10 Shades of Seduction

by Tiffany Reisz

  Before he could speak, she slid her lips over his crown and started sucking hard and not too skillfully, as if her life depended on it.

  “Oh, you beauty,” shouted Patrick, half purr, half snarl, all desperation and long withheld need. His clever hands sank into her hair, gripping her head, directing her efforts, making her take more of him. “Use your tongue more, love...agh...yes...that’s what I like.”

  She licked and sucked and swirled her tongue all around his glans and every bit of his shaft she could reach. He tasted both foxy and delicious, salty and fine, and he vocalized as she mouthed him, just as she’d cried and shouted when he’d spanked her and then thrust his fingers into her.

  When he tensed and went rigid, she reached out and gripped him around the waist, hugging him for dearest life, so he couldn’t withdraw. As he started to jerk, she sucked harder, flicking him sinuously beneath his glans, stabbing and probing like a guileful serpent intent on his pleasure.

  A harsh oath echoed around the little room as he filled her mouth. Then came another and another, lurid, agonized utterances so unlike his usual easy amenable tones that it might have been another person entirely ejaculating onto her stroking tongue.

  I love you.

  The words echoed in her head, just as Patrick’s profane cries of pleasure rang in the room. Even as he climaxed, and she gloried in it, the revelation terrified her. And confused her. She wasn’t even sure if she’d thought it, heard it, or whether it had been the product of her mind or his.

  She only knew that wherever the thought had originated, it had been the truth. She certainly loved him whether he loved her or whether he didn’t. Letting him slip from between her lips, she looked up at him, half hoping he was still insensible with ecstasy, eyes closed, out of it.

  But he wasn’t. His blue eyes were as stormy and confused as her feelings, although perfectly lucid. He stared back down at her, intent, astonished...afraid? Then he frowned, made a sound like the growl of a wounded beast and lunged forward, grabbing her by the shoulders and urging her back almost roughly on the rug in front of the settee. In a muddle of her limbs and his, Miranda found herself on her back, her sore bottom pressed against the rough texture of the cheap carpeting. She hissed through her teeth at the surge of pain even as she reached for him, trying to pull him over her.

  “No!” he hissed back at her, shaking off her grip, and instead of mounting her, slithering down onto his knees and crouching between her legs. She howled when he grabbed her hard by the buttocks and lifted her, wrenching her panties right off, then opening her up to him like a fruit and plunging his ravenous mouth down between her thighs to feast on her sex.

  “Patrick! Patrick!” she shouted as he plagued her with lips and tongue—just as she’d done him—and sucked hard on her tender clit with ruthless intent.

  Before she could hardly draw breath again, a fierce, hard, painful orgasm wrenched at her. Agonizing in the intensity of pleasure and the way Patrick’s fingers dug deep into the punished muscles of the bottom he’d spanked.

  Somewhere in the furor, she seemed to feel his voice against her throbbing pussy.

  “I love you,” she sobbed.

  Had she echoed what he’d said? Or simply what she’d wished for?

  * * *

  Everything was the same. Everything was different.

  The next day, Miranda didn’t know how to feel or act or look at Patrick. She’d ruined everything by blurting out her feelings, she knew that. Not that he showed his discomfiture or acted in any way out of his normal, serene efficient mode. But she could tell he was as shaken up as she was.

  I can’t go on like this. I need him. I love him. I want to talk about it but he doesn’t seem to want to.

  Work was tough. Two morning meetings were grueling. She managed to get through, and Patrick was still the perfect personal assistant. But when lunchtime came, he asked for the afternoon off. Miranda’s heart leapt, hoping he’d suggest a trip to the cottage, but instead, he left alone, and she found herself staring out of the window, watching the Citroën pull away from the car park.

  She couldn’t blame him. For any number of reasons.

  She’d broken the unspoken rules of their relationship.

  Office liaisons were severely frowned upon.

  She was the one who’d complicated something that was stunning and perfect in its simplicity.

  Sex, in a special place, as no-strings therapy. Probably as much for him as it was for her.

  The afternoon dragged abominably. She couldn’t go on like this. She couldn’t face the weekend brooding and fretting, so she went online, looking for a short break, at a spa, a last-minute deal. Nothing took her fancy, though, so she decided to check email one last time then go home, via an off-license on the way.

  Her heart dropped like a yo-yo when she saw a message from Patrick. And when she opened and read the attachment, she felt sick, adrift, shipwrecked.

  He’d sent her a formal letter of resignation, a very plain, simple request. A serrated dagger through her heart.

  Racing through the building to the car park, she didn’t know and didn’t care if she’d shut down her computer properly, locked her office, got all her things. She just had to get to Patrick’s place. A phone call or a text just wouldn’t do. She couldn’t find the words, despite her usual executive eloquence, and she had to see him at home as she’d never seen him there before. Their lives had never intersected apart from the office and the cottage, but they were going to now, whether he wanted it or not.

  She’d have an explanation, and one last fuck, even if it killed her, or him, in the process.

  He lived in a nice building, not modern, but full of character, and built from mellow old stone. It was quirky, like him and his vintage Citroën and his sharply cut but ever so slightly old-fashioned three-piece suits. Miranda stabbed the speakerphone button beside the big black door, under the porch, without waiting and allowing herself to falter. When he answered, after a long wait, she was about on the point of fainting.

  “It’s me” was all she could say.

  “You’d better come up,” he answered without even having to ask who it was, despite the tinny quality of the speaker, that no doubt made her voice sound just as odd as his did.

  On his landing, she hammered on the door, not caring a jot if neighbors on his landing heard her bashing away. She had to get in. She had to see him. She had to touch him. The door swung open after just a second, revealing him to her.

  As she’d never seen him before.

  In their trysts, she was reminded again now, he’d never actually taken all his clothes off. It had always been hurried rummaging amongst his linen, his beautiful cock standing proud from his fly, then after a few seconds, plunging into her sex or her mouth.

  But now, here he was, obviously fresh from the shower, wearing a short blue silky robe in a paisley pattern. It left his feet and his lower legs completely bare, along with a slice of honey-tanned chest, peppered with a shadowy smattering of wiry sandy hair.

  “I can’t lose you!” she cried, surging into the little hallway of his flat, forcing him to back up. “I just can’t! I couldn’t bear it!”

  Heat and confusion flared in his blue eyes. Was he shocked that she was here? Was he horrified? For a moment the floor seemed to shift beneath her, then she gritted her teeth and threw her bag down, launching herself at him and not giving either of them chance to think.

  She pushed him against the wall, cramming her body against his, reaching up for his head, to bring his mouth down to hers. His blond curls were wet and awry, and she dug her fingers into them as she kissed him, demanding with the pressure of her mouth what she was too desperate to ask for in spoken words.

  Joy, even if only temporary, poured through her when he responded, and his arms snaked around her, holding her as hard as she was holding him.

  Between their bodies, his cock was hard, a knot of instant, rocklike readiness. He worked it against her, knocking his hips against
hers as he kissed her back as furiously as she was kissing him.

  Tongues and lips dueled, speaking volumes in gasping silence. Miranda tried to struggle and wrestle with her jacket, but he grabbed hold of her upper arms and immobilized her, his mouth cruel against hers, almost punishing her.

  When they were both gasping for air, he let her free a moment, staring, almost glaring down into her eyes. Was he angry? It was hard to tell, but his expression was like a furnace of violent emotion, his face all aglow. Even as she finally managed to catch her breath, he grabbed her again and swung her around until she was the one pressed up against the wall. Then, in a fluid, elegant move, almost like a supermodel shedding a layer on the catwalk, he shucked off his robe and then lunged forward again, pressing his naked, muscular body against her body, still in its clothes and all.

  Her hands flew to his back, his buttocks, embracing, exploring and savoring all she’d previously been denied. The notion of skin like silk was a cliché, especially for a man. It sounded like something that should only be a quality of an unattainably perfect romantic hero...but it was true in Patrick’s case, deliciously and wonderfully true.

  Just running her hands over him was a pleasure in itself, and between her legs, her pussy clenched, wet and needy. This was the final treat she’d been longing for—a naked, unhidden Patrick, free of the mask of his corporate, sartorial elegance.

  He kept kissing her, imposing himself on her, his hands sliding beneath her skirt and running up and down her thighs, flicking over her stocking tops. “I can’t lose you, either,” he growled, before plunging in with hungry kisses again and again.

  Miranda was floating, out of it, and only into him. But as her eyes flicked open, and across the little hallway, she realized that the door was still wide open, offering anyone on the landing a prime view of Patrick’s fine arse.

  But she didn’t care, and it seemed he didn’t, either. Even when he bunched up her skirt so he could touch her, there wasn’t a fiber of her that was bothered by the possibility of exposure. His hand slipped into her panties and all was right in the world.

  “I won’t take it back,” she hissed as he touched her, finding her clitoris with his supernatural touch. “I love you. I can’t help it. Deal with it.”

  “I will,” he replied, swirling in her slippery sex, working her. “And I’ll deal with you...but first I’ve got to fuck you.” He kissed her, quick, rough, deep. “Now. Immediately. I can’t wait.” He rubbed her clit in tight little circles. “Got a condom in that bag?” He nodded in the direction of her shoulder-bag, lying on the carpet runner.

  She nodded furiously, so close to coming that she literally couldn’t speak. All she could do was watch as Patrick swooped down, small, detailed muscles working his back as he rummaged efficiently in the bag and pulled out a familiar foil package. It was hard to stay upright. His body was so amazing that just looking at it made her shake all over, but she laughed out loud as he back-heeled the door shut, then advanced on her, ripping open the foil and rolling the contraceptive onto his mighty erection as he approached.

  “Brace yourself, woman,” he growled, grabbing her again. “You’ll need to help me...knickers off, then guide me into you and hang on for dear life.”

  She obeyed, loving it. He was in charge here, just as he’d always been during their trips to the cottage. And he was hard as iron just as he’d been there, too.

  But still, this was tricky. How were they going to achieve this. It was all very well in movies doing the up-against-the-wall knee-trembler, but she’d always believed it was impossible in real life, with actual people. No previous lover of hers had even attempted it.

  “We’ll fall,” she protested, even as he flexed his strong legs and positioned the head of his cock against her entrance, lifting one of her thighs to get at her better.

  “No, we won’t, woman. Don’t fuss,” he said gruffly, working with his hips, already in a little way. “It’s a trust exercise. We’ll be fine. Believe me. Now help.”

  So she did, hooking her thigh around his narrow hips, and then bracing against the wall with one hand while she reached down and tangled fingers with his, aiding his entry into her. Luckily she was slippery, running with arousal, soft and yielding.

  With a hard shove, his buttocks tensing, he thrust home and hard.

  “Lock your thighs around me,” he commanded. “Right around... I want to be deeper.”

  It felt so precarious, yet also wonderful, this trust exercise. She’d never felt so filled before, but she wanted to be more filled. Only Patrick could do this. Only he could reach places inside her that no man ever had. And on many levels that were nothing to do with his cock.

  “I’ll never let you fall, love,” he gasped, looking directly into her eyes, his own intent, dark as night, focused on sex, yet on her, too. “Believe me, I’ll never let you down.”

  She hooked around him, completely suspended from him, her sex jammed up against his, her arms locked around his neck, holding him as if she’d never let him go.

  I never will let you go! Never! I don’t care what happens! she cried silently to him and he began to thrust and thrust with his hips, one hand under her buttocks to guide her, the other flat and steady against the wall. Every time he rocked against her, the force, the angle, the weight of his athletic body, and the whole of his heart and soul seemed to knock against her clitoris, shooting jolts of pleasure up her spine and around her body.

  Holding him with her thighs and arms, she jerked against him reciprocally, attempting to give as much as she was getting, and pleasure him. He muttered, “Yes, love! Yes!” and that told her she was achieving her objective.

  The fucking, the closeness, it was all too much for her. Even though she was clothed and he was nude, she felt as if every part of her was pressed to every part of him. Her suit, her blouse, her bra, everything was insubstantial but her flesh against his flesh. And it was that connection, the one that was so magical and hard to define, that brought her off as much as the action of his cock and the rhythmic tugging action on her clit.

  “Oh, hell! Oh, God! Patrick!” she howled as orgasm claimed her completely and her pussy rippled and gripped and gripped and gripped him.

  “Oh, baby,” he muttered vaguely, holding her to him. “I love you...I love you...” His broad chest heaved against her. “But if I climax here, I will drop you.... You feel too good!”

  Giddy with pleasure, Miranda thought, What? How?

  “Hold on, love. Hold on really, really tight.” Both of his hands slid under her bottom, gripping her firmly.

  Hardly able to believe what he was up to, she still trusted him, and hiccupped with laughter when he swung her away from the wall, and began to carry her, still on the prow of his erection, down the little hallway and into a room at the end. Ever so gently, he used her to nudge the door wider, then strode into what was revealed to be his bedroom, heading for the bed.

  Miranda didn’t notice much about the room, except that it was decorated in blues, and appeared incredibly tidy, but what she did see was that spread right beneath where he clearly intended to deposit her, was a freshly pressed suit laid out, along with shirt, underwear and socks.

  “Where were you going?” she asked, the question purely automatic and female. Despite the fact that his cock was inside her, she felt fear and uncertainty for the first time since she’d walked into the flat. What if he had a girlfriend? Someone he had a real relationship with, not just a weird out-of-office sex thing?

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart...it was all for you,” he said as he set her down, inclining over her. He slipped out of her then, and let rip a lurid curse, but a moment later, he’d rearranged her body and his and he thrust inside her again, this time with the stable surface of the bed beneath her back.

  “Good” was all Miranda could gasp, as he began to plough her in even deeper strokes than before.

  Despite the fact that they were fucking in comfort now, she felt giddy, whirling, almost hysterical. The
sensations doubled, tripled, went off the scale, enhanced and illuminated by subconscious realizations and hopes and dreams. He cared, he loved her, and something even greater and more wonderful than just this sublime physical experience lay ahead.

  But she was going to have to live through this, and have an orgasm again first. Or several orgasms...

  * * *

  Afterward, naked, and following several passionate joinings, they dozed. Or at least, Patrick did.

  Typical man.

  But Miranda smiled fondly at his beautiful fallen angel profile, and his tousled blond curls. He was adorable, and she did adore him and love him. And how dumb was she not to comprehend this a lot, lot sooner.

  I should never have given you a job. I should just have asked you for a date.

  It would have been much, much simpler from a work and relationship perspective. Who knew where they’d be by now? Far further along their path together...maybe?

  As if he’d sensed her troubled thoughts, he stirred and turned toward her, his face alight with that sunny smile she loved so much.

  “Well, fancy you being here,” he said, stroking her face. “I’ve fantasized about you being here, and wanked so often while imagining you here, that I can’t believe that it’s really actually happened.”

  The idea of him touching himself and pleasuring himself made Miranda’s skin tingle, and impossibly, given the amount of climaxes she’d enjoyed, her pussy rippled with fresh desire. But there were issues to be settled, plans to be made, and even in this quiet, special, love-filled room, the businesswoman, the organizer in her, rallied.

  “Please tell me you’re going to withdraw your notice now.” It was going to be awkward working together and maintaining a relationship, but if they were discreet and sensible there was no reason why they couldn’t manage it.

  “No, I’m not,” he said, his eyes steady. “I can’t come back to the company.”

  A great, empty hole seemed to yawn inside her, the prospect of not seeing him every day, not talking with him, laughing with him. It wasn’t even the sex. It was him, with her, that she’d missed. He was the one constant in her life, the daily necessity, and now she could admit how little she’d looked forward to weekends since he’d become her assistant.