by Dawn Steele
In his eyes was a strange light that she could have almost mistaken for love. But not love. He wasn’t capable of loving someone like her. Not the likes of him.
He soaped her all over, focusing especially on her tits and pussy and ass. His soapy fingers even wormed into her pussy hole to clean it out thoroughly. Then she washed him, pausing significantly at his cock and balls. His cock immediately got hard again when she was soaping it.
“Ready for another round?” he said in a husky voice.
Then he pushed her back against the wall.
“Straddle me,” he commanded.
She put her arms around his wet neck and he lifted her by her waist. She wrapped her legs around his hips and eased her pussy down onto his ramrod cock. He speared her easily, pushing apart her pussy walls as though they were paper.
Using the wall as leverage, he rocked his hips against hers, once again fucking her with an intensity which drove her mind into delirium. Her back thudded against the hard, smooth wall, as did her soft buttocks. His cock pummeled into her, slamming her hips against the wall in a wet slap-slap-slap of rhythm.
She could only gasp under the cascade of warm water and let him ride her to another oblivion of stars and whirly planets and bright colored lights. This time, he came into her pussy. His jet of hot sperm gushed into her vagina, and up, up, up into her womb. She imagined his squirming little life-givers swimming their way up into her dark womanly canals, filling her with the promise of life.
She stayed like this for a while, pinned to the wall by his cock and merciless strength. Then he kissed her wet face and lips, murmuring, “Are you all right?” Words of love and caring, even though he never mentioned the ‘L’ word even once.
“Y-yes, I’m all right,” she said shakily.
This had to be an emotional experience, right? He had cummed in her, planted his seed in her. They had to be bonded somehow by this experience, this shared celebration of life.
This was a moment to be savored.
Later, when they had rinsed each other off and toweled each other dry, Rust said mysteriously, “Come with me.”
She would follow him anywhere.
He led her to another room, which was not really a room but a walk-in closet twice as large as her lounge in her family home. The walls were lined with sliding closets. There was a circular cushioned chair in the middle, and several long mirrors in carved wooden frames. A black dress was laid on the low table before the chair. It was a very delicate number. The material was like gossamer and it was worked with silver filigree. A pair of shining black heels sat at the table’s edge.
“For you,” he said. She could glimpse their reflections in the long mirrors – two naked people standing close together, their bodies golden and healthy in the flattering light.
“For me?” She faltered. He had never given her anything before. Well, anything material, that was.
“Yes. Put it on. You’ll look beautiful in it.” He went behind her and lightly swiped his arm around the front of her neck. He was gentle, caressing. He kissed the side of her neck.
He wants me to dress in front of him?
Okaaaaay.
She picked the dress up. It was lighter than a feather, like fairy wings. Her breath stopped. She had never worn anything so beautiful and dainty in her life. What if she tore it? What if she stretched it beyond its capacity and ruined it?
What if she looked fat in it and he laughed at her?
“Go on,” he urged her. “Don’t be shy. Put it on.”
He hadn’t laid out any panties for her or a brassiere. So he must have wanted her to be naked under that dress.
She gingerly pulled it over her head.
“Let me help you,” he said.
Together, they let the dress drape over her body. It was a diaphanous number. So sheer as to be transparent. It was a very sexy number which showed off her curves to good effect. The front barely covered her large breasts and the neckline plunged all the way down to just above her navel. Her nipples were hidden only by the concentrated filigree which decorated the bands which formed the front of the dress.
As for the back, it was entirely bare safe for the halter around her neck. The scoop of where the skirt started was so low was to reveal (just reveal) the tops of her buttocks. No wonder he didn’t want her to wear panties! The long skirt was slit on both sides, so that her legs were shown to perfection.
She was beautiful in that dress.
Overwhelmingly, awesomely beautiful.
“See? I told you,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his naked chest to her back. She felt the hardening of his cock against her lumbar curvature.
“No, I can’t fuck you this time,” he added, laughing, “not in your finery. Now let me get dressed before I cum all over your clothes. We have to eat. I’m starving.”
She could completely bask in his attention all night.
Once he had dressed in a smart white shirt and white jacket over dark pants, they were every inch the perfect couple. Beautiful, rich and (outwardly) happy.
A couple.
She savored the word, even though it was only in her imagination. If this was a dream, she didn’t want it to end.
“Wait,” he said. “This dress wouldn’t be complete without these.”
He withdrew a velvet case from one of the drawers in the closets and opened it in front of her. Inside was a pair of teardrop diamond earrings. They were so sparkling and breathtaking that she couldn’t take her eyes off them.
For me? she wanted to ask.
But of course they couldn’t be a gift. They had to be on loan from Tiffany’s, an accompaniment for this beautiful dress, just for the night. She shouldn’t even ask, shouldn’t presume.
“They are beautiful,” she said in awe.
Her eyes had stars in them. She had dissolved into the realm of girls she had previously detested – the ones who fell all over a man and gave him her all just because he flashed a couple of jewels in front of her. Only hers was in reverse. She had spread her legs and given the man of her dreams her all before he had given anything material to her, because all she ever wanted was him.
Was this now a present from him to her for being a wanton slut?
Oh stuff it, it isn’t a present at all, and you know it.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked before she could betray herself. Her voice quavered.
“No ‘thank you’?” he inquired.
She was amazed. She spun round.
“A-are they for me? They must have cost a fortune! I can’t possibly take them!”
Yes, you can, she told herself, her heart beating fast.
“Relax,” he laughed. “I can’t gift them to you. They’re not mine. They’re my mother’s. But I can loan them to you for the night. You’ll look beautiful in them.”
Oh. Her disappointment was palpable in the mirror, even though she tried to put on a brave face.
He saw her expression as he clipped the earrings on her, but did not say anything. They were phenomenally beautiful on her ears. She looked like a princess – albeit a very modern, slutty one. The expression in his eyes was unreadable, as though he had something he wished to say, and yet he knew he would regret saying it.
She knew it was coming . . . the talk. Now, Kate, what we have is nice and all that . . . but that’s what it is. There’s no ‘me and you’. We are not a couple. Our relationship is strictly genital.
But he didn’t say anything.
“Let’s go,” he said, more abruptly than he had done all night.
She should know better than to set herself up for disappointment. Now you’ve done it, she scolded herself. Now you’ve puffed yourself up into a balloon and let yourself get pricked.
They went down to the lobby of his apartment building. The mood between them was a little more sober.
The doorman brightened when he saw them.
“Good evening, Mr. O’Brien,” he said, nodding. “Ms Penney, you look
beautiful.” He sounded as though he fervently meant it.
“Yes, she does, doesn’t she?” Rust said, a little more amiably. His tone was admiring, even, and she stole a glance at him. His face was a composed mask and as unreadable as always.
Oh, well.
She wished her emotions weren’t such a yoyo where Rust was concerned.
“Shall I bring the BMW around, Mr. O’Brien?”
“No, we’ll take the McLaren.”
He had a McLaren too? She felt faint. He couldn’t possibly afford on this on a Professor’s salary. He had to come from old money, especially since his mother owns things like that pair of diamond earrings.
The doorman drove the McLaren to the front, and Rust opened the passenger door for her.
“After you,” he said courteously.
They were back to normal, playing emotional cat and mouse. Everything was all right again. Or not, depending on her perspective at a certain time of day.
She stepped into the car, and he closed the door behind her, putting the lid on all her bottled hopes, fears and insecurities.
8
The restaurant Rust was taking her to was situated a little way off, and so it took thirty minutes to get there. But once they were there, she was confronted with a guardhouse and a barricade at the entrance to the parking lot.
Where the heck were they going? The White House?
Rust winded down the window of the McLaren as the guard came around.
“Password, please,” the guard said.
“Amscray.”
The guard signaled someone in the guardhouse and the barricade was lifted. Ah, so this was one of those secret alpha men’s places.
“Are there a lot of these places around here?” she asked quizzically.
“There are some.”
“There are still so many shifters?”
“Not enough, Kate. Not enough. We are a dying breed.” His face was obscured by the shadows as he drove them to an empty spot between a Jaguar and a Toyota. So the clientele was mixed here in terms of possession riches.
He came around to open the door for her, and he gave her his hand to help her out. She could almost forget that he was her Professor.
The restaurant was a double-storey building which extended a good way back. It was made of red brick, like the six foot walls which fringed its compound. The owner obviously intended to make this a very private establishment, much like the Alpha Men’s Club.
A maitre d’ greeted them at the doors. “Welcome, Mr. O’Brien. Haven’t seen you here for a long, long time.”
“Yes. It’s been entirely too long.”
“We have your table reserved.” The maitre d’ gestured inside. His eyes roamed to her breasts appreciatively. “This way, please.”
Unlike other restaurants, this one did not lead to a room full of tables and diners and bustling waiters. Instead, the doorway led down a corridor which was flanked by many translucent curtains, which covered many other doorways. There were shadows behind these curtains.
Kate stopped when she saw a werewolf pad towards them. This place was entirely too much like the Alpha Men’s Club. Only it wasn’t a club, and she wasn’t certain what took place behind those curtains.
The werewolf eyed both Rust and her as it walked by, but did not growl or bare its teeth.
“Relax. Not all wolves are Thomas,” Rust said.
She knew that. Still, there was a moment she had paused, wondering if the wolf had been Thomas, and Rust knew it. He seemed to be able to read her psychological makeup so well. Was that a good thing? she wondered.
The maitre d’ stopped at the final curtain on their right. The light behind the curtain flickered, indicating candlelight. The maitre d’ drew the curtain.
“Please go in.”
Inside was a spacious alcove. The walls and ceiling were sunken and white-grey, reminiscent of a cave. The only light in the room was by candelabra – a silver ensemble bedecked with tiers of red candles. The rather large table was covered with a white lacy tablecloth and there was a low sideboard against one wall.
The table was not set, other than the candelabra. All the cutlery and napkins were on the sideboard.
Rust drew a chair for Kate. She sat down, feeling rather naked. Her skin could be glimpsed beneath the transparent material of her dress, even though the naughty parts were hidden with patches of filigree worked cleverly into an Oscar gown potential design. She sensed that Rust liked to show her off, even though she wasn’t the kind of girl gorgeous men usually liked on their arm.
Still, she knew she looked beautiful tonight. Hell, she felt beautiful, if Rust’s burning eyes were to go by. And she wanted to be beautiful for him – for his eyes only.
Rust seated himself beside her. The two chairs were very close, as were the two placemats on the table.
“Your waiter will be with you shortly,” the maitre d’ said.
“Thank you, Bertrand.”
Kate studied the cutlery on the sideboard. All of it was gleaming silver. The napkins were folded up into shapes of owls. How quaint. She had never seen napkins folded into owls before.
“Do owls have significance in the shifter world?” she asked.
“Yes. They have totally died out now . . . as shifters. But when they were still around, they stood for knowledge.”
“So do owls in the human world.”
“No. Owls in the human world stand for wisdom. Wisdom and knowledge are not the same.”
Now he was beginning to sound like the Professor she had lusted after and admired in simultaneous measure.
She hesitated. There was so much she wanted to know about him. He was very handsome in his white dinner jacket. Imposingly so, like a prince of the underworld. It struck her that this was their first real dinner together. A date. She was on a date with Rust O’Brien – a surrealistic notion she had dreamt about. It had always just been about fucking for the two of them.
She was extremely ill at ease. What did one do on dates?
Oh, yes. They attempted to make conversation.
She said timidly, “Were your parents shifter tigers as well?”
“Yes. That’s the only way I could be in existence.”
“Do you . . . see them often?”
He smiled. “Ah, you want to know the source of those earrings.”
She blushed. “Not in that way.”
“I know. My mother lives in Manhattan. She still runs a successful private practice there.”
“What does she practice?”
“Psychiatry. Both my parents are psychiatrists, but my father left his private practice long ago to work in Bellevue, a psych hospital for the criminally insane.”
She didn’t dare to breathe. This was the most she had uncovered about his family in the time they had been together.
“Why did he do that?”
“He wanted to give back to the community, I suppose. Do what was needed, what other psychiatrists were leery of.” There was an edge in his voice that she subtly caught, but only because she was looking out for everything he said.
“That’s very brave of him.”
“No braver than most.”
Kate supposed private practice paid for those earrings then. But that didn’t indicate the source of Rust’s wealth, unless his mother paid for his bachelor pad. Rust didn’t seem like the sort of son who would take handouts from his parents, though.
He watched her watching him.
“I suppose after one month, you might be curious about me,” he conceded. “My great-grandfather came from Ireland with nothing but the clothes on his back. He started a small convenience store in his neighborhood, Brooklyn. It became so successful that it grew into a chain of convenience stores all around the Eastern seaboard.
“My grandfather took over, but unfortunately, his children – my father included – were more inclined towards the mind sciences. So he listed the business publicly and sold all his shares out. What you see now are the reapings of our mul
tiple trust funds.”
She said, “And you are a shifter family. No one knows?”
“No one but other shifters.” He held her eyes. “And the human lovers we take.”
I’m his lover, she thought. The word sent a thrill down her spine.
“Have there been many?” she said. “Human lovers, I mean?”
His marvelous green eyes glittered. “For shifters in general or me in particular?”
She blushed. “Both.”
“There have been some.”
“In both cases?” she ventured, her tongue going slightly dry. She was being daring in asking him so many questions. He might take it in his mind to punish her with a paddle or a soft whip for it later.
“Yes,” he replied. “Though in my case, I haven’t taken on many human lovers.”
A lump escaped into her throat. His eyes were so very penetrating as they gazed into hers, as though he was anticipating all her questions before she could ask them and finding them amusing in their childlike curiosity.
“How are we different from . . . the others?” she asked.
He smiled. “The others are more . . . feral. More aggressive as lovers.”
“And do you like aggressive?” Her voice fell.
He weighed this before replying, “Not necessarily. Oftentimes I like a submissive, pliant woman. Docile, sweet . . . and tractable.”
His hand rose to her cheek and he caressed her skin slowly with the pad of this thumb. Lovingly.
Her chest rose with a quick breath.
Sweet. He called her sweet.
Rust licked his lower lip.
“Not to mention beautiful,” he said. “I’ve always liked a woman with a little flesh on her. Maybe it’s the predator in me.”
She didn’t quite know what to say to that, especially since his hand crept to her right breast. He pulled the flimsy material of her dress away to reveal her nipple, which was already swelling under his touch. His thumb and forefinger went to this exposed nipple, and he started to rub it back and forth, back and forth.
A molten contraction went through her pussy and she shuddered. How many times have they had sex already tonight? It seemed that he wasn’t satiated yet.
They were interrupted by the drawing of the curtain.