by Alexis Hall
It made me feel so close to him and so impossibly distant at the same time. Like I could have my Jane Eyre moment, and whisper his name, and he would hear me and know I was thinking about him. Although if it turned out Caspian was keeping a mentally ill spouse in his attic I was going to be super miffed.
Anyway, I sent him a text instead. A simple how’re things?
I got back: Fine, thank you. Almost done.
My thumb traced I miss you. Then can I come over? Then I miss you. Can I come over? But I didn’t hit send on any of them. Instead of bridging the gap between us, his message had made him seem even further away. Because I suddenly realized I had no idea what Caspian did when he finished work and wasn’t with me. His body suggested an aggressive gym regime but beyond that? How could I know, when I was consigned to One Hyde Park like the Lady of Shalott?
Or possibly I was just looking at this the wrong way. I mean I’d told Caspian I wanted to see more of him, but I’d taken it as read that he would make it happen. When, actually, I was the one choosing to wait around. Maybe he was really up in the tower. And I was supposed to be fighting through his briars, climbing his hair, breaking his curse, or whatever.
Maybe, in some strange way, he was waiting for me.
My hands were sweaty on the balcony rail. It was scary as fuck, trying to break through three years of carefully cultivated…whatever it was. Especially when it had, in its own, unhealthy little way, kept me safe. Or at the very least from having a nervous breakdown.
But it wasn’t helping me now. It was holding me back.
After all, if I believed in Caspian and Caspian believed in me, couldn’t I believe in myself? Just a little bit? I took a deep breath and made my way back into this apartment. This Prufrock had at least one peach in his life. And I damn well dared to eat it.
Grabbing the coat Caspian had sent me, I slipped it on with a giddy little purr because it looked and felt so good. I did the buttons and turned up the collar and fastened the belt, and flicked an enigmatic glance at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows, imagining myself lingering on some misty street corner in Budapest. Surely, nobody could object to an uninvited visitor if they turned up in such a fabulous garment?
It was a shame, really, about everything underneath it. I was going to be like Oscar Wilde, unable to live up to my blue china. Except with a coat. Unless…
Oh dear. I was having an idea.
Probably a terrible idea.
But Arden 2.0 embraced terrible ideas.
I stripped. Replaced my barbells with a glittery heart captive ring and a titanium rainbow pincher. And then put the coat back on.
Hmm. The basic idea was certainly sound but the execution was lacking. My legs, poking out the bottom, looked particularly pale and unprepossessing. But it was fine. I could work with it.
Rummaging around in my socks and pants drawer, I unearthed an unladdered pair of lace-topped hold-ups and pulled them on.
There. Much better.
I also found a battered black trilby. Got it angled coquettishly across one eye. And, as a final touch, I painted my lips harlot red. That was the actual name of the lipstick and a large part of the reason I’d bought it in the first place.
A peek in the bedroom mirror and…oh wow. Well. That would do.
That would definitely do.
With the stockings and coat and the fuck me lips and the shadow of the hat brim adding a touch of noir…I was a bona fide homme fatale.
One last more, um, personal piece of preparation—hoping lube wasn’t going to squidge out of me embarrassingly—and I was good to go.
Then I called for a car. Luckily, Caspian’s employees were made of stern stuff and Alisha, tonight’s chauffeur, didn’t bat an eyelash when I slipped into the back of the Maybach, (un)dressed like a slutty lunatic.
It was late enough that the roads were relatively clear, for London anyway, so it only took about fifteen minutes to get to Caspian’s office. I watched the roads and buildings flash by in pockets of light and shadow, and the river that curled around them like a dark snake, its back a shifting kaleidoscope of the city’s glitter.
“You want me to wait?” Alisha asked as she took us past security, into the underground parking lot, and pulled up outside the lift.
I hesitated, not quite sure how to answer. This had the potential to be the shortest encounter of my life. But Arden 2.0 did not talk himself out of things. “Um, no. It’s fine, thanks. I probably won’t need you again tonight.”
I scrambled out of the car, clutching the mobile Bellerose had given me way back when I’d first moved into One Hyde Park, since it also allowed emergency access to all of Caspian’s buildings. Admittedly, I wasn’t sure that “fuckstop” was the sort of emergency he’d had in mind, but it was nearly ten o’clock at night. The building was all sealed up and, even if it hadn’t been, I could hardly have waltzed up to reception. Cheap tart in a greatcoat to see Caspian Hart.
The lift whirred upward for what felt like a long time. And when it finally stopped moving, I stepped out into a silent, shadowy corridor. I vaguely remembered it from the last time I’d launched a one-man assault on Caspian’s place of business, but it was different now. Eerie without people round, broken reflections from the city outside skittering across all the darkly shining glass.
Caspian’s floor was the only point of light, his often its own soft glow, just past his assistant’s thankfully unattended desk.
My heart flailed around in my chest.
Okay. Okay. I was doing this.
Chapter 10
My stockinged feet made no noise on the plush carpets as I approached the office. My nerves were fluttery but holding steady.
I was feeling reasonably impressed with myself as I pushed open Caspian’s door and went in.
Or rather I fell in.
I didn’t even know what I tripped over—my own misplaced optimism I guess—but one minute I was sliding into Caspian’s office, all sultry in my sex coat, and the next I was yelping and in a heap on the ground.
“Arden?” If anything romantic had taken place—Caspian’s face lighting up with joy at the sight of me, that kind of thing—I was in no position to witness it. He sounded surprised, though, rather than horrified. So that was good. Maybe. “Are you all right?”
I nodded, and rubbed my nose into the carpet. “I meant to do this.”
“You did?”
“Absolutely. I was just, y’know, sitting at home, thinking about you working late, how tired you must be and how hard you work in general. And it struck me that what you probably needed was for somebody to turn up uninvited and fall over.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
I still didn’t dare look up. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No. I’m…I’m glad to see you.”
“Oh God, Do you mean that?”
“Now I’m nodding. Do you need help?”
“Nope.” I bounced to my feet, with only a small wince. “I’m good.”
Caspian was standing by his desk, washed silver by the light from his computer screen, his face all shadows and angles, and so starkly beautiful that it made this whole venture seem absurd. What in God’s name had I been thinking? How was someone like me supposed to seduce someone like him? How had I ever convinced myself I possessed that power? I mean, it was an excellent coat but it wasn’t magic. And I wasn’t a prince.
If anything I was a frog.
A frog in ill-considered lipstick.
“This was supposed to be sexy,” I muttered.
“Surely”—his voice had gone silk-soft in the quiet room—“you’re familiar enough with my tastes by now to know just how appealing I find the sight of you on the floor.”
Well. That was slightly cheering. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Though I like you best at my feet.”
I managed to meet his eyes again. They were steely gray in the gloom and gleamed like the glass that surrounded us. My magnificent predator. So fierce
and so lost. “I can do that.”
My hands were shaky as I reached for my belt.
But, strangely enough, my confidence was back. Maybe he’d been right all along: it wasn’t that fragile. It was true that compared to Caspian I was short and skinny and apparently ridiculously clumsy, and as ordinary as ordinary could be. But all it took was the way he looked at me, the things he said to me and wanted me to do for him, the fractures in his self-control, shining like veins in marble, and I felt like the most powerful, desirable, wondrous person on the whole fucking planet.
And, God, I wanted to please him. Give him everything.
Submission. Desire. Suffering. Longing. Safety. With him it all became the same: the same ache, the same need, the same…oh God…the same helpless love.
Button by button I bared myself.
Halfway down, I realized I should probably have turned around and let the coat slip from my body, while I peeped coquettishly over my shoulder.
So what I was having here was a stripping learning experience.
But it didn’t seem to matter. Because the moment I flashed lace, Caspian made this amazing sound—all rough and deep and lusty—and was away from his desk so fast, his chair hit the window behind him. He prowled across the room, swift as a panther after prey, and then my coat was a pile on the floor and I was in his arms.
Literally in his arms. Legs round his waist. Lips against his. Like some crazy movie kiss in the pouring rain.
Except for the part where it wasn’t raining, and I was naked except for thigh highs and a hat.
But still. I wrapped myself round him, tight as honeysuckle. And kissed and clung and clung and kissed until I was breathless and dizzy and his mouth was a red smear and my eyes were full of stars.
It was only when I felt something solid nudge the backs of my thighs that I realized he’d carried me to his desk. I shoved his laptop out of the way, grabbed him by the tie, and pulled him down on top of me. The glass was gasp-inducingly cold against my unprotected back but he was blissfully warm. I shuddered, caught in a kind of delirious skin-confusion. An ice and fire sandwich.
And then Caspian’s mouth closed over my nipple, drowning me in fresh heat. My brain gave up trying to process anything and I just moaned and clutched at his hair. For once he didn’t shake me off, tugging my pincher back and forth with his tongue until my veins filled up with lightning and I could hardly bear the pleasure of it.
He glanced up, panting and disheveled.
My lipstick had traveled from my mouth to his to everywhere his mouth had touched me.
Which meant I had painted nipples.
It was the most brazen thing I’d ever seen and I wished I’d thought of it.
“I, er, I take it you don’t mind me showing up then?” I asked.
He traced a hot wet stripe up the side of my neck, making my pulse flutter at the realization of its vulnerability. “If I still possessed the capacity for rational thought, I might consider it ill-advised.” I wasn’t sure I liked that answer. But my own ability to have thinking happen was not so great either right then.
“You look…” He seemed to lose track of what he was saying. He dragged a hand along the outside of my thigh until he came to the top of my hold-ups. Slipping a single finger beneath the band, he pulled it outward, and then let it go so that it snapped sharply back into place.
It didn’t really hurt but it made such a loud crack that I gasped anyway. “I look what?”
“Wicked beyond belief.”
I nodded happily. “You should show me my place.”
“And where’s that?”
“Wherever you want me. Begging for whatever you think I deserve.”
“Right now—” His eyes closed for a moment, though not before I caught the flare of passion and cruelty my words had ignited. “I think you deserve to be fucked. I think you deserve to be fucked until all you can do is scream my name.”
I could have come on the idea alone.
“God yes,” I breathed. “Yes, please.”
He gave a shaky laugh. “This is my office, Arden. I keep pens here, not lube. And there are ways I don’t want to hurt you.”
I’d gone without once before—it hadn’t been the worst thing in the world, and it would have probably passed into actively okay if the other guy had been just a touch less eager to plunge his manspear into my succulent dudehole.
But thankfully it wasn’t an issue tonight.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I was a Boy Scout. I came prepared.”
I gave him a little push so he was standing between my legs. Then, putting my years of dedicated yoga to good use, I took an ankle in each hand and split myself like a wishbone.
He was staring at me. At…well. A quite specific and currently very exposed part of me. And having him do that hit me right on that perfect edge between exciting and embarrassing where they got all muddled up. It needed a word. There must have been one in German.
“You were a Boy Scout?” He sounded a bit preoccupied—almost as if that wasn’t at all what he was really thinking about.
“For five minutes or whatever. Before they kicked me out for being a raging queer.” I smiled at him, in what I hoped was a winning manner, and flexed some intimate muscles in a saucy wink. “Now about that fucking me till I scream thing?”
His glanced up, as swift and sure as a wolf scenting blood, and as ferocious. “Don’t move,” he told me.
I’d been feeling pretty audacious with the whole do-me move but I hadn’t quite anticipated being stuck like that. All laid out for his taking. Bound by his command.
But, holy shenanigans, it was hot.
I whimpered earnestly. “I won’t, Mr. Hart.”
And was rewarded by a low growl of approval and pleasure from Caspian. I was glad to see him fumble very slightly with his belt as he released his cock. We were both so fired up I thought he’d slam into me like a train. But he came into me neither carefully nor roughly, just relentlessly, filling me up slowly so that I felt every inch of him as he took possession of me.
There was enough lube to ease his way, but the deep stretch was almost an echo of pain, and it made me pant and cling tight to my ankles. By the time he was all the way in I was moaning softly at the back of my throat, my sweat slicking the glass beneath me. I loved this. Holding him inside me. That kind of oh hey, there’s a man in my body. The slight physical and emotional shock of it. And the way it made me feel vulnerable and strong and right all at the same time.
He pulled out partway, adjusted his angle, and hit my happy spot so perfectly I had to turn my face into my shoulder to smother the epically grateful noise I made.
He caught my chin and pulled my head back. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m not going to—?”
“There’s nobody to hear but me and I want to hear you.”
“O-okay.”
It turned out, that was straightforward. I wasn’t sure how successfully I’d have been able to hold back if I’d tried. He fucked me mercilessly, with a precision and a power that left me an incoherent trembling mess on his desk, my whole body rocking with the thrusts I held myself open for.
Being fucked that way, and helpless to do anything but take it and feel it, was insanely intense. My hands were slippy and my legs were aching and my arse stung a little bit from his thrusts but somehow, that just made everything even better.
Best of all, though, I got to watch. I got to see him pushing into me, framed by the V of my legs, the tender skin of my thighs looking paler than usual in contrast to the dark nylon of the stockings. I got to watch my cock bouncing between us, hard and flushed and shiny with precome, my balls drawn up tight beneath. And I got to watch him. Gorgeously unraveled with his tie askew and his hair mussed from my fingers. Perspiration gleaming at his temples and this tight line of concentration between his brows. The strained ecstasy in his half-closed eyes and the softer bliss of his parted lips, like an untouching kiss.
That was when the phone ra
ng.
It gave me such a fright that I arched right off the desk, my arse death-clamping around his cock.
“Whu?” I gasped.
“That would be the call I was expecting.” He sounded impressively calm considering he was literally inside me.
“Oh…um…awkward.”
I expected he would either pull out or that we’d unconvincingly try to ignore the call. What I didn’t expect was that he’d take it.
The only warning he gave me was a stern “Don’t move, Arden” before leaning over me to hit the speaker button.
I froze, legs akimbo, trying to hold in a horrified yip.
Caspian said something in…I guess…Japanese? And received a longish reply. While I lay there, terrified of the sound of my own breathing, almost unbearably aware of my body, and trying not to squirm. Or do anything that might reveal what was going on to the person—or, people, fuck, what if it was people?—on the other end of the line.
I couldn’t tell if I was panic-stricken or aroused beyond all reason. My cock was definitely on the second team.
Caspian was still talking. Rattling off, I don’t know, figures maybe.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught our reflection in the window. I looked like the virgin sacrifice in a Victorian horror: this pale shape, yielding rapturously beneath the shadow of Caspian. I’d never felt quite so…penetrated. Or so aware of it anyway: the hot stretch and the pressure of him inside me. It made me wish he had fangs to sink into the tender flesh of my bared throat.
Just then, he dragged a finger all the way up the underside of my cock. My mouth fell open on a soundless scream. I was going to come. Or die. Or both. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Caspian put a hand over my mouth.
Which I was grateful for…and also found superhot. So it was helpful and not helpful. I thrashed—though given my position, pinned and impaled and teetering on the verge of a deliriously exciting feargasm, it was more of an undignified wriggle. Somehow I got myself under control, my teeth scraping against his palm as I muffled my whimpers.