by Susan Lewis
Seeing a cab come round the corner she waited for it to drop some people off, then ran across to get in. As she closed the door she looked back towards the restaurant and saw with a terrible disappointment that he hadn’t bothered to come after her.
After settling the bill, Michael left the restaurant and headed back to the office. As he rode up in the lift his expression was grim and his temper was becoming blacker by the minute. OK, he could have gone after her, maybe he should have, but what would it have proved? That he could get her into bed with a few well-placed smiles and a couple of looks calculated to provoke the kind of response they had? He’d done it a thousand times and had known almost from the moment he arrived how easy it was going to be. Not that he’d had any intention of going through with it, he’d just wanted to find out how far she was prepared to go to get him to accept the offer. The problem was, somewhere along the line it had stopped being about Forgon and had started being about them. More accurately, it had been about her and the fact that she’d turned out to be so much more than he’d expected.
The lift doors opened and flicking on the inner-circle lights he walked across to his office and poured himself another drink. The intensity of his anger wasn’t rational considering what had happened, but it was building to such a pitch that he slammed his fist hard into the wall in an effort to release some of the tension. Dear God, why had Forgon sent her, when she was so obviously a decent woman who probably had no idea she was being used as some kind of sexual offering in a sick man’s game? But damn the man’s eyes, he had chosen his weapon well, for Michael was still hard for her now and it was driving him crazy. He could see her mouth, so soft and full and red that he’d wanted to kiss her all night. He wanted to feel her skin next to his and watch her face as he entered her. He wanted to hear her moaning with the pent-up desire he had seen in her eyes and feel her hands and legs on his back as he carried them both to a place …
He stopped and closed his eyes. He was so damned hard now he hardly dared move. He had no idea why he should want her so badly, he just did. Or maybe it wasn’t her he wanted, maybe it was just the release. And as though his prayers had suddenly been answered he heard a knock on the door and looked up to see Sandy Paull standing there watching him.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, looking confused and concerned.
‘Sandy,’ he said, his voice sounding strained even to him. ‘What are you doing here? It’s past ten o’clock.’
‘I had a lot to catch up on,’ she answered. ‘I just went to the ladies, then came back and saw the lights …’ She laughed awkwardly. ‘It frightened me, actually, so I’m glad it was you.’
Michael looked at her and though he started telling himself no, he knew already he was going to do it. He was vaguely aware of how different she had been lately, keeping herself more covered up and giving him much less of the come-on. The strange part of it was, now he came to think about it, it had made her seem more appealing.
‘Do you feel like a nightcap?’ he offered.
Sandy’s eyes moved to the fridge, then back to him.
‘Not here,’ he said.
The speed with which she read what he was saying was awesome, though for one terrible moment he thought she was going to turn him down.
‘Where would you like to go?’ she asked.
‘How about my place?’
Her eyes were locked on his and several seconds ticked by before she said, ‘I’ll get my coat.’
By the time they reached his car he knew he was making a big mistake, but he didn’t know how to back out now and even if he did he knew he wouldn’t. He was grateful to her for not speaking, though he was asking himself how the hell he had managed to resist Ellen when he was suddenly finding it so damned impossible with her?
They got into his car and suddenly they were kissing so urgently he could have screwed her right there and not cared who came by. Their breath was harsh, their tongues fast and demanding, their hands clawing at each other’s clothes. He wished she was wearing the stockings she had always worn before, if she were he’d already be in her knickers. As it was, he was pressing his thumb hard against her crotch, while she gave the same pressure to his cock.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said breathlessly.
She nodded and straightened her clothes as he started the car.
It took less than fifteen minutes to get to his apartment. She talked a little and he responded, but nothing was registering. He knew he was going to regret this in the morning, but right now he was past caring.
She walked on ahead as he closed the apartment door behind them and stopped to take off his coat. He watched her push open the sitting-room door, fumble for the lights, then saw the stunned expression on her face when she saw the size of the room and the view. He felt suddenly guilty and wanted to say something to make her feel welcome and let her know that he appreciated her being here. There were no words to say that, though, so he merely followed her into the room and instead of doing what he most wanted to do, which was fuck her right where she stood, he offered her a drink.
As he poured, she went to stand at the window and looked out.
‘Are you going to take off your coat?’ he asked.
She turned to him and smiled. Then unfastening the single button she removed her coat and laid it on the nearest chair. She was wearing a loose wool sweater and a pleated knee-length skirt.
‘I knew this would happen one day,’ she said, looking up into his face as he handed her a drink. ‘Did you?’
He nodded and watched the uncertainty in her eyes turn to relief as she smiled. He knew he was being a bastard, but there was no way he could stop himself and running a hand over the front of her sweater, he said, ‘God, you turn me on, do you know that?’
She smiled again and looked oddly bashful. ‘I hoped I did,’ she said, ‘but sometimes I wondered.’
‘Do you want me to fuck you?’ he murmured, pushing a hand between her legs.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Are you wet?’
She nodded and he heard her breath start to quicken.
‘Take off your clothes,’ he said.
She put down her glass and turning to look at him, she pulled her sweater over her head. Her breasts were crammed into her bra, bulging over the top, nipples squashed by the gossamer-thin gauze. Grabbing the front of it, he pulled her towards him, put his mouth over hers and tore the bra apart. His hands cupped her, squeezing her hard, pinching her, pulling her, licking her, sucking her, as she stripped off her skirt and panties, then ripped open his fly.
They pulled and tugged at his clothes until he was as naked as she was, then he was plunging into her and fucking her like a madman. There was a rage possessing him, driving his cock, twisting her body, violating her mouth, delving into every part of her, as she trapped him with her legs, pushed her breasts to his face and tore at his skin. Her frenzy was as great as his, as he screwed her on the floor, against the wall, on the sofa, over the table. Her tongue was all over his cock, on his balls, in his arse.
He lifted her up, sat her on him and fucked her through to the bedroom, his hands squeezing her breasts, his tongue probing her mouth. The violence was making him so hard it was as though his cock might explode. He threw her on the bed, rolled her over and rammed into her from behind. It was as though all the fury locked inside him was rushing out from the shadows, urging him to excesses even greater than he knew. He wanted to hurt her, hear her scream and beg for mercy. She was gasping his name, pushing his fingers between her legs and sticking her arse out for more. He gave it to her, harder and faster than ever. He pulled out, spun her over and sat her on him. She pumped up and down, breasts bouncing, hair flying, skin soaking. He pressed on her clitoris, rubbing it and crushing it, then grabbing her head he pulled her mouth to his and buried his tongue inside. He could feel her coming, clenching him with her muscles and fighting for breath.
He held on to her tightly, banging his hips up and down as the semen rushed along th
e stem of his penis and exploded into her in long, excruciating spasms of relief. He kept on coming, kept on holding her, as the ghouls in his mind taunted him with all that possessed him. He went to the threshold of pain and beyond. The torment was total, the shame, the guilt, the anger, the pain. He hated her for being the one to release it and wanted to smash her away, but he held her and touched her and let her think that he loved her. He embraced her and wondered if maybe he did love her, as it seemed like his orgasm was going on for ever as pulse after pulse quivered through him.
It left him so spent and exhausted that when it was over, all he could do was lie there and let his limbs go weak and wait for his heartbeat to steady. She lay over him, panting and sweating, and smelling sweetly of scent and crudely of sex. He thought of Ellen and felt a need go through him, so pure, it almost tore him in two.
Pushing Sandy gently off him, he lay with his eyes closed, feigning sleep. He didn’t want to think about her, he didn’t even want to acknowledge she was still there, for he knew he was going to hurt her now in a way he had sworn he would never hurt another woman. Except, what he was going to do to Sandy couldn’t even begin to compare with what he had done to Michelle.
Chapter 13
WHEN SANDY FINALLY opened her eyes from a strange and unrecognizable dreamscape, she wondered for a moment where she was. Then, remembering, her heart quietly erupted with joy and turning to the empty space beside her she ran a hand over the crumpled sheet where he had lain. It was still warm, and pushing her face into his pillow she inhaled deeply and felt the scent of him move through her like the lingering memory of a caress. It had happened at last! She had spent the night with Michael and as she recalled the passion with which he had made love to her, the way he’d lost control almost from the beginning, then had held her so close at the end, she knew in her heart that there were going to be many, many more nights like it to come.
For a while she lay where she was, amused by how small she felt in the enormous bed. She listened to the silence of the flat and wondered where he was. She guessed he hadn’t wanted to wake her, so had slipped away quietly, but despite the ache in her limbs and soreness in her body she was ready to make love again and felt sure he would be too.
Sitting up, she hugged her knees to her chest and gazed around the room. The tall, arched windows that occupied two entire walls were like great columns of sunlight beaming long, silvery rays across the carpet and black lacquer furniture. From where she was sitting, dazzled though she was, she could make out the top of the balcony railings outside and the dense, blue sky with not a single cloud in sight. She knew that the door in the far corner opened out to the hall, so guessed that the other, recessed between the twin, hand-painted closets, would probably lead to the bathroom. Imagining and hoping that was where she would find him, she got up from the bed to go and look.
She was right, it was a bathroom and it almost took her breath away, for she had never, not even in books or magazines, seen one like it. Had she been familiar with Robsjohn-Gibbings she’d have known it was an adaptation of his American-deco style, but she had never heard of the designer, nor did she need to to appreciate the sheer magnificence of the high, oval room with its central dais into which an enormous black marble bath was sunk. The cream marble floor and walls with classical black pilasters, fan lights and mirrored shelving were all of the same thirties’ design, and the chrome and brass fixtures gleamed in a jigsaw of colourful sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window overhead.
There was no sign of Michael and catching sight of herself in a mirror she could only feel glad, for her eyes were smudged with mascara and the hair that wasn’t stuck to her head was sticking out at angles. Quickly grabbing a robe from the back of the door, she slipped it on and set about repairing the damage.
To her relief, as she searched for a comb and toothbrush, she found no signs of another woman, though it might have helped if there had been something to clean off her make-up. Settling for soap and water, she sponged her face, then dried her eyes with tissues. Most of the mascara came off and though she didn’t look anywhere near as glamorous as she’d have liked, it was certainly an improvement on a few minutes ago. Her skin was fresh and shining, and though her eyes were slightly bloodshot from the soap, they looked young and sparkly and full of joy.
A few minutes later, as she sponge-washed the rest of her body, she heard him moving about in the bedroom and wasn’t sure whether she should go to him wearing the robe, which was now on the floor, or as she was, in nothing at all. Standing back to get a good look at herself in a long, panelled mirror, she noticed a brass handle on the frame and turning it, found that it led into a spacious marble shower with five brass shower heads and a wall-to-wall bench. Chuckling to herself at the amazing splendour of the place and feeling a wonderful burst of euphoria at the idea that it was all going to become so familiar, she closed the door quietly and, deciding to put the robe back on, she walked over to the other door and let herself into the bedroom.
He had disappeared again, but she smiled as she saw a cup of coffee steaming beside the bed, obviously put there for her. Then, spotting one of the closet doors half open, she realized how much sexier she would look in one of his shirts rather than his robe, which all but drowned her.
As she sauntered into the sitting room she found the french windows open, allowing a crisp early morning breeze to flow in from outside, and feeling it touch her skin she was glad she had fastened only one button of the shirt.
He was standing at the dividing counter between the living-room and kitchen, dressed in a robe like the one she had just discarded. He was looking down at the paper and appeared not to have heard her come in. His hair was still tousled from sleep and he was in need of a shave, but to her he had never looked more attractive. Smiling to herself, she walked towards him, waiting for him to look up. She had almost reached him by the time he did and seeing the way his eyes moved instantly to the open front of the shirt her pulses began to quicken.
‘Good-morning,’ she whispered shyly.
His eyes rose to hers and he reached for his coffee. ‘Good morning,’ he answered, his smile seeming as uncertain as hers. ‘Do you …? Would you … like some breakfast?’ He made an awkward gesture towards the kitchen behind him.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said, realizing that he was as nervous as she was. She found it helped her to know that and, perching on one of the bar stools as he returned to the paper, she said, ‘I hope you don’t mind, I used your toothbrush.’
He shook his head and turned over a page. ‘No, that’s OK,’ he said. ‘Help yourself to anything. Did you find the shower?’
She nodded, even though he wasn’t looking. She imagined that from where he was standing he could see along her thighs to her pubic hair and wondered if he had noticed yet. Maybe she should take the shirt off altogether, or tell him she was wet – he had seemed to like that the night before. For some reason, though, it didn’t seem quite right this morning, so taking another sip of coffee she asked if there was anything interesting in the news.
‘Not really,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Another attack on the government over education and a train derailment somewhere in Cornwall.’
‘Oh,’ she said.
He continued to read and though she tried hard not to, in the end there was no way she could deny the awkwardness he seemed to be feeling. She felt her heart turning cold and a quick panic fired her fear. Please God, he wasn’t regretting what had happened last night. He had seemed to want it so much at the time and the way he had looked at her when he kissed her and held her while he slept …
‘Are you sure you don’t want any breakfast?’ he said, looking up at her and raising his eyebrows in a self- mocking sort of way.
She smiled and felt herself turn weak with relief at the attempted humour. She realized then that he probably wasn’t a morning person, but out of consideration for her was trying to be. ‘I’m sure,’ she said and sliding off the stool, she walked roun
d the counter to join him. ‘I wouldn’t mind a kiss,’ she said, tilting her face up to his.
His eyes were trained somewhere over her head as he touched his lips to hers, then, smiling and patting her bottom he said, ‘I expect you’ll want to go home to change before going into the office.’
She laughed and grimaced, knowing that was exactly what she’d have to do, for she had nothing here and though she could do without underwear for the day, she certainly couldn’t go without make-up. The real pity of it, though, was that she wasn’t going to get to walk in with him, but there was time enough for that, after she’d moved a few things over from her flat to take care of occasions just like this.
‘It’s only seven o’clock,’ she said, turning his wrist to look at his watch. ‘Do you have a breakfast meeting?’
‘Uh, yes. Yes,’ he said as she started to untie the belt of his robe. ‘In fact, I’d better get in the shower,’ he said, clasping a hand over the knot to stop her.
Laughing and turning his reluctance into a game, she pushed his hand aside and started tugging at the belt.
‘Sandy, listen,’ he said, grabbing her wrists in one hand while holding his robe together with the other.
‘Yes Michael?’ She grinned, letting her head drop back as she looked up at him. ‘I’m listening.’
He looked down at her, then, taking a breath he said, ‘Look, I don’t want to … I mean, last night was last night and … it was great and you’re great … Oh Christ,’ he groaned, as she broke one of her hands free and found his erection.
‘Do you want to feel where I’m wet,’ she murmured, taking his hand and putting it between her legs.
‘Sandy, look, I don’t think we should be doing this,’ he said.
She laughed as despite his words he made no attempt to remove his hand from her, nor hers from him. ‘Why?’ she said, opening his robe wide and looking down at the solid stem of his penis as she rubbed her hand up and down it. ‘Because we’re going in to the office later? Don’t worry, I won’t let on to anyone what we were doing after supper and before breakfast.’