by Tina Donahue
Heat rushed so quickly to Tim’s face, he couldn’t deny he’d been tempted to do so even as the thought had repulsed him. “No, I didn’t.”
Surprise crossed Catherine’s face, followed by caution. “Afraid to find out you’ve been wrong about me?”
“I’m not interested in your past,” he lied.
Her expression changed, her face becoming a mask once more, though not before he saw the sadness beneath it.
“Just as well,” she said. “The name I’m using now—Catherine Oliver—isn’t the one I was born with. Had it changed legally. Ronnie made certain the records were sealed. Judges really like the agency services, you know? They’re some of our best clients. They do all kinds of favors for the escorts. If you had gone to the trouble of having me investigated, your man would have hit nothing but brick walls. It would have cost you a lot of your money. I know how that would have worried you.”
Tim warned himself not to say anything that would make this worse than it was. They were here for fun, dammit, not this shit.
“Relax,” Catherine said, studying his face. “I’m used to these kinds of things.” Her sweeping gesture took in the table, the men.
Tim reached for her, needing to renew his claim, let her know she wasn’t going to get away from him for the next few days. At the moment, action was all he could manage since words were far too dangerous.
Didn’t work. Once more, Catherine moved back.
“That’s what I do,” she explained. “That’s why I’m here. Isn’t it, Mr. Bellamy?”
She wanted to fight and he couldn’t. He’d thought about this moment for days and hated where it was going. Suddenly, he didn’t even want sex. He wanted to talk. Bare his soul. Somehow make things right. “It’s Tim.”
She didn’t acknowledge his directive with words or a nod.
Shit. “How’s Opal?”
She actually leaned away from him with his question.
Why? What had he said wrong this time?
“You’re asking me,” she countered, “when you called the facility this morning? The nurses told me about it when I dropped by before my flight.”
“I just wanted to know her progress. How she’s coming along.”
“Please don’t do that again,” Catherine said. “Or interfere in any way. She’s my past, present and future. Not yours.”
Her rebuke was quiet, dignified, causing a flash of heat to sting his face. If she’d been any other woman, Tim would have turned on his heel and left, telling himself he’d been a fool to care about anything that involved her. Better to behave as a regular client would, simply taking what he’d purchased.
He couldn’t bring himself to do that. He inclined his head to indicate he understood her wishes and would comply with them.
Rather than looking happy about it, she appeared unsettled.
“You okay?” he asked, genuinely wanting to know.
She smiled instantly, without warmth, without it reaching her eyes. “I should be asking you that. These next days are about you, not me. Exactly what you paid for. How about I give you a really wild time? Maybe we can even re-create what you did when you were with your friends and Alexa in that House on R Street. You remember that evening, don’t you?” She arched one slender eyebrow as though she already knew the answer and it didn’t bother her in the least if he craved Alexa. “Now wouldn’t that be fun? But first, my massage. I know how much you like to watch. I learned that at the club when those two girls bathed me. Remember?”
It had been one of the best moments of his life. A time when he thought anything was possible between them.
Catherine kept stepping back, stopping finally when she was too far for him to think of touching her. With her attention on him, she untied her halter, dropping the item on the sand, seeming not to care if the wind blew it away. Swaying her hips to the right and the left, she worked the waistband of her skirt over her hips to her thighs, then allowed the fabric to fall at her feet.
She wore no panties. Her cunt was as smooth as Tim recalled, her tattoo as luscious, her performance maddening. This wasn’t the Catherine he knew, the one he’d craved and missed.
That woman was gone.
Brazenly nude, she moved past him without further comment and headed for the platform, her ripe breasts and firm buttocks bouncing with each step, the sun caressing her rich skin.
His male staff watched. Both men’s expression betrayed their hunger for her.
Chapter Twelve
She wouldn’t allow herself to want him in the way she had before. Recklessly, as though she were an untried virgin from his magical, wealthy world. A woman he might grow to love and would respect fully.
Catherine knew Tim would never get past the fact that she’d lied to him about being a call girl or that she would continue to work at the agency. The setup here with the two male staff proved that. At the nightclub, Tim had been protective, allowing only females to see her nudity, to touch it. That possessiveness was gone. He wanted her to loosen up, whatever the hell that meant. Was he expecting her to crawl all over his staff, in addition to him, making it a foursome?
He’d enjoyed that with Alexa, Hunt and David, and then he’d warned Hunt about falling for a woman like that.
No, Tim couldn’t accept her past and Catherine couldn’t change it, not even with a zillion lies. They were gridlocked, just like the District’s politicians, each wanting what they couldn’t have.
For now, all she could claim was the present and brash pleasure. Tim had paid the agency well for her time and she’d give him his money’s worth. No matter what he thought of her, she would behave like the professional she was, proving to him that he had nothing to fear from her emotionally. She wouldn’t cling. She wouldn’t expect. She’d perform. This was only a job.
“Hi,” she purred to the tallest of the men at the platform.
He grinned, flashing his straight white teeth. Probably her age, he was undeniably handsome, his skin a delicious caramel color, whereas Tim’s was golden. This man’s hair was dark and shoulder-length, tied at the nape of his neck with a leather cord, not short and blond like Tim’s.
Quit comparing them.
She turned to the other guy, who also gave her a broad smile. A bit older, possibly late twenties or early thirties, he was stockier in build than the first, his complexion the same, his features as good-looking. There was strength in his large hands, wanton indulgence too.
Without warning, Catherine remembered Tim’s hands, his touch, his caress and scent.
Stop it.
She cleared her throat to settle herself, hide her emotions. “You in charge of my massage?” she murmured to the stockier man, then quizzed the other. “Or would that be your responsibility?”
She climbed on the table, leaving the men to decide the matter between them, adding, “Only one at a time…at first.”
What she’d proposed hung in the air for one delicious second. Then the taller of the two men moved, reaching the table of scented oils before his companion could, with him scowling at having lost the first race.
“No fighting,” Catherine warned lightly. “Both of you will get your turn.”
They stared at her nudity.
She lay on the table, arms above her head, thighs parted slightly, cunt and breasts exposed…ready for a man’s use.
As her masseur selected one bowl of shimmering liquid over the others, Tim reached the platform.
She regarded him through hooded eyes. His expression gave away none of what he felt. However, she did notice a muscle ticking in his jaw. The same as that day in his office when he’d referred to her as something less than other women and far below himself. When it came to ancestry, bloodlines or whatever the fuck one called it—and only that—she was his inferior. Maybe she should admit to it. He’d probably be pleased they finally agreed on something.
“You okay?” she asked, using the tone he had when he’d posed that same foolish question to her.
He regarded
her pose and spoke quietly, without emotion. “Is this what you want?”
No. She wanted to scream at him that it had been his idea. She wanted to punch his arm and cry. Go back to the beginning and get it right. Not that such a thing was possible. There had never been a way for them to work out, had there? How correct Alexa had been from the very start. Catherine should have heeded her warning, saved herself from this.
Trouble was, this was all they had. Her playing a role, fueling Tim’s hunger, pushing him to the edge to gauge the depth of his desire. Not the carnal kind, the type that reached a man’s soul.
“Yes,” she lied to him, then spoke to the young man with the oil. “Forget a regular massage. I want something special…something wild. Do my breasts first.”
His attention was already on them. The other young man seemed transfixed by her smooth cleft. Both of them sported erections, their rigid rods pushing against the thin fabric of their pants. In her peripheral vision, Catherine saw Tim’s fingers curling into fists. Why? Because he’d expected to mount her first—given that he’d paid for this—not have two other guys vying for that pleasure, unless it was at his direction.
Again, she wondered if that’s what he’d originally planned, changing his mind only when he’d seen her surprise and dismay at their presence. She wanted to ask but wouldn’t, not expecting him to give her a straight answer. Not wanting him to know how much his response could wound her.
“Go on,” she murmured to the one with the oil.
He glanced at Tim, who said nothing to stop this.
Catherine wanted to hate him for that, not ache for him even more.
After a brief hesitation, the young man dipped his long fingers into the oil. Catherine noticed they shook slightly. No different from the fluttering of her heart. He rubbed a bit of the silky liquid onto her chest, near her collarbone, the least sexual part of her. Maybe he feared Tim would beat him up if he went lower. Maybe she wanted that. Not the fight, Tim’s devotion.
Fool.
The oil was surprisingly warm, as though it had something within it that generated heat. It smelled of coconuts. Sea-scrubbed air wafted past, perfumed further by scarlet and purple bougainvillea blossoms.
Catherine arched her back, encouraging him to touch her further. To be fucking bold, taking what she knew he wanted and Tim couldn’t yet have.
At last he did, swirling the oil over the swells of her breasts, around the bumpy areolas and firm tips. She imagined his hands to be Tim’s. A needy whimper escaped Catherine. Heat rushed to her pussy, her arousal sending a new stream of moisture to her cunt.
Her masseur trailed his fingers down her torso and past her navel to her belly. The muscles quivered in response. He oiled her tattoo, tracing its contours with a surprisingly light and gentle touch. The other guy moved closer, focused on the show. She recalled her evening with Tim at the club. Him mounting, using, enjoying her in full view of its female staff. His cock stretching her sheath with his hard length, forcing her to accommodate its size and to satisfy him.
Catherine moaned at the memory and the loss of what she’d found so precious.
The young man misunderstood and ran his fingers over her smooth sex, her soft folds. He touched her clit. She gasped in delight.
“That’s enough,” Tim growled. He pushed the other man’s hand away, his anger evident. Fueled by jealousy or something deeper?
Catherine refused to allow herself any hope and yet she was still helpless in her desire. Tim stripped quickly, tossing his pants aside. Like her, he hadn’t worn underwear. His erection was thick, the skin on his crown so dark with need it looked bruised, his balls firm and tight against his powerful body.
Taking the oil from his employee, Tim wet his fingers with it.
God.
He dragged his hands down her body, from Catherine’s shoulders, past her breasts and belly to her unappeased cunt. Tim didn’t linger there. She whimpered in protest. Ignoring her, he oiled her thighs, calves, toes, the backs of her legs, what he could reach of her buttocks. A pleased sigh escaped Catherine as he touched her anus. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip as he finally gave his attention to her clit.
He rubbed the erect nub with oil, masturbating her, even as he suckled her nipples, tugging on them as she liked, nipping them gently with his teeth, driving her crazy with lust and longing too. She wanted to dismiss it in order to protect herself. She tried to fake a moan so that he’d think she was just playing at this, behaving exactly as he believed a call girl would.
What he was doing to her, what they’d shared in the past, wouldn’t allow dishonesty. Pleading noises escaped her, sounding soul-deep, the kind a woman in love would make, unprotected against a man who had the power to hurt her with one unkind word or a frown. It wasn’t easy to admit, but she still needed Tim’s approval, his forgiveness. Not that she’d ask for it. That time was well past. Now all he could give her was release.
The tension within Catherine mounted, flooding her with heat and something else. What she could only describe as an intolerable sensation that was also miraculous and needed. All feeling settled in her pussy. That part of her seemed to have a mind of its own, no matter how much she fought against release.
Her inner muscles contracted, wanting closure, relief.
She broke, coming on a coarse cry, unmindful of her male audience. Tim used his strength to keep her legs parted, working her for minutes more, refusing to give her peace as she came back down.
“Stop,” she panted.
He would not. He knew what she wanted and needed better than she ever had.
When she was breathless and spent, he climbed on the table between her legs. “You can leave,” he said to the men.
“No.” Catherine pulled in as much air as she could and added, “I want them to stay.”
Tim said nothing.
She forced her eyes to open. His hair was just as she recalled and had dreamed about, a beautiful blond color, his features as masculine. She liked that he hadn’t bothered to shave. His bristly cheeks and wind-tousled locks gave him a rugged, insolent look. Like a marauder set on ravishing the local virgins.
“Their being here doesn’t bother me,” she said, then spoke without thinking, her words fueled by unhappiness, “Have you forgotten, I’m used to it. It’s what I do.”
Tim’s face colored as though he didn’t want her to remind him of it.
How could she forget? It would always stand between them, determining her future. Already their breakup had damaged Catherine to the point where she could barely function. If not for Opal, she would have crawled into bed and hid there these last days, crying nonstop about what she’d never have.
Had Tim cried too?
Probably not. What man did? Anger always replaced their hurt or humiliation.
His shoulders lifted and fell with his rough breathing.
Catherine wondered if she’d pushed him too far finally. If he’d call off their three days, have his pilot take her home, abandon her. The same as everyone else in her life had done, except for Opal.
If Tim figured this appointment was no longer worth it, she’d have no choice except to abide by his decision.
“Fine,” he said at last, the word clipped as though it weren’t fine at all. “Garon, hold her wrists. Bastian, hold her left thigh, keep her from moving.”
At his unexpected command, surprise, relief, then raw desire raced through Catherine. Fevered, she suddenly couldn’t calm down. Perspiration ran from her temple to her ear. She teased, “Afraid I’ll leave, Mr. Bellamy?”
He studied her, his expression darkening. “Shut up.”
He gave her no chance to do otherwise, slanting his mouth over hers, plunging his tongue inside. Simultaneously, he buried his cock to its root within her cunt, the pressure intense and welcomed. Not forgetting her clit, he settled his thumb on it and rubbed.
Catherine tried to caress him, a part of her aching for that extra measure of closeness.
Garon, th
e taller of the two, wouldn’t allow it. He held her wrists firmly in his hands. Bastian slipped his arm around her left thigh, his grip inflexible.
She thrashed at Tim’s relentless stroking. Her nub was still too sensitive from her last orgasm. He didn’t seem to care, or maybe he wanted to torture her. He rubbed until she was ready to tumble over the edge again, and then he stopped, allowing the sensations to subside.
Nooooo.
Catherine fought to retain them but failed, moaning in disappointment.
Tim responded by deepening their kiss to keep her from making any noise. He rubbed her clit once more. Her body stiffened at the renewed intimacy, then went limp, unable to fight it.
For hours, it seemed, he tended to the task of teasing her flesh, manipulating it to his will.
She came a second time, pulling her mouth free of his, needing air.
As though he meant to deny it, Tim pumped into her without pause. Her breasts wiggled with the force of his body smacking into hers. His balls tapped her ass. Bastian and Garon held tight to her wrists and thigh, adding another layer of decadence to the act.
This orgasm came too soon, even though Catherine tried to resist it. She shouted, then moaned, emptying her lungs. Tim’s features contorted with the sensations flowing through him, his obvious struggle not to climax. His shoulders and biceps tensed, the muscles flexing with each of his thrusts. His color deepened. He looked like a man about to burst.
For one fleeting second, he looked like a man in love.
Catherine’s eyes stung with unexpected tears. He didn’t notice. With his face tilted up, he bellowed and came, his cum pouring into her. His warmth and weight were a prison Catherine never wanted to be free of.
For that miracle to happen, she’d have to be someone else. Not the woman who’d lied to him. The one with a past and a present he couldn’t accept.
With no other choice, Tim rested, cursing his body for its stupid fatigue. However, he remained inside of Catherine, wordlessly reminding her that they weren’t yet finished with each other. During her stay, he’d decide when that would be. He had to retain that measure of power for the comfort it brought.