Control (Xcite Erotic Romance Novels)

by Stein, Charlotte

  I’m not Andy, I think. Show me who you are, really. Show me the limits.

  When someone comes into the shop, I almost jump right out of this brand new skin I’ve found myself in. And the way he looks at me suggests I seem as though that’s just happened. Like I’m examining him as though he’s an alien from Mars.

  ‘Hello,’ the customer says, and I remember to reply in English. Not Martian.

  ‘How are you today?’ I say, which sounds reasonably human, to my ears.

  The customer – we’ll call him guy-in-cardigan – nods, and then starts pretending he’s not really looking for what he’s bound to be looking for. Which I suppose wouldn’t be so bad – it’s very unthreatening, after all. Only Jeanette comes in then, too, right after Cardigan, and Gabe is visibly a little more disturbed by that.

  Lovely chipper Jeanette, whom he knows works next door.

  I glance back at him, and he’s just stood, open book and pencil in hand, eyes wide. As though we were caught having sex, rather than caught reading. But I guess I’m a little bit of the harsh taskmaster, because as I’m saying hello to Jeanette and oh yes isn’t it bitter out and so on, I raise my eyebrows at him.

  He understands me perfectly, and shakes his head, minutely.

  Bad boy.

  ‘Oh, hello there, Gabriel,’ Jeanette says, as she shakes out her brolly and puts it in the helpful little stand I provide for customers. Mainly so they don’t get a ton of York rain on all of my books.

  That I want Gabe to deface, with his dirty pencil.

  ‘Hi,’ he replies, because he’s a genial sort. It’s not his fault that his hi sounds like a balloon, deflating.

  ‘You look a little stressed. Is she working you hard?’

  I grin, and he tries not to.

  ‘Oh, very hard,’ I say, and take a step towards him. ‘You can keep doing what you’re doing, by the way … unless you have any objections?’

  His tongue peeps out – just briefly – to wet his lips. He glances down at the book, still open in his hands. God knows what page it’s open at. Or what I’m expecting him to circle while Jeanette and I chit-chat inanely and Cardigan shops for porn.

  “She made him figure out what he wanted, sexually, while people stared at him”, probably.

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘No, that’s fine.’

  He turns his back to us, though. I think he even makes to walk into the little alcove, until he realises Cardigan is there. Ha! Trapped. And he must look it, too, because Jeanette’s face is a picture. I guess we’re not being as sly as I think we’re being. Some of the undertones are definitely leaking out to become overtures. Our text is not sub. Maybe it was the up and down wavering of his voice, or dammit – I didn’t check. Did he have a hard-on?

  Fabulous.

  ‘What are you having him do?’ she whispers, leaning right in as though that’s going to stop Gabe hearing. I don’t think there’s anything sexual in her implication, however. She probably imagines sexual, but she’s not the sort to come out and say it.

  Unless I’m hearing it through our bedroom walls. Then she says all sorts.

  ‘Ah …’ I say, while I try to imagine what pencil-circling tasks there are for book store assistants to complete. ‘Some errors in some of the stock we got in. He’s finding them, for me.’

  She doesn’t look convinced – though she still takes a seat, when I offer it. And pulls it right up to the desk, when I sit down behind.

  ‘I just thought I’d pop in,’ she says. ‘I haven’t spoken to you in a while.’

  I think it’s been about a day, but I don’t say anything. She keeps just popping in to see how Gabriel is doing, and by this point I’m fairly certain that either a) she has taken a shine to him, b) she’s desperate for the filthy gossip I’m not sharing or c) both.

  After all, he is attractive. He might not think so, but he’s really not a reliable witness. He seems surprised when people comment on his huge cock, for God’s sake.

  ‘The shop seems busy,’ she says, just as another customer walks in. Unfortunately, Gabe has pressed himself into a corner with his back to everybody in the world, so I can’t see how mortified he is.

  He’s definitely still circling, however.

  ‘Yes – it’s been a good week. Hasn’t it, Gabe?’

  He doesn’t hear me. He’s engrossed in Demon Seed.

  Jeanette leans in, again.

  ‘He’s very odd, isn’t he,’ she says, but she’s making pointed eyebrows and licking her lips as she does so. She has this very expressive, chipmunk-y face, with all this bubbly red hair, so when she’s trying to squeeze information out of you, it’s really obvious she’s doing so. Like a cartoon character, trying to do said same thing.

  I think about Gabe, getting to that bit in chapter twenty-two – or is it chapter twenty-three? – where the two guys fuck both the girl’s holes. Is he hard, yet? Is he making himself read it, until he stiffens in his grey trousers and wonders how he’s going to hide it?

  ‘You think so?’ I reply, but I leave a gap. So that perhaps she might think I’m suspicious, too, of odd Gabriel Kauffman.

  ‘I think he fancies you.’

  She’s as subtle as a brick through the window.

  ‘Do you? No – I don’t think so. I think he likes men, anyway.’

  Her eyes get even wider, at that little fake-revelation. Though in relation to the so-called fake part of that revelation, my mind does go to Andy’s hand, over his groin.

  ‘No! Really?’ she gasps – not quietly at all. Clearly she did think something was going on, between us. ‘But I thought … well. I don’t know what I thought.’

  That I was sacrificing him to the God of lust? It wouldn’t be that far from the truth.

  ‘Yes. And you wouldn’t believe what he’s into.’

  She snaps words out immediately, as though I was asking her to guess. I don’t think Derek is doing it for her, any more, I really don’t.

  ‘Cottoning!’ she says, and I almost burst out laughing.

  I think she means cottaging. In fact, I’m deathly certain of it. I glance up at Gabe, wondering if this conversation is being heard and whether or not he’s hurt/confused/disturbed by my revelations, and find him looking over his shoulder, a frown so cartoonishly incredulous all over his face that it belongs on Jeanette.

  I almost giggle, seeing it there. Even more so when quite stupendously, he mouths cottoning? at me.

  Sometimes I forget, about Gabe’s wealth of knowledge.

  ‘Glory-holing,’ I say, and now his expression is just pure don’t tell her that, are you talking about me, don’t tell her that!

  But of course, he can’t come over here and tell us that he’s neither gay nor into sticking his dick through holes so that someone can suck it. Mainly because I’m fairly certain that he has an erection, by now.

  The look over his shoulder says it all, really – he can’t turn his body, because then she’d see.

  ‘I don’t even know what that is.’

  She’s still whispering. So am I – I don’t want to unduly disturb the female customer who’s currently looking at a copy of Despairing Love. You don’t want to destroy your business just because you’re trying to gently humiliate your little love slave, who’s standing squirming, in the corner.

  Woman-in-raincoat buys five books – four tame, one dirty, naturally. Cardigan is far bolder – three works of absolute filth. It’s usually the case. Men are much more furtive during the coming in and browsing portion of the book shop experience, but they tend to buy the naughtier stuff.

  Jeanette raises her eyebrows at me, when she sees the covers. I wonder if they’d make a loop all the way around her head, if she knew I’d ordered Gabe to circle passages in a book almost identical to one of the ones Cardigan has chosen.

  When Cardigan’s gone, she leans in and asks me if Gabriel behaves himself, while he’s working.

  ‘Oh God yes,’ I reply. ‘He does everything to my complete satisfaction.’


  I bet he’s aching, by the time Jeanette and the last customer of the day leaves. He was offered no respite. It’s been busy, and Jeanette wanted to talk during all the times we weren’t busy, and though he went and hid in the alcove I know he’s been sorely tested.

  Still, when I lock the door and make my way slowly to the corner he’s standing in, the first thing he says to me is:

  ‘Should I carry on?’

  He doesn’t keep his back to me. I can see the long line of his cock, through all that grey.

  ‘No. I think you’ve done enough, for today.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve really earned my wage,’ he says. I think he has, but saying so would probably just make us seem much more like a prostitute and his perverted client.

  I’ll save that for later, when he’s needing just that little extra twist of humiliation.

  ‘Well, I suppose you’ll have to work twice as hard for me tomorrow, then, won’t you?’

  He looks satisfied, by that – or as satisfied as someone can be, when he’s breathless and lust-glazed. His hand – the one that’s not still holding a book and pencil – hovers restlessly close to his groin, as though it can’t wait to get at what’s there.

  ‘Do you want to masturbate?’ I ask, and he replies with a little muffled groan. ‘Don’t be ashamed. I do – I want to. I’ve been sitting on my little hard chair, grinding my wet pussy against it whenever I thought about the dirty things you’ve been reading.’

  ‘Really?’

  Why does he always sound so surprised?

  ‘Of course.’ I take a step towards him. ‘Now – are you going to show me what you’ve been reading? Or do I have to guess?’

  He moves quickly, then. To a stack of books behind him, on the little white windowsill. I hadn’t even noticed, but I thrill when I do. He didn’t just put them back on the shelf – he made a pile, for everyone to see!

  ‘I was going to let you guess,’ he says, still breathless – but now there’s an almost giddy quality to it. ‘But I thought it would be much more efficient to put them all together and give them to you. In order of preference.’

  He’s a wonder, he really is. What would I do without him?

  ‘How thoughtful,’ I say, as he hands them to me. There are eight books, in total, and none of them look like the sorts of things a sweet, middle-aged, female customer would comfortably buy without a romance bolster.

  When he leans in close, briefly, I can see the perspiration on his upper lip.

  ‘You can go, now.’

  It kills me to say it. It really does. I’ve never wanted someone’s face between my legs so badly in all my life. But his expression tells me I’ve made the right decision – caught somewhere between frustration and a kind of odd delight.

  He doesn’t say a word, in protest. He just nods, and as he goes to pass me, he does the strangest, most tender thing.

  He leans in, and kisses my cheek, softly. Just a sweet little kiss, that makes a sound of sudden and intense arousal escape my lips.

  I turn in time to see him fold his coat over his arm, to hide what walking funny will probably give away, regardless.

  ‘Good night, Madison,’ he says.

  I can’t think of anything to say, in reply.

  Chapter Eight

  I TAKE MY TIME, getting to the books. It’s like I’m getting ready for a lover, only he’s made out of paper and pencil markings and I’m insane.

  I shower, and wear something silky and black, and arrange them in front of me on the bed, in order of Gabe’s preference. Apparently he likes Sin In Red the most, and Outdoor Pursuits the least. Though I don’t think the word least really comes into it.

  He’s not really judging them, after all. He’s just picking what he wants most, and I’m now going to get to find that out.

  I open book one, and there it is, circled on page thirty-eight.

  “He could feel the silk chafing against the head of his cock, a maddening reminder of what she had made him do. The panties felt too tight, restricting, as though her hand was constantly clasped there, around his aching shaft.”

  How utterly, utterly delicious. And also how open to interpretation. What is it that he likes, about this? That a woman forced a man to wear her underwear? Is it just the idea of something silky, against his cock? Does he want to be restricted in some way, confined, is it the tightness?

  I wonder – would I have found a pair of lacy knickers, if I’d have searched more thoroughly through his drawers? Dirty boy, filthy boy, fuck I love it.

  And then there’s book two:

  “His cock leapt in his hand, climax surging up from his tightly drawn balls. He couldn’t keep the strangled gasp in, as surge after surge of pleasure went through his already over-taxed body.

  And it was at that moment, as thick spurts of come splashed against her pristine porcelain basin, that Delaney Marcus burst into the bathroom.”

  God bless Delaney Marcus for pretending she didn’t know he was in there.

  I remember Gabe saying how he’d jerked off after hearing me on the phone, but I had no idea he did it while thinking about me bursting in on him. I mean – that’s what he’s saying here, right? I might not be as cool and daring as Delaney Marcus, but I’m sure I could fill in, quite convincingly.

  I want to burst on him, just as he’s coming. That would be absolutely excellent, I have to say.

  And this is before I get to some of the other stuff – God, the things he’s into! He’s twice circled the scene in Going Down where the group of girls make the arrogant hero strip for them. And then there’s the bit where Marnie Sheriden slides a slick finger into Gregory Tate’s arse, and the bit in Desperate Measures when the reluctant heroine spanks the conflicted hero.

  I’m amazed he’s even managed to find this much submissive guy/dominant heroine stuff, but he’s got laser guidance when it comes to it, it seems. He got the bit in All Business, when Bree makes Dirk wait, and wait, and wait. He got the bit in The Hard Way, when the two girls tease some little office schmuck until he cries for mercy.

  It doesn’t escape my notice that a lot of them are my favourite parts, of these various books. It makes me wet just reading them, never mind the layer of Gabe’s tortured desires over the top of all of it.

  I can’t stop myself from putting my hand between my legs, while thinking about him doing the same. He’ll probably still be wearing something – pyjamas or sweatpants, maybe. Hand burrowed inside, to get at his straining cock. Me – I just flip this little black thing all the way up to my stomach, legs spread, uncaring.

  It’s not as though anyone’s going to walk in and see. I wonder if Gabe imagines that’s what’s going to happen, and so is forced to keep his clothes on, just in case. Or perhaps he simply doesn’t like his clothes off – maybe it’s the furtiveness of it, that gets him going. It’s certainly something, because he didn’t circle that forced-to-be-naked scene for nothing. Maybe it’s that he simply doesn’t like his own body, which makes me want to stop touching myself and start thinking about him in annoying, frustrating ways.

  But I persevere. I picture him, again, with his hand pumping inside the material of something or other, hips rocking ever so slightly. Head pressed back into the pillow, mouth open – probably being noisy, too.

  Or maybe he’s got his fist stuffed into his mouth, for fear that the neighbours will hear him. He hadn’t seemed to mind making a little bit of noise in the shop, but I remember him pressing sounds against his squeezed together lips, when we were in his apartment.

  I guess it’s all about who’s around to hear – the old lady from next door, listening to him be a dirty masturbator … that just wouldn’t do. And especially if he does it three or four times a day.

  What on earth would everybody think of him, if they knew?

  I come downstairs the next morning, to find him already waiting outside. As though perhaps he has something to talk about with me, and just can’t wait to get to it. An hour later simply wouldn’t be go
od enough.

  But when I open the door and let him in, he still can’t seem to find the words. He looks happy, and when he takes off his coat he does so in the oddest way – like he wants me to see him do it, like he wants me to think of stripteases and other things he clearly finds terrifying.

  I think I might be able to persuade him to take his clothes off, some time soon.

  ‘Did you have a nice time, last night?’ I ask, and the grin he breaks into is delightful.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he says, and then there’s this weird pause, this sort of tense moment in which we just stare at each other.

  Before I step to him, and he leans down, and we kiss, long and wet and stuffed full of this strange languid sort of sensuality. His hands slip around my waist and he caresses me, suddenly soft and sure, the slippery push of his tongue like a reminder, of all the things he didn’t dare do, before.

  I take a step back, smoothing my hair and catching my breath as I go. He seems reluctant to let me do so.

  ‘Describe what you did last night,’ I say, after a moment, and I see him wipe his palms on his trousers. Could be they’re as sweaty as mine are.

  ‘I made myself paella.’

  ‘And before that?’

  I expect him to evade, again, but he doesn’t. He keeps his face turned to one side, but he sticks to it.

  ‘I masturbated.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Standing up. With my back to the door.’

  ‘You couldn’t even wait, you dirty little mess.’

  His eyelids flutter and almost shut.

  ‘No. I can’t wait, now. I did it once and then I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again, not until later, but I couldn’t concentrate on the television.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I kept thinking about you, reading all those … things.’

  ‘Like how you want me to make you wear women’s underwear?’

  His gaze clicks with mine, but it doesn’t look as terrified as I’m sure it would have, not so long ago. Instead he looks furtive – he licks his lips. His eyes are big and round and his chest seems to be almost heaving.