V. Lust

Despite Blair's intention to remain unawed, she was completely floored by the lavish trappings of Chuck's restaurant, Agora. She had never seen such opulence. Though the Lysander was by no means a hovel, it was a more muted affair of blinding white tablecloths, antique mahogany chairs, porcelain crockery, and silver cutlery—more in sync with Bart's austereness—than the Agora.

As Nate led her through the entrance, she drank in the rich sensual reds and burgundy furnishings; leather booths where couples seemed to be entrenched in their own bubble of intimacy; the table lamps that emanated a soft golden glow upon its occupants and surroundings; the walls were adorned with framed pictures of scantily clad Parisian dancers and actresses who stared beguilingly at the camera; and the remainder of Agora was like a museum crammed with artefacts in glass cases—tribal masks, spears, priceless vases and other antique objects.

If the Lysander was the puritan patriarch, then the Agora was its lavish and rebellious daughter.

"This place is amazing, isn't it, Blair?" said Nate as they followed the waiter to their designated table, shaking Blair out of her stunned silence. "Agora is always booked to the hilt and to even get a table here, you have to book sometimes months in advance. This is the place if you ever want to rub shoulders with the influential and powerful of the Upper East Side."

"Really?"

"Yes. Chuck was only eighteen when he established this and proved to people that he was more than a hanger-on of his father's success. Actually—" Nate paused, and when the waiter had sat them down and departed for the menus, he continued his speech in a hushed voice: "Can I be honest with you, Blair, about your employer?"

"Of course, Nate."

Nate tugged at his tie like he was uncomfortable. "I know you must think very little of me for associating with Chuck—as I'm sure you've heard all about his reputation—and I want to reassure you that I share none of his questionable morals."

Blair quirked an eyebrow. "You don't need to justify yourself to me."

"No…I think I do. I know Chuck has done deplorable things but for some bizarre reason, Serena and I both continue to gravitate towards him as if there's some unnatural magnetic power in him…it may be because he can always provide us with a good time and that he gets more of a free reign than Serena and I could—and can—ever get…and when we're with him, we get lost in some sort of a hedonistic bubble…"

"So you're more in a relationship of convenience with Chuck, then?" asked Blair bluntly.

"Well…I wouldn't put it like that."

"I'm not judging you, Nate. Believe me." She smiled at him, thinking of her own highly immoral predicament with Chuck.

Nate reached over and entwined his left hand with her right, his face soft. "You are unlike any woman I've met, Blair. I feel so lucky that Chuck brought the two of us together."

Blair was stopped—or saved?—from responding to Nate's ardent declaration by the reappearance of the waiter with menus.

Without asking for Blair's drinks preference, Nate promptly ordered a bottle of 1870 French champagne from the Loire region.

"Now, where were we?" Nate asked, joining their hands together again. "Tell me about yourself."

Blair rehashed an abridged life story—excluding her abusive stepfather, her alcoholic and downtrodden mother, and the rumours regarding her father's sexual predilections—instead emphasising her love of literature and music, and her dream of travelling the world.

Nate listened to her without interrupting her, only asking questions. Blair felt like she was on guard the whole time and was afraid of letting slip something that would repel him. She only wanted to appear as a pure yet desirable princess.

Drinking the champagne did not help either since she was not used to drinking alcohol in large quantities except for the odd nip of Scotch. Nate kept on plying her with drinks so that the main dinner and dessert passed in a blur. She found Nate a restrictive conversationalist because he knew so little about topics that did not relate to sport. Her mind began to drift while he talked about a horse he bet on but she made sure she expressed exclamations of awe in the right places and at all times she pretended to be enraptured in what he was saying.

For some reason that Blair refused to gauge, her thoughts returned to Chuck. She imagined what it would be like sitting across from him in Agora and what type of conversation they would engage in. She pictured his intense face staring unwaveringly back at her as if she was a heavenly opiate that he could drown his senses in and completely surrender himself to.

She inwardly shook herself out of her thoughts. Why did she suddenly want to go back to Lysander and feel his hands slide over her silk covered body? Had she suddenly turned into someone like Nate and Serena who perceived Chuck as someone with whom they could abandon all inhibitions and embrace their most carnal and primitive desires without condemnation, contempt or remonstrance? She reasoned that it must be the champagne that was befuddling her senses and distorting all logical reason and morality…

By now, Nate had now moved onto narration of a victorious polo match, thinking that Blair's dazed look was because his physical daring impressed her. Blair silently remonstrated with herself for being so inattentive to Nate who was everything that Chuck was not: honest, simple, cheerful, and uncomplicated. If she was ever to get herself out of the rut she was in, Nate was her only passport out.

Blair and Nate finally left Agora at midnight. He was a complete gentleman and only gave her a peck on the cheek, but Blair could see the desire and longing in his eyes at being parted from her. Her head was slightly woozy from the alcohol but she had never felt more vibrant while her cheeks were lightly flushed, her eyes were sparkling and her lips were full and red.

She saw his eyes linger on her mouth and she knew that he wanted to kiss her, but to maintain her façade of a lady and increase his ardour for her, she merely kissed his cheek and gave him a suitably forlorn face when she murmured that she hoped they could see each other soon.

Nate's face shone. "Of course, Blair! I will be calling upon Chuck tomorrow, so we can discuss our next outing then. Goodnight and sleep well, Blair."

Blair smiled—she could not help it. Despite his limited conversational abilities, there was no doubt that Nate was someone she could see herself having a stable, peaceful and uncomplicated life with, and who could bring her prestige, wealth and respectability in society. "And you too, Nate."

With that, she ascended the Melusine stairs while Nate waited until she got inside and then he got into his chauffeured car and drove away.

Blair's body was buzzing. Her mind was swirling. There was no possibility of her sleeping anytime soon. She needed a distraction to soothe her mind and the only option she could think of was to play the piano. She assumed that because Chuck's father had returned from Boston, there would be no chance of Chuck haunting Lysander.

She creaked open Lysander's door and silently made her way to the piano.

However, she involuntarily gasped when she observed that she was far from alone.

Chuck was at the piano.

He was not playing the piano. Instead, he was facing her with a glass of Scotch. He did not say anything but Blair felt as if his eyes were burning like gas lamps through the darkness. The only light was a sliver of moonlight peeking in from the curtain.

"I gather the night with Nathaniel went well?"

Blair straightened her posture and glided like a queen over to him. If he thought that he could cower her, he was to be sorely mistaken.

"Yes," she breathed. "He was quite the gentleman and did not try anything untoward."

"Unlike me."

"Completely unlike you, the Upper East Side's Lucifer prince."

Her mind was screaming that she should exit Lysander and seek the sanctuary of her room because she would regret whatever actions she was about to take, but the champagne she consumed earlier had dulled her reasoning power and instead heightened her sense of sensuality and desire to dominate Chuck.

"Then you must be the incandescent moth that is drawn to the darkness, Miss Waldorf, in order to adorn yourself with the mantle of pulsing power," returned Chuck, his voice sinister in the half-dark.

"Indeed, Mr. Bass."

Blair plucked his Scotch glass from his hand and placed it on the piano's lid. He did not protest. Nor did he protest when Blair then stepped between his sprawled legs so that now she was leaning over him and he had to tip his head up to her. She clasped his head in both her hands.

"There's one thing you have to learn, Mr. Bass," she said breathily.

His hands were now roaming up and down her hips, buttocks and thighs. "And what's that, Miss Waldorf?"

She brought her lips within an inch of his: "I may be drawn to the darkness but I will never be consumed or dominated by it."

Her lips then claimed Chuck's, burning with intensity. She took fistfuls of Chuck's hair in her hands while Chuck hungrily returned her kisses. He attempted to rise up to meet her kisses but Blair thrust him down and straddled him so she could gain better purchase. Their tongues angrily lashed together and their mouths feverishly melded. A strangled groan came from Chuck's lips as his hands ran down her sides and cupped her buttocks, pressing her flush against him. His hands recommenced their roaming of her body; he cupped her breasts and ran his thumbs over her erect nipples, causing Blair to breathily moan and arch herself shamelessly against him.

"Blair…" he gasped.

Hot spikes of pleasure surged through her. All coherent plans of domination flew from her mind. She wrenched his head back and he hissed in pain. She wanted to see his eyes. She wanted to see if he was as consumed with her as she was with him. His breath was ragged and she shuddered with a combination of lust and fear at the sheer primal expression in his eyes. He seemed as if he wanted to devour her.

"You are my Persephone," he harshly said as he yanked her face down to his again with equal violence. Blair moaned against the onslaught of his lips as a frisson of pain and pleasure pulsed through her. He left her lips and sought the new territory of her milky neck and collarbone while she tipped her head back so he could have unfettered access.

Amid the tempest of her feelings, Nate appeared to be a benign memory in a sunlit glade while Chuck was a volcanic dark force that wholly enveloped her as if she was a lone swimmer in the ocean on an inky black night…

Suddenly, Blair felt as if her dress was hot and confining, and she breathily gasped against his mouth at the image of Chuck's hands running over nude body while he grunted something incomprehensible against her neck.

However, Blair was rudely snatched from her heightened state of arousal by the crashing sound of Chuck's Scotch bottle to the floor.

It was as if a knife had sliced through her erotic haze.

Sanity was restored.

She immediately pulled herself away from him and smoothed down her dress, trying to bring her erratic breathing under control. Blair had never seen Chuck so disheveled and animalistic. He was breathing hard and she could see from the state of his trousers that he was fully aroused.

If Blair did not act quickly, she knew that he would gain control of her again and that she would not be able to protect herself against the full force of his desires—and, if she was to be honest, her own too.

He held out his hand to her. "Blair, come back here…"

Blair had to turn away for a moment because his hypnotic gaze almost arrested her while loathing and lust battled for prominence in her body. However, the thought of marrying Nate and gaining high social standing managed to quell the rebellious desire to abandon herself to a passion fuelled encounter with man who represented everything she detested and could only lead her to ruin and unhappiness.

So, with as much emotionless dignity as she could muster—despite her mussed hair, smeared make-up, crinkled dress and the heat that was coursing through her deepest core—she coolly said: "I think this little interlude fully makes up for this dress you purchased for me, don't you think, Mr. Bass?"

His face changed in an instant. For a moment, she truly feared he would attempt to force himself on her because his expression was like a black chasm.

"I'd advise you to depart before I lose whatever semblance of self-control that I am currently exercising," he replied in a dangerously soft voice. "Thank-you, Miss Waldorf, for paying your dues. I'm sure Nathaniel will be pleased to receive a mercenary whore like you in his bed."

Blair defiantly stared him down. "And I'm sure that he will be pleased to socialise with a man who likes to manipulate vulnerable women for his own perverse reasons."

His chest heaved and his eyes glittered menacingly. "You'd be the last woman I'd describe as vulnerable."

Blair was about to retort when he stood up and advanced towards her like he was about to tip over into insanity. "Get out," he hissed. "Just get out. This is your last chance."

"Goodnight, Mr. Bass," levelly replied Blair, who was determined not to show her fear, and managed to depart without shaking.

It was only when she reached the sanctuary of her room that she bolted her door and collapsed onto her bed in a convulsion of tears.

What had she gotten herself into? Why did she allow herself to be inflamed with this unexplainable lust for a man she abhorred? Would Chuck seek to wreak vengeance upon her and ruin her only chance of prosperity with Nate?

Anguished Blair could not answer any of these perplexing questions and could only sob into her pillow.

At that point, Blair did not think there was any other existing human being who was more wretched than her.