by J. J. Sorel
We pulled apart and stared into each other’s eyes. His eyes had darkened almost to a shade of black. He’d worn that same look when entering me—fragile and lost to the sensation, just like me.
“Have you had anything to eat? I could get Maria to prepare one of her delicious pasta dishes.”
“Although that sounds nice, I’m not that hungry at the moment.”
He turned to look at me and caressed my arm. “I’m hungry.”
I was about to say I didn’t mind eating, but something told me he meant something else.
“For you,” he added. “I’ve thought of nothing else. Two nights is too long to wait.” He paused and looked at me. “About the other morning…”
I took a deep breath. “I didn’t understand it, to be honest. You virtually pushed me out the door.”
He wore an apologetic smile. “I’m new to this.”
“And so am I.” I frowned. “You’ve never had a woman in your life?”
“I’ve been with women, of course. But none have stayed over.”
A hot thirty-year-old man not having a girlfriend ever? How can that be? The alarm bells should have sounded. Instead, as the heat of his soft palm on my thigh teased, making my legs clamp, it felt like I’d won a prize. At least there wouldn’t be a bevy of exes banging down his door.
“But that’s kind of peculiar.”
He turned to look at me.
My nipples hardened as his gaze started at my eyes and wandered down to my breasts, which were a little pouty due to the fitted blouse. Sheldon had been right about that—sexy clothes made one feel hot.
“This is nice. A little revealing,” he said, stroking the fabric of my blouse.
I tilted my head with a questioning frown. “You don’t like clothes that show a little flesh? I just thought, given your…”
He brushed my nipples with the back of his hand. “My addiction to your body, you mean?” He undid two buttons of my shirt to the edge of my lacy red bra.
“I like red on you. I’d love to feel you in silk.” His voice had a seductive rasp that traveled down to my swollen pussy. He reached into his inner pocket and brought out an envelope. “Here.”
“What’s this?” I asked, my voice tightening as his finger continued to flutter over my cleavage, puckering the skin and making my nipples ache for his lips.
“Open it. It’s a credit card.” He adjusted his position and I caught a glimpse of his bulge, sending my hormones into a frenzy.
I shook my head in disbelief.
“There’s no limit. Spend it as you want.”
“Huh?”
He leaned in and kissed me. “I want you to have beautiful things. I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.” I looked down at the card. “This is a little too much, especially after you deposited all that money into my account for my paintings.”
He whispered into my ear, “Just let me fuck you. That’s all I ask.”
I bit into my cheek. “Like a prostitute?”
“A prostitute would never stay at my home, Penelope. Or spend so much time with me or…”
“Or what?”
He squeezed my hand and looked into my eyes. “Let’s not do this. Suffice it to say, that wasn’t my intention. That’s not how I see you.”
We arrived at his two-story home, which overlooked a park, in a tree-lined street with expensive cars. On the pavement, there was not a scrap of rubbish in sight.
The credit card remained in my hand. Blake had thrown me a curve ball and he knew it. Responding to my sudden distance, Blake, who seemed to take his cues from me, reverted to introspection.
Patrick opened my door, and I slid out.
Blake opened his arm. “Come.”
I moved close, and he placed his arm around my waist gently.
Blake removed his jacket and placed it on a coatrack at the entrance.
“Can I get you a G&T?” he asked, with the formality of a stranger.
“Um… sure.”
He pointed at the sofa. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
I sat and placed the credit card on the table. When he came back with our drinks in hand, his eyes landed on the card responsible for placing a wedge between us.
Passing me the glass, he said, “Would it make you happier if I took that card away?”
Taking a deep breath, I crossed my legs. “I would prefer not to have it. While I appreciate your generosity, it makes this feel like a professional arrangement.”
He sat down close and turned to look at me. “That’s not what this is to me. I’m swimming in uncharted waters. I’ve never had a woman give that part of herself to me. It has affected me in a way that words cannot describe.”
I set my glass down and looked for signs of something other than intensity. He brushed his fleshy lips with his tongue, which was like a magnet for mine.
Our lips met. The kiss bordered on being violent. Such was our mutual attraction and passionate desire.
21
* * *
BLAKE
THE THINGS I WANTED TO do to her required a bed and not the sofa. As I directed her to the bedroom, the promise of feeling her again made my blood run hot.
Penelope’s tetchy response to the credit card surprised me, even if, on a deeper level, it made me respect her. Perhaps in many ways I was buying her.
For someone who needed control in his life, I was terrified by the fact that Penelope had the upper hand. I’d become unrecognizable, emotionally speaking.
“Slowly,” I said, watching her unbutton her blouse. I took a deep breath. My natural voyeur’s instinct enjoyed every teasing moment, no matter how much my dick ached to be inside of her.
The skimpy red bra just covered her nipples, and my breathing just got heavier after she let her skirt slink to the ground. She remained before me in a tiny thong. I wanted her to turn and bend over. That would come later, I thought.
I unzipped my trousers and joined her on the bed. Her pose against the silky teal antique spread with her long dark hair splaying made an exquisite image, one I would have paid a fortune to own.
My heart pounded as I parted her warm, soft thighs. Her panties nearly stuck to my fingers.
Caressing her pussy gently as she writhed on the bed, I removed her panties. I wanted her to open her legs and for her to touch her pretty cunt. But dirty little sweet acts were for later. For now, my tongue hankered for a taste.
I unclasped her bra, and her breasts fell into my mouth, her nipples poking my tongue. Stroking my cock, she seemed tentative, unlike professionals, who would have made a meal of it with their plump lips. Jittery and uncertain, that soft little hand moving up and down my veiny shaft, made me creamier than any experienced woman ever could have.
“You’ve got beautiful breasts,” I said, looking at her erect nipples wet from my saliva.
“I could be slimmer.”
“You’re perfect.”
I slithered my finger in between her sticky folds. I hissed behind my teeth at how tight and wet she was. I moved my finger slowly, and Penelope’s back arched.
I lowered my face between her legs, and her scent alone made my cock ache. I licked gently, swallowing her juices. Cunnilingus was something I rarely did, but with Penelope, I couldn’t get enough of her taste. I craved her clit like I did a cherry in season.
She trembled through a release, and my tongue filled with her cream as my fingers entered, her muscles spasming tightly around it.
“I need to fuck you badly,” I said.
I undid my shirt so that our skin touched, and noticed her eyes on my dick while she brushed her tongue over her lips.
I kissed her and entered her deeply, as she flinched in my arms.
“Okay?” I asked, my heart racing and sending a gush of blood into my pelvis.
“Yes.” Her breathy response drove me in hard.
Her nails dug into my arms, adding that special sensation of pain. Like a rainbow in a gray sky, pleasure and pain sa
t well with me.
Taking my weight onto my arms, I breathed in her female scent, which turned my senses inside out.
She was hot and creamy. Her breasts danced against my chest provocatively, and I lost all control. With just a few thrusts, the intensity of the friction erupted into a volcanic release like something I’d never experienced before.
I groaned like a beast in heat and then submitted to a warm shower of sparkling stars.
We fell into each other’s arms.
When my breath calmed, I said, “I came too quickly.”
“I like how you feel,” she said softly, laying her head on my chest as I stroked her silky hair.
It was a nice place to be, calming almost. Different. I hadn’t shared that type of naked affection before.
“What are you doing to me?”
She pulled away from me. “What am I doing to you?”
I pulled her back into my arms and continued to caress her. “You’ve gotten under my skin.”
“Is that good or bad?” she asked, removing herself from my hold.
I sat up and brushed back my hair. “Good… I think.”
Penelope started to say something and stopped herself.
“Enough about me. Tell me… how is it you’ve never slept with a man?”
“In the art scene, the guys are either gay or annoyingly cocky.” She paused to look at me, and a little smile touched her rosebud lips. “I just haven’t met anyone I’ve liked.”
I nodded pensively. “That’s unusual for a twenty-three-year-old.”
She sat up. “How much information have you gathered on me again?”
“Penelope, when you’re someone like me, it’s important to know who you’re allowing into your life.”
“Am I in your life? I mean, we only met ten days ago.”
I chose my words carefully. “I’d like to explore with you.”
“Like traveling, you mean?” Her milky-smooth forehead creased, which brought a smile to my face.
I stroked her arm. “Mm… that too.”
“Then what did you mean?”
Penelope didn’t like riddles, I’d discovered, which presented another challenge, given that I’d spent my whole life tangled in them. “With us. Sexually.”
Her head turned sharply. “You’re not into threesomes? Because that’s not me.”
“I’m not into threesomes, Penelope.” I grew serious. “I want you for myself.”
“You mean exclusive? Does that mean that you won’t go out with other women?”
“I won’t need to fuck around. And I expect you not to either.”
“Huh?” Her face had gone a feisty shade of pink, which made my dick rise again. “That sounds a little bossy.”
“I don’t like sharing.” I tilted my head.
Her face smoothed, and a little smile touched her pouty lips. “I don’t mind sharing food or money… but… not you.”
I relaxed into her arms, reminding myself again that this was just an infatuation. But then, how can one lie with a beautiful woman like Penelope and not become addicted?
I wondered if it was my money that had attracted her. What would I seem like without it? The mirror only ever revealed the actor to me—a man of the world with expensive tastes. Occasionally, on bad days, I caught a glimpse of that wild child from the moors.
Although that unwashed boy still inhabited my soul, I’d spent years cultivating this new me, ridding myself of my northern accent by adopting a posh accent. Sometimes I even heard Sir William’s deep timbre exiting my lips.
When it came to sophistication, I’d learned from the best.
22
* * *
PENELOPE
HAVING NEVER TASTED anything so delicious, I savored the mouthwatering pasta, my tummy receiving it with hungry approval.
While Maria arranged before us plates of the yummiest Italian food I’d ever tasted, I continued to process her initial wide-eyed surprise at meeting me.
When Blake left the room to take a call, she whispered that I was the first woman he’d ever invited into his home during her eight years there.
“Really?” I asked.
Wearing an apron tied around her waist, she placed her hands on her hips. “He’s a great man. Generous. He saved me you know.”
Blake returned, and she looked up at him with a smile and then continued to move about the kitchen.
She stood at a coffee machine similar to the ones found in cafés. “Coffee?”
He shook his head and looked at me.
“I’m good,” I answered. “This pasta’s incredible.”
Blake regarded Maria warmly. “So, what were you two whispering about?”
I looked up at Maria. Because of the way she’d stopped short when Blake returned, I wasn’t sure how to respond.
“I was just telling Penelope that she’s the first woman you’ve ever brought into the kitchen.”
Blake sat at the table and poured wine into my glass. He held up the bottle toward Maria. She shook her head, and he continued pouring himself a glass.
He looked at me. “I don’t normally entertain.”
I smiled tightly at that abridged response.
“When did you move to England?” I asked Maria, who sipped coffee from a tiny cup.
“Nine years ago. I came here for a holiday with my husband, who I escaped from because he always hit me.” She looked over at Blake, before continuing, “Signore Blake saved me. He gave me a beautiful job, and I have a beautiful life because of him.” She came over and kissed him on the cheek.
Blake tapped her hand affectionately, giving me an insight into their closeness. It warmed me to see that, because in the little time I’d spent with Blake, I sensed he was a loner, although not in a sad way. I imagined he had enough power and charm to attract a crowd.
“Maria, please. I think Penelope’s heard enough.”
She looked at me. “I hope to see you again, bella.” I was about to remind her of my name, when she added, “If there’s anything, just let me know. I’m off to watch Fast and Furious.” She laughed. “I like big sexy muscle men saving the world. Don’t you?”
I giggled. “If I were in trouble, I suppose they’d come in handy.”
Blake squeezed my hand and looked at me with a glint of humor in his eyes.
“Ciao,” said Maria.
“She’s great,” I said to Blake. “Only she called me ‘Bella.’”
“That’s ‘beautiful’ in Italian.” His eyes smiled, and he looked the most relaxed I’d ever seen him.
Maybe having me around his domestic life had lifted that shroud he clutched onto. Or perhaps I read too much into it.
Blake leaned back and sipped his wine, watching me polish off the best pasta I’d ever had in my life. I looked up, and he smiled at me. It was so nice. He even looked boyish and sweet. I wanted to squeeze his cheek.
“What?” I smiled back.
He leaned over and brushed my cheek. “You’ve got a little sauce on your face. I like that you enjoy eating.”
“It’s hard not to. Maria’s an amazing cook. Is this how you eat all the time?”
“Sometimes. Depends.” He sat back with wine in hand, again making his answers short on details, like where he liked to eat or what his favorite food was. “Maria has made me healthier. She uses a lot of vegetables and herbs that she’s grows here in the back garden.”
“Oh really? That’s so cool.” I studied him. “I’d love to see that sometime. I haven’t really seen the whole of this house. It’s always night time.”
He remained quiet.
I continued anyway. “Did you have a similar home in Yorkshire?”
He shook his head. “No. It was a huge Gothic estate. My mother worked there as a maid, and we lived in the servants’ quarters.”
“That must have been so interesting. Was it like a castle?”
He nodded.
“Did you have any siblings?”
He shook his head.
Blake moved his head from side to side to stretch his neck, something I’d noticed him doing whenever questions were asked. “No.”
I left it there. Too many questions. I was letting a man I hardly knew fuck my brains out and treat me like a princess. For a twenty-three-year-old brought up around the stench of poverty, that in itself should have sufficed. But Blake felt real to me. There was something fragile in that tough exterior that made me want to know him.
All in good time.
* * *
IT TOOK ME A MOMENT to remember where I was. It was so quiet. Smooth silk sheets reminded me that those seemingly endless orgasms had lulled me into sleep. The last thing I recalled was clawing Blake’s muscular biceps while he devoured my pussy as he would a delicious treat, and then tormented me with slow, achingly pleasurable thrusts, deep and hard, leaving me breathless.
The raw, bone-melting passion left my tongue hanging out, proverbially speaking. I’d fallen into his arms, and out of his lips, which were carnal one minute and soft the next, had come the words “Thank you.” I’d thought that strange but sweet anyhow.
I stared up at the dark etched ceiling with its indistinct swirly patterns. Perhaps Blake had gone to the bathroom, I thought.
Tick tock—the clock marked time as though accenting silence. Wide-awake, I reached over to the lamp at the side of the bed and switched it on. The old French clock with its turning wheels, making time tangible, revealed that it was four o’clock.
I felt abandoned and, despite ample covers, cold. I craved the feeling of Blake’s warm body. I wanted to see what he looked like asleep and find out whether he was still beautiful when those perfect eyes were hidden and not smoldering all over mine.
Accustomed to ear-piercing sounds of cars revving, drunks singing, or angry murmurings clinging to the dark of night, I thirsted for noise. And while a bird chirping in the morning might have lifted my spirits, the messy sounds of the city comforted me. They reminded me that I wasn’t alone, which was how I felt in that room—isolated, as though that house sat solitary in the world.