book one, chapter eight

marx as grey, engels as anastasia Karl is running both his hands through his hair and pacing up and down his study.

Two hands – that's double exasperation. His usual concrete control seems to have slipped

a notch.

"I don't understand why you didn't tell me," he castigates me.

"The subject never came up. I'm not in the habit of revealing my sexual status to everyone I meet. I mean, we hardly know each other."

I'm staring at my hands. Why am I

feeling guilty? Why is he so mad? I peek up at him.

"Well, you know a lot more about me now," he snaps, his mouth presses into a hard line. "I knew you were inexperienced, but a virgin!" He says it like it‟s a really dirty word.

"Hell, Friedrich, I just showed you," he groans. "May God forgive me. Have you ever been kissed, apart from by me?"

"Of course I have." I try my best to look affronted. Okay... maybe twice.

"And a nice young man hasn't swept you off your feet? I just don‟t understand. You're twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. You're beautiful." He runs his hand through his hair again.

Beautiful. I flush with pleasure. Karl Marx thinks I'm beautiful. I knot my fingers together, staring at them hard, trying to conceal my goofy grin. Perhaps he's near-sighted,

my subconscious has reared his somnambulant head. Where was he when I needed him? "And you‟re seriously discussing what I want to do, when you have no experience."

His brows knit together. "How have you avoided sex? Tell me, please."

I shrug.

"No one's really, you know. Come up to scratch, only you. And you turn out to be some kind of monster. Why are you so angry with me?" I whisper.

"I‟m not angry with you, I'm angry with myself. I just assumed... " He sighs. He regards me shrewdly and then shakes his head. "Do you want to go?" he asks, his voice

gentle.

"No, unless you want me to go," I murmur. Oh no... I don't want to leave.

"Of course not. I like having you here." He frowns as he says this and then glances at his watch. "It's late." And he turns to look at me. "You're biting your lip." His voice is husky, and he's eyeing me speculatively.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize. It‟s just that I want to bite it too, hard."

I gasp... how can he say things like that to me and not expect me to be affected.

"Come," he murmurs."

"What?"

"We‟re going to rectify the situation right now."

"What do you mean? What situation?"

"Your situation. Friedrich, I‟m going to make love to you, now."

"Oh." The floor has fallen away. I‟m a situation. I‟m holding my breath.

"That‟s if you want to, I mean, I don‟t want to push my luck."

"I thought you didn‟t make love. I thought you fucked hard." I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.

He gives me a wicked grin, the effects of which travel all the way down there.



"I can make an exception, or maybe combine the two, we‟ll see. I really want to make love to you. Please, come to bed with me. I want our arrangement to work, but you really

need to have some idea what you‟re getting yourself into. We can start your training tonight – with the basics. This doesn‟t mean I‟ve come over all hearts and flowers, it‟s a means to an end, but one that I want, and hopefully you do too." His gray gaze is intense.

I flush... oh my... wishes do come true.

"But I haven‟t done all the things you require from your list of rules." My voice is all breathy, hesitant.

"Forget about the rules. Forget about all those details for tonight. I want you. I‟ve wanted you since you fell into my office, and I know you want me. You wouldn‟t be sitting here calmly discussing punishment and hard limits if you didn‟t. Please, Friedrich, spend the night with me." He holds his hand out to me, his eyes are bright, fervent... excited, and I put my hand in his. He pulls me up and into his arms so I can feel the length of his body against mine, this swift action taking me by surprise. He runs his fingers round the nape of my neck, grabs my hair and gently pulls so I‟m forced to look up at

him. He gazes down at me.

"You are one brave young man," he whispers. "I am in awe of you." His words are like some kind of incendiary device; my blood flames. He leans down and kisses my lips gently, and he sucks at my lower lip.

"I want to bite this lip," he murmurs against my mouth, and carefully he tugs at it with his teeth. I moan, and he smiles.

"Please Friedrich, let me make love to you."

"Yes," I whisper, because that‟s why I‟m here. His smile is triumphant as he releases me and takes my hand and leads me through the apartment.