With a comforting smile, she turned back to Ben and teased, “Maybe you’ve changed; bigger miracles have happened. I’m not cross with you anymore. Yes, you hurt me, but I’m married now with a beautiful daughter—it’s all in the past. Is that weasel Sean Devane involved in this?” The male agent was still talking to what appeared to be security officers, pointing at us and nodding. Laura rolled down her window and asked, “Something wrong, Pete?” “No, just overcrowding. No rooms free right now. We’ll just take them up to the offices, but I have to wait for a security clearance to do that.” She rolled the window back up. “Sean wants to steal the Cupid from Jane,” Ben said as she turned her attention to us once again. “Same old games,” she said breezily.
Chapter Twenty-Four.
After another ten minutes of silence in the car, we were finally escorted to an elevator by a uniformed security guard, with Agents Laura Tillman and Pete Holmes close behind. The brawny man had long since disappeared into the cavernous building. Our phones were taken, but other than that we were being treated politely. I even got a good cup of brewed coffee. We were comfortably seated in an office on a leather sofa as we all awaited the agent who was to question us, an art specialist arriving from across town.
As it grew darker outside, Laura once again looked at her watch impatiently. “Pete,” she said to her partner, “I can’t wait much longer. My kid has dance class tonight.” He sat across from her on his desk. “Yeah, I need to go also—blind date. There’s still no word from the specialist…do we put them in holding?” She glanced at us, and gestured for Pete to speak to her in the corner. They were whispering, but I could hear them in the small office. “Listen, this bloke Ben Hunt, I know him. He’s big in the art world, sort of a minor celebrity. I think his mother is titled. If we put him in holding, he’ll go straight to the press. Let’s grab a couple of uniforms and let them stay overnight around the corner at the Doubletree hotel instead.” He looked over at Ben, sizing up his expensive watch and pricey designer clothes. “Okay, yeah, sounds good,” he conceded. As the agents turned back toward us to deliver the news, Ben confidently declared, “I’m not staying at a fucking Doubletree. But to be nice and cooperative, we’ll settle for the Conrad St. James.” He was an arrogant ass, but he was my arrogant ass. And, they did take us to the hotel of his choice that night.
As the uniformed officers arrived in the office to take us to our hotel, Laura shot Ben a wink. It wasn’t a flirtation, but more of an I’ve got your back. We were driven to the hotel in a dark car with a driver and two guards and checked into a suite because Ben whined that he couldn’t breathe in the regular room. After the windows were checked, assuring that the room was too high up for us to escape, the officers retreated to the hallway to serve out the night shift guarding our door. We were finally alone, and I fell into his arms. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “Oh my God! I can’t believe we were captured by MI5! That’s like James Bond type shit!” I howled with my face buried in his chest, my favorite place to be. “Bond was actually MI6, but I fully understand your concern about our current situation,” Ben said coolly. “Let’s order up some room service, I’m famished. And those bastards can spring for a bottle of good Champagne.”
We ate, the agents outside wringing their hands over Ben’s hubris, but in the end giving in to his every demand. As an afterthought he slid our tray of leftovers to them, minus the Champagne, and boldly informed them that we were not to be disturbed until a decent hour of the morning. As he closed the door to the bumbling guards, he turned to me and said, “What shall we do now, fair Jane?” I sank into a chair, mentally and emotionally drained from the last week. “Do you mean about the special agent coming to question us tomorrow about the sculpture?” He knelt in front of me, the cold bottle of Champagne and two glasses in his hand, and shook his head. “That’s tomorrow, I meant what shall we do tonight? I suggest a bath,” he said gesturing toward the luxurious bathroom. “But, shouldn’t we plot our next move, think about…” His long index finger floated to my lips, hushing me as he said, “I think best in a tub full of bubbles, with more bubbles in my glass. Come, love.”
He filled the luxurious tub, a heavy squeeze of bath gel producing a cloud of decadent scented bubbles as he slowly peeled off my clothes. With one hand he lowered me into the warm water, the stress of the day eroding from me like fine sand in the wind. Ben popped open the Champagne and handed me a crystal flute full of the straw-colored, frothy liquid. I was in heaven, despite the worry clawing at the back of my mind. He slowly freed himself of his clothes, making a show of removing each item. He was physical perfection, and my eager eyes drank in his naked body as hungrily as I sipped at the sweet Champagne. Before he climbed in behind me, he put a little bottle of clear liquid on the side of the tub. To my questioning look he answered, “Just a little lubricant. Soapy water can be drying.”
Lying behind me, his long legs wrapped around mine, I finished my drink, savoring every drop. “Is there not Champagne in Toledo?” he teased. “There is, but I could never afford real Champagne. I had a bottle of sparkling Asti Spumante last New Year’s Eve,” I explained. He held me closer, placing my empty glass to the side. “Fair Jane, soon you will be able to afford any drink you wish. You’ll have the means to bathe in the damn stuff if you please.”
I was distracted, my mind still clicking through the events of the last week. “Sean has a video of your mother, but do you know what it is of? And if it really exists?”
He took a deep breath, his chest moving sharply against my back. I’d definitely ruined the mood, but the curiosity was killing me. “It exists, I’ve seen a small clip of it, enough to confirm that it is her, and that it is not something that can get out or that my father can ever see. I’m not sure she even knows they were recording her.”
“They? It wasn’t just sex with Sean?” I’d assumed that was the extent of it.
“It was Sean, my mother, and various other people. A group, after she was married to my father.”
“Oh!” I gasped before stupidly blurting out, “I guess freaky freak runs in the family.” I felt him shift behind me and pull away. I turned to find him glaring at me, his normally warm topaz eyes now a dark steely gray. His reply was icy. “She’s my mother, and I adore her. She made a mistake, she’s human, but unfortunately she made it with the wrong person. My parents saw me through all of my troubles, I can’t let this fucking video tear them apart.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Terrible joke…” I couldn’t bear him being angry with me.
Tears threatened to fall as I fought them, until finally he exhaled and pulled me close against him again, my back to his chest. His legs snaked their way around mine once more in a full body hug. “I know. I’m just not sure what to do, how to get out of this.” He kissed my shoulder softly. “We can’t try to steal the video back?” He kissed along my shoulder blades before admitting, “I have no idea where it is, or how many copies there are. It’s a digital age, and I’m sure even the dinosaur Sean had the sense to make copies.” I tried to think, the bubbles popping around me the only sound in the room as we both went silent, his lips still on my back. “We’ll give him the Michelangelo then, let him possess it, jack off to it, whatever he does. Give it to him and be rid of it and him. I don’t want the ten thousand either, I just want you.”
“I don’t deserve you, Jane, I never will.” His lips moved to my earlobes, nibbling, as my body lurched, aching for him. “However, it’s not that simple. This game won’t end with Sean possessing the Cupid, which I’d never allow anyway. That work deserves to be seen by the public. The pieces he’s stolen to hoard do weigh on my conscious, but this one—I couldn’t live with myself if it weren’t shown. Besides, the next time a lonely lady with an expensive work of art comes on his radar, he’ll be right back to forcing me to play his sick game. I can’t do that anymore, not even for my mother.”
“She’d love you, by the way,” he added. “My whole family would be thrilled
that I’m finally with someone of substance.” My heart surged like I’d been shocked every time Ben used the word love, or mentioned any hint of a future with me. I was painfully aware, however, that he had yet to say the words directly. He’d never exactly said that he was in love with me. “Of substance…meaning not blindingly beautiful? His hand slipped around my waist, sliding lower until his palm was resting across my sex. A clear sign from Ben that he didn’t want to argue—his erection was solid against my lower back, grinding gently. “Jane, you’re stunning. Beauty isn’t a contest. You are sexy, smart, and funny as hell. Are you anything like the other women I’ve been with? No, you’re a completely different type, but then again, it didn’t exactly work out well with any of them. Yes, I’ve seen the remarkable beauty you possess, but far more importantly, you’re slowly starting to see it in yourself—like Michelangelo freeing the angel from the marble.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter that you weren’t attracted to me at first, as long as you like to look at me now,” I teased, pushing hard against his growing cock.
“What? You thought I wasn’t attracted to you? Silly girl, I wanted to fuck you the minute I saw you crouched over that broken mask in my office.”
“Oh, the mask! I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. I’ll pay you for that, by the way, when I can.” His wandering fingers slid inside me, my back arching in response. “That piece of kitsch was a cheap copy from the museum gift shop, I believe it sells for twenty pounds. I just wanted to make you squirm that day. You were adorable, all blushing and stammering.”
“Mean!” I teased back, moving to pull away as his fingers sank deeper inside me, holding me still.
“I wanted you physically from the beginning, which yes, did surprise me if I’m honest. I didn’t feel more until Edinburgh. You were different, I felt something with you I’d never felt before, yet knew I was about to con you. I really struggled with it, which was new to me. I’d already decided I couldn’t let Sean have the Cupid if it was truly an authentic Michelangelo, but my feelings for you really threw me. By the time we were stuck on that country road in Scotland, I’d fallen hard.”
His exploring fingers slipped from me, moving up to stroke my throbbing clit, before he turned me around to straddle him. “Come here, before the water gets cold,” he husked, sliding me down on top of him, filling me. My tongue found his as his fingers once again stroked my clit, slow circles until I was clenching around his cock, spiraling quickly toward climax. The small bottle of lube he’d placed on the side of the tub caught my eye as he slowed his thrusts inside me. “You’re not going to use that?” I asked, pointing at the lube. He stilled, his fingers toying with my clit, but not letting me get too close to orgasm. “I don’t need it, you’re plenty wet for me. Sometimes bath water can be drying.”
“So it’s not for anal?” I blurted out, warmth creeping from my chest to my cheeks in embarrassment.
His amused eyes danced as he looked at me, large hands rising to hold onto my hips, steadying me on him. “That wasn’t my plan, no, but…did you want it to be?” One of his eyebrows went quizzically up, a suppressed grin swept across his perfect lips. “Um, I…It’s just I wasn’t sure…” he continued to stare at me with a questioning look—he wasn’t going to let me off the hook. Finally, with a deep breath, I admitted, “I don’t know, I’ve never done anything like that before. I thought I might want to try it someday…but then with Elizabeth that night you were so…it was just so, uh, harsh. Um, would it hurt?” I was so completely mortified at the conversation, and my lack of experience compared to his, that all remnants of my once-imminent climax had evaporated. “I was massively turned on that night because you were enjoying watching, I’ll confess that much. I saw you there from the beginning. But I pushed you too hard, too fast and you ran. I never want to do that again.” He continued, answering my question without any reserve or embarrassment, as if he were instructing me on art rather than on kinky sex, “As far as the discomfort question…well, Elizabeth and Edward are into pain and debasement, it’s their kink, so yes, I was very rough with her. Please know that I’d never hurt you, Jane, or pressure you to do anything you didn’t really want to.” He kissed me, a kiss so warm, so honest, I’d have trusted him with anything.
“Turn around,” he suddenly commanded, raising me off his impaling cock. He pulled the drain, allowing the tepid water to swirl away from us. Leaning me against the side of the emptying tub, he pulled out the handheld sprayer at the side, turning the water on until it was warm. “We’ll let you decide what level of stimulation you want, okay? You decide with your body what you crave, what level of intensity. You’ll never know until you try. But, I assure you, after this long tease I won’t last long so choose your plan of attack wisely,” he teased, fisting his engorged twitching cock to emphasize his point.
I shimmied back until he was inside me again, his body motionless as I controlled the thrust, slowly in and out. When the stream of water from the shower spray hit my clit, my entire core quivered. That felt good. I’d never even used a vibrator before; the warm spray of water on my clit was pure heaven. Sensing I was close, I made the decision to let go of my trepidation and satisfy the curiosity that had been nagging at me since long before that night at Hopetoun. I leaned forward, sliding him out of me. I wiggled until he was positioned where I wanted him—just barely touching there. He reached over casually and applied the lubricant before cautioning, “Slowly…”
I leaned back further as he resumed the water spray that tickled and teased me toward climax. “Here, let’s do a finger first,” he suggested with astounding control and patience. “No! I want...I want it the way I imagined,” I said. “You kinky girl,” he teased with a tiny starter thrust into me. With a sudden pop, he was in. The water jet found my clit again, and I knew I wouldn’t last much longer, nor would he. I pushed back hard, too hard. A dull, radiant burning sensation reminded me of his warning to go slow. “Ah!” I knew I’d gone too fast and began to pull back, but his left hand held me in place. “Be still, baby, it’ll pass, then move when you’re ready, or leave it at this if you want.” I could feel the tension in his body, and even with my limited experience it was obvious it was taking every bit of control he had to let me lead.
As the water caressed me, my mind going blank as I climbed toward release, I felt myself open to him, allowing him to slide in effortlessly. As my orgasm shattered me, the most intense I’d ever known, I thrust against him until he burst in his own release. When he finally relaxed, we both collapsed back into the tub, the stream of water from the handheld still pelting at my exquisitely sensitive sex. “Freaky freak,” he chided, reaching over to pull a towel over us as I turned off the water.
Chapter Twenty-Five.
They waited until nine the next morning to nervously rap on the door to our suite. Ben answered gruffly, dressed in a suit for the first time in several days. The change jolted the guards, who were already nervous around him. The sight of him in his charcoal designer suit, with a crisp white shirt and a gray silk tie, even caused me to behave differently toward him. He just looked so all business dressed like that, right down to the shiny black wingtip shoes; the same ones he was wearing the day we first met. He even had me well dressed that morning, complete with the high heels I was teetering on. At least I was finally getting to wear the outfit, a product of our shopping spree in Edinburgh—the emerald green silk wrap dress was the same color as my favorite comfy sweater, but significantly more formfitting. We’d strategized that morning over breakfast and Ben explained we needed to dress like art enthusiasts rather than explorers. “Dress to impress,” he’d instructed. He impressed in anything he wore; today he was dressed to intimidate.
“You two clean up well,” Agent Tillman, Laura, teased when she returned to escort us to headquarters. “Listen, my partner Pete is already at Thames House with Special Agent Snell, the art specialist. Snell is a decent fellow, honest, but his loyalty lies with the Crown. Good luck with this one.” She winke
d at us both before opening the door to our suite, leading us out of the hotel as the security officers followed. The officers rode along in the SUV, so Laura was quiet during the short drive.
Minutes after arriving in the cavernous building, we were led up a back elevator to what looked more like an executive conference room than an interrogation room. MI5 was nothing like I expected—there seemed to be very little cloak and dagger going on here, but more normal day-to-day investigations by regular people. After we were served tea, a very rotund short man nearly fell into the room. His own cup of tea spilled across his shirt as he leapt up from the shock of the scalding beverage. “Bugger!” he howled as Ben handed him a cloth napkin from the breakfast spread in the room. “That was my new shirt from Marks! I don’t know if this will wash out,” he moaned as he dabbed at the pale brown stain with the napkin. “Nice one, mate. So they have good shirts at Marks & Spencer?” Ben was teasing the man—I had no idea what kind of store Marks & Spencer was, but I had no doubt that this man and Ben Hunt didn’t shop in the same circles. “They’re good there, these were two for forty quid.” Ben whistled, enjoying Agent Snell’s rough start.
“Right then, I’m Agent Niles Snell. They told you I am a full MI5 Special Agent, yes?” The two agents and I could barely suppress our laughter. “I mean, I’m not just some art expert, but a fully trained agent with the—”
“They get it, Niles. Can we begin, then?” Pete interrupted, his voice barely suppressing a laugh.
The Hunt for Eros Page 13