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such sexual decadence,’ she told him, a slight smile on her lips.
    Gideon began to laugh. ‘That’s better! But, darling Dendre, going down on a man or a man going down on a woman, sodomy, your riding my cock, my fucking you into oblivion, you running with the sweet nectar of orgasm, both yours and mine, is hardly decadence, just sex. Decadence, depravity, debauchery … not for our first erotic encounter. We’ll have a lifetime together to share those passions.’
    Dendre’s heart fluttered at his words ‘a lifetime together’. Heloved her, meant to marry her! She flung herself against him and kissed him all over his face. Her eyes filled with tears of happiness. He eased her away from him and arranged her body in a sensationally wanton position. Her hair looked wild and sexy on the pillow. He positioned the angle of her head then draped the blood-stained sheet so that it lay just barely under her bottom and protruded seductively between her provocatively open legs, draped over one thigh, the corner of it culminating in her hand. He suggested she think of him fucking her, of her coming, and that she should use her imagination to bring herself to orgasm so that she might experience that delicious moment of bliss while he painted her.
    ‘I think you are magnificent and we should capture you on canvas, for us and for posterity. Men and women alike will adore looking at you, be thrilled by where you are, who you are, in my portraits. They will yearn for the erotic promise blooming before them.’ With that he ran naked through the studio to collect a huge sheet of paper and sticks of charcoal.
    ‘Gideon, promise me no one will see these drawings?’
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous! One day people will line up in museums to see the drawings, the paintings, the water-colours, I will do of you. They will pay millions of dollars to possess you in oils, as I have had you in the flesh.’
    ‘Maybe one day, but for now it’s important to me that what’s happened between us remains personal, for our eyes only. It’s too intimate. I would die of shame if anyone but you and me saw them.’
    Dendre had brought Gideon immense pleasure from when he’d first spotted her sitting alone on the park bench. He felt differently about her than he did most women he bedded. It was the purity of the love she felt for him. He had never experienced love and generosity, sacrifice of self for him and him alone. Once tasted it become an aphrodisiac for him. He wanted more, her kind of love, just for him, and all the time. She nourished all his senses. She would be a joy to mould into a muse, furnish his erotic fantasies and life as a painter. And he would raise her up always that little bit more, for herself. She would love him until death. He was as sure of that as he was that the sun would rise again the next day.
    Looking wanton, as erotic and depraved as any woman in lovewho wants to please her man, Gideon was aware of the sacrifice Dendre was making but he was not a man who appreciated martyrdom.
    He sat down next to her and caressed her breasts, kissed her sweetly on the mouth. Not angrily, in fact quite tenderly, he told her, ‘I could never promise you that. I’m an artist, I don’t paint for my work not to be seen. That’s an unreasonable demand. Either you want to pose for me or you don’t. If we are to stay together, you have to give me everything from the heart, with no strings attached, or don’t give it at all. That’s how I’ll love you, what I’ll expect from you. If the time comes that you can’t do that, fair enough. We’ll go our separate ways. My work is my life, everything else comes after that. You have to think about that, whether or not you can live for my work, for me.
    ‘In defence of myself and how I want to live, I can promise you only one thing. One day the rewards will be immense, and if we are still together then we’ll have lived our lives to the fullest, have the world at our feet.’

Chapter 5
    Gideon