      
Andy cleared his throat. I looked over at him. His finger was tapping
thoughtfully against his lip. “I’m irrelevant here, Melanie. This is about you
and Bradley.” Then he smiled wickedly and said, “But believe me, I know a
closet exhibitionist when I see one. Knowing that you’re being filmed will only
add to your pleasure, Melanie.”
     
      
A delicious little shiver fluttered through me, telling me that he was right.
Bradley strode over to me, cupped my chin in his hand, and raised my face to
his. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse with desire. “I want to be able to
watch you get off, Mel. Over and over. Lost in your private, wild pleasure.”
     
      
“But you do. You see me get off when we have sex,” I said, searching his face.
     
      
Bradley gave me a long, intimate look, and then slowly shook his head. “It’s
not the same thing, Mel. When I’m fucking