by Grace Lowrie
‘Then what? What do you want from me?’
She raised her chin defiantly. ‘Bay, I want you to fuck me.’
Those words, on her lips, detonated inside me. ‘Fuck, Cally…’
‘Just once; no strings attached… I want you to show me what it can be like – how good it can be…’
Speechless I stared into the deep pools of her eyes.
‘You want it, too,’ she said, pressing herself up against my erection and making me groan. ‘Please,’ she whispered.
Begging was overkill – already I wanted her with my entire being – I had from day one. Grabbing hold of her I kissed her hard, stealing her breath with my tongue and crushing her soft breasts to my chest. She saturated my senses; swamping the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins, as if I was drowning from her kiss alone. A voice in my head warned me I was making a huge mistake and I pulled back, unsure. ‘Just once,’ I stated, searching her face for assurance.
Her eyelids were heavy with desire, her cheeks flushed. ‘Yes,’ she breathed.
And that was good enough for me. Dropping to my knees I dragged her knickers down to her ankles, unhooking them from a stiletto as she lifted her foot. Pushing her knee out to the side I lifted it high with one hand and buried my mouth between her thighs, impatient to taste her again. She braced her heel on the window frame, clinging to the windowsill at her back and panting as I explored her with my tongue. She was so beautiful; so perfect; so ripe and ready for me and making me lose all control.
The way she shoved her fingers into my hair and yanked at the roots told me she was already close – I had the power to make her fall apart with ease.
As I stood, I undid my trousers and my cock sprang free with an eagerness of its own. Cally whimpered at the sight of it, and I smirked with satisfaction, restraining the beast in one hand. ‘I’ll just go get a condom.’
‘No, don’t,’ she gasped. ‘There’s no need, honestly, I won’t get pregnant and I trust you; just do it, please.’
I’d never done it without a rubber before – usually when I invited a girl over I was too wasted to move, let alone fuck. But when I did fuck, I always used a condom – always. But Cally wasn’t any of those other girls, there was an innocence about her and I trusted her as if I’d known her forever. Either way I was in no fit state to deny her anything. ‘Turn around.’
She did as I asked, her breath catching at the glittering view of night-time London spread out before her. Beyond the inky abyss of the garden below lay a jumble of apertures, domes and rooftops; the many lights haloed by raindrops on the glass.
‘Hold onto the windowsill and spread your legs,’ I said, fighting the urge to bite her pert bottom as she complied and tipped it up to meet me. Steadying her hip with one hand, and positioning myself with the other, I thrust up inside her with an animalistic grunt. She moaned, long and low, and I stilled as her internal muscles rippled around me. Fuck she felt fantastic. While I fought to calm myself and retain control, I reached up to cup and pinch her nipples and she made a keening sound, clenching everything inside her. ‘Sweet Jesus,’ I muttered under my breath. She was watching me in the reflection of the window pane like a beautiful ghost, her eyes dark, her lips parted and me a sinister black shape, silhouetted behind her.
‘Ready?’ I growled.
‘God, yes.’
I fucked her hard, unhurriedly at first, slowly withdrawing and then driving firmly back up inside her with intense deliberation – as if I was finally receiving, or solving, or finding something that I had needed all my life. And she pushed back to meet me with equal fervour, taking me deeper, moaning with pleasure and asking for more – as if she really wanted me. I knew I should be savouring this moment, drawing it out and making it last longer, but she felt too fucking incredible and my need was too overwhelming.
As our pace increased she pressed her forehead to the cool glass where it misted with her breath. Soon I sensed her body tightening in my arms with her impending release, and I had to focus solely on outlasting her. When Cally came she cried out, her back and neck arching in blissful abandon, her skin flushing with warmth and washed in moonlight. I held her close as a tidal wave of powerful convulsions consumed her from head to toe, dragging my own climax from me with near-violent force.
‘Fuck,’ I muttered, shaking and breathing hard.
Cally smiled lazily at my reflection, her eyes almost closed. Struggling to catch my breath, I gently eased out of her and she turned to me, her forehead dropping to my shoulder with a sated sigh. Scooping her up in my arms I carried her across the room to my bed and threw her down on the covers. She stretched and purred, kicking off her heels with loose-limbed contentment before leaning onto one elbow and gazing up at me, her dark hair stormy and her mouth a smear of crushed berries against her pale cream skin. Delicately resting her cheek in her hand she smiled knowingly, the epitome of Venus herself.
‘Stay there,’ I said.
Chapter Thirty-three
So that’s what I’d been missing out on this whole time – that’s how it felt to be properly, expertly, fucked. My body had never, ever, felt so utterly fantastic. Stretched out on his bed like a cat, I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips.
Bay took his time setting up – righting his easel, re-securing a canvas, arranging the low lighting and organising his supplies. Retrieving our vodka Martinis from the kitchen, he set them by the bed before switching off my playlist and putting The Fragile album on repeat. This time he stripped off his trousers and settled on to the stool butt-naked except for his wristwatch; a paintbrush in hand, and his expression all business.
I watched him as he worked, his gaze shifting constantly between me and the canvas, even while he was mixing up new colours or incorporating a gel medium to alter the texture. My eyes feasted on the parts of him that the easel didn’t block from view – his sexy feet; his long, athletic, hairy legs; his impressive private parts relaxed and weighty against his thigh; the bulge of his inked biceps; his black unruly hair, sticking-up in great tufts where I had pulled it – my fingers tingled at the memory – and his eyes; that dark, intense steady gaze, that turned me inside-out with longing.
‘Tell me what you see,’ I said.
He kept painting as if he hadn’t heard me, and I started to wonder if I had ruined things between us. Shamelessly, ruthlessly, I had taken what I wanted. Would he forgive me? Or would I live to regret it? Abandoning his brush in a jar of water he took up another, kneading the bristles in his palm and then into fresh paint. At length he returned his impassive gaze to me, as welcome as the sun.
‘I see the gentle slope of your shoulder…’ he said, applying brush to canvas, ‘…the elegant line of your neck and the way the light burnishes the tips of your knuckles beneath you cheek.’
His measured words physically stirred me, as if he were actually reaching out and caressing my skin. I swallowed. ‘What else?’
‘I see the shadows captured by your collarbone; the way your breasts rise and shift with each breath, and the deep, wine-red splashes of your nipples, which pucker and harden under my scrutiny.’
I shivered at his words, an aching heat unfurling inside me and pooling low down in my groin.
‘Cold?’
‘No.’
‘Move your right hand up and cup your left breast.’
I did as he said, as if in a trance, and my fingers didn’t feel like my own. My skin thrilled at my touch as if it was his.
‘Now rub your nipple with your thumb,’
My breath caught in my throat as sensation zinged through me. I had become Bay’s willing marionette; in his thrall and at his mercy. Calmly he returned his attention to his painting while I continued to pleasure myself. But I wanted more. ‘What else do you see?’
‘The gentle swell of your stomach… the feminine curve of your hip… and the soft, dark nest of curls between your thighs, still damp with my come.’
I was breathing harder now, my face felt flushed and I u
nconsciously squeezed my thighs together to ease the throbbing there.
‘Slowly move your hand down your body – slowly,’ he repeated. His eyes followed as my fingers began their torturous descent. Despite his stern expression, his steady voice, and his determination to paint, Bay was hard again; his impressive shaft restrained in his left fist. Every part of me yearned for Bay to give in, to lose control and take me again. But we said only once – that was the deal – and I didn’t want to be the one to break it.
‘Raise your thigh and touch yourself there,’ his voice was lower and rougher than before.
Sinking my fingers between my legs, I quietly moaned as a shudder of pleasure rolled through me, but I fought to keep my eyes fixed on Bay. His paintbrush now hovered ineffectually in the air, his gaze ensnared by my body, his left hand slowly working his length.
‘Taste it,’ he said and I withdrew my fingers. They glistened with moisture as they caught the light and I sucked them slowly and deliberately.
I no longer recognised myself at all. But it did the trick.
With a groan of defeat Bay abandoned his work and strode towards me. Nudging me over onto my back, he leaned down, pressed the flat of his tongue to my lower belly and licked all the way up to my neck in one long, slow sweep. I instinctively spread my legs for him as he crawled onto the bed and kissed me on the mouth, tasting our combined desire on my tongue. It was a much gentler kiss than before – soft, warm and probing – a proper long, drawn-out, bone-melting snog. I was so relaxed that it felt entirely natural when he eased inside me – the most sublime feeling in the world.
This time there was no urgency. Bay took his time; moving with a slow, sweet, steady rhythm; stroking me everywhere with his fingertips, lips and tongue. Whenever I grew dangerously close to coming, he would still within me, simply caressing my skin with the dark heat in his eyes, before resuming his internal coaxing. In this way, Bay gradually moulded and sculpted my pleasure, increasing the tension inside me with patient skill; a true artist at work. When at last he drove me over the edge, it was like flying, soaring and then floating somewhere a million miles away. But he was close behind me and climaxed groaning my name, his face contorted as if in pain.
*
The buzz of the intercom startled me awake, and for a moment I was disorientated by my surroundings. Then I took in Bay’s naked form spread out beside me and I remembered with a smile. We’d had sex three times in all – a record for me – I had no idea I was capable of so many orgasms in a row. Maybe in Bay’s mind it all counted as one session, but now, sadly, it was over. The buzzer made me jump again and I nudged Bay with my elbow to wake him.
‘Just ignore it,’ he mumbled.
‘It might be important.’
‘I doubt it.’
Lifting his heavy arm I angled his wrist into a patch of light seeping from the kitchen so that I could read his watch. ‘It’s 3 a.m. are you expecting someone?’
Whoever was outside was now leaning on the buzzer continuously and Bay dragged himself upright with a frustrated growl. ‘Can’t a guy have a post-sex nap in peace?’
‘I smiled to myself as he stomped across the room naked, his dick swinging and his hair sticking up. God he was sexy. I was going to miss this so much.
Bay groaned when he reached the small camera screen. ‘What the fuck does he want?’
‘Who is it?’
‘My brother.’
‘Really? The one from LA?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘It doesn’t sound like he’s giving up – do you want me to leave?’ Sitting up I slid my feet off the bed.
‘No, stay, we might be less inclined to kill each other in front of a witness.’ He finally pressed a button and the buzzing stopped. ‘What?’ he barked.
‘It’s me,’ said a disembodied voice.
‘I can see that, what do you want?’
‘Buzz me in it’s wet out here.’
‘No.’
‘Bay… I know the code and I have a spare key, I’ll just let myself in if you don’t.’
Sighing resignedly, Bay jabbed the door release button while I pulled on his white shirt and hastily searched for my knickers. As he stalked towards the kitchen I threw his trousers at him and he paused long enough to pull them on before lighting up and grabbing a bottle. ‘More Martini?’ he said, raising his pierced eyebrow at me, the cigarette dangling precariously from his lip.
‘I think I’ll just have a soft drink if you’ve got it,’ I said, slipping a dust-sheet over the unfinished nude portrait of me. Bay shrugged and there was a knock at the door.
‘Sorry man, didn’t realise you had company,’ Bay’s brother said, smiling as he noticed me arranging the corners of the dust-sheet.
‘Would it have made any difference?’ Bay muttered.
‘Ashwin Madderson,’ he said, walking right up to me and holding out his hand. ‘But you can call me Ash.’
‘Cally,’ I said.
The similarity between the two brothers was striking – same build, same dark hair, same direct gaze. But Ash was the well-groomed, clean-cut, respectable version; with a tan, a polished smile, a short, neat haircut and an expensive-looking suit. He wore a plain gold wedding band on his left hand and his other was dry and firm as he shook mine. Up close I could see laughter lines around his eyes and a dyed absence of grey hair. Ash made me feel shy and uncomfortably conscious of my half-dressed state, even though he was too polite to allow his eyes to stray from my face.
‘Why are you here, Ash?’ Bay said, standing bare-chested and glowering, his feet firmly planted and smoke drifting from his nose. Ash released my hand and smoothly turned to face him.
‘I was in town on business; thought I’d drop by. Are you going to offer me a drink?’
Bay crossed his arms. ‘What kind of business are you doing at 3 a.m.?’
Ash sighed heavily.
‘What can I get you?’ I interjected, stepping into the kitchen.
‘A whiskey would be nice, thanks, Cally – I don’t mind which sort.’ Ash turned back to his brother. ‘You know, the usual kind of business; the kind where they invite you to sit through hours of tedious presentations and then take you out for a slap up meal and ply you with alcohol until you’re drunk enough to visit a strip club. I ended up blowing a wad of bills on a bunch of college girls in The Electric Fox.’
I started at the mention of my workplace, spilling Jack Daniels on the counter, and glancing up to find Bay’s eyes on me.
‘The Electric Fox, huh?’ he said, a mocking smile spreading across his face as my cheeks flamed with heat. He wouldn’t… would he?
Chapter Thirty-four
‘Yeah, The Electric Fox, you know it?’ Ash was oblivious to the silent exchange between Cally and me. ‘It was OK, but nothing to shout about.’
‘Maybe Tuesdays aren’t the best nights?’ I said, enjoying the pretty pink blush on Cally’s face, her large eyes imploring me to keep my mouth shut.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ Ash said, shrugging out of his jacket. ‘Man, it’s hot in here. Ah, thanks, Cally,’ he said, spotting his drink, taking it from her hand and taking a sip. ‘So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing getting wasted with a guy like Bay?’
I gritted my teeth. ‘Thanks for dropping by Ash, you can go now.’
‘Hey, come on,’ he grinned, spreading his arms wide, ‘I just got here.’ He walked over to the bed and sat down, tossing his jacket down beside him. ‘I haven’t seen you for at least a year, tell me what’s new.’
‘Nothing’s new.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Ash glanced around. ‘How can you live like this? Are you ever going to sober up and sort yourself out; do something with your life?’
‘That’s a bit harsh,’ Cally blurted out, her cheeks colouring again.
‘You think so?’ Ash said, his eyes narrowing. ‘Let me guess, you’ve known Bay all of a few hours and you think all of this…’ he indicated the room with a sweep of his arm,
‘…squalor, you think all this is cool, am I right?’
‘No, but I think he deserves more credit,’ she said, crossing her arms and raising her chin.
‘Cally, don’t bother—’ I began, but Ash cut me off.
‘Credit? What on earth for?’
‘Well for one thing, Bay hasn’t been wasted for weeks,’ she said, leaving the kitchen and moving towards my brother. ‘And he’s been a good friend to me; showing me around town, introducing me to new people and places… and his work! I mean, have you seen his latest paintings?’
I gawped at Cally, momentarily bewildered by the rush of words pouring out of her mouth.
‘Actually, no, I haven’t,’ Ash admitted.
‘No?’
‘Cally, just stay out of it,’ I said, hurriedly stubbing my fag out on a paint lid, but they both ignored me.
‘Are you serious? You haven’t seen his work?’ Cally’s eyes were round.
‘No, now that you mention it, maybe I should,’ Ash said, rising to his feet. He reached a hand out to the shrouded easel and Cally yelped, springing forwards and batting his hand away.
‘Not that one! It’s not finished,’ she muttered, her face flaming.
As the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company, Ash Madderson was not used to being openly contradicted or scolded by anyone, let alone a half-naked stranger with crazy bed hair. So far he was coping well under the circumstances.
‘Very well, which painting would you recommend?’ he said stiffly. Cally spun around, squinting into the shadows, before realising that all my finished pieces were shut in another room. I took the opportunity to intervene.
‘Just leave it, please,’ I said moving close to her, lowering my voice and squeezing her hand. Her fingers were soft and warm in mine and the tantalising scent of sex on her skin made my head swim.
‘But… he’s your brother and he doesn’t even—’
‘Please?’ I repeated, holding her determined gaze and watching it soften.
‘Afraid I’ll be disappointed, Bay?’ Ash piped up.
Cally’s eyes hardened and I spoke quickly before she could open her mouth. ‘Ash wouldn’t recognise fine art if it fucked him in the arse.’