“That abdication of power is pathetic, don’t you think?” Sydny cocked her head. “Do you want to leave?” She gestured toward the door out to the living room. “You’re not a prisoner. If you don’t want to be here, please leave.”

Julie, both frightened and fascinated, stood rooted to the spot.

Looking as stern as a military commandant, Sydny said, “You need to voice it, Julie.”

“I want to stay.” Her answer was immediate. Her voice seemed to come from a place inside her she did not recognize.

Sydny nodded. “Give me your handbag.” Julie handed it over without protest, watching as Sydny opened one of the doors to the armoire, tossed the bag into a space behind a line of boots with heels so high just looking at them gave Julie a nosebleed.

“You have on too many clothes,” Sydny observed. “Get rid of your jacket. Just drop it on the floor.” Julie complied. “Now come sit over here.” She indicated the high-backed leather chair. Julie sat, her bare knees primly together. She smoothed her pleated skirt over her thighs.

“Now take off your panties. That’s right, slide them down your legs. When you sit back down, lift the back of your skirt up so there’s nothing between you and the leather.”

Holding up her skirt, Julie sat back down. Gooseflesh sprang out on her thighs and arms as her private parts made contact with the cool leather. She watched Sydny duck into the closet. She emerged holding a pair of velvet-soft gloves.

“Put these on.”

They ran all the way up to Julie’s elbows.

Approaching her, Sydny said, “Lean slightly forward.” When Julie did so, she unbuttoned the first two buttons of Julie’s silk blouse. “Don’t move.” She found the straps of Julie’s bra and cut them with a small, opal-handled penknife, then snipped the front. The bra’s cups came away from Julie breasts. Reaching in, she lifted the bra out and away.

Sydny eyed her. “I can see the outline of your breasts through your blouse. Your nipples are hard. Are you excited?”

Julie could scarcely breathe. Her voice failed her.

Sydny approached her, slid her hand under Julie’s skirt, felt the dampness between her thighs. “You are.” She smiled in the way a mother smiles at her daughter, a connection, a certain intimacy that cannot ever be repeated with anyone else. “Are you ready to surrender.” Again, it wasn’t a question.

She handed Julie the hood.

Chapter 27

27

Even in the most desolate climate there was always beauty. Whitman, however, was in no condition to ferret it out. Even though he stood in the compound with his back to the villa, even though the sunlight brushed his cheek, the breeze ruffled his hair, he was somewhere far, far away.