Forfeit

by Stoneley, Zara

  She didn’t need him. Reaching a hand down between her legs, she slipped a finger inside, and couldn’t help the low moan that escaped. She circled gently inside, her thumb caressing her clit. She could hear the water of the shower, imagine his hands on his cock, stroking, pulling towards the orgasm she knew he wanted. Cradling one breast in her free hand, she squeezed gently, and then she was tightening around her fingers, her breath matching the pulsing as her juices ran down over her hand.

  ‘We’re staying in tonight.’ He was pulling a shirt on, his dark, tight nipples telling her that that he still wanted her. He ran his hands through the dark curls. ‘I’ve got a friend coming round.’

  She could feel her face settle into a frown. So what was he up to now? His same old trick of shagging her one night and then moving on, just to show her that she wasn’t worth his trouble? He took a step closer and she pulled the sheet up protectively. His lips twitched. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t neglect you.’ The blue eyes had a dangerous glint in them.

  ‘Whatever. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

  ‘I know that, darling.’ His eyes ran over her, lingering where the sheet dipped between her legs. ‘I’d like to see you taking care of yourself.’

  ‘I have to do it a lot.’ She felt a twinge of satisfaction at the way his eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve just never found anyone up to the job.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you will one day soon.’ He was grinning now. ‘Then you’ll wonder how you ever managed alone. Being taken care of has its benefits.’

  God, she hated him at times. She pulled her jeans on, the clothes he had miraculously got delivered to the hotel room. The tightness felt comforting; the seam of her crotch tight against her slit. She slipped her feet into her trainers; she liked the freedom of flats, liked the way she could stride out, feel herself open up as she walked, feel the hard fabric ease into her and rub against her.

  The fresh air hit her as she walked out of the hotel, a comforting blast against her too-warm skin.

  He’d told her to order a taxi, but she wanted to walk. To try and get him out of her head. Easier said than done. He’d never ordered her about before like he had last night, insisting she stuck to the rules, and it had been strangely liberating. She’d never done what anyone had told her before; she made her own decisions, in bed and out. She bit her lip; she didn’t want to be liberated in that way, because it meant someone else was pulling the strings. He’d got into her head, into her thoughts, and she didn’t let anyone in her head, because that was the path to destruction. If you let someone know what you thought, before you knew it they had a part of you, had control. And she wanted control; it was all about self-preservation.

  She stuck her hands deeper into her pockets, suddenly realising that she’d wandered into the park. It was quiet; all she could hear was the crunch of the gravel path under her feet, and the distant squeals of toddlers on the playground. It was supposed to be the best time of your life, wasn’t it, when you were a kid? Until someone rocked the boat, until you were old enough to realise that some secrets aren’t for sharing.

  She flicked a pebble into the water with her foot, watched the ducks serenely head her way. Paddling like hell underneath; scooting about desperate for the crumbs that were thrown, dancing to someone else’s tune. She’d done that once. Tried to please Jamie, and been dropped in it big time: left with no home, no job, no money. And all because he wasn’t the man she thought he was; all because one day they’d suddenly realised they didn’t know each other at all. Did you ever really know someone? Was it ever safe to start thinking you might? Sometimes it just seemed easier to go with the two-dimensional; to accept the picture and never question, never want. Never be disappointed. Never disappoint. Except, deep down, she didn’t want two-dimensional; she wanted full-blown three-dimensional. Or nothing.

  So she must have been mad to agree to this marriage, which was why she’d said no sex. No sex meant he didn’t get in her head and mess with her. So why the fuck had she been so stupid and broken one of the clauses? And how had he found out and come up with this pay-off? Playing out his fantasies. He was mad. But he wasn’t getting to her. Last night had been a one-off; last night he’d caught her unawares. And no wonder. She’d been desperate; she’d not had a shag for a year. Tonight would be different. Tonight she knew what to expect; tonight she was ready for fantasy number two. All she had to do was accept the sex, let her body play the game and then walk away.

  She shook her head impatiently and stood up. Being maudlin wasn’t helping anything. She’d got herself into this, and she’d get herself out. Eventually. But first she had a date with the devil. She grinned, for the first time in 12 months feeling strangely giddy. Maybe she just needed to figure out a way of showing the devil a trick or two he wasn’t expecting.

  ‘Hey.’ He was waiting for her, leaning against the fireplace, glass of wine in hand. His smile reached out to her, all sexy debonair in his tight jeans and crisp shirt, buttoned low so she could see that inviting triangle of soft brown skin.

  ‘Hey, back to you.’ She grinned at him. She’d forgotten just how sexy he could look. His dark hair was all mussed up from his habit of running his hand through it when he was thinking, hair that seemed to soften the strong lines of his cheekbones, a darkness that framed the startling eyes.

  He’d not insisted she change into something sexy, just told her they’d be eating together at 8 p.m. So whatever he had planned couldn’t be as outrageous as yesterday. Which suited her just fine.

  ‘Jeans suit you.’ The deep voice seemed mellower than yesterday; more approving, less commanding.

  ‘They don’t look bad on you either.’ They looked damn good. She tried to ignore the long legs and neat hips, tried to forget how his body had felt against hers. She was determined to keep the mood light, not let him wind her up and control all the shots.

  He grinned and she realised she’d never really seen him relaxed. He looked even more attractive when his face softened; the intensity of his blue eyes less searching. Warmer. In different circumstances she could have fallen for him, all over again.

  ‘Are you ready to eat?’

  ‘I thought you had friends over tonight?’

  ‘Later.’ Was the smile dangerous, or was she just imagining things? ‘I’ve got a friend joining us after we eat. I’m sure you’ll get on fine.’ He was guiding her through to the dining room, and the butterflies started up in her stomach. There was something about his words, something about the romantic table laid for two that was setting her on edge.

  ‘Wine?’ He poured, watching as she wetted her lips nervously. It was hell being sat this close to him, his smell grabbing at her senses every time he leant close. He brushed a stray lock of hair off her face and she flinched, feeling her whole body take a sharp breath. ‘I hope you like oysters.’

  ‘No. I don’t, actually.’

  ‘I thought they might put us in the mood.’

  She tried not to scowl. She had been in the mood, but now she wasn’t so sure. ‘What are we getting in the mood for, Brent?’

  His smile was enigmatic. ‘Eat up. You’re going to need your strength.’

  ‘Brent?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t want to spoil the surprise.’

  ‘What if I don’t like it?’

  ‘Then you don’t have to play, my little spitting Cat. Your choice.’

  ‘You’re a shit sometimes, you know that?’

  He laughed. ‘I think you’re enjoying it.’ She felt her body tighten as his gaze homed in on her taut nipples. ‘I think you like a bit of a challenge, and that’s what you’ve decided this is, haven’t you?’ He was fingering the stem of his glass and she could feel the heat start in her body; yes, she had. A challenge to keep herself shut off from him whatever he did.

  Brent eased the musky oyster into his mouth, rolling it for a second before letting it slip whole down his throat. He wanted her musky taste in his mouth, wanted to lick up her juices. But first he had to
soften her, open her up to him. Make her want. And he knew she wanted to, even if she was pretending to fight every inch of the way. She needed sex like she needed food and water. She needed an explosion to rock her out of the boring, staid life she had decided to lock herself into. He needed the key. He needed to let her out for both of them.

  Twelve months of having her keep him at arm’s length had driven him mad, but he was prepared to be patient. At times he wondered if the marriage had been a mistake. If he should have persuaded someone he hadn’t slept with, that he hadn’t desired so much it hurt. But she had been there, and he couldn’t resist. It had seemed a good idea at the time. Until she had laid down the no sex rule.

  That one time he’d had her before had shook him. She’d just started working for him; he’d watched that pert bum and firm thighs paraded every day and decided he wanted her; like he had so often wanted women. It had been easy to persuade her to go out for a drink, easy to seduce her in the taxi, and he was good enough to know how to push a woman that extra mile, to get into her knickers. But boy, had she shocked him! So many women were eye candy but boring in the sack. But in her he’d seen a hint of passion that scared him. So he’d kept away, because he didn’t want to become addicted to anything or anyone.

  When she’d said she was leaving he’d realised she’d been about to shut the door for good and he knew he couldn’t let her. He knew he had to have her again. He’d spent too long fantasising about it, had woken up too many mornings with a hard-on that made his balls ache. So his offer had made sense to him. He needed a wife, needed to look respectable if he was to get on the board, and a year with her would get her out of his system. Until she’d set her stupid condition. And managed to stick to it. She was smart. But she’d slipped up just once and that was enough. Now it was his turn.

  He sucked on the next oyster, watched the way her green eyes darkened, and as she dropped the thick, dark lashes to hide her eyes he felt his balls tighten. She couldn’t hide her desire, but he needed her to share it freely. He wanted her to share every bit of herself. And it shocked him a bit how important it was to him. Oysters might be corny, might be clichéd, but they suited him right now, set the tone.

  Chapter Three

  Cat watched his throat as the oyster slipped down. She’d have matched his deep swallow at the right time, if he’d been the right man. But he wasn’t. And she wasn’t going to share his pleasure.

  She bit into the soft flesh, chewing decisively through until it was small bits in her mouth. A mush that was no longer sensual. She wanted to look up, to see his reaction, to show him she would only play along so far, that he didn’t own her. But she daren’t. There was something carnal about eating like this, even if she was defying him. It was safer not to look. He made everything sensual; every damn move had an earthy sexiness about it that turned her on. The man didn’t need oysters; they were just a statement. To set the scene for whatever he had in mind next.

  She pushed her plate forward, resisting the urge to spit the mouthful out. Oyster mush must be as bad as it came; it wasn’t just a long way from sensual, it was a long way from food. And it left a bad taste. A real bad taste.

  She took a gulp of wine, trying to clear her mouth of the sweet, salty musk, the stale morning-after sensation. Ice-cold liquid slipped down her throat, sending a chill through her body, giving her the illusion of control again. He topped up her glass wordlessly, his face unreadable, which was worse than if he’d laughed at her or got annoyed. At least then she would have known what he was thinking.

  ‘Not hungry?’’

  ‘Not really.’ She shifted back a bit in her chair, needing to put more space between them. ‘Look, I know I said I’d do what you wanted, but do we have to do all this?’ She waved a hand at the table. ‘This pretending.’

  He shrugged, swallowing the last of his oysters. ‘We can spend some time together, can’t we, get to know each other? After all, we are married.’

  ‘This isn’t a date, it’s just about sex. I don’t want to get to know you.’ She didn’t want to pretend; she didn’t want to make it all real, more like it meant anything.

  ‘This isn’t about what you want, though, is it, Cat?’ His voice was dangerously low. ‘This is about what I want but I’m doing my best to make it work for you too.’

  ‘Why? Why bother about making it work for me?’

  He leant forward, easily closed the gap between them, his warm hand searing her skin as he lifted her chin so that she couldn’t avoid his look, his words. ‘Oh, but I do bother about you Cat. I want you to enjoy it too, is that so strange?’

  ‘If you’re so bloody bothered then why can’t we just stop?’ Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, the husky edge at odds with the feeling his touch was stirring in her.

  ‘Because I want you, Cat, and you want me.’

  ‘No.’ The word shot out more forcibly than she’d meant it to.

  ‘Look at me properly and deny it. Can you lie to yourself? Why deny what you need, Cat?’ His voice was lower, softer, and she could hardly bear to look in his eyes. Eyes that were deadly serious, intent on searching her soul. She wet her lips, fought the urge to get up and run. She’d come in here ready to fight, but he’d been ready for her, pushing the boundaries before she reached them.

  ‘No.’ She forced the word out. ‘No, I can’t deny it.’ She tried to match his gaze. ‘But I don’t want it, Brent. Don’t you ever forget that. Whatever I do, I don’t want it.’

  He smiled then, a slightly crooked smile that reached all the way down her, making her bare toes curl into the carpet, making her whole body tighten for a split second.

  ‘That’s good enough for me. For now.’ He dropped his hand away from her chin, the front of his fingers brushing her upper arm, the hot palm skating over her forearm, one finger gently tracing a route from her wrist to the tip of her fingernail. Then he slowly drew back and sat up in his chair. He pushed his empty plate forward until it clinked with hers. Took a gulp of wine. ‘So what do you think you want, Cat, if you don’t want this?’

  ‘A proper husband maybe, one day, who knows?’

  ‘And what is a proper husband, apart from not me?’ He had raised an eyebrow, a hard edge to his voice, his long, dark lashes shielding his eyes for a moment as he studied her wine glass.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Someone who loves me for what I am, I suppose.’

  ‘But who are you? Do you even know?’

  She pushed her chair back harshly, the feet scraping against the wooden floor. ‘Stop it.’ The words spun out before she could stop them. She took a deep, steadying breath. ‘Just stop it, Brent.’

  ‘Do you even want to know, Cat?’

  ‘Look, if I need a counsellor I’ll let you know. Now can we get on with this charade?’ She could feel herself shaking, hear the tremble in her voice. Sex was one thing, but talking was far more dangerous.

  ‘Oh, this is the charade, darling, and we’ve got more food to come.’

  ‘I’m not hungry; you just get on with it without me.’

  ‘Oh, I intend to.’

  She glanced up; his voice was too warm, too soft. She should have known that he’d be ready to parry whatever she threw at him.

  ‘Come on then, darling, if you’ve finished. Food should just be an appetiser, I suppose, shouldn’t it?’ He signalled for her to lead the way out of the dining room, put a firm, guiding hand in the middle of her back and propelled her straight into the lounge. ‘I don’t think you know Sadie, do you?’

  She would have taken a step back, but he was there, solid behind her, firmly shutting the door with a clunk that echoed right through her.

  Sadie was tall, elegant and curled up by the fire; on his favourite chair, looking a bit like the cat that had got the cream. Which she probably had, multiple times, by the way her eyes were roaming hungrily over Brent. And Sadie didn’t seem too interested in Cat and introductions. And Sadie was distinctly naked.

  Cat felt a surge of panic, mingled
with a tingling thrill that seemed to spread from her scalp down to her feet. A feeling that kept her rooted to the spot and unable to speak. For a moment she just stared, colour flooding her face as the girl’s eyes briefly met hers.

  She’d had two large glasses of wine, but if he thought that was enough to get her to play with a girl for his entertainment then he was wrong; very wrong.

  ‘If you think I’m joining in some sick game …’ Despite the apprehension that clutched at her stomach, she couldn’t help staring at the girl. In fact, she couldn’t drag her eyes away; Sadie had an almost hypnotic quality about her, a stillness that shouted out “look at me”. Something Brent seemed more than happy to do.

  ‘Nothing you don’t want to do, darling, but you know the conditions of the forfeit.’ He didn’t even glance at her. He was looking past her, at Sadie, even when he spoke. ‘These are my fantasies and we either both get what we want, or ’ he paused ‘ neither of us do. Which would be a shame.’

  Cat watched, mesmerised, as the red-haired girl rose to her feet. Unwinding with a natural elegance, she was totally unselfconscious. It was as though nude was her natural state.

  He had stepped forward as he spoke, was running his fingers gently through the girl’s hair, like he’d run them through Cat’s only yesterday. His mouth came down hard; and the low, soft moan she emitted clawed at Cat’s stomach. She watched, transfixed, as elegant hands roamed over his back as the kiss deepened.