by Alexis Moore
“It’s alright.” I stroked the soft hairs on his forearm and the action soothed me. “My mother never talks about her. There are no pictures of her up in the walls of our house. Sometimes it feels like I only imagined her. But then I watch one of her movies and it brings her to life again.”
“What about your grandfather?”
“He lives all alone in India with a house full of servants. He was still willing to take me with him, but my mother refused to let me go. He’s never forgiven her for bringing shame on the family name, so she spites us both by keeping me here.” My eyes widened as a thought struck me. “Oh my God, I think I might have been conceived in this very hotel.”
“What?” Jared stared at me in disbelief. “If there was any doubt left in my mind that you were the perfect woman for me, this erases it. This adds to the symmetry.”
I wanted to ask him what he meant about me being the perfect woman for him. Was he talking as a wife or as a lover?
“It’s a bit of a sordid story really,” I admitted, responding to his question rather than ask him several of mine.
“Go on.” Jared’s voice sounded angry.
“Mum was here for the Miss World Pageant and somehow her tiara got misplaced. She made a huge fuss and demanded to see the owner of the hotel. An employee rushed away promising to get Mr Codrington, your grandfather, I think. She and Dad have different versions of what followed next—he claims that he told her his name when he arrived on the scene; she claims he didn’t. To cut a long story short, my mother thought he was quite attractive and during the conversation managed to find out he wasn’t married, so she decided that she wanted him. She wanted to live in London and a good-looking, suave, much older hotel owner would be the perfect husband for her. I don’t know how she managed to give her chaperon the slip, but she ended up sleeping with my father and then telling him that they would have to get married or my grandfather would kill her. Dad had been divorced for three years at the time and was glad to marry her. He’s always said that she was like a little spitfire when she’s angry and he fell in love with her at first sight. It was only when she introduced him to her chaperon as the hotel owner David Codrington that Dad corrected her that she realized her mistake.”
“David and your mother probably played each other.” Jared sounded amused at the thought.
“I was born less than nine months after they got married. My mother claims that she suffered post-natal depression, so I had a nanny almost from the day of my birth. When my grandmother came to see me and realized that my mother didn’t hold me or play with me, she begged my mother to let her take me back to Mumbai with her, but my mother refused. My grandmother stayed with me for six months and then came back every summer to spend three months until I was sixteen. Then she persuaded my grandfather to buy a house over here and I live with them. He was mostly away in India on business, so it was just the two of us. We had so much fun!”
“Your life has lacked fun in these last years. It sounds like you’ve been living the live of a ghost and your parents did nothing about it…except to try to use you when the need arose. I’ll make sure that you have more fun than you can stand.”
I smiled and hugged him tightly.
“Your mother is such a beautiful woman.” I tried not to let his words hurt me. They were the truth. “Yet I sense she’s jealous of you.”
“Because of my grandparents,” I explained. “They see through the façade she shows the world. My grandfather refuses to spoil her and that infuriates her. She’s beautiful, but she uses that beauty as a weapon. She’s the least traditional woman I know. Never cooks Indian food and hates when I talk Hindi. Yet, whenever she has to attend any sort of British function she wears a sari—she never wears one to an Indian function, though. She likes being seen as exotic and different.”
“I’ve seen her in saris…her nipples…” Jared coughed and I knew he was embarrassed to confess that he’d admired my mother’s brazen, pointy nipples. “I always thought what a lucky bastard your father was. Now I’ve met you, I’m the lucky one.”
I tried to still my heart. He’s talking about sex and not love!
“Do you eat Indian food?” I asked, trying to lighten the conversation.
“Not since university. My chef’s French and I tend to let him surprise me.”
“I’m going to cook you a nice Indian curry, but I will need the ingredients.”
“Write them down and I will have someone get them for you.”
“It would be quicker if I just went out and bought them myself.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” He nibbled on my neck and I obediently arched it. “I want you right here where I can be inside you…any time, day or night.”
“Yes,” I whispered, wanting him to take me now. How could I have thought that anything in Fifty Shades of Grey was gross? In less than a day of Jared’s lovemaking I understood the need to have him buried so deeply inside me…front or back…that his body fused with mine.
“But first, my sweet, I’m going to spank you.”
“Why? “Did I do something wrong?” My voice trembled as I asked the question. I wasn’t worried about the pain, it was the thought that I had somehow displease him that almost brought tears to my eyes.
“No, my sweet. You’re perfect.” Jared’s hand which had been caressing my bottom moved to gather some of the moisture abundantly coating my clitoris. It was embarrassing to be so wet, but he’d seemed to like it when he had eaten me earlier, so I guess he liked it. He slid a moistened finger into my rectum.
“Ah…ah.” The pain was maddeningly sweet.
“Tilt up,” he ordered and I arched my lower back obligingly. He then forced another finger inside me and I gasped out my pleasure as he pressed them in to the knuckles. I forgot about his promise to spank me as he once again turned me facedown on the bed and slid his hard length inside me. Reaching for the lube he moistened the large plug again and slid that into my rectum and once again I was caught between the hardness in my two places.
It wasn’t until he had pulled out of my vagina when I had come, taken out the plug and worked himself into my bottom, inch by thick inch, and brought us both to completion that he said, “You respond beautifully, but I sense that you’re holding a part of yourself back from me. Spanking will release the tension in both your body and your mind. It will free you to be the person you were meant to be and in turn you will receive pleasure in its utmost form.”
“Jared, any more pleasure than you’ve already given me will surely kill me!” I wasn’t being facetious. There were times I felt like I hovered between life and death.
“You won’t die, my love,” he assured me with a light kiss on the tip of my nose. “Instead you’ll feel gloriously alive!”
“I’m not sure, Jared. Once this week is over I have to go back to my old life,” I said uncertainly. What if he made me into some sex-crazed woman who needed sex like a drug? What if I went around attacking men in the street?
“And that’s why I have a proposal for you, my sweet.”
A proposal? My heart started beating faster. It didn’t sound like marriage, but if he asked me to stay, I would. I couldn’t bear the thought of being without him.
“Go ahead.”
“I want to set you up in a house somewhere…probably Mayfair…so that I can visit you whenever I like.”
“Are you sure?” I kept my voice steady so as not to betray my disappointment. It would have been what many women wanted, but I was greedier than I’d realized. I wanted more. Jared could afford to put me up in the most expensive house or apartment, but this was the place that was important to him. He’d told me that he spent most of his time here and I wanted to be where he was most. I didn’t want to be stuck in some house while he brought other women here. This was our special place. I couldn’t bear the thought of another woman in this bed…riding Jared’s beautiful penis or lying under him while he hammered it into her.
“Yes, I’m sure, my sweet.” I
relaxed and let him pull me into his embrace. “A week is not enough for me to get my fill of you. A month is too short. Even a year.”
“Okay,” I agreed, not meeting his gaze.
The little case I’d brought with me didn’t hold much, but it contained all I needed. I would enjoy one glorious week with him and then I’d go. It would rip my heart out, but like pulling a plaster off a wound—I’d rather the pain be short and intense, than long and lingering.
***
They started softly, playful pats that were almost caresses.
Then they began to smart pleasantly, making me wince when one blow landed exactly where another had been struck and not given time to dissipate.
Then they really stung, making me squirm against Jared, needing him to fill me…and deeply.
Then they became unbearable. At first I worried as much about Jared’s hand as I worried about my bottom. As he kept going, long after I begged him to stop, I ceased worrying about him and worried only about myself. Tears of frustration which had started as I had squirmed unfulfilled on his lap, changed into tears of hopelessness. I felt dominated by him…as I had been dominated by my mother all my life. I fought against his hold, but he held me down and kept going. I couldn’t fight him I realized in despair. He was bigger and stronger and a mean bully.
The only thing I could do was… surrender.
And memories came flooding in as I stopped resisting and he kept going. Memories sharper than the sting of his blows. Ones I had forgotten. Things which I hadn’t realize had hurt me deeply at the time. Memories that all included my mother and a lifetime of wondering what I’d ever done to make her hate me so much.
I was five again and clinging to my grandmother’s sari crying. She was crying too, and kissing me and telling me that she had to go back to grandfather because he was lonely, but she would come back to see me soon. I ran back into the house as the taxi drove away, still crying, hoping that my mother would hold me. She instructed the nanny to take me up to the nursery.
I was nine watching my mother kiss my newborn brother and show him off to her friends proudly. He was a cute baby she said and looked just like her, unlike me, she’d laughed, who must have been switched with another baby at birth.
I was sixteen and in a room with a plastic surgeon with whom my mother was discussing my ‘monstrously’ large breasts and how embarrassing and unnatural they were. The man took my hand and gently asked me if I wanted to go ahead knowing that he would likely have to repeat the procedure in about two years’ time and probably again if I didn’t have children within five. I said no, afraid of having one operation, terrified of having two or more. In profile her perfect face looked etched out of marble as she kept her face resolutely forward and ignored me all the way home in the taxi.
It was my eighteenth birthday and I woke up happy because my mother had promised to take me to get my hair trimmed and then to the West End for a day of shopping. At the hairdresser’s I listened as she argued with the stylist who said my hair was too gorgeous and healthy to be cropped into such a short style. She got her way and then I tried to smile bravely at her because she was happy, but I felt like a shorn lamb. The next day as I tried to finger the unfamiliar short strands on my head into the style the hairdresser had reluctantly achieved, she walked into my room and said casually, as if the hair could be magically reattached, that perhaps the woman had been right—I looked better with long hair.
Then it was my grandmother’s funeral and I watched the thousands of people who had come to pay their respects stop and offer condolences to my mother who painted a tragic portrait of grief dressed in Prada and wearing oversized sunglasses, with a snowy lace handkerchief clutched in her hand to dry the occasional tear. In the car on the way back I reached out to take her hand, to let her know that I would miss her mother just as much as she did. She raised the sunglasses and stared haughtily down at my hand until I drew it back. Her eyes when she lifted them to mine were clear and showed no sign of recent tears. Something inside me died at that moment as I realize that my grandmother was truly gone.
At some point….hours, minutes later…I realized that he’d stopped spanking me. We were lying on the bed and he was holding me gently while I cried.
“Let it all go, my love,” he whispered, kissing my brow.
I buried my head against his shoulder and did what he asked of me.
Chapter Seven
Jared reached out, his eyes still closed from sleep, and found only an empty space beside him. Sitting up, he looked around him wildly. Then he smiled and sunk back onto the pillows, still exhausted from the marathon sex session that had finished only as the day was breaking.
He couldn’t believe that Shakira had had the strength to get up and do her morning’s yoga and meditation; he was tired enough for ten men.
But then, he told himself smugly, she wasn’t the one who had done the hard work!
He was still amazed at the way she had bloomed after the spanking. She had awoken the next morning with a huge smile on her lips and a glow on her face. After a short dip in the Jacuzzi—he had been too horny to stay in for long—she’d allowed him to blindfold her and handcuff her to the bed, and do with her as he willed. The more he had demanded, the more she had given, allowing him to explore her boundaries and test her responses to various stimulants.
The memory of her clit clamped and glistening between the redden, swollen folds of her pussy and her nipples wearing similar devices and extended to their fullest, and then some, made his cock instantly harden.
He smiled ruefully. She would be the death of him. But what a way to go!
She would have to ride him when she returned, he decided, reaching down to his aching cock.
If she’s not here in five minutes, I’ll bloody go and get her!
He wouldn’t, Jared admitted to himself as he closed his eyes again. The only time she’d been away from him the whole week was for bathroom breaks and the half an hour she spent very early each morning doing yoga stretches and meditating. He really didn’t mind at all.
The last week had been the most exciting of his adult life. He’d shaken his head in sheer disbelief when he’d realized only as he’d collapsed beside her on the bed that very morning, that in the entire time they had been together he hadn’t worn protection. He hadn’t done that with any other woman, ever. Being skin to skin with her had felt so natural. A manmade barrier would have spoiled the magic of their joining.
He understood how Adam had been tempted to bite that apple for Eve. He would do no less for Shakira. She brought excitement to his life. He had been living well, but not feeling real joy. She made him feel younger, energized and perhaps ready to delegate some of his workload to trusted employees or sell off some of the hotels….
He started out of his sleep two hours later and found himself still alone in bed.
Even as he jumped to his feet and screamed for his valet, he knew that something was desperately amiss.
“Yes, sir?” Ambrose appeared at the door before Jared got to it.
“Where is Shakira?”
“I haven’t seen her, sir.” A less-brave man would have cowered under Jared’s thunderous glare, but the ex-army soldier steadfastly stood his ground. “I got here at six as instructed.”
Jared cursed himself for not only giving Perkins the week off, but for drastically reducing his valet’s work hours. He’d wanted total privacy with Shakira, but there were basic duties he’d still needed his valet to perform. Otherwise he would have given the man the entire week off. But now he regretted it—had the man been there Shakira would have never gotten past him. Nor his ex-mercenary butler, had he been there.
“Call Rigby.” The ex-army intelligence officer had been the one to recommend Ambrose as a valet when the man had been made redundant by the British Army and couldn’t find employment. “Tell him I may need his services.”
“Very well, sir.”
***
Less than half an hour later, dressed
impeccably as usual, but with a betraying wildness in his eyes, Jared entered the already-open door of the plush office assigned to the hotel’s manager.
David Phillips was sitting with his feet up on the large desk, sipping a mug of coffee and reading The Times. He didn’t officially start work for another twenty minutes yet, but Jared felt a sudden, intense dislike for the way the man acted as if he owned the place.
The man turned, smiled when he caught sight of Jared and said breezily, “Good morning!”
The man didn’t have the grace to show a trace of discomfort, facing by the man who had taken his daughter’s virginity as payment for her father’s sins. In a similar situation, Jared would have ripped the man’s balls off!
“Where is she?” Jared tried to keep his barely controlled anger in check.
Since meeting Shakira he had decided against keeping David on staff—the man would take early retirement, or be fired if he didn’t agree. A man who would sacrifice his own child was not one Jared wanted in his employ. One that would sacrifice a sweet, innocent daughter like Shakira should be drawn and quartered! He’d often seen David strutting around the hotel as if he owned it. He hadn’t minded the man’s pompous display—in fact it had pleased him that the man took such pride in his job. It had obviously been more than simple pride; the man had delusions of grandeur—he would be a fool to keep him on staff now.
“Where is who?”
“Shakira!” Jared ground out. Was the man so uncaring he didn’t remember his own child?
“She’s with you… Do you mean to say that she never turned up?” The man’s face went taut with anger. “Apologies, Jared, I will find her and bring her to you. I can’t believe she would make a promise to me and then break it. I thought better of her.”
“Did you really?” Jared asked him coolly. The older man finally had the grace to flush. “Shakira was with me. She left this morning before I had a chance to discuss important matters with her.”
“She’s probably out shopping,” her father dismissed, seeming unconcerned that his child, who had barely ventured out in the last five years, was suddenly at large in the capital. “I’ll tell her you were asking after her.”