by Audra North
“I want to do this!” she blurted. “I’m nervous, nothing else.” She wouldn’t look at him.
What did she have to be nervous about? It was an act for her, a role to play for a short time. There was nothing at stake here except money, and he already said he’d pay her, anyway. Frustration made him aggressive, and he stepped forward, crowding her against the door. “Why are you nervous? I’m not going to pressure you into sex. I already told you I won’t do anything illegal.”
Her eyes went so wide, then, it was almost comical. Almost. Because being so close to her was doing things to his cock that made it hard to concentrate on anything except the soft pink of her lips, the delicate curve of her neck…
“I’ve never done something like this before and I’m worried—I’m worried you’re not going to be satisfied,” she whispered, and he could feel her breath against his skin. Fuck, that feels so good.
And then her words sank in and it felt even better. She wanted to be satisfied.
Well, damn. She was already doing an excellent job. The best job. And she hadn’t even moved.
He was so close he could feel the warmth of her body beneath that teasing robe. If he leaned in another inch, they’d be touching, enough to let him feel the softness of her breasts against his chest, the sweet hollow between her legs—
“This is supposed to be a special thing for you, and I don’t want to mess it up. I take my work seriously, Warren.”
She may as well have dumped a bucket of ice water over his head with the effect that statement had on him. Work. He was work.
But he couldn’t make himself scowl or sneer at those words, even so. Not with the way she was looking at him, as though she earnestly wanted to do this right for no other reason than to please him. He almost believed she truly only cared about satisfying him.
He believed it enough to pretend for a little while, anyway. And it was a relief to realize that at least she wasn’t afraid of him.
He gave her a small smile. “Why don’t you do whatever you’d planned to do, and we’ll figure it out, okay?”
Beatrice swallowed. “Okay. Um, go have a seat on the couch?”
She said it as though she weren’t sure whether she was asking him or telling him, but Warren nodded and stepped away, taking it as a command. No doubt if he had hired Queen Dommes, those words would have come across as a clear order, but somehow, he preferred the tentative assertiveness in Beatrice’s voice to the bold directives he imagined the professionals would have used.
Although the realization had him wondering if maybe it would have been a better idea to go ahead with the service, despite the cost. Because he wanted Beatrice more than he wanted to give up control…
And that was dangerous.
He looked around at the apartment for the first time, saw the small loveseat with a low table in front on which sat an oversized book about some photographer, it looked like. The wall adjacent to the door was lined with bookshelves holding what had to be hundreds and hundreds of books. And in one corner, there was a drafting table with all kinds of photography equipment and artistic prints hanging above it. He thought of his room at home, its distinct lack of books or anything resembling fine art, the same blue walls he’d slept inside for more than two decades, and tried not to feel like a loser.
But when he sank onto the cushions of the loveseat, he didn’t feel as out of place as he thought he would. With his back to Beatrice, he listened to her move behind him, stared at the vase of purple flowers on her kitchen table and felt a peace he hadn’t had in years.
Someone else was making the decisions for a while. No one was asking him to fix the blender or help with a science project or needed to borrow money for gas. For the next hour or so, someone was doing things just for him.
Someone who’s a real partner will help make things better for you, instead of adding to your responsibilities.
Donahue’s words from earlier that day floated through Warren’s mind as he sighed and sank deeper into the seat, a moment before small hands rested lightly on his temples. Warren jumped.
Beatrice was behind him now, holding his head in place so he couldn’t turn around to look at her. “I’m sorry I startled you.” She began to gently massage his head. “I thought I would start by getting you used to me. You know, to my t-touch.”
Her words sounded a bit rehearsed, but her voice was soft, and Warren quickly relaxed and let her fingers stroke slowly over him, sifting through his hair, pressing against his forehead, skimming behind his ears. It felt so good to be touched this way he was having a hard time not turning to nuzzle his face into her hands.
Behind him, he heard her take a deep breath. “But if there’s anything I do at any time, anything that makes you uncomfortable or you don’t want to do it, we should have a safeword. Something you can say—”
“I know what a safeword is.” Warren lifted his hands in an exaggerated shrug, so she could see them even from behind the couch. “But you decide. I can’t come up with anything.”
“Okay.” Beatrice was quiet for a moment after that, now running her hands over his cheeks, sliding them across his lips. It was all he could do not to bite the soft pads of her fingertips as they rolled across the seam of his mouth. “You have very soft lips,” she murmured, and blood surged to his dick, a violent reaction to such a sweet compliment. Warren had to clench his fists against the desire to unzip his jeans, haul her over the couch and pull her down onto his hard—
“How about ‘latte’?”
What? He was fantasizing about driving into her wet heat and she was offering him a drink?
No. Wait. What had they been talking about before his mind went wandering? “You want to use coffee as the safeword?”
Her fingernails scraped the stubble under his chin. Warren shivered.
“It actually means milk, in Italian,” she said softly, her hands pausing for a moment, nearly cupping his face in a gesture that shouldn’t have been erotic, for all that it reminded him of the way he used to hold Nathan’s face when his nephew was a younger child. But it was erotic when Beatrice did it to him. “We use it by itself here in America, but Italians say something different when they want the espresso drink.”
Damn it. He was a classless brute. All he could think of was her body, milking his, while she knew things about other cultures and maybe even spoke another language. He wondered if she’d ever been to Italy or any of the other places he had always dreamt of going, before everything had changed.
He tried to make civilized conversation, to make her think better of him even as his body roiled with a mix of rage at himself and hot want for her. “What made you come up with that?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just say it if you need to,” she whispered, then pulled her hands away from him. He heard something swish to the floor, then something black appeared in his peripheral vision, coming around the couch next to him.
Holy. Mother. Fuck.
Thank God he had seen those boots and fishnets first, or he might have actually died now when he saw the rest of what she was wearing. The stockings ended somewhere underneath a pair of skin-tight leather hot pants that matched a strapless leather corset-type thing on top, one that pushed her breasts together and left her shoulders completely bare. High up on her arm, a leather cuff encircled her bicep, and laced leather gauntlets ran from her wrist to elbow.
The only thing soft about her look was her hair, which was gathered up in a messy bun, some strands falling down to caress her neck.
Beatrice finally stopped, directly in front of him, standing with her legs apart as though she were trying to balance on the deck of a rocking ship. Warren could only stare. And stare. His mouth went dry and his cock hurt from straining so hard against the metal teeth of his zipper, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
A flush crept up her body, turning her pink from the roots of her hair to the d
ip between those incredible breasts. “I—did a lot of online research. And there was a book I read that talked about setting the context. It said—well, I felt it was right too—that dressing like this would help to put both of us in the right mindset.”
Damn. She’d certainly put more thought into this than he would have expected. With that kind of desire to get things right, he could see why she was such an incredible photographer.
But mostly, he was thrilled she had gone to all this trouble to give him this experience. She was still nervous, and obviously new at this, but then again, so was he. And he kind of liked the idea of being able to take this journey with her, even if it was going to end all too soon.
He wondered if she had any idea how long he’d wanted her.
“Am I allowed to touch you?” He was surprised at the way his own voice sounded, like gravel over tar, rough and slow, even as his hand opened and closed on nothing. She did something to him. Something he’d never experienced before, but suddenly felt like he couldn’t get enough of.
He stared at her thighs, wondering if they felt as strong as they looked. Wondering how they would feel, wrapped around his hips.
She shook her head.
It made him crazy.
“That’s another rule during the hour we’re together. Don’t do anything unless I order you to do it.”
Now that was a command. Clear and forceful, and it made him even harder. And it made him smile. Two minutes in and she was already getting better at this.
So he didn’t touch her, even though he wanted to, and she gestured for him to stand up as she stepped back, giving him room to rise. Even so, there was only a foot of space between the couch and the coffee table, and her calves were backed up against it. When he stood, their bodies were nearly touching.
Her eyelids drooped. He didn’t miss the way her shoulders rolled back, pushing her breasts forward until they grazed his torso.
“Take off your shirt.”
He hesitated for a moment, but then grabbed the hem of his tee. This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? To be told what to do and not to have to decide anything? The only awkward thing about this was that his mind was telling him that it should feel awkward.
But it didn’t. It felt good.
Go big or go home, Warren.
Right. Pushing all thoughts of awkwardness away, he pulled the shirt up and over his head, throwing it on the couch behind him.
“Very nice,” she purred, closing that last centimeter of space between them, sliding her leather-covered breasts over the light dusting of hair on his chest. He was breathing hard now, looking down between them, watching as the dark cleft bobbed up and down over his skin. He reached a hand out to touch her, but she backed away, wagging a finger at him.
“I said no touching. You’re not allowed to do anything unless I command it, remember? And if you continue to misbehave, I won’t touch you, either,” she admonished, and Warren found himself torn between grinning at how hard she was blushing at her own words and admiring how well she’d delivered the threat and managed to make him want to obey.
“Now lie down on the bed, facedown.”
Wait, what?
The very idea made him feel too vulnerable, worrying at his nerves. “But—”
“You have the safeword if you need it. Lie down.”
She said it softly but firmly, and it gave him the reassurance he needed to walk to the bed and stretch out, feeling strange amidst these lacy, girly linens, but much more eager to see what she was going to do. And, wow, her plush queen-sized bed was amazingly comfortable. Much nicer than his hard double mattress at home.
“Close your eyes.”
Warren did as he was told. He felt the bed dip, then heard a drawer slide open and shut. He heard her flip a cap on something, then close it up again, and in the next moment, she pressed something cool to the skin between his shoulder blades. His eyes fluttered open. “Shhh,” she reassured him. “Relax. And keep your eyes closed. It will warm up as I rub it in.”
He had been prepared to be bound. He was ready to be teased. He had even considered what it would be like to have her strike him, making him beg for mercy. He’d certainly dreamt about her peeling her clothes off in a slow tease so he could finally see what was under those conservative outfits she usually wore. But he hadn’t been prepared for this gentle, soothing touch.
It was unnerving.
His discomfort must have been obvious in the way he held his body, because while one of her hands began to rub the oil in, the other wrapped around his neck, squeezing gently. Part chokehold, part support.
“Relax, Warren. There’s nothing here for you to do. Nothing to control. You have no other responsibility in this place except to obey.”
She kept her grip firm, but not pushing, and slowly, slowly, after what felt like hours of being held on his neck while being stroked down his back, over and over, he felt the tension seep from his muscles. And she was patient the entire time, waiting quietly, petting him like something precious, for him to finally acquiesce.
It had been more difficult than he’d imagined. And yet, all he could think of now was how he had needed exactly this.
How had she known?
He sank deeper into the bed, and only then did she let go of his neck, bringing her other hand to join the one massaging his skin. Both hands kneaded over his upper back, rubbed hard over his shoulders and pressed into the tight knots in his neck, for a long stretch, until Warren felt boneless.
At least…up top.
Below, his cock pushed against the mattress, as though all the tension she’d massaged out of his upper body had gathered between his legs.
By the time her hands floated away again, he’d completely lost track of time and was on the verge of sleep. But the sound of the cap clicking open and shut once more brought him more alert, waiting for her to resume her massage.
Except this time, instead of leaning over his body, Beatrice rose onto her knees, swung one boot-covered leg over his back and sank back down, the round curves of her ass coming to rest atop his.
He was so relaxed, so warm and comfortable, that the way she was on top of him, pressing down and pushing into him, made him groan and roll his hips against her mattress. Facedown, surrendering to her…
Fucking hell, this was torture. And it was so good.
She leaned forward and slid her hands over the small of his back, the oil cold again, but the rest of him was so hot by now that the shock of it felt like a relief. Those skilled hands worked their way over him, down to the edge of his jeans, and Warren held his breath when her fingers began tracing the waistband, skimming around to the front of his body, slipping down his stomach to pull at the top button of his fly—
It made him nervous again.
He lifted his head off the bed, wanting to ask her what she was doing, but all that managed to do was make Beatrice’s hand slide into his jeans, his cock angled directly into her hand. The shock of her fingers where no woman had touched him in years made his brain shut down and his body take over, thrusting his hips down, hard, pinning her hand on his shaft with the weight of his body, making her gasp and try to pull away to no avail. In fact, the way she kept trying to yank her arm out from under him only made her hand slide up and down and her ass bounce atop his, threatening to drive him completely crazy.
And holy damn, the rubbing. The friction. A woman’s hand—Beatrice’s hand—on his cock and…oh God. It was happening. He was going to come. Too fast and unexpected and incredibly welcome, but not here, not here. Despite that she was practically giving him a hand job, no matter how inadvertently, climaxing in front of her would somehow be too intimate.
He surged off the bed, making her roll off of him to one side, and he cast his eyes around wildly for the bathroom. The pressure in his groin was too intense now. The slightest touch, and he’d probably lose
it in his pants.
“Bathroom. Where is it?” he managed to grit out, and she thrust her arm toward a door immediately past the sofa. He strode toward it, yanking his zipper open even as he walked. The second he pulled the bathroom door shut behind him, he shoved his boxer briefs down, pulled out his throbbing cock and pumped it hard, once, before his orgasm ripped through him.
Chapter Six
Beatrice sat on the bed, arms wrapped around her bent knees. Warren had been shut inside the bathroom for a while now, so she had unlaced her boots and dropped them on the floor, then settled in to wait for him.
She wasn’t sure how to feel. A part of her was disappointed and worried. Would he want to end this now? It felt like she’d done something wrong, like maybe she should have commanded him to stop moving as soon as her hand touched that hot, hard shaft. She should have told him not to run away to the bathroom. Commanded him. Wasn’t that what he’d hired her to do?
Instead, she’d let his embarrassment and her panic at her lack of experience get the better of both of them.
On the other hand…another part of her was thrilled. He had felt so good beneath her, all those heavy muscles giving way to her touch. She had lost focus, lost herself in the feel of his body under her hands. Who would have guessed Warren Davis had such soft skin? She had stroked over that skin and watched as the tension in him had eased, as he’d relaxed into the bed, and she’d felt so powerful.
The other day, she’d told Michelle she wanted more from herself. At the time, even she hadn’t been sure what that meant. But now…
Now she knew.
Having mastery over Warren, taking care of him and commanding him—she’d felt more confident with him tonight than she did when she was taking photos.
That was, of course, until he’d jumped away from her as though she’d burned him and raced for the bathroom.