by Mandy Lee
‘I never said anything like that,’ she insists.
And that’s enough to set me off. ‘Oh yes you fucking well did,’ I spit.
‘Oh, it speaks, does it?’ Springing to her feet, she glares at me.
‘Yes, it does fucking speak,’ I hiss. ‘And you did spread that story around. And it’s a pile of shit, just like you.’
Claudine Thomas stares at me in amazement. At last, her mouth opens. She turns back to Dan. ‘And what’s sewage mouth here got to do with it?’ she demands.
I’d leap up and chin the madam right now, but I’m distracted by the fact that Dan is holding out a hand to me. And more than that, he’s let a smile off the leash. I smile back at him, relieved that the cold, harsh dominant has disappeared for now. My very own Daniel Foster is back in the room.
‘Everything,’ he announces proudly, curling his fingers inwards. ‘Now come along, sewage mouth. I think we’re done here.’
Ignoring the gawping red head, I place my hand in his, allowing him to pull me up from the bed and into his arms.
‘Satisfied?’ he breathes into my ear.
‘Satisfied,’ I confirm.
‘Well thank fuck for that. Now, let’s get back to your place. I want you to feel comfortable tonight.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘You need to be on home ground.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Shrugging off his jacket, he throws it onto my bed and falters for a moment, catching sight of the edge of the canvas. He pulls it out from where I’ve stored it safely, down beside the wardrobe, and sets it on the floor, leaning it up against the wall. Taking a step back, he stares at the picture in silence, lost in thought.
‘It’s finished.’ I touch him on the arm.
He gives a start.
‘It’s wonderful. You’re a talented woman, Maya Scotton.’
Arching my eyebrows at him, I decide to change the course of the conversation. I’ve never been too comfortable with praise.
‘Lucy’s not back yet. You don’t think she’s hit it off with Clive, do you?’
‘Who knows and who cares? It’s time I fucked you senseless.’
With that, he turns quickly, grabbing me by the waist and drawing me close. And although I’m quaking down below at the very thought of a damn good seeing to, the sensible half of my brain has finally come into play, energising me with a new resolve. Gritting my teeth against the myriad of sensations that are kicking off between my legs, I decide it’s time to simply get on with the interrogation. My decision was made on the way back from Belgravia: this man is getting nowhere near my special bits until he’s explained himself.
‘No,’ I inform him.
His expression darkens, transforming itself from bright sunlight into shadow.
‘I make the rules around here,’ he reminds me.
‘Not all the time, you don’t, Mr Foster. So if you know what’s good for you, just sit down on the bed.’ I pause for effect, giving him an I-really-mean-this face. ‘My rules now.’
‘Your rules?’ He grinds his crotch against mine, sending a delicious quiver of lust through my core.
‘My rules.’ I swallow hard, doing my best to press on with the plan.
‘Which are?’
‘You do exactly as I say.’ I wait for a moment, watching as he sucks at his bottom lip. ‘No talking unless I ask you a question.’ I wait again. His lips begin to twitch. ‘And you answer every single one of my questions.’ He narrows his eyes. ‘Is that understood?’ He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s far too slow. I get in there first. ‘I said is that understood?’ With a reluctant nod, he loosens his grip on me and sits on the bed. I let out a sigh, and continue. ‘If you want me to trust you, then I need to know more about you, Dan. And if you want this to go any further, then you need to open up to me. You can start with Claudine Thomas.’
At the mention of her name, he winces and I wonder if I should really go on with this. After all, there’s been enough trouble today. But then again, I remind myself, after what he’s done today, he owes me a few explanations.
‘Come on, Dan. Tell me about her.’
‘There’s nothing to know,’ he begins quietly. ‘She’s just someone I met at the club.’
‘I think there’s plenty more to it than that.’
‘It was sex. That’s all. I met her there and I fucked her.’
‘How many times?
‘I don’t know.’ He clasps his hands together. ‘It went on for a year or so. It wasn’t exclusive. I never saw her outside of the club. We had a few shallow conversations here and there. Nothing much. I was never interested in her, not in the way I’m interested in you.’
‘But you enjoyed whipping her.’
‘Enjoyed isn’t the right word.’
‘Then what?’
‘I don’t know.’
I wait for more but nothing comes. Realising that I’ll just have to bide my time on that one, I move on.
‘So, how far did you go? Did you ever make her bleed?’
‘Yes.’ He stares at me, his eyes pleading for understanding. ‘It was last year. One night, she asked me to whip her hard.’ He lowers his head. ‘She didn’t opt out and nobody had to pull me off. She was begging for more. In fact, she was screaming for it.’ He looks up at me again. ‘I went too far. I know that, but I stopped myself. It was a wake-up call. I walked out of there and I’ve never been back, not until tonight.’
‘Why did you go too far? That’s the question.’
He bites his lip, glancing past me at the picture, as if he’s searching for inspiration in the woods of Limmingham. When he begins to speak again, his voice falters.
‘I wasn’t in a good place. I wasn’t thinking straight. I’d had a visit from someone.’
‘Who?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Just someone from my past, someone I never wanted to see again. They turned up at my office out of the blue and it threw me.’ Closing his eyes, he runs a hand through his mop of hair. ‘Leave it, Maya. Please.’
‘I can’t leave it. You need to answer all of my questions. My rules.’
‘And I will. I promise. Another time.’ He holds me with his gaze, silently begging me to let it go, and I do. ‘I can’t change what I’ve done in the past.’ Reaching out, he takes hold of my hand. ‘Don’t push me away because of this.’
‘I won’t,’ I reassure him.
‘I’ll never hurt you. That’s all I know.’
‘I know that too.’
With a sigh and a nod, he closes his eyes for a moment before getting to his feet and snaking an arm around me. A hand cups the back of my head.
‘So, I’m off the hook then?’ he asks.
‘Not entirely. You’ve got a little more explaining to do. You can’t go sending me flowers and then mess about with another woman.’
‘I am not messing about with another woman.’
‘Lily’s got the hots for you.’
‘Trust me, she’s not.’
‘She wants to get inside your trousers. Is she a madam?’
‘What?’
He loosens his grip for no more than a split second but it’s enough. I take the opportunity to free myself. Taking a step backwards, I watch as his face travels from shock, through disbelief, and finally lands on amusement. He begins to laugh.
‘Don’t laugh at me, Foster! She’s a madam, isn’t she? Or some sort of high class prostitute? You keep her on because you just can’t drop your old ways.’
He’s laughing so much now there are tears in his eyes. Wiping them away, he draws in a few deep breaths.
‘Lily’s a family friend,’ he explains, smiling broadly. ‘I’ve known her since I was twelve. She’s like a sister to me. She’s also bisexual, if you must know, and her preference at the moment is female. She’s in a relationship and having a spot of bother.’
‘What?’
‘She came to me for help and ...’ He silences himself in mid-flow and stares at me. ‘What sort of flowers?’
; ‘Pardon?’
‘You said I sent you flowers.’
‘This morning. The roses.’
He shakes his head.
‘I didn’t send you any roses.’
‘But the card …’
My eyes seem to lose their ability to focus. Suddenly, the room is a blur.
‘What did it say?’ he asks.
‘I’m glad I found you.’
The next few moments pass by in silence while I’m dragged under, into the depths, watching the surface as it recedes out of reach. I’m drowning in my own personal nightmare now. If it wasn’t Dan, then there’s only one other suspect, and my blood runs cold at the very thought of him: the man I left behind in Edinburgh, the man I ran away from … and for good reason too. I shake my head, trying to jolt reason and logic back into place. I’m just over-reacting. Because it couldn’t be him. He gave up on finding me a long time ago. When I finally surface again, I find Dan frowning at me.
‘Is there something I should know about?’ he asks.
‘No. Of course not.’
He watches me closely for a few seconds before taking hold of my arm.
‘Then don’t worry about it.’ He squeezes me gently. ‘It’s not surprising you’ve got other admirers. But I can tell you one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘None of those fuckers are getting anywhere near you. Now, come here.’ He draws me in again, holding me so tight I can barely breathe. He brings his mouth to my ear, nipping at my earlobe and sending a tingle down my neck. ‘My rules now, Miss Scotton,’ he whispers. ‘Your reign of terror is over.’ With a smile, he lets go of me and lowers himself back down onto the bed. With his eyes fixed on mine, he unfastens his tie and throws it on the floor. ‘Strip for me,’ he murmurs, his eyes glinting in the light.
‘What?’
‘I said strip.’
‘I don’t …’
‘My rules.’ He smiles languidly, unfastening the top three buttons on his shirt and leaning back. ‘Now do as you’re told.’
I gawp at him for a few seconds before I finally realise that he means it. He actually wants me to strip for him. He’s staring at me now, all mean and hot and moody, and I feel myself blush. Okay, so I’ve already peeled my knickers off for him today, but a full-blown striptease, well that’s another thing entirely. But in spite of any reservations, I unzip my skirt, edging it down until it’s low enough to drop to the floor. Stepping out of it, I glance down at my bare crotch.
‘Still in the stockings.’ He grins mischievously while his eyes seem to dance their approval. ‘You can keep those on.’ He wafts a hand through the air. ‘Please continue.’
Keeping my eyes fixed on his, I begin to unbutton my new blouse, parting the material here and there to give him a flash of skin. His smile deepens as I shrug the blouse away from my shoulders. And now for the finale. I reach behind my back, unclasp my bra and gradually release my breasts from the cups. Dropping the bra, I stand in front of him, completely naked except for the suspender belt and the stockings. Silently, he beckons me forwards with his right index finger.
‘Now turn around.’
I do as I’m told and feel his hands on my buttocks. The warmth of his touch has me rolling my head backwards in pleasure.
‘They’re red,’ he breathes. ‘Have you got anything I can put on them? Something to soothe them?’
‘No.’
‘Well it won’t happen again.’ He turns me back to face him, wrapping his hands around my hips. ‘Which is a shame.’
He smiles knowingly and I just can’t help probing further.
‘Why is it a shame?’
‘Because you’d enjoy a proper spanking.’
I laugh.
‘I can’t see that happening. It was bloody painful.’
‘Well, that’s because I gave you a short, sharp dose. If I’d had time to carry on, believe me, it wouldn’t have hurt so much.’
I hear myself snort.
‘It’s true. Your body releases endorphins.’ He talks quietly, dreamily, running a finger across my stomach, urging my legs open and softly exploring my labia. ‘And adrenalin too. Your pain threshold rises. Your blood flow increases, especially around here.’ He caresses my crotch in his palm. ‘In the right hands, you learn to truly enjoy the pain.’ He massages me slowly. ‘Give me an hour or so and I could spank you into a stupor.’
‘You’d spank me for an hour?’
‘Not solidly. It’s an art form, believe me, a balance of pleasure and pain. Your body releases its chemicals, I watch for the signs, soothing you when I need to, stimulating you when it’s necessary, spanking again when it’s just the right time. I could make you come without even getting inside you.’
‘That’s quite some claim.’
‘It’s just a fact.’
I can hear my own breath now, and it’s beginning to unravel. Jesus, I’m turned on. And fuck, I’m tempted. And before I know what’s going on, I can hear my voice making a distinctly strange suggestion.
‘Well, maybe we should try it.’
‘Maybe we should. But I’d need to restrain you somewhere comfortable, and I’d need to take my time. You’d need to be in the right frame of mind.’
‘Not tonight,’ I plead.
‘No, not tonight.’
He gazes up at me. Sliding his left hand around my buttocks, he continues to massage me at the front, stroking a finger slowly around my clit, working up a ball of warmth between my legs. Removing the finger, he pulls me closer. Immediately, his tongue laps at me, working its way between the folds of my clitoris, over the tip, again finding my spot and swirling over it, lazily. His right hand moves between my thighs, parting them. His fingers push their way inside me, probing deep. Clasping a hand on either side of his head and clutching at his hair, I close my eyes and drink in the pleasure. His left hand tightens against my buttocks, reminding me of the soreness, and the rhythm picks up, his tongue working at the front while his fingers gently thrum inside. I moan again, and again, as the pressure begins to build inside, pulsing its way from my centre outwards. Before long, a deep, exquisite ache takes hold of me. I teeter on the edge for a minute or so, groaning unashamedly. It doesn’t take much longer. In an instant, my muscles clench in on themselves, pulsating, rippling, causing me to cry out.
‘Oh fuck, that’s fucking good!’
With a satisfied laugh, he pulls me down onto the bed, kissing me deeply for an age, pinning me into place with one hand while the other runs up and down my thighs, evidently enjoying the feel of the suspenders.
‘Make yourself comfortable, sewage mouth,’ he whispers at last, stroking my cheek. ‘It’s time I changed into my birthday suit.’
Still flushed through with my orgasm, I rearrange myself on the bed as quickly as I can. Daniel Foster stripping off. Now, that’s one show I just don’t want to miss. Propping myself up on my elbows, I watch as the sex God removes his shirt, revealing his muscles and that ridiculously perfect torso. It’s not until his trousers hit the floor that he realises I’ve got him in my sights. He slows down immediately. Slipping his fingers into his pants, he draws them downwards, edging the material over the end of his cock, stopping for a moment to allow me ogle at its size, before he finally steps out of his underwear.
‘Hands up.’
I do as I’m told, watching as he prowls around the room, looking for God knows what. He opens my wardrobe door and lets out a sigh.
‘You are one fucking disorganised woman,’ he groans, rummaging around on a shelf. ‘This’ll do.’
He takes out a scarf, a thin, silk number I’ve had for ages and hardly ever worn. On his way back to the bed, he makes a detour, picking a paint brush out of the crate. Oh shit! My mind explodes. What’s he going to do with that? He must have noticed the look of shock on my face because now he’s grinning at me.
‘Relax, woman. This isn’t going inside you.’
‘Thank God for that.’
Climbing back onto
the bed, he places the paint brush next to me, motions for me to raise my head and blindfolds me with the scarf. It’s beautifully soft next to my skin, comforting.
‘Now,’ I hear him whisper. ‘Relax this body.’
I do what I can, but I’m on high alert because I have no idea what he’s about to do with that bloody paint brush. The bed dips and he’s beside me, his skin warm against mine. He takes off my stockings, patiently unclipping them and peeling them away from my feet. After that, he unfastens the suspender belt and carefully pulls it away from my waist. A few seconds later, my left nipple is tickled by a set of bristles.
‘Oh God,’ I gasp, my entire body lighting up at the touch. Evidently, he’s chosen a brush I haven’t used yet, one that’s fresh, still soft, unbothered by oil paints and cleaning fluid. ‘Oh shit.’ I just can’t help myself. I begin to writhe under him as the brush is swirled around, lightly, gently, across my breast, round and round in slow, masterful movements.
‘How do you like that?’
‘Mmm,’ I moan. ‘A lot.’
‘And how about this?’
He moves the brush across my chest, the bristles spiralling against my skin, setting me on fire with sensations. The brush travels downwards, slowly, barely glancing against my skin in some places. It dances its way across my stomach, moving further downwards. He pauses for a moment, urging my legs further apart and slightly upwards so that he can gain full access to my groin. And now, the real pleasure begins. The brush is removed and lands again with delicate touches across the inside of one thigh and then the other. It sends my pulse into a rage, leaving my skin hyper-sensitive, washing my brain through with pleasure. I moan again, and hear him laugh quietly.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispers. ‘I love watching you like this.’