The Director's Cut Read online

  “So,” says James patiently, “I’ll rejig things. Bring those scenes forward.”

  “Rejig things?”

  “We’ll be starting the location shots in Barcelona tomorrow,” he explains. “That will give us a chance to lose the paps.”

  Barcelona! I love the idea of returning to Spain with James. My mind swims with possibilities. Then practicality sets in.

  “Won’t they follow us out there?” I say uncertainly. I’ve seen plenty of pictures in magazines taken of celebrities on beaches. Paparazzi seem to go wherever it takes to get their shots.

  “That’s why I’m announcing the divorce,” says James. “Playing the paparazzi involves strategizing. Like chess,” he adds with an unreadable expression. “You set up scenarios to force your enemy to make false moves.”

  I could be wrong. But it seems as though he might enjoy this. The game of playing the paparazzi.

  “So… you think the divorce will send the paps elsewhere?” I guess.

  James gives a curt nod.

  “I hope so. That’s the way I’ve devised it. Madison will stay here in London,” he explains. “So the papers have a good story on their doorsteps. Heartbroken mega star. Madison will ramp up the sob story,” he adds, catching my expression at the last part. ”She knows how to play it. She’ll walk around London wearing dark glasses, looking sad. Then in a few days, she’ll be seen in a restaurant with one of her dancers. The media will explode. She’ll ride the publicity wave, right into her next big movie deal.”

  I’m staring at him nervously. It seems complicated, this strategy of feeding the press scenarios. But James seems to take it in his stride.

  “You’re good at this,” I say slowly. “Playing the press.”

  “I’m a director, Issy,” he says. “My job is setting up scenes to tell a story. This is just another scene. Another story. The only difference is my audience are photographers.”

  “But won’t they guess?” I ask. “Won’t the newspapers work out that it’s all fake?”

  “Tabloids don’t care enough to delve too deeply into the facts of a great story,” says James. “All they want is to sell copies. If I’ve played it right, then they’ll do the math. They’ll figure it’s a better deal to go after a certain story on their doorstep than pay last minute airfare and risk getting nothing.”

  “That sounds… clever,” I concede. “Will it work?”

  James thinks for a moment. “I’ve a lot of experience with the press,” he says. “I’d like to think I can strategize one step ahead. But you never can say for sure.”

  I consider this. It’s like cat and mouse.

  “You think, most likely, they’ll leave us alone?” I ask.

  “Yes.” James steps forward and cups my face in his hands. “I do. For one particular reason.”

  He kisses my nose.

  “What’s that?”

  “You,” he says. “I can’t bear to think what I would have to do to a reporter who wrote anything bad about you.”

  I think he’s joking. But only just. I give him a weak smile.

  “Is it really necessary?” I ask, thinking of the filming schedule and budget. “Shouldn’t we just stick to the schedule and stay apart for a few weeks?”

  Even as I say the words, I feel myself flinch at the idea. Being without him would be horrific.

  James gently kisses my mouth. “Is that what you want?”

  “No,” I murmur, feeling myself melt into the kiss.

  “Good,” says James, kissing me again. Me moves his mouth to the base of my neck and begins planting light kisses along my throat. I feel my head tip back against the sensation of his lips. It’s as though he’s wired the sensitive skin of my neck straight to my groin.

  How does he do this to me?

  Then his lips are brushing gently against my ear.

  “The truth is,” he whispers, “it’s not necessary for me to take the filming out to Spain tomorrow.”

  His proximity makes it impossible to think rationally about what he’s saying.

  “But I simply couldn’t bear,” he whispers, “to watch you through the camera each day and not fuck you at the end of it all.”

  I feel my knees weaken, and I sink towards him.

  “But just for now,” he says, moving away from me a little, “we do need to stay apart. Just for one night.”

  He takes a step back, so he’s holding me by my shoulders again. I feel as though I’ve been severed.

  “But tomorrow night, when we’re far away from prying eyes,” he says, his voice dipping low, “I’m going to make up for lost time.”

  There’s a flash in his eyes which sparks instant desire in me.

  “Until then,” he says, “I’ll be away from you. But I’ll be sending you instructions on how to behave.”

  Oh. A wave of thrilled anticipation sweeps through me.

  James Berkeley. You know how to bring out my dark side.

  He leans forward, pulling me close.

  “Keep your phone on you at all times,” he whispers. “The more obedient you are tonight, the more merciful I’ll be inclined to be with you tomorrow.”

  The more merciful? What does he have in mind?

  “Although,” he says, the low tone coming back into his voice, “you should expect to be disciplined, Isabella. I think it’s about time I took charge of you fully.”

  Warm feelings flood my body. And once again I feel myself mired in confusion. Is this really what I want?

  “I haven’t agreed to be disciplined by you,” I reply, raising my eyebrow at his assumption.

  James reaches a hand up under my skirt and gives my behind a slap. I gasp at the sudden contact.

  “We’ll see,” he says. “Just keep your phone nearby. And do what you’re told.”

  Chapter 3

  I’m alone in my chalet for less than an hour when there’s a knock at the door. I open it in disappointment to see it’s not James on the other side.

  Don’t be stupid, Issy, I admonish myself. He said already you couldn’t be seen together.

  Instead of James, it’s a delivery boy in a FedEx T-shirt.

  “Isabella Green?”

  “Yes?” I say, making the word a question. I didn’t even know we could get deliveries inside the studio. Not with security so tight.

  “I have a parcel for you.” He hands the form for me to sign, and I scrawl my signature.

  I’m scanning for my purse, so I can hand over a tip, but the delivery boy holds up his hand.

  “That’s ok, ma’am, it’s all been taken care of. Seriously,” he adds, seeing my confused expression.

  If I was in any doubt, I now know for sure who the parcel is from. Only James Berkeley would arrange a delivery with a pre-paid tip.

  I take the small package with a little thrill of anticipation, shutting the door. And then, on cue, my phone rings.

  James Berkeley flashes up on the display as I pick it up from the coffee table.

  “You haven’t given me time to open the package,” I laugh as I answer the phone.

  “That’s the idea.” The sound of his low voice over the phone gives me another little thrill of anticipation. I can tell by the tone that he’s not called to make small talk.

  “Look at your phone,” he says. “I’ve sent you an app. You need to let it download.”

  I pull the phone away from my ear and see that a message has arrived. It contains no words. Only a link.

  I click it, and a download screen loads up. It’s for a phone app titled ‘X’, which gives nothing away.

  X what?

  I press the phone back to my ear.

  “What does the X stand for?” I ask.

  “Go up to the bedroom.”

  “So bossy, Mr Berkeley,” I tease. “You can hardly come by and spank me if I don’t obey.”

  I’m pushing my luck, I know, but I feel a little thrill of power that he can’t get to me. Even if he wanted to.

  “We’ll see about that
,” growls James. “Don’t test me, Isabella. Or I may risk seeing you in the newspapers, just to come over to your chalet and spank you. Hard.”

  Oh. I feel a little burst of desire. Is he serious? It’s impossible to tell.

  I begin walking up the stairs.

  “Are you doing as you’re told?”

  “I’m going upstairs,” I admit, “if that’s what you mean.”

  “Be very careful, Ms Green,” he says. “You have no idea what I have planned for you tomorrow. Any disobedience now will go hard with you later.”

  “Well lucky for me, then,” I reply, “I have chosen to favour you with obedience. For now, at least.”

  By now I’ve reached the bedroom door, and I cross the threshold.

  “Are you in the bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Since the Lipstick Stalker got into my bedroom, James thoughtfully moved me to another chalet. It’s almost identical to the first. And the bedroom is a cosy mix of bare boards, rugs, and decadent bed furnishings.

  “Get on the bed,” says James.

  I hesitate.

  “Now,” he adds, as though reading my mind.

  Uncertainly, I seat myself on the bed, propped upright against the various fur and suede cushions.

  “Look at your phone,” he says. “Has the app downloaded?”

  I check the screen. There is a new app – a red square, labelled as X.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “You’ll find out. Click it open.”

  I press to open the app, but to my disappointment, nothing happens.

  “Nothing happened,” I report. “I don’t think it’s working.”

  “Oh, it’s working,” comes a dark chuckle from the other end. “I just haven’t decided to use it yet.”

  Oh. What does it do? I’m dying to know. But well aware he’s not going to tell me.

  “You may open the package,” adds James, after a moment.

  Staring at the small parcel in my hands, I pull away the brown paper. Inside is a box finished in a beautiful matt black. It looks about the right size to hold a necklace. But I’m guessing it’s not jewellery inside.

  Slowly, I prise off the lid.

  The contents are unexpected. Fitted into the satin interior is a U-shaped loop of deep purple. It looks like it could be a piece of high-tech equipment.

  “What is it?” The words are out before I can help myself.

  “Take it out,” says James, his voice rolling smoothly.

  Carefully, I prise the item from its neat housing. I can feel now that it’s made of soft silicone. And on closer inspection, there’s something far too luxurious about it to be for technological purposes.

  “Can you guess what it is?” asks James. I can hear the amusement in his voice.

  Carefully, I turn the U-shape in my hand. It’s heavy, expensively so, but not large. And the U-shape is slim. Each side bulges slightly at the end, as though either side were the stem of a flower with a bloom on top.

  “No,” I say, after a moment. “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “Oh come now, Isabella,” says James. “You must have some idea what I would send you a gift for.”

  Of course I do. I feel a little twist in my groin. I may not know the exact purpose of this item. But I have a good idea of its general application.

  “It’s a sex toy,” I guess.

  “Very good,” says James. “Although toy might be under-valuing it a little. I plan on making some very serious use of this particular item.”

  Oh.

  I’m analysing the shape more intently now, turning the device in my hand.

  “I plan on using it for a very specific purpose,” explains James. “I plan on giving you an orgasm using G-spot stimulation.”

  Wow. I feel my cheeks flush, even though there’s no one to see me.

  The toy in my hand suddenly feels even heavier. And I can’t help but wonder how he plans on using this device without being here in person.

  “As I remember it,” he says slowly, “you were wearing a very pretty dress, over some quite beautiful underwear, when I last saw you. Are you still wearing it now?”

  I swallow.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I want you to take it off.”

  I bite my lip and use one hand to unzip my dress. Then I wriggle out of it, letting it fall to the bedroom floor.

  “Have you taken the dress off?”

  “Yes.”

  I hear him sigh over the phone.

  “I am devastated that I can’t see your beautiful body in reality. So you will have to give me a glimpse through your phone.”

  Really?

  “Is that what the app is for?” I ask, turning my phone to face me.

  “No,” says James, his voice echoing up at me. “You can use the video call function on your phone.”

  “Is that possible?” I ask, hedging. I’ve never used the video function, and I’m not sure it’s the most flattering of displays.

  “Isabella, you know very well that it’s possible. And any further disobedience will result in a very firm punishment tomorrow.”

  I feel a little pulse of desire race through me. What does he have planned?

  “Press the button to video call,” he instructs. “And hold the phone towards your breasts.”

  Oh.

  “Now,” he adds, sensing my capitulation.

  Taking a deep breath, I press the button. And immediately, I see James’s handsome face flash onto the screen. How can anyone look that good through a camera phone?

  “Turn the phone around,” he orders, and this time, I obey immediately.

  “Hmmmm.” I hear him murmur through the handset. “Very nice. Now move the camera down.”

  I let the lens run down over my belly, and settle on my panties.

  “Take them off,” he says, his voice hoarse.

  I move a hand down and run a thumb along the top of my panties.

  I hear his breathing hitch on the other end of the phone.

  “Isabella,” he warns, “you’d better not be teasing me.”

  “Of course not, James,” I say innocently.

  I can feel how wet I am already, and I let my fingers slide under the fabric of my underwear, letting him see how far down they reach.

  I’m loving the power I have over him at this moment.

  “Take off your panties.” It’s a command now, and even over the phone line, I feel myself automatically responding to the authority in his voice.

  I tug down my panties, keeping my legs together, and let them fall onto the bed.

  “Now,” he says, in the same low voice. “Open your legs.”

  I close my eyes for a moment, steeling myself. The idea of him seeing me naked on camera suddenly feels more exposing than if he were in the room.

  “Do as you’re told, Isabella,” commands James.

  Slowly, I let my knees fall apart.

  “Isabella.” James’s voice sounds tight. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

  I feel myself blushing.

  “I am disappointed that I can’t be in the room with you,” adds James.

  So am I.

  “But I have other ways of exerting my influence.” He sounds devilish now. His aristocratic English accent has an added naughtiness.

  “I have a mind to make you touch yourself,” he adds. “But I couldn’t bear not to see it in person. So that will have to wait.”

  Whoa. He wants to see me touch myself. I’m not sure I’d be able to do it in front of him.

  “In the meantime,” he continues, “pick up the toy.”

  I feel my breath constrict. The idea of using the toy myself feels a little frightening. What does it do exactly? It’s not large, at least. Each part of the U-shape is slightly shorter than a finger.

  “You’ll notice each half has a slight bulge at the end,” James is saying. “One is a little ridged.”

  I nod, and then realise h
e can’t see me. “Yes,” I say.

  “That end,” says James, “is going to fit over your clitoris.”

  Uh huh. I’m working out where the other end will go.

  “The other part,” says James, his voice smooth, “will slide inside you.”

  Slide inside me. I’m already wet just from hearing him speak over the phone. I guess he must know that.

  “Move the toy in front of the camera,” he breathes. “I want to see you do it.”

  There’s no question what he expects then.

  “Now, Isabella,” he adds. “Don’t make me warn you about your punishment again. You have already pushed me to the brink of understanding. Any further hesitation will be counted as extreme disobedience.”

  I swallow, and manoeuvre the toy in front of the camera and between my legs.

  “Push it inside yourself,” says James, his voice sounding thick, “and position the other end so it fits across your clitoris.”

  I do as he instructs, feeling the warm wetness grow as I slide the toy into myself. Part of me can’t believe I’m doing this. Another part feels incredibly sexy. Inserted into me, I can feel the soft pressure of the toy.

  “The toy needs to be directly over your G-spot,” says James. “And since I can’t be there to position it, you’ll need to make sure it’s in the right place.”

  How do I do that?

  “Place your index finger at the bottom of the toy,” says James. “I want you to push slowly upwards. Until you feel it hit your G-spot.”

  “How will I know if it’s in the right place?” I ask.

  James gives a wicked chuckle.

  “You’ll know.”

  Moving my index finger where he suggests, I slowly push.

  Then I gasp, and my hand falls away.

  “You found it then,” says James.

  The sudden flash of sensation has left me momentarily speechless. When we first had sex, James used his finger to press against my G-spot. I’d forgotten how the feeling could be.

  “What does it feel like?” asks James.

  “Intense,” I admit, saying the first word which comes into my head.

  “Certain sexual positions can stimulate the G-spot,” says James. “But this is more, direct.” He says the word with extreme satisfaction.

  “Now,” he says, his tone changing slightly. “You asked me what the app on your phone was for. Allow me to show you.”