by Suzy K Quinn
‘And when you met again on campus,’ Arabella asks, ‘what happened?’
Marc turns. ‘Arabella. Remember how young Sophia is. We have to think about her reputation. What people will think of her. It might be best if we don’t lead readers into this territory.’
Arabella makes a note on her iPad, and I can’t work out if she’s annoyed or not. A second later, her head pops up and she’s smiling. ‘Well then. If you want to keep it light, I guess we’re all done with the words. The photography studio will be ready for you this afternoon.’
‘We’ll be there.’ Marc walks towards the door and holds it open. ‘Thank you, Arabella. I hope you understand my reasons for not wanting to go into detail.’
Arabella nods. ‘I do.’ She picks up her coat and heads to the door. ‘Nice to meet you, Sophia.’
‘You too,’ I call after her. I feel bad for her. There was no need for Marc to chastise her like that.
Marc closes the door behind her and reaches me in two long strides.
‘I know what you’re thinking.’
‘What am I thinking?’
‘That I was too firm.’
I frown. ‘Yes. That’s exactly what I was thinking. She was nice, Marc. You didn’t need to cut her off like that.’
‘Yes. She is. But ... even nice people can have their own agenda.’
‘Do you know something about her that I don’t?’ Ugh. Why did I let myself say that? I can hear the sticky, dark jealousy in the words, and I know Marc hears it too.
Marc stands in front of me, hands on his hips. ‘Meaning?’ The words are stern, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.
‘Meaning ... I just wondered how you two know each other so well, that’s all.’
‘I haven’t fucked her, if that’s what you’re asking.’
Oh. I’m so relieved. ‘It wasn’t.’
‘It was.’ Marc’s smile grows.
I can’t help smiling back and feel my lips sliding over my teeth. ‘Okay, it was. But can you blame me? She seemed to know plenty about you.’
‘She doesn’t know a thing. No more than any other journalist.’ Marc checks his watch. ‘I have to make a phone call in the other room. When I come back, I want you completely naked. I want to finish what I started in the lift.’ With that, he strides out of the living area into a neighbouring bedroom and slams the door closed.
My heart is still yammering away after the interview. Trust Marc to be so calm and collected that he can shift his mind so easily.
I’m a little tempted to listen in to his phone conversation. What’s so important that he needs to march off like that? But no ... I’d be mortified if he caught me, and we’re building a relationship. No sneaking around.
I look down at my clothes, wondering what he would do if he came in and I was still fully dressed. Would he be angry? Annoyed? Or ...
Will he stop loving me if I don’t let him stay in charge?
The words jump into my head, unbidden, and I don’t like them. I don’t like them at all.
13
I hear Marc’s low murmuring through the door, and then a shout:
‘When?’
I strain to listen, but nothing else is clear.
When what?
The bedroom door clicks open, and Marc strides back into the living area. He looks at me, sees I still have my clothes on, then paces back and forth.
God, he’s gorgeous. I mean, just mesmerizingly gorgeous. If I wasn’t sitting down, I think my knees would give way.
‘You’re dressed,’ he remarks, his voice low.
‘Yes.’
There’s a chiming sound from the hallway, and Marc hesitates. Then he strides down the hallway and opens the suite door.
I blink in surprise at what’s standing behind it.
There, in the doorway, is a bellboy staggering under an enormous vase of white roses. But they’re not just any white roses. They’re the same white roses I saw in reception – the frilly ones with thick green stems, complete with the same glass vase.
‘You’re an hour early,’ says Marc, ushering the bellboy into the living room. ‘But welcome nonetheless. Put them on the mantelpiece. Thank you.’
The bellboy places the roses over the fireplace, arranging them so they fan out towards the room.
‘Marc, these are ... they’re so beautiful,’ I breathe.
Marc slides a ten pound tip into the bellboy’s hand, and the bellboy gives a little bow and heads for the door.
I stare at the perfect white flowers, smelling their beautiful fragrance.
‘Why did they bring these?’ I ask.
‘They’re for you,’ says Marc. ‘I thought you’d appreciate a little nature around the place.’
I put a hand to my mouth, feeling a smile spread from ear to ear. ‘For me?’ I stifle an astonished giggle. ‘They’re just like the ones in reception.’
‘They are the ones from reception.’
‘You’re kidding me. How did you ...?’
‘I’ve been coming to this hotel for a long time. You like them?’
‘I love them. Can’t you tell?’ Sometimes, I get so happy, I feel like my smile is going to rip my face in half, and that’s how I’m smiling now.
I throw my arms around him.
‘Thank you,’ I say, planting kiss after kiss on his cheek. ‘I can’t believe you did that for me. It’s so thoughtful. I feel really special.’
‘I love that such simple things make you happy,’ says Marc.
‘Simple things?’ I say. ‘A giant vase of roses from the Carlo Hotel reception area? Hardly simple.’ I stroke the soft petals. ‘No one ever got me flowers before.’
‘No one ever bought you flowers?’ Marc asks.
‘My dad used to buy me daffodils sometimes, but I don’t think that counts.’
‘None of your boyfriends ever bought you flowers?’
‘Never.’
‘They were idiots.’
‘Oh ... no, they weren’t. Just young, that’s all. You don’t buy flowers for people when you’re young.’
‘Are you calling me old, Miss Rose?’
‘Yes, Mr Blackwell. You’re very old. Didn’t anyone ever tell you?’
‘Funnily enough, no.’ Marc moves a stray piece of hair from my eye. ‘I’m glad you like the flowers.’
‘I don’t like them. I love them.’
‘Is that right?’
I nod.
He looks right into my eyes. ‘I’m going to ignore the fact that you haven’t undressed and take you to the bedroom anyway. But I want you to keep totally still. Is that understood?’
‘You’re going to ... you want me to keep still?’ I ask.
He nods, sharply. ‘And silent.’
‘What? Why?’
‘To increase your pleasure. And mine.’
He scoops me into his arms so quickly that the bottom falls out of my stomach, then carries me into a bedroom and drops me onto a crisp white duvet. I’m aware of a soft canopy of flowery fabric draped above the headboard. But mostly, all I see is Marc.
He removes his t-shirt and hangs it over an antique arm chair. As he paces around the bed, easily, slowly, he watches me.
He’s not performing. This isn’t an act. This is real, honest to goodness Marc Blackwell, and oh my god he’s hot.
He comes to the foot of the bed and takes my foot in his hand.
I feel his long, strong fingers through the fabric of my shoe and see his toned chest rising and falling. The scars on his knuckles are very white right now as his fingers work my feet.
He pulls the shoelaces free, then slides my foot carefully from my Converse. Dropping the shoe to the floor, he removes the other shoe, every movement careful and gentle, but controlled.
Shoes dispensed with, he takes my ankles and pulls me slowly down the bed. I slide along the duvet and look up at him, wondering if I’m going to try to keep still or not.
Deftly, with one hand, Marc undoes the metal button on my
jeans, then slides the zipper down with his whole palm pressed flat against me. I wiggle a little.
‘Keep still,’ he says. His tone is gentle, but firm. He’s very definitely in charge right now, no matter how soft and slow he’s being.
‘I can’t help it,’ I murmur.
‘And keep quiet.’ He takes the ankles of my jeans and pulls hard so the denim shoots over my thighs, burning a little as he rips the fabric free of my legs. Then he drops the jeans to the ground.
14
Oh.
With two flicks of his wrists, Marc pulls my socks off. He stands back, my socks dangling from his fingers, and looks at my feet.
I flinch a little. I’ve never been a big fan of my feet – they’re very pale and slim, and I have really long toes. They’re still nicely pedicured, thank God, after our trip to Marc’s island, but I know there’ll be bits of black cotton stuck between my toes.
‘Marc -’
‘No speaking.’
‘I didn’t agree to that.’
Marc raises an eyebrow. ‘Rebelling, Miss Rose?’
‘No, I’m just ... trying to have a normal relationship with you.’
‘And what’s normal, exactly?’
‘I guess, being equal.’
Marc picks up my foot and runs his thumb back and forth along the arch.
Oh, that feels good. Why does it feel so good? It’s sending salty little shocks up my legs.
‘And you don’t think we’re equal?’
‘Do you?’
Marc places my foot gently on the bed. He surveys me for a moment, looking up and down my body. ‘Being equal doesn’t mean being the same.’
His hand falls to my thigh, and his fingers work their way slowly up, up my leg. The touch is so light that it’s making me crazy. I tense in anticipation. ‘Meaning?’
‘Right now, we’re playing different roles.’
His fingers reach my panties, and he runs his thumb around the elastic, pulling the panties taut as if he’s testing the fit.
‘Different roles?’
Marc pulls at panties down with his thumb, slowly, so the cotton strokes my hips. I give a little shudder.
‘Different roles,’ he says again, and it feels like the words are stroking me too. ‘I’m in charge and you do what I tell you.’
He puts both hands firmly on my thighs, and in one swift movement, flips me over so I’m lying on my stomach.
‘Oh!’ A powerful shock hits me right between the legs.
‘And your body tells me you like things this way.’
‘But you can’t always be in control,’ I say, wishing I sounded stronger. ‘Or we’ll never have a real relationship. You have to let go.’
‘I thought I already had.’ Marc pulls me towards him so my legs come to either side of his hips. I can feel his belt buckle and the stiff material of his trousers at the top of my thighs. ‘I’ve let go more with you than anyone else.’
He unfastens my bra, and I struggle my arms free of the straps.
Oh my god, I know what’s coming. And I want him so badly. But I know if we go down this road, I’ll be taking a step away from what I really want.
‘Marc? Please ... can we talk about this?’
‘I need to be in charge right now,’ Marc whispers, his voice practically a growl. ‘And you need it too.’
His hands come to either side of my thighs, and he rubs up and down, up and down, letting his palms slide over my buttocks on the upward stroke. His touch is firm. Hard. He’s taking no prisoners, and I’m pushed into the bed with every caress.
My body tells me this feels so good, but my head is screaming, Stop, stop!
The strokes slow down, and I listen for the clink of Marc’s belt buckle, or the ripping of a condom packet. But I don’t hear anything.
Talk to him now, Sophia. Tell him you want him to lose himself in you. To be vulnerable. Tell him before you lose yourself in the moment.
Marc pushes my legs wider apart, and I feel the soft bristles of his cheeks against my inner thighs. He pulls my panties to one side.
Oh no. No, no, no. He can’t do this to me, it’s not fair. I want to cry out, ‘Wait, stop!’ but it’s too late. He has me exactly where he wants me, and there’s no escape.
15
His tongue starts circling where he would have entered me, pushing inside and out, and it feels so good.
I let out a long breath, swept away by the softness and intimacy of what he’s doing. His tongue feels gentle. Loving. All the things I’m looking for right now. And then of course, there’s the heat that’s building up.
Maybe we can talk later.
He works his way down, until he’s at where I’m most sensitive. The place where I feel all the electric shocks and soft warmth and waves of pleasure.
Something about the softness of his tongue makes me feel on fire, and I can’t stop myself wriggling and moaning and gripping at the bedclothes.
‘Oh. Oh. That feels sooo good.’
Suddenly, his tongue stops moving and the warmth of him is replaced by cool air.
‘I told you to keep still. And to keep quiet. Do I have to tie you to the bed?’ He snaps my panties back into position.
Ouch! ‘Marc -’
‘Keep still.’
Now’s my chance.
I flip myself over and see him kneeling at the foot of the bed. He’s still wearing his cargo trousers, but one glimpse at his groin tells me he’s as hot as I am, and about ready to explode too.
‘Sophia, I told you to keep still.’ His tone is light. Curious. And he’s frowning that intense Marc Blackwell frown, one eyebrow a little raised.
I scoot over the bed towards him and drop onto his lap, my legs on either side of him.
‘That’s a very long way from keeping still,’ says Marc, his voice softer now.
I kiss him, my lips swollen from the heat of us. Marc’s lips are red too, and as I press mine against them, his eyes close and his forehead twitches in confusion.
He wraps his strong arms around me and pulls me to his bare chest. ‘A very, very long way. There’ll be consequences.’
I can’t work out if he’s teasing or not, but I don’t stop to think about it. As our tongues feel each other, I’m aching for him to be inside me.
I reach down to his belt buckle, but Marc grabs my hand – gently, but firmly.
He pulls back from my mouth. ‘No,’ he says. ‘I need to be the one to finish this.’
He picks me up and drops me on the bed again.
‘Marc, I -’
‘Today, I need to stay in control.’
I look up at him, and his eyes tell me all I need to know. He needs to be in control right now. Maybe not tomorrow, or forever. But right now, he needs it like a junkie needs a hit.
Why? Is it something to do with Giles Getty?
I watch as his breathing gets longer and slower, and his eyes grow more focused and strong with every breath. He frees himself from his trousers and pulls a condom from his pocket, tearing at the packet, then stretches it over and down, until he bulges against the plastic.
He leans over me, his hands on either side of my shoulders. His arms are long and straight, supporting his weight, and his chest tenses up.
Our eyes meet, and I’m lost.
He moves his hands to my knees and pulls them apart. Not slowly, not gently. He’s caught his prey, and he’s going in for the kill. He pushes aside my panties and ...
Oh.
As he plunges in, I gasp. His pace is unrelenting, back and forth, back and forth, not giving me any let up, any moment to think.
He’s watching me intently, seriously, with those eyes that have lived a thousand different lives and seen things most people will never see.
Harder, harder he moves until I turn softer under him. I’m losing it. The room is fading to white, and I’m in a red hot world of pleasure.
He’s such a tight fit that every fast stroke sends sparks through my whole body.
&
nbsp; I want to cry out. To tell him to slow down. But I have no chance. He’s determined, and there’s only one way this story will end.
Going deeper and deeper, he pulls me up to his chest and wraps steely arms around me, holding me so tight that I know there’s no escape.
‘Marc. Marc. Oh Marc,’ I cry out as the hotness turns to burning and I’m swept away by pleasure.
In response, he pushes so deeply inside me that my world goes blurry. Everything feels so tight and good, and I can’t hold it together any more. Any minute now, I’m going to come.
Suddenly, Marc pulls back. ‘Wait,’ he says.
‘Wait?’ I’m grasping him, desperate, trying to pull him back inside me.
‘Stay exactly where you are.’
Marc pulls right out of me, dresses and leaves the room.
‘Marc!’
16
Moments pass.
Just as I’m getting really impatient, Marc returns with a pair of silver handcuffs dangling from his fingers. They look heavy duty, and I wonder for a fleeting moment if they’re real police issue ones.
I swallow. ‘Where did you get those from?’ I ask.
‘The car.’ Marc stands at the foot of the bed watching me, still obviously trying to get his breathing under control. God, he’s so handsome. But my heart skips a beat as I eye up the handcuffs. I feel the familiar Marc Blackwell turmoil of emotions: fear, excitement, confusion and lust, all mixed together in one sexy bundle.
‘I’m going to handcuff you to the radiator and fuck you until you can’t see straight.’
Oh. My body shivers at those words.
I pull myself up on the bed. ‘Marc -’
‘Off the bed.’
We’re back here again – Marc taking charge. Marc dominating me. My mind is in turmoil, but my body knows exactly what it wants. It’s betraying me, and my legs swing off the bed. I want him. So badly. In whatever way he chooses.
Marc scoops me up and carries me towards the window. There’s a stout metal radiator underneath it – an old-fashioned one, like the sort we used to have at school.
He lays me on the floor, and I feel the heat from the radiator against my scalp and soft carpet under my back.
Marc presses his palms against my legs, and I shiver. There’s no defying him now, and we both know it. I’m belted into the Marc Blackwell ride, and all I can do is hold on tight.