by Flora Dain
Where it reaches appears next as he unfastens his trousers and kicks them away, and finally removes his boxers.
I gasp as his stiffening erection looms into view, plump and swollen, its thick curve echoing the swollen, tight feeling down between my legs where I’ve been pulsing steadily since we walked in here. He holds my eyes calmly. The arrogant flare to his nostrils tells me he enjoys my steady gaze and feels no need to hurry.
As he slips in beside me he leans along me, running his hand over me, slippery now in the foam, and watches my nipples jut and swell as his fingers encounter them. ‘Open your legs. Put your feet on the sides.’
His hand slips between my thighs and cups my sex, his fingers questing deep into me, searching, sliding in and out, teasing me with the suds. He fastens his mouth on mine, suppressing my moans with his busy, invading tongue.
This is beyond arousing. The warmth of the water and the insistent pressure of his fingers are having an electric effect on me, making my thighs ache as I grip the edges of the bath with my feet. I moan and he seizes my shoulders as he eases his hand away and pulls away from my lips, tasting gently. ‘Hey, easy. There’s plenty of time. Now me.’
I start to massage him, smearing suds into the powerful landscape of his chest and thrilling to the ripple of the muscles below. He watches lazily as I explore him in turn, teasing his hard little nipples into nubs and making him twitch. I ease down towards his shaft where it leaps and jolts above the water, and curve over to lick gently at the broad, distended head.
He pulls me back and puts a foamy finger to my lips. ‘Hey. Not yet. Keep washing.’
Obediently I run my hand down his hard, muscular abdomen and slide my fingers deep into his hair, reaching deep to soap and fondle him and then slip further back, between his legs. I feel his thighs tense along mine as I ease in deep, sliding in the slippery gel-laden foam like he did with me, and he captures my mouth again.
When he pulls back his face is stern. ‘Enough. We’ll get out now. We have things to do.’
He surges smoothly out of the water like Neptune in all his glory, knots a towel at his hips and then raises me up, scoops another towel round me and pats me dry all over. I’m sleepy after my scary morning, all soft and clean and ready for sex.
More than ready.
But sex is not on offer, I remember with a snap. We have things to do.
Still swathed in our towels he leads me into the bedroom – or rather one of them – and sits on the bed. ‘Now for your spanking. You know why I’m doing this?’
‘Because you like it?’
His eyes glitter as he hauls me over his lap, pushes my head down onto the quilt at one side of him and starts to arrange my legs on the other. ‘Try again.’
He sounds angry but I’m still defiant. ‘Because you think I’ll like it?’
I shriek as his hand makes contact with a real, stinging slap. ‘Nowhere close. Try again.’
‘That’s assault,’ I wail.
He pulls up my head by my ponytail and puts his face close to mine. He looks angry too. ‘So is kissing strange men on the mouth without warning. This is long overdue. And another reason is you’re infuriating. You take risks when I’ve tried to be reasonable.’
At that moment his phone sounds. With a sharp sigh he leans over me to reach for it, keeping his elbow pressed into my back and his leg planted firmly over mine, pinning me down.
‘Wolfe.’
The voice hums too low for me to make out the words. I see him frown. ‘The interview with BGN? Not now, I’m busy.’
The phone hums gain, the sound reproachful.
‘Make it tomorrow.’
It hums again, fainter now.
‘Contact the owners of the network. Offer a global discount on their contract for the next two months. No more calls for two hours.’
He tosses the phone across the bed and turns back to me. I’m staring at him, open-mouthed. ‘You’re doing an interview with BG News?’
He grins, his hand gliding smoothly over my soft, scented ass, which is now high in the air over his lap. ‘Nope. I’m giving you a well-deserved spanking. I’ll do the interview tomorrow. Or the next day. Whenever.’ He feels me once more, his touch firm and sensual, his breathing quicker. His voice lowers to a purr. ‘You’re right, I do like it. But it’s not just a punishment. I should have done it the minute we met. I wish to fuck I had. We wouldn’t be in this mess now.’
His hand lands again and all at once this has stopped being a joke, it’s harsh and it stings. After a while I wonder if I’ll ever draw breath again. When I do nothing’s changed. His hand’s still landing, the blows still raining down. The first few knock all the breath out of me but as I start to relax long enough to draw in air they keep coming. Their pounding rhythm settles deep in my groin, making me ache with arousal. After a while the pain and the jolting fuse deep between my legs into an agonising, regular throb.
At last he pauses to admire the view, keeping his elbow and his leg firmly in place. I hear him laugh softly as he runs his hand over my flaming backside. He’s out of breath. So am I, sobbing as I draw in air, my bottom on fire, and my groin an aching, needy furnace. Each blow delivers a violent jolt of arousal. His hand long ago lost the power to sting. Now my sex is all on fire, swollen and hot.
Seconds later he finds this out for himself. ‘Did you enjoy that, Ella?’
I sniffle. ‘You expect me to answer that?’ How can I? Heat, shame, fire and rage are burning me up all at the same time.
His voice lowers. ‘I’ll give you a clue. From what I can feel down here –’ his fingers slip slowly and deliberately along my sex, making me writhe ‘– I’m guessing you did. Be honest with me. Why are you so wet?’
I sniff again.’You have to ask? OK, I enjoyed it. Very much.’
‘Then maybe I’ll give you a tiny reward. Would you like to come?’
What a question. I squirm but it’s no time for pride. I hiss a strangled ‘yes’ through clenched teeth.
He caresses my punished backside with a loving sweep of his hand, cool now against my fiery skin. ‘Then you shall. But you’ll have to earn it. You’ll have to beg.’
And now the torment really begins. His hand lands hard, making me cry out, and instantly his fingers sink into me and over my pulsing mound, barely grazing my hottest place.
Yes, yes, I’m nearly there … I strain to reach his hand but he wrenches me back and removes his fingers, leaving my quivering orgasm poised in space. ‘Another?’
I’m frantic now. ‘Yes, yes, another.’
Nothing happens. ‘And the magic word?’
I grit my teeth again, earning a painful tweak on my nipple. ‘Please. Another.’
Another fearsome blow lands on one side of my fiery bottom and his fingers mercifully slide into me again. I lean into his hand as my climax edges even closer.
Again he holds off. ‘Another?’
I writhe and once more he takes his hand away.
‘Well?’
‘Yes, yes, another already,’ I wail. With an effort I remember my manners. ‘Please.’
It goes on far longer than I’d have thought possible. I start to tremble, tearful with the constant agony of denial. But at last he takes pity on me and his hand lingers, his fingertips circling gently. They slip along my wire-live sensitised folds, probing intimately as the jolt of his final blow jerks me against his fingers. My orgasm explodes and I convulse round his hand, shrieking at the suddenness of it and overwhelmed by the wave of rapture that engulfs me.
I hang over his lap, sobbing. He sits very still and holds me in place over his knee. He waits in silence. As I grow calmer he hauls me off his lap onto the bed and I curl up in a ball, sobbing into the quilt. He curls round me in a warm, protective shell as the spasms fade into a deep, contented glow. He reaches between my legs to cup my still glowing mound, his hand warm and firm.
For a while we talk, for a while I doze. He keeps his hand firmly in place, taking possession, s
taking his claim and stubbornly refusing to give ground. But I’m growing edgy. I want him inside me. I want him to fill me. He must want it too, surely?
His erection juts at my back, hard, silky and hot. The very thought of it so tight and so close sparks new flames. My climax was spectacular and gut wrenching but I’m only half done. Sex is a game of two halves. Right now I need his half, the hot thrust of ridged gristle that completes my pleasure, fills me up, plunges and surges deep into my hidden, needy places and gives them purpose. But to my fury he still holds off.
Why? If this is my punishment it’s pretty effective. Now I’m needier than ever, aching for him, still incomplete.
His phone rings, making me jump. He slides his hand out from the warm, clinging nest deep between my legs and puts the phone to his ear.
‘Wolfe.’
This time the message is brief. He switches it off with an impatient flick and sits up beside me. ‘We’ve got a trace on Mitchell. He’s back in Dallas.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘You’re a what?’
It’s late evening. We’re driving back to Dallas and sitting in the back of Darnley’s limo, either end of the softly cushioned rear seat. I’m glad of the distance between us. He seems indifferent.
To pass the time he’s asking me what I do.
It’s always a mistake to tell people. I glance out of the window at the ghost of my reflection. Its stern gaze warns me I should have kept quiet. Too late now. I’m used to this reaction but somehow it’s disappointing coming from him.
I frown at myself. Why should he be any different? Beyond my shoulder I see his startling, predatory face. His brooding eyes are fixed on mine, waiting for an answer.
He makes sure of his facts, something I never do. It’s led me to this and it’s led me to him. And now it looks like it’ll drive him away.
I brace myself for his scorn, his laughter – I’ve heard it all – and try again. ‘I’m a poet. Well, when I say “poet” I really just play around with words. It’s a kind of hobby. I teach literature and drama at a small private academy near Boston. But I guess you knew that. That’s where Ryan and I –’ I break off at his sudden frown.
He looks out of the window, seemingly unconcerned. ‘So how come you’re in Texas?’
How does his mood change so fast? Barely an hour ago I was lying in his arms, hot for him. Now I wonder how we ever got close at all. His tone is distant and impersonal. It’s like we’ve barely met.
‘I told you, I’m meeting Ryan – or trying to. It might be easier if you didn’t muscle in whenever I get close.’
His frown flickers again. ‘It might be easier if you told me the truth. You teach in Boston yet you flew here from Charlotte. We checked. So what took you to Charlotte? You were on a driving tour?’
I sigh again. ‘Partly. I’m due to speak at a poetry summer school.’ I take a deep breath and feel my cheeks go pink. ‘They’ve asked me to read my new poem.’
Try as I might it’s impossible to say this without a tiny spurt of pride. I wait for him to laugh.
Instead he looks thoughtful. ‘You’re a poet? Say some.’
I grin. ‘Don’t get me started. What do you like? Homer? Sylvia Plath? Kanye West?’
He’s not smiling. His tone bristles with impatience. ‘Something of yours.’
I want to tell him that’s not how it works. Poems don’t come to order.
I take a deep breath and say the first words that come into my head. ‘You crave control but cannot tell me why.’
For a split second emotion flickers over his face and then his expression grows opaque. The vast car hums around us, closing us in as we come in range of the bright lights of Dallas. ‘That’s a poem?’
‘Not a very good one.’ I feel myself blush. ‘It’s all that hit me on the spur of the moment. But it’s got rhythm, it’s got bounce – and it’s true. A poem has to be true – it’s like a snapshot, something you see that other people miss.’
I’ve touched some nerve. He’s sitting very still, his expression blank.
‘“Crave control”? Who says?’
‘I say.’ Now it’s my turn to be curious. ‘And it is true. Isn’t it? It’s just something I sense about you …’
I tail off. Something’s wrong. He’s unhappy about this. Before I can pursue it his phone rings and he slaps it to his ear.
‘Wolfe.’ He listens for a while and then murmurs into it, turning his face away from me. ‘Fine. Keep me informed.’ He slips it back in his pocket and turns back, his eyes cold. ‘We’ve picked up another trace from Mitchell’s phone but we can’t be sure precisely where he is. All we know is he’s definitely back here in the city. They think he’s using prepaids. So keep yours switched on and tell me if he makes contact. We might fix his location.’
We finish our journey in silence. To my relief he stops asking about my chosen hobby. And he has the grace not to laugh.
* * *
In the elevator I feel self-conscious in my rumpled shorts and top. Around us well-heeled guests are coming and going, formally dressed and carefully not looking at me. I’m guessing they must think I’m some tramp he’s just picked up in the streets. Darnley leans against the wall opposite, his sultry gaze not helping.
Our suite is all low lighting and fresh linen. Darnley tosses his jacket on the bed and reaches once more for his phone. ‘Shall we try the restaurant this evening? You look like you could use a shower. I’ll make some calls.’
His tone is brisk and businesslike, his glance cool. He’s used to making the rules.
In my room I flip through the selection of things I’ve brought with me. From my scanty vacation wardrobe I choose some slim pants in white linen and a low-cut top with thin, sparkly straps and decide to go bra-less. I brush out my hair, feeling freer with every stroke. My tight daytime ponytail has made it springy so loose curls bounce on my shoulders and down my back. I aim for carefree but I feel nervous. Ryan might be annoying but Darnley disturbs me. A touch more make-up, a dash more scent and I’m ready. And hey, I’m still on vacation and have a date to eat with a good-looking guy – what more can I ask?
As I join him my heart does a flip. His calls were constant. I could hear the murmur of his voice all the time I was changing but somehow he’s showered, shaved and shrugged on a tux and now he’s fixing links on the cuffs of yet another dazzling shirt.
He looks sensational. I hold my head high and decide to let the warm glance he sweeps over my bare throat and shoulders serve as adornment – it certainly brings colour to my cheeks.
‘Any news?’
I pause on the way to the elevator and recall the purpose of our stay here. ‘From Ryan? No, nothing yet.’
Darnley frowns as we step into the elevator. His face darkens as another couple join us. ‘Is your phone switched on?’
I gasp. ‘It’s – I’ve left it upstairs. Shall I go back for it?’ I gaze at him, troubled. Something in his look clouds.
‘Leave it. We’ll check it later. You’re very forgetful lately. I wonder why that is?’
His tone is bitter – more suspicion. In truth I forgot all about Ryan for the same reason I forgot my phone just now – the sight of Darnley puts my head in a spin. He’s quite something.
I decide not to say so. He’ll be well aware of it – such men always are. I feel myself colour and avoid his eye. But as we reach the next floor down I decide on action. I grab his arm and pull him out of the elevator. ‘I suppose you think I left it behind on purpose. Take me back and I’ll fetch it.’
Pressing my lips together I run lightly up the steps to the next floor and wait for him to insert the key card. When he arrives I bite my lip and toss back my hair. ‘I’ll be really quick,’ I say lightly, giving him a playful look. ‘You needn’t come in. Wait here.’
He lets me in. I step quickly in front of him and scan the room. My phone is lying on a low table. As I move towards it I hear the door close softly behind me.
‘Hey.’
‘Ella.’
I gaze up at him, alarmed.
‘Do you always toss your hair about like that?’
I stare. What an odd question. And then it hits me – he’s aroused. Something – anything – a sheen on a curl, a glance from my eyes – has caught his attention and now I feel a wave of heat as he pulls me closer and kisses me again, his fist still closed around my upper arm, his thumb moving gently on my skin, his fingers tight as a vice.
I feel an answering wave of heat and almost to order I start to throb, agonisingly aroused too as my groin recalls our long and intense afternoon, and my throbbing sex shimmers all over at its memory of my volcanic climax.
And he made no attempt to take his own pleasure …
And in a flash of understanding I know what he wants. The pain in his face tells me instantly how hard it has been for him to hold off this long and how much he needs me now. And without any words passing between us his grip on my arm flexes a little and tells me exactly how he wants it. As he pushes me gently down I know I want it too, more than I’ve wanted anything for a long time, and I want very much to do it right.
He unfastens himself swiftly, freeing his erection from the warm, fragrant shelter of his crotch, and now I see why this is so urgent. He’s rigid and eager, the broad glans a deep, reddish purple, glossy with need.
I smile up at him through my eyelashes as he towers over me. ‘So how do you like it? Hard, soft, slow, fast?’
His eyebrow tilts in sudden surprise. ‘You remembered?’ He touches a finger to my face in a light brush of recognition and we share a smile – and our very first memory. For some reason he looks ridiculously pleased. ‘I have to choose? What happened to all four?’