Chiaroscuro Chapter 2 Part 2
Chapter 2: Part 2 is here. It's getting steamy.
Dearest Cultured Reader,
Buckle up, because this week’s instalment is getting steamy. If you’re opposed to drug use and sex scenes, then you might want to skip this one. But, if you’re strapped in and ready for the next step in Emery’s journey - then read on.
This week, I am opening up Chapter 1 Part 1 for all new readers. If you’re interested in the glamorous, exciting world of the arts, (and let’s face it, who isn’t?!) then click here to be transported to Emery’s world. If you want to support my writing, I’d love if you became a paid subscriber. You’ll gain access to Chiaroscuro on a weekly basis - straight to your inbox, and my full archive of written material. To those of you who are already supporting my work, thank you! Writing stories like Emery’s for a living is my dream and I appreciate you more than you know.
I hope you enjoy this instalment.
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CW: This section contains drug use, coercion and sex scenes.
Chapter 2: Part 2
Emery looked out at the boats bobbing on the harbour. Low music was playing through the sound system and the shimmering yellow lights reflected the hovering moon. Cliff’s apartment was as swanky as she’d imagined, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of Sydney Harbour. The walls were adorned with a mix of contemporary and historic art pieces, and a large black Chesterfield lounge sat in the middle of the room, looking out at the view. Floor to ceiling shelves housed an array of rainbow spined books, and a fully stocked bar sat to her right – complete with four barstools, where Cliff was perched.
She’d barely remembered the taxi ride to Cliff’s apartment, nor him giving her the glass of champagne that was placed in her hand. It must have been the coke from Natalie, she told herself. Of which the buzz had well and truly worn off.
‘Emery, I’ve got something for you,’ Cliff said.
An offer of representation. She perked up and wandered over to where Cliff was hunched over the bar. She saw immediately what he had for her. Thin white lines covered the top of the glass bar. Lots of thin white lines. She was already half-cut but could do with another buzz.
‘Sure,’ she said, taking the glass straw from Cliff’s fat fingers. She had to lean over him to get to the top of the bar, and as she hunched forward, she could feel her dress inch its way up her thighs. Then she felt something warm touch the back of her legs and rub up and down her bare skin. She jolted for a moment, knowing that if she exhaled, she’d send the white lines of powder off into the air like dust. She let Cliff’s hand linger on her leg, pushing away Natalie’s warning from earlier in the bathroom. It seemed as if there was only one way Cliff was going to sign her.
‘So, are you going to represent me, Cliff,’ she said, looking at him in the deep wells of his brown eyes. She was thankful for the cocaine’s ability to remove all her inhibitions and instil confidence in her she didn’t usually have.
He laughed and shifted himself back on the stool. His hand was still on her thigh, and he only removed it to take the glass straw from her hand and go about sniffing up two lines of powder, before returning her gaze. He licked his lips at her and smoothed over his hairless head. He was old. At least fifty. He still had the charm about him from a man who would have been handsome in his twenties and thirties, but the looks had well and truly worn off. He had wrinkles in his forehead and lines etched under his eyes, but his age nor his looks didn’t seem to make him think the age gap between them was an issue. He was confident. Emery liked that about him.
‘We’ll see,’ he said. Taking a deep sniff and looking up into her eyes, biting down on his lip.
Emery looked at the bench full of lines and grabbed the straw off him. She needed to be as high as possible if she was going to do this.
‘How much do you want this, Em?’
She hesitated. Women had done far worse things in their time to get success. She thought about Natalie Wirth. She definitely wouldn’t be Gallery Manager without Rupert’s help.
She heard the ding of her phone and wondered if it was Quentin returning her earlier message. Right now, she didn’t care. She was here to do one thing. Get signed by Cliff Hersain. She knew Quentin would be wondering how dinner went, but she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to tell him what she was about to do. He would be over here in a heartbeat with a taxi ready to pick her up. No. She had to push Quentin from her mind.
She sniffed up two of the lines quickly, ran her finger over the glass and rubbed the residue on her gums. She could feel the immediate rush and her head felt as if it were floating. Disconnected from her body – somehow hovering in thin air.
Emery's breath hitched as she felt Cliff's hand slide further up her thigh. She could feel the warmth of his clammy hands against her leg, a stark contrast to the cool glass beneath her fingers. The room seemed to blur at the edges, the city lights outside the window merging with the ambient glow of the apartment.
Cliff’s eyes seemed to darken and he held hers as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.
‘How much do you want this, Emery?’ he repeated, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine.
She hesitated for a heartbeat, the weight of his question pressing down on her. Heavy like bricks. But then she thought of her dwindling bank account, the precariousness of her dreams, and the sacrifices she had already made. She needed this.
‘More than anything,’ she whispered, her voice barely recognisable to her.
Cliff’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. He moved closer, his hands trailing up her sides, over the fabric of her dress. He grasped the hem and slowly lifted it, exposing the smooth expanse of her thighs. Emery’s pulse quickened, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation coursing through her veins. His hands roamed freely, exploring her stomach with a deliberate slowness that made her ache. He pulled her dress over her head, tossing it aside carelessly. Standing before him in nothing but her black lace underwear, Emery felt vulnerable yet strangely powerful under his gaze.
Cliff traced a finger along the edge of her bra, his touch sending electric currents through her.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he murmured, his pupils darkening. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers, tentative at first but quickly deepening.
Emery responded, her hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer. She could taste the whiskey on his breath, mingling with the faint scent of cologne. His kisses grew more urgent, his hands more insistent. Was she really doing this?
He guided her towards the large black Chesterfield lounge, easing her down onto the soft leather. The cool of the material sent a shock through her, grounding her in the moment. Cliff’s hands were everywhere, unhooking her bra, and sliding her panties down her legs, his touch igniting something within her. Somehow, she was enjoying this. It was the coke. It had to be.
She watched as he undressed, his movements hurried. His body was heavy set, a testament to years of indulgence and a lifestyle of excess. His shoulders were broad, his chest thick and slightly hairy, with a softness around his midsection that spoke of his age and wealth. There were traces of muscle beneath the surface, remnants of a younger, more vigorous man, now softened by time.
When he finally joined her on the couch, his body pressed against hers, she could feel the heat of his skin, the hardness of his arousal.
Emery gasped as Cliff’s lips trailed down her neck, over her collarbone, before finding the sensitive peaks of her breasts. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine someone else. Anyone else? Quentin’s face popped into her head and her eyelids shot open. That wasn’t supposed to happen. What was the coke doing to her mind, creating false fantasies like that?
His mouth was hot and insistent, and then Quentin’s face flashed in her mind again and she had no control, so she went with it. She felt something between her thighs, and parted them, now seeing Quentin’s vein rippled forearm between her legs. She bucked against him, her body aching for more. The fingers moved with expert precision, driving her to the edge and back again, each touch sending waves of pleasure through her.
‘Please,’ she moaned, her nails digging into fleshy skin.
She heard a gasp escape her lips, now unsure of if it had come from her or from a whisper within her mind. The cocaine had done something to her. She didn’t normally behave like this. But she couldn’t stop to think about it. Couldn’t stop to wonder what the hell she was doing. Instead, she left her thoughts in her wake and jumped into the slipstream.
Emery’s world narrowed to the sensation of something filling her, the heat and the pressure. She wrapped her legs around soft skin, urging the fullness deeper, harder. He responded, his movements urgent, a warm breath ragged in her ear.
Emery felt herself spiralling higher, her body tightening with each thrust, every nerve ending alight with sensation. Quentin’s face hovered over her. Her flashed a shiny white smile at her, and she cried out, her body convulsing around him as she came, waves of pleasure crashing over her. He followed moments later, his body shuddering against her as a guttural moan escaped his lips. He collapsed against Emery, her body slick with sweat, her breathing heavy and synchronised.
Emery lay there on the couch, staring at the ceiling and feeling the soft, coolness of the leather against her skin. Quentin’s face speckled and disappeared like static electricity. The fact that Quentin had helped her through it was not lost on her. A strange sense of satisfaction washed over her. A flicker of triumph. She had done it. She had secured her future, even if the cost was high.
Cliff lifted his head, his eyes softening as he looked at her. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch surprisingly tender.
‘You’re something special, Emery Steele,’ he said, his voice low and sincere.
She froze. The reality of it hit her like a truck at speed. The coke was wearing off. Her body seemed to slump at the thought. One more line and she’d get the hell out of here.
She heaved herself up and paced towards the bar, ready for another line. Emery allowed herself to believe, just for a moment, that everything would be okay.
‘You look just like her you know,’ Cliff said. Appearing in front of her, still naked. She didn’t look down. She knew the sight of him would turn her stomach. ‘She had the same hair. The same eyes. You’re just as beautiful. It’s like I’ve gone back twenty years.’ He took a swig of a tumbler of amber liquid and Emery could smell the smokiness of whiskey on his breath.
‘Who?’ She said snorting up another line of white powder. She’d lost count of how many she’d had.
‘Jane,’ he smiled at her and cupped her face.
Emery’s stomach tightened and she felt a familiar whoosh of darkness envelop her for a moment. She hadn’t heard anyone refer to Jane in a long time.
‘My mother?’ She really wasn’t in the frame of mind for reminiscing on her late mother.
Cliff nodded and took the straw off her. ‘We -’ he paused before dipping his head down to the glass bar and then coming up for air, ‘knew each other.’
Emery froze. The copious amounts of cocaine and alcohol did nothing to numb the pins and needles that coursed through her body in quick waves. Jane. Her mother who’d died in a motorbike accident when she was twelve. He was talking about her mother. He knew her mother. Her father was right. She had to get out of here. Now.
‘I have to go,’ she said, she scrambling to the Chesterfield to find her clothes.
‘Well, yes, it is three in the morning. Probably best. Although you’re welcome to stay and help me finish that off, if you’d like,’ he smirked in a desperate kind of way.
‘No – thanks – I’ve got to get to the studio in the morning – soon actually. Shit. I didn’t realise it was three.’ She re-attached her bra, found her underpants and threw on her dress and slingbacks. She located her handbag by the door and snatched it up. She’d had way too much coke. She needed to get home immediately and make sense of all of this. What the hell had happened? Her mind was beginning to spiral – this always happened. But Jane. What the hell? Cliff had known her mother. What did he mean by saying that he knew her? Had they dated? Had sex? Oh my god. She had to get out of here. Now.
‘Emery. Are you okay?’ Cliff sidled up behind her. Thank heavens he’d covered his body with a robe.
‘I’m fine. Thanks. Can we chat next week? Or whenever.’ Her eyes darted to the front door as she pulled on her underwear and squeezed back into her little black dress. Then, she found her heels discarded metres from each other.
‘Sure – just call the gallery. We’ll work something out.’
‘Thanks for tonight. It was great,’ she said. Not meaning a word of it, but knowing she had to say something to make it seem like she was grateful.
He smiled and she closed the door behind him, pulling her phone from her pocket to find a taxi.
Chapter 3: Part 1 arrives next week.
© Joey Hespe, 2024.
*Disclaimer: The characters and events depicted in this story are fictional and do not intend to represent any single person or company.