10 Shades of Seduction

by Tiffany Reisz

  Patrick didn’t speak. He just quirked his blond eyebrows at her, his eyes flicking to her pussy, then to her lips, and then back to her eyes again. His smile widened.

  He’s got me right where he wants me. He doesn’t even have to touch me and he’s driving me crazy.

  “Well?” she persisted. She was worked up, wound up, and wanted action.

  “Feeling horny, are we?” Patrick just stared at her, his fingertip moving in a tiny circle on the smooth, shiny surface of the tablecloth, so close to hers. The action was suggestive beyond belief, and his next words came as no surprise. “Why don’t you masturbate?”

  Her first thought was, I can’t! But she knew she could. She knew she wanted to, desperately. There was nothing she wanted more, other than to have Patrick fuck her, right now, across the table. She glanced at the space between them, and the movement of his long elegant fingers, the slow circles that incited her to touch herself.

  “All right. I will!”

  Shuffling her legs wider, she thrust her hand between them, diving straight in with two fingers, searching and finding her clit. She’d wanted to put on a show for him, a grand performance, but she couldn’t wait. She couldn’t prevaricate. She needed to come.

  “Oh!”

  The jolt of immediate pleasure took her breath away. Her clit pulsed, fluttered, right on the edge. She backed straight off and began to slick around her folds. Patrick tilted his head to the side, as if assessing her performance.

  “You want to come,” he stated, “so why don’t you? Why hold back?”

  “I...I don’t know.... It’s what I usually do—I make it last...well, I try to.”

  Those blue eyes narrowed a little, looked more dangerous.

  “Well, I don’t want you to make it last. I want to see you come now.” Reaching out, he placed his right hand over her left one, on the table, sliding his thumb to her wrist and settling it lightly over the pulse point there.

  It was like being linked to him, blood to blood, the tiny contact as intimate in its own way as cock in cunt. Her heartbeat, and its racing rhythm, cried out to him.

  With another little gasp, she went for her clit and began to rub, fast and hard, working herself without finesse or real accuracy, just pounding away at the sensitive center.

  Barely seconds passed. Her body surged, clenching fiercely on empty air, rippling, grasping for Patrick’s as yet unseen cock, the flesh she so longed for.

  Moaning, she closed her eyes, as she always did, but he cried out, “No! Look into my eyes! Keep it here!” He passed his hand in a circle before his face, like a hypnotist. “Continue! Come again! You can do it!”

  Sinking into a world of blue, of deep, glittering blue, she rotated her fingertip more lightly this time, with more delicacy. Her consciousness was balanced between three points: her clit, his eyes, the touch of his thumb. Silvery messages darted between the three nodes, circling and building up like some arcane power source. Pleasure rose again, buoyed up the circuit, the movement of Patrick’s thumb as arousing as that of her finger, and the light in his eyes more incendiary than both.

  “Come, Miranda, come!”

  Pleasure swelled again, wild and ascending, her sex pulsating as she pitched forward in the hard old chair, breaking the magic triangle as she curved over her own rubbing fingertips. Patrick caught her shoulder with his free hand, supporting her, guiding her head toward his. As she came and came, their foreheads were pressed against one another’s.

  “That’s it baby...that’s it,” he softly chanted, his breath as warm as a zephyr against her cheeks.

  How weird. How odd. I’ve never come like this before....

  The thoughts flitted through her mind as she came back to earth, and finally straightened up, Patrick’s warm hand slipping to the nape of her neck and down her arm as she did so. She withdrew her hand from her crotch, and he clasped it and squeezed it, almost as if he were praising her somehow. And all the time he smiled and his eyes glowed with a strange, magical triumph.

  “Phew! That was really something.” She sounded breathless, even to her own ears, like an innocent after sex for the first time. “And different...not what I was expecting.”

  “What were you expecting?” Patrick drew her hands together, folding both into his own, vaguely like a therapist focusing the attention of his patient. Miranda was aware that her skirt was still around her waist, but it didn’t seem to matter.

  “I...I don’t know.... A fuck, I suppose.”

  “A fuck would be nice,” replied Patrick roundly, his tongue touching the center of his lower lip for a moment, naughty and enticing.

  It would be nice, yes indeed. And suddenly she wanted it furiously. Even despite the orgasms she’d already had. Maybe because of them? Her engine was well and truly primed, and the curiosity that had simmered beneath the surface since she’d first engaged Patrick to work for her rose and bubbled, like water starting to boil.

  “Is there a bed here?” She started to rise, glancing around as she felt her skirt slide on its lining and cover her again. She’d not really taken much notice of their surroundings, she’d been so bewitched by her companion, but now she saw two doors leading off the main kitchen and living area of the cottage. Both stood ajar, and in one she saw the side of what looked like a chest of drawers, and the other revealed the white gleam of an old-fashioned wash basin.

  “There is...if you want it?” On his feet again, he looked, and sounded, strangely devious, as if he were plotting something. Miranda felt irritated. What was up with him? Didn’t he want to fuck her? She glanced down at his crotch, and saw that he did. His erection was prodigious.

  “What do you mean? If I want it?”

  Still holding her hands, he inclined forward, running his mouth, lips slightly parted, over her cheek and her jaw.

  Oh, God, he’s never even kissed me yet.

  As she realized that deficit, it was rectified. Patrick’s lips settled on hers in a strangely chaste kiss, very soft, very tentative, utterly velvety. They moved very lightly, teasing, pressing a little, dragging a little. Then his mouth opened and he gently licked her lips with the tip of his tongue.

  “There’s something else I rather fancied,” he whispered, his breath mingling with hers. “Maybe you’ll indulge me?”

  “Indulge you in what?”

  Patrick’s hands moved to her waist, spanning it. She was decent again now, but bizarrely, she wished she were naked so she could press her bare breasts and crotch against him, grinding against the fine, conservative suiting of his waistcoat and his trousers. Without thinking she let her hands drop to her skirt, ready to raise it again.

  His smile provocative, he said, “Pretend the table is your desk.” He nodded to the shiny surface of the tablecloth. “I’d like to fuck you across it.... It’s my fantasy. Has been since the first day I walked into your office.”

  “But, couldn’t we just have done it there anyway? There’s a lock on my office door, you know.”

  “Yes, I do know that...and don’t you think I haven’t imagined you behind it, taking off your clothes to get changed when you’re going out in the evening, straight from work. Putting on sexy underwear for some fortunate guy who gets to fuck you later on?”

  She wanted to tell him that there had been no fortunate guys recently. Nobody of significance since he’d come into her employment.

  “So?” she challenged.

  “No, it’s too complicated, actually fucking in the office. It’d muddle the parameters of our excellent working relationship.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he pressed his warm fingers over it. “Here, we’re on neutral ground. It’s just fantasy. It doesn’t screw up how we act together back there.”

  She wanted to tell him that it might do that very thing for her, but as if he’d sensed her objections, he squelched them with another kiss. Something a bit more proactive and precocious this time. His tongue pushed into her mouth, licking, exploring, tasting, darting about. Subduing her. He was going
to get his own way...across the table, whether it was substituting for her desk or not. She moaned into his mouth as he cupped her buttocks through her skirt.

  “Come on, boss, over you go,” he said eventually when she was about to crumple under the force of her own desire.

  Even though she was still fully dressed apart from her knickers, he manhandled her facedown over the tablecloth, pressing her across it until her hot cheek was against the cloth, summarily pushing up her skirt.

  Miranda closed her eyes, imagining her pale buttocks displayed to him, rounded and tempting. She had a nice arse, she knew that. She hoped he appreciated it.

  When his warm hands gripped her and began to manipulate her, she knew he did. His palms cupped the rounds of her bottom and moved in slow circles, the rude handling tugging and pulling on her sex. Going with the flow, she moved in sync and with a hitch this way, and hitch the other, she managed to position her clit against the hard edge of the table.

  “Ah, that’s a good girl...work yourself...work it, babe...you can do it.”

  A hot rush of lust sluiced through her. He sounded like the director of a sleazy porno movie, praising his even sleazier star. She circled her hips, gasping at the pleasure it gave her from the friction against her clit and listening to the wicked sound of Patrick’s laughter.

  “And you can do it, too!” she growled after a moment, impatient for him. “Stop shilly-shallying about and fuck me, will you?”

  “Of course, Ms. Austin,” he intoned in his most neutral office voice, and then both of them were laughing, even though Miranda was perilously close to orgasm.

  Which was a miracle, really. Sometimes she didn’t come all that quickly. She hadn’t even stopped to think about that particular phenomenon this afternoon, though. It seemed that with Patrick pleasure was easy, always available.

  His zipper slid down, a tiny sound, but she heard it like a clarion call announcing the main act in a drama. Then rustling. Him rummaging in a pocket. Ah, the sneaky devil had condoms on his person. He’d certainly intended to get lucky, not that she minded. The luckier he got, the luckier she got, too. How could he be anything else but a lover par excellence, given what he could do to her with just his voice and his laughing blue eyes?

  I wonder what your cock looks like, Mr. Paragon of All Good Things?

  Twisting around, looking across the globes of her naked bottom, she checked him out.

  Oh, nice.

  He was a good size. A very good size. Jutting from above his pushed-down underwear, he was high and hard and pointing in her general direction, veins pronounced and crown rosy, even through the latex.

  “Does it meet with your approval, ma’am?” he murmured in a debonair impression of a butler offering her a choice entrée rather than a man showing her his cock poking out of his fly, along with his underwear and shirttail.

  “It’ll do.”

  “Cheeky cow,” he returned cheerfully, reaching for her thighs and edging them apart, firmly and with no nonsense. And she liked how he had no qualms about touching himself, guiding himself to exactly the right spot. No macho performance games, trying to push in, no hands, and poking around wildly until he found the entrance more by luck than judgment. “Hold still,” he instructed her when she started to push toward him. “Let me do the work...you don’t have to do anything.”

  “But what if I want to?”

  “Ack, always have to be the boss, don’t you,” he observed, pushing himself now. His cock was definitely a bit bigger than it’d looked from such an awkward over-the-shoulder angle. He felt huge as he forged in, making her yield. “I thought this afternoon was all about you relaxing and not trying to control everything for a change.” With a jerk of his hips, he was in to the hilt, making her gasp.

  The urge to push again, to work herself against him, was uncontrollable. She grabbed at the edge of the table, for purchase, and shook her hips.

  “Now, what did I say?” he reprimanded with a chuckle, steadying her with a strong hand on the small of her back. “Stay still...keep it here.” He pushed very slowly, pressing her against the edge of the table, then staying there, keeping her pinned.

  “But I like to move...when I’m fucking.”

  His fingers were firm on her back. Unyielding. His cock felt huge inside her, also unyielding.

  “Try something different, Miranda...a change. That’s why we’re here.” He leaned over her, and she felt the brush of cloth against her skin, and a tiny discomfort from the teeth of his zipper pressing, too. Inclining over her back, his body felt strong and protective, familiar and yet new and exciting. His breath was warm against her hair and the back of her neck as he nuzzled her lightly with nose and closed mouth, like a cat.

  His immobility was dynamic. His cock a hot bar lodged in her sex. She stilled, savoring the feel of him, within. In the midst of crazy sex, she found serenity in his quiet, solid presence, over and inside her.

  “Miranda,” he whispered, his voice vague, almost bemused. On the surface of the table one hand found hers and laced her fingers with his. The other hand skated along her hip and thigh, then slithered beneath her, searching for her center. Quickly finding it...

  Patrick’s hands were manly, but deft. She’d always admired the grace of his gestures, the swift, efficient way he typed or gathered papers, even just set down a cup. The tips of his fingers were square, firm, steady. Deadly accurate as they settled on her, on her clit.

  His touch was light, angled, teasing. The erotic engine inside her revved up and she began to hitch about again, desperate to release pent-up energy and pleasure.

  “Hush,” he breathed, still touching, still rocking that beautiful workmanlike fingertip at the very focus of erotic sensation. “If you want to move, move inside, sweetheart...grip me. Caress me with your cunt.”

  Permission. She’d been granted permission. For a microsecond, every feminist particle of her rebelled, then just as quickly realized the truth. There was strength in giving in, it was her choice, what she wanted at this moment. With his big cock in her sex, and his powerful body over hers, pressing her to the table, he was still serving her, giving her precisely the sensations that pleased her.

  The scent of his cologne filled her head and made her smile with delight. He, too, it seemed, had topped up just as she had. His woodsy fragrance was always low-key and discreet around the office, but now its sensual notes were strong and spicy.

  “You smell good,” she said, panting with effort and concentration as she contracted her inner muscles, grabbing at him. It was hard going not to come almost immediately, but now he’d asked for this, she would give it to him—he deserved it.

  Within seconds, she wasn’t the only one who was panting.

  “Oh, hell,” he gasped. “That’s good...that’s fucking amazing.”

  And still he didn’t move. Still he lay over her, deep inside her, rock-hard and unwavering. But his heartfelt gasps and muttered oaths told her she was getting to him. Even his fingertip wasn’t moving now. It just rested against her.

  But as his mouth opened against the side of her throat, and he kissed her hard there, her control splintered. Silver sensations rippled like electricity around his cock.

  “I...I’m going to come.... I can’t help it....” Her words sounded choppy and weird. Had she uttered them, or was it Patrick?

  “Fuck... Me, too...” That was him.

  His whole body tensed over her, and as her sex seemed to shimmer and gather itself, she half expected him to start thrusting furiously, as her previous lovers has mostly done at the point of no return.

  But still Patrick was different, and himself. He shoved hard, but short. Little jerks, contained power, mastering his own hips even when he shouldn’t have been able to keep control of anything. He massaged her sensitive entrance with the girth of his cock, even as his finger circled roughly on her clitoris.

  “Come now, love,” he growled as he did just the same.

  With a keening wail of pleasure, she m
et and matched him.

  * * *

  Later, they set themselves to rights, and drank tea. Miranda could scarcely believe how ordinary everything seemed. Not ordinary in a mundane way, but in a quiet, calm, comfortable way that soothed her and made her feel refreshed. All the sense of being drained and burnt-out that she’d been plagued with just a couple of hours ago seemed to have been erased by the spiritual fire of orgasm.

  And her strangely serene relationship with Patrick was unaltered and yet at the same time better somehow. The sex didn’t complicate things. It just seemed as if the memories of it were bedded in a deep quiet place that she could draw on when she needed revivification.

  It was clear that the dynamics of their working association were going to remain unruffled, too. The cottage was a special place—neither work, nor home. Time out of time. And they returned to it several times in the next few busy weeks. Always after a taxing time, when Miranda had had to grapple with curmudgeonly opponents at high-powered meetings. She’d return to the office, swearing and cursing even if she’d achieved her objective—and she’d see that sweet knowing twinkle in Patrick’s eyes.

  At home, she thought of him sometimes, perhaps more than she cared to admit, but life was busy. Work took most of her energy, and what little social life she had was with an established group of friends of both sexes. No dating.

  A few times, she’d thought about ringing Patrick, asking him out, but the specter of workplace complications hung over the question. She’d seen people get too involved and crash and burn in ridiculously farcical flames.

  One day, after a bitch of a morning, grappling with a delegation from the firm’s new Swiss partnership—a set of tough negotiators for all their superficially polite amenability—she was at the end of her tether. For once, when she returned from the meeting, Patrick wasn’t there, and that absence infuriated her.

  She flung her binder across the room and it knocked a tower of document baskets and a potted plant all over the floor.

  Patrick wasn’t chained to his desk, she knew that. There were plenty of legitimate reasons why he could be elsewhere, and she’d even asked him to get some old documents from the file room....