by Roxy Harte
He holds me away from him, his fingers digging into my upper arms, not cruelly, just to get my attention, to let me know that he is still full of seriousness, and this side of him exhausts me. I kick my feet beneath the water, dogpaddling to stay afloat even though he holds my arms.
“I want more from you than sex, Bianca. I want you to trust me.”
I stop kicking the water, but he keeps me afloat. I assure him, “I trust you.”
“No, you don’t. I think it has been a very long time since you’ve trusted anyone with your emotions. I plan to be the man who changes that, because if I share everything with you, it is only fair that you give back to me one-hundred percent of who you really are.”
I flinch, not meaning to react to his words.
He releases me, and I sink like a stone. Underwater, I take a minute to think about what he is asking. Can I give him that?
I swim to the surface and he is hanging over the edge of the pool, looking out at the ocean. I go to him and touch his back lightly.
“I’m sorry, I don’t want to scare you. I don’t know what has come over me since I met you.” He turns to face me and brushes a dripping strand of hair out of my face. “You were meant to be an evening’s pleasure, a distraction, nothing more, but now…I can’t get enough of you.”
I press my cheek to his cool shoulder, wrapping my arms and legs around his body from behind him. “I know what you mean, Bishop Farrington. I want more of you than I can possibly ever have, and never presume to ask for.”
He turns in my arms, leaving us both dogpaddling.
“Presume. Ask.”
I kiss him, knowing he means the words, but not willing to ruin his world. “My coming here was a mistake.”
Bishop kisses my eyes closed, shushing me. “No. This is not a mistake.”
THE COAST HERE IS SO different from the one I am used to. The sun is not shining, and hundreds of sunbathers do not litter the sand. Except for a few fishermen, we are alone. The air is cool, and I am glad I wore a jacket. Walking barefoot along the beach, we hold hands and it is a surreal moment. I’m not used to holding hands. I have never held hands, not in a boyfriend-girlfriend sense, and it should feel peculiar, uncomfortable, but oddly it is the most comfortable moment I’ve ever shared with a man. I find myself wishing he didn’t have a wife and family to go home to, but wishing away his family doesn’t feel right and so I try to shake off the melancholy that he would be a perfect primary…if only.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and I realize a tear has slipped down my cheek.
“Fine,” I answer too quickly.
“I have a question for you,” he says suddenly, and without waiting for me to say anything he says, “You said that both Adrian and Jameson are into the noir world of BDSM. How into the lifestyle are you?”
That I should have seen coming. My mouth opens then closes. This is the tough part. I pegged Bishop for straight vanilla from the second I saw him. Admitting to him that I’m a practiced player might scare him off, or it might intrigue him. I smile gently, deciding that Jameson’s deception with Emma is a big enough lie in my life, I don’t need to compound the issue by repeating his mistakes.
“Bianca wouldn’t be a name recognized in the local fetish community, but Mistress Bee would.”
“Mistress Bee, is it?” He lifts his eyebrow and strokes his hand down my arm. His fingers loop around my wrist, closing, tightening in a show of dominance. He wraps his arms around me, taking my wrists behind my back as he does so. “Well, now, that is a problem. I don’t play games. I can only be who I am.”
“Oh.” Many men have tried to dominate me. Well then. I swallow hard and meet his gaze. “I don’t submit.”
He releases my wrist, just like that, and smiles a blinding smile. I get the distinct impression that I just offered him a challenge he can’t refuse. Oh, hell. I try to keep my emotions out of it. “Do we need to have a discussion?”
“A discussion?”
I shrug. “About how we proceed in this relationship.”
He chuckles and walks away, leaving his beautiful footprints to follow. Like a little submissive pup I hurry to catch him. Unbelievable.
“So, do you love them equally? Or is there a part of you that loves one more than the other?”
My mouth drops open, and I as quickly slam my lips closed. I tilt my head and smile, saying nothing.
He stops my next step forward with a tug on my hand and pulls me into his side, draping his arm over my shoulders. “Are they worried that you are here with me?”
“Hardly,” I answer, not admitting Adrian’s level of concern wasn’t high enough to warrant a call-back after I left a message on his voice mail, or that I honestly didn’t see any point distressing Jameson. Especially after his evasive answers yesterday morning about his plans, I really didn’t think it was any of his business that I was flying to London with Bishop. I laugh, but by the look Bishop gives me, he sees no humor in the fact that my two men aren’t very gallant. I suppose he thinks they should be outraged…or enraged. He definitely doesn’t know Adrian and Jameson.
He runs his hand over the back of my hair. I start to pull away, but he doesn’t let me. “Do you love them?”
I look into Bishop’s face and find concern. He lifts his fingertips to my cheek, a bare grazing of sensation that sends aftershocks down my spine.
I don’t answer. I pull away and wade into the water ankle deep. A small wave splashes against me and I laugh, backing away. Bishop joins me and I can tell that he isn’t going to stop asking questions if I don’t give him an answer.
I glance up at him, trying to make light of my answer. “So much talk of love? Can’t I just enjoy you?”
“I want you to enjoy me, Bianca,” he assures me, and then he makes every fiber of my being tremble when he says, “After I leave for Tokyo I want you to go back to your life wanting to be in mine more than you want anything else, and when I am on your coast I want you to drop everything to be with me. Do you understand?”
I nod, recognizing I already share that desire and it isn’t too much to ask, although I doubt Jameson or Adrian will agree.
“Yes?” he asks, and I realize that a nod isn’t enough.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Chapter 15
Adrian
I roll over to find that Jameson’s phone call woke Toby up as well. She blinks and smiles as she stretches. “Everything okay?”
“Fine. Jameson doesn’t know where Bianca is either.”
“What?” Toby sits up, her voice filled with alarm. “Should we be worried?”
“No, not yet. Bianca’s disappeared for a few days before when she’s gotten pissed off. I think she’s just blowing off steam somewhere and trying to teach both of us to not take her for granted.”
“I really screwed things up, didn’t I?”
I grab her face, smushing her cheeks in as I kiss her, reassuring her, “You didn’t do anything that you shouldn’t have, and I knew exactly what I was doing when I started that scene last night.”
“You lied to Jameson. You said you talked to her an hour ago.”
“I didn’t lie.” I narrow my eyes and make a face that makes her giggle. “I listened to my messages about an hour ago and she said that she was boarding a plane to London and she would call me tomorrow.”
“London? Holy shit,” she exclaims. “Wow. I want to go to London.”
I wriggle my eyebrows. “Or we could just go and get fish and chips at McGaffy’s. I’m starved.”
“M-mm, now that sounds like a trip I’m more than ready to take. Do you know how long it’s been since I had fish and chips from McGaffy’s?” She starts getting dressed before she even finishes her sentence. I go to the bathroom and when I return, still naked, she is tapping her foot impatiently. “Hurry it up, bucko, they stop serving food at midnight. We have an hour.”
“It’s a ten minute walk.”
“And you’re still naked, pretty boy. It takes you twice as l
ong to get ready as me.”
I stick my tongue out at her, but can’t be mad because she’s right. I take longer grooming than most of the women I know. Tonight, I acknowledge her point by yanking on a t-shirt and jeans, sliding my feet into some sandals, and pulling my hair through a ponytail holder. “Good enough?”
“Damn, Daddy. I don’t know if I want to take you to McGaffy’s looking that good.”
I roll my eyes.
“No, seriously, the just-got-out-of-bed rumpled look is sexy as hell on you.” She takes my hand and drags me out of the apartment before I can grab a brush, then giggles the entire two block walk to the pub. Just as I open the door for her, she turns serious again, asking, “Are you sure we shouldn’t be worried about Bianca?”
I kiss her forehead. “If she doesn’t call by noon, I’ll worry. I think she’s mad and blowing off steam.”
“I wish I had the kind of money it takes to just jump on a plane when I get pissed off at someone.” She rolls her eyes. “What does she do?”
We sit at the bar. I ask, “Do?”
“Her job? What does she do? You’ve never said.”
I order two beers and two plates of fish and chips before I look at Toby to answer her. “I don’t think she has one other than the occasional class she teaches. I think she must have inherited money from her folks or something, because she’s never had a job as long as I’ve known her.”
“Her parents are dead?” Toby gasps.
“Toby, I don’t know. Why the sudden interest in Bianca?”
She looks at me like I grew an extra head. “Just a few hours ago, I asked you to hook me up with her. If I’m going to have sex with her I need to know more about her than her first and last name.”
Thankfully, the bartender hands over our beers and I can take a long swallow. I will not admit that I didn’t know Bianca’s name the first time I had sex with her. I just knew she was smokin’ hot dressed all in leather and swung a single tail like she knew how to use it. That was enough of a pre-sex resume for my standards.
Our meals come, further delaying any more conversation on the topic of Bianca. I watch Toby as she dives into the fish and chips, waiting for her to pick up the Bianca-third-degree, but she remains intent on her food, which makes me wonder at her thoughts. I’m not worried. This is normal-Toby, quiet, introverted, always mysterious. I’m more than willing to let the topic slip back into the nether, and I am happily munching the last chip when Toby excuses herself to go to the ladies’ room.
I hear a familiar male voice behind me. “You looking for trouble?”
I turn around and grab him in a big bear hug. “No, man, I just found it.”
I am glad to see Phelps, it’s been months. Damn, I’ve missed him. I step back to look at him. He’s still my flaming redheaded boy. He keeps his hair short and spiky, his face clean shaven. I catch and hold his gaze, his hazel eyes as secretive as ever, but with a lift of his chin I know we are still on the same wavelength. I want to know what’s kept him away, but as I check him out, lean and tan, wearing a black sheer, skin tight shirt which does nothing to hide his tight abs and leather pants that seem perfectly molded to fit in all the right places, the reasons don’t matter, as long as he’s willing.
He whispers against my face as we play wrestle, “God, I’ve missed you. Meet me out back in ten.”
I step back, winking to let him know I’ll be there. “Five.”
He walks away smiling.
When Toby comes back, I announce, “My turn,” and escape to the back hall. Once out of sight, I duck out the rear exit into the alley. I should feel guilty, I don’t. I try to protect Toby from the worst of me, but this is who I am and I think she knows me fairly well by now.
A hand reaches out and grabs me as soon as I’m through the threshold. Strong hands slam me up against the brick wall of the building, knocking the wind out of me, and then his mouth is on mine, kissing me hard, fast, stealing my breath. Phelps. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“Now, Adrian, I can’t wait until later.”
There is a soft fog settling after the rain, ringing the streetlights in an otherworldly feel. Above us a security light seems to spotlight our carnal activity, and I admit it makes me hot knowing we could be seen.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
I grab his lapel and roll him so that he is the one pressed against the brick wall, wrapping my fingers in his hair to keep him from pulling away from my mouth. God, I’ve missed him, and I want him to remember…I own him.
I crush his mouth, licking, biting, sucking. Our teeth clash and I taste blood, but whether it is his or mine is lost in the intensity of the kiss. I am on fire for him, feeling him reach for my belt buckle, his hands doing the work to expose me, expose himself. I feel his success, his hand hot, wrapping around my hard dick. He squeezes and pulls before starting to stroke. Still raping his mouth, I grab blindly, finding his balls, squeezing a yelp out of him before I stroke him as well.
He pulls his mouth from mine. “I need to taste you.”
He drops to his knees without a yes or a no from me, his hand still wrapped around my erection, guiding him down. His knees hit the filthy pavement of the back alley, still damp from the rain. I think we should have stayed inside. Plenty of dark hallways inside, why didn’t we stay there? He’ll have to be onstage soon and his knees will be wet from where he knelt, giving me head. The thought makes me insane with need and when he slides me deep into his mouth, I jerk, not coming, but wanting to.
I let him get to the business of sucking me off.
The emergency exit door opens with a grating squeak. A couple starts to step out into the alley, then sees me, may even think they see a shadow of someone on their knees between me and the brick wall, but I doubt it. “Sorry,” they say and drop back into the building.
I grab Phelps by his hair, guiding his head in the rhythm I want, but I am growing savage with need and I would hurt him if I pounded into his face as hard as I wanted. I keep pulling his hair, bringing him back to his feet. I kiss him, urgently, feeling my own lips bruise under the force of my need. I push him along the wall, hiding us deeper in the shadows to a place where there is no overhead light and a old, mammoth dumpster, rusted and no longer used, filthy but the filth so dried and old that it refuses to stink anymore. Useful still though, in that it will shield us from prying eyes.
I wrap my arm around his waist and slide my hand down the inside of his jeans, finding him bare beneath. I squeeze his ass cheek, roughly, because I want to hurt him, I want to make him cry out, sob, scream my name. He rubs against me, sliding his hands under the front of my shirt, finding my nipple rings and inflicting his own version of pain and escalating need onto me. With a fast tug, I pull down the back of his jeans, exposing what I know is a lily white ass.
Our feet shuffle, trading places in the dark.
I want him, but I want him like a girl. “Take off your pants, bitch.”
Even in the dark, I can see that his mouth has opened to protest, his eyes wide. He looks left and right, making sure that we are alone, sheltered enough to not be seen, this one request, changing the dynamic of the moment, not just a bend over, wham bam, thank you man, but more…
He pushes down his jeans and ends up having to remove his boots to pull the pant legs all the way off. “We couldn’t go about this the easy way?” he jokes.
I pull him to me, his lower half now completely bare, so that when I grab his ass, all I feel is him…his warmth, the soft, fine hairs covering his ass, the raised gooseflesh as the cool night air teases his nakedness. Against me, he is still hard, I press our pelvises together, trapping our erections between us. “I don’t want anything between us to be easy.”
He knows what I want. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he jumps, wrapping his legs around my waist. He rubs his face into my shoulder, whispering, “Do me now, the anticipation is killing me.”
He hands me a wrapped condom, the plastic hot, and I think that he has b
een palming it since he came out into the alley. I push him against the rough, brick wall, knowing from personal experience the kind of charge having your bare ass pushed against the wall can be. His erection jerks, tightening more between us.
I rip open the wrapper and drop it to our feet, making a mental note to pick it up when we’re through. Reaching between us, I pull my dick, stretching it a bit before sliding the pre-lubed latex down my shaft.
I don’t kiss him, the time for kissing through.
His features are clear even in the shadows, our night vision having adjusted enough that I can see the emotion crossing his face as clearly as if it were daylight. I cup his ass in my left hand, supporting his weight as I shift him so that he finds himself wedged between my pelvis and the wall behind his shoulders. “Lift your legs onto my biceps.”
He does and my right hand slides along his smooth hip to find the juncture of his ass. I feel his puckered anus with my fingers, watching his face as I do so. He licks his lips as I guide my penis to his ass. “Tell me you want me.”
“Please, Adrian, fuck me already. It’s been too long.”
I rub the tip of my covered cock around his rim, spreading a little of the lube. “Tell me what I want to hear, bitch.”
I watch his face for the acceptance that he is going to have to ask, knowing how badly he hates it when I make him beg.
“Please, Adrian, please, fuck me?”
“Please?” I press a little, firm pressure against his asshole before pulling back.
He closes his eyes and pounds the back of his head against the wall. I feel his erection jerking, his need boiling over. “Yes! Please, please, please!”
“Look at me, bitch.”
Phelps opens his eyes and looks into my face. I hold his gaze as I push into him, slowly, making him feel every little sensation as he stretches to take me.
“Oh God!” He moans, closing his eyes as my unyielding dick forces his muscles to accept me. “Faster, it hurts.”
“Look at me.” I growl, squeezing his ass cheeks.