Why the hell did that thought pop into my head? What is it about him that I feel like a schoolgirl standing before the dark and mysterious new principal at school? That thought excites me. He guides me firmly away from the crowd and turns round on me. It’s just the two of us.
‘Come on then, out with it, Jana Kidd. You have something to say to me.’ His smile is all amusement.
‘It feels like you’re pursuing me,’ I say. ‘It even feels like you came here on purpose because you somehow knew I’d be here,’ I blurt, looking at my glass. The champagne is beginning to give me voice. ‘I know that can’t be true, but…’
When I look up at him, he’s laughing softly, and the look on his face is quite warm. Laughing at my worried, confused face nonetheless. ‘And I suppose you think I paid for all the champagne and the caviar and the sushi just to impress you?’ He laughs again, throwing his head back momentarily.
Here’s where I start laughing too… Laugh it off. Ha ha! Act cool and funny. Except I don’t. Champagne girl has taken over, and my irritation with him is splurging out. Let’s deal with it now.
‘Well, Andrea has no idea why you paid for it all,’ I pursue. ‘She’s just as freaked out as I am. It’s obvious.’
‘Probably more freaked out,’ he chuckles. ‘She was mortified, but she’d never guess the reason I did it,’ he says. ‘You however, Miss Nancy Drew, have seen through my cunning stratagem already.’ He laughs once more then looks intensely at me again with his golden green eyes. It’s a good thing there’s no wall or marble bar for him to trap me against, like there was in the restaurant. At least I got that right. No more intense, close up stuff where I know I’m just going to give in if it happens again. He carries on speaking, ‘Although it didn’t take much guesswork, given that I’ve made it more than clear how much I like you, Jana.’
Has he just said that? My jaw has dropped, and not at the sheer rudeness. ‘You mean you actually did pay for all this, just to… just to impress me?’
He has to be embarrassed, or more likely angry by now. But no. He chuckles in that dirty-sexy way, like he really does just want to get in my pants. ‘Of course I paid for it. I asked Massimo to tell me where you went outside work.’
‘You bribed him?’
‘Course not. I always tip heavily. He thought he was doing you a favour telling me all this.’ My jaw has dropped another inch. How dare he? And how dare Massimo?
‘And Andrea?’ I say, catching on. No wonder she was embarrassed. She wasn’t embarrassed about receiving the money. She was cringing about being part of the whole tacky scheme! ‘Oh my God! It’s even worse than I thought! You paid for all that food and champagne, and then you made Andrea tell me you paid for it?’ I shout. ‘Oh my God! Did you think that would impress me? No wonder Andrea wanted to shrivel up and die!’
‘You love it!’ he says. ‘You said I should try and behave like other guys, and be “nice”, make an effort and impress you. You said it would do me good to be patient and not just haul a woman off and fuck her. Not that that’s how I would want you to think of sex with Johnthen Trent, but that’s what you said.’ He is still wearing that warm smile, quite unashamed.
‘You arrogant jerk. So how would you describe “sex with Johnthen Trent” as you put it? You think you’re really so wonderful?’
‘You’ll have to find out for yourself,’ he says with a savage glint in his eye, and with what I can only describe as complete self-assurance. He doesn’t look like a guy who gets too many complaints about his performance. Then he says, ‘And if you carry on looking at me like that while you play with your hair, Jana, I won’t be responsible for my actions.’
I catch myself, but before I can think further, he carries on. ‘But seriously, I have made an effort. And I have tried to impress you, like all those other guys who’ve been trying to get your attention. I’ll bet you never even noticed half of the guys who are trying to impress you in here. That’s the point. It’s not all that impressive. See? I did what you asked, and where did it get me? You hold me in complete contempt for the effort I’ve made.’
‘The effort you made? Was that trying to fuck me against the bar at my place of work. Or openly stalking me, and using Andrea to track me down here?’
‘How can I stalk you “openly”? OK, yesterday at the restaurant wasn’t my best move,’ he concedes. ‘I guess I couldn’t stop myself. I’ll be honest, there’s something about you that gets to me, Jana. And to be honest, I thought I saw something in your eyes that liked me too.’ I almost laugh out loud when he says that. It sounds so cheesy, but it’s probably true. Then he says, ‘We won’t always have to do it in there. I’m a very creative person.’
Creative?! Now he’s just playing with me.
‘As if there’d be a second time! I’m just another number for you,’ I shout. ‘You’re no relation to Tiger Woods are you? How many women so far this month? What is it? Tuesday the ninth? You must be in double figures by now.’
This is totally unfair. I have no evidence he’s a womanizer, but I guess I just want him to tell me that he isn’t. Instead he shakes his head and smiles. ‘I suppose I have had a few girlfriends over the years,’ he says, with a tone I can’t read. Is he being ironic or evasive or what? ‘Besides, does that mean if I promise to fuck you twice, that’s all OK? In that case, I think we have the makings of a deal, Jana Kidd. Or maybe that was too easy for you. You should try and bid me up to three.’
That’s this evening spoken for, I’m thinking. What about the morning? ‘Not happening, Trent,’ I say. I never said I wasn’t tempted, did I? ‘Look, it’s so hot in here, and I think my friend Phoeb’s up in the Mezzanine chilling out. I’ll catch you later.’
‘No, Jana. It’ll be me catching you.’
‘I’m not gonna jump off the balcony or anything,’ I quip over my shoulder, ‘And if I did I’d probably flatten you. There’s more to me than your usual skinny nymphets.’ I turn my back, leaving Dark and Mysterious looking on. Am I completely insane?
I clutch my champagne for dear life and start to make my way up the stairs. I realize my shoes are still killing me – John had just taken my mind off it - and what with the champagne as well, it’s pretty much an Oscar-winning performance for me to walk away with any kind of poise or grace and start to slowly climb the stairs. I listen for his steps, and he hasn’t moved away. I can feel his hot eyes are flicking over my back. I can’t help but think of his words yesterday: “You with your outrageously fantastic ass and that wonderful cascading hair,” and my head swims another flood of adrenalin. Then there was the creative thing. But I’m doing OK. I even shake my hair a little in provocation, looking in his eyes and then demurely at my feet again, just because he said it gets to him. And I’m sure as hell NOT going to take off my favourite fuck-me heels so that Dark and mysterious Johnthen Trent can smirk at me all the way up these stairs.
You could say I have it all figured out.
Except halfway up, I am aware of his steps coming up behind me, striding coolly across the floor and then coming up the stairs, deceptively catlike and graceful for a big, powerful man. Don’t look round! He’ll think I’m leading him up here deliberately. Maybe I am!
But I can’t go fast enough to escape him. I’m cornered again like I was at that bar. At least I don’t think he’ll actually try to fuck me on the staircase though. He’s right up behind me.
Shockingly, with one smooth movement, he picks me up, cradling me like a three year-old. He’s carrying me up the stairs like I’m nothing, which I can tell you, is very far from the case. A gasp escapes me. I have an urge to fight back. I have my little evening purse on a chain and think of hitting him with it. Pathetic. I kind of wriggle a bit instead.
Up close he smells wonderful, and I feel myself nestled up to his torso, a slab of hard muscle, and his biceps are like big steel balls under the silk suit. I am obliged to hold on with a hand round his shoulder, holding his neck. His black hair plays over his collar and on my bare forearm
, soft and thick. An erotic sensitivity reverberates in the pit of my stomach and my sex. I resist the urge to run my fingers through his hair. It’s a sensual maelstrom of champagne, his scent and his sheer animal power.
I want to fight, I want to wriggle – but it would be undignified, and pointless. I also want to lay back and let him take me.
‘Put me down. Now.’ It’s all I can manage, and it’s feeble. Unsurprisingly, he’s not listening. He calmly carries me to the top and walks languidly over to a leather-covered bench on the empty mezzanine floor, before gently placing me down in his own time.
‘How dare you, you arrogant…’ That was weak, and we both know it. I scoot myself up so my back is against the cool of the white concrete wall, and my legs in front of me on the leather bench.
‘Come on, lighten up. I’m just trying to make an effort. Doing sweet things like other guys,’ he says, mockingly, then puts one, beautiful, lightly tanned hand down on the leather bench. It’s next to my knee, which is covered only in the sheerest, silky, hold-up stocking. There’s even something sexy about the smell of the leather bench. He leans over until his deep golden eyes are inches from mine. I feel like I’m hypnotized, like a small creature staring into the eyes. ‘And besides,’ he says in his quiet, deep voice, so sexy and intimate close up. ‘I’m going to do something I should have done a while ago,’ he says. I know what you want right now. More than anything. And you’re going to get it.’
I try my best to make my eyes blaze defiantly back, but there’s a clenching inside my sex and my heart is starting to thump thump thump.
Chapter 9: Battery Park, New York City, Tuesday 9 May
I feel cornered, my back to the cool concrete wall of the mezzanine gallery of the Saul Hankow. There’s no one around up here. I shouldn’t be doing this, but he makes me feel oddly warm and cared for. I feel safe, in fact, as well as incredibly turned on. I can get up and go whenever I want; I ought to go, but of course I don’t want to go. I want to see what he’s going to do.
Johnthen sits down on the bench dangerously close to me, but I scoot back out of the way once more, keeping my knees demurely together. Without saying anything, he takes the champagne from me and places the glass on the floor. Then takes the calf of my left leg firmly in his hands. I try to pull it back, but he won’t let me. His hands feel cool on my legs through sheer fabric of my stay-ups. His fingers are long and masculine. Long, strong, very male – but somehow artistic. Which just about sums the guy up.
Those fingers calmly slip off my killer heels, left foot and then right foot. His hands are so cooling on my burning feet, and his fingers feel wonderful straightaway. I make a small gasp.
‘Good?’ he asks, arching an eyebrow over his deep golden gaze. He knows the answer.
‘Yes, good. Ooh… So this is what you think I need?’ I breathe.
‘No. I said it’s what you want,’ he says, beginning a firm massage of my feet that has me open-mouthed with bliss. ‘What you need is for me to put you over my knee right here and now, for the way you behaved. But I’m too much of a gentleman for that.’
My mouth gapes – is it in shock at what this rude, arrogant SOB has just said? Or am I gasping at the orgasmic pleasure on my feet? And why the hell does the idea of being spanked by him over this leather bench make my heart go thum-patta-thump like this?
‘The way I behaved? You arrogant son of a bitch! Who are you to…’
‘You flagrantly pinched my ass in front of all those people,’ he says. ‘Then you had the nerve to blame me for embarrassing Andrea.’ He states it simply, and there is no answer. Which wouldn’t stop me coming back at him, but what his hands are doing to my feet is just taking over my senses here, robbing me of speech.
I can’t even be angry. It’s erased my mind and I find my whole attention is on my feet, and I realize I’ve put both my hands above my head, in an unconscious “take-me” pose. Absolutely brazen body language. I shift my arms and pull down the hem of my skirt toward my knees in a pathetic effort at modesty. I am sure he can still see the stocking tops.
I really ought to stop him, right now.
What the hell? What is he doing to my feet? I try to pull them away but he holds them firmly, one in each hand, doing the same massage on each foot with his thumbs. Ahh, feels, so, gooood. What is he, a masseur? I’ve heard reflexology can stimulate other parts of the body from the feet. Is that what this is? The point he’s firmly kneading is going straight to the bottom of my spine. And also… honestly, my pussy. He has got me wet in my panties: those thin, sheer, silky things I put on. And he’s stroking, fondling and firmly pressing, getting a new reaction each time, but using less pressure each time. I feel my sex softening and opening.
‘No, don’t,’ I say, hopefully. ‘You mustn’t.’
‘Yes,’ he replies assertively, ‘Oh, yes.’ He’s circling his thumbs on the double G spots of my feet. I feel my panties drenched in the gusset, and I try to stop my thighs from parting. I’m going to have a whole body orgasm if I don’t stop him.
I look down. He’s intent, those dark gold eyes studying the soles of my feet, circling, pressing and caressing. God, does he ever know what he’s doing! It’s like he’s drugged me, mesmerized me through my feet. His face is serious, almost severe, but he’s fascinated by the effect he is having on my feet. He must be some lover, a real devoted artist in the sack. I have a hint of what he meant by “creative” back there. If I was in any doubt about whether he’d be good in bed, it’s just evaporated. With all that intensity and power, and the fine skills of an artist he’s playing me like one of his musical instruments. I can’t help noticing a healthy erection has sprung up in his trousers, too. Really healthy, by the look of it. Disgracefully, I ache to touch his hardness through the fabric, but I’m too far away. I bite my lip and moan.
The perfectionist artist in him shows every sign of bringing me to a full body orgasm here on the mezzanine level of the Saul Hankow Gallery. By touching only my feet.
But fuck it, I know what he’s doing, and there’s nothing artistic about it. It’s a seduction, a play for sex, a play he thinks I won’t be able to resist. Oh my God, he’s right! I won’t resist. Can’t he just sweep me up again, carry me to his car, then to his place, my place, a hotel – anywhere? My panties are wet through, and he’s so close, and my breathing is all over the place. He must be able to see the tops of my legs, and the stockings, even my panties. This is sooo bad. But what do I care? I could be stark naked on this bench for all the difference it makes. He is a bad man. Such a bad, bad man.
Just take me out of here, give me the one-night stand with this sexual predator and get it done. God knows he’s worked hard enough for it.
Just then there’s a voice. Back in reality-land. ‘Jana, Jana? Are you up here with that guy, you bad girl?’ Phoebe. On the stairs. And another heavier pair of feet stepping up there behind her. Joshua!
Chapter 10: Battery Park, New York City Tuesday 9 May
Johnthen has heard the voices before me. He takes my feet, puts them together, and swings my legs out from the bench and down onto the concrete floor. He places my feet neatly by my shoes at the side of the leather bench, as if he were tidying away a pair of shoes. Then he hands me the champagne.
I look as demure as is possible by the time Phoebe and Joshua make their way over to us. As demure as any girl can look when she shows all the sign of an urgently impending orgasm. Flushed throat, eyes, breathing – and heaven knows what my hair looks like.
Johnthen answers for me, not for the first time tonight. ‘Jana’s resting her feet. She’s been boring me about Chomsky and what he’s gone through – but I ask you, what did he suffer, compared to Aung San Suu Kyi? Or Mandela?’
Josh looks blank.
‘And what did Aung San Suu Kyi suffer, compared to these shoes?’ I quip. That’s the second time tonight I’ve found the right line with Joshua Lake looming over me. Maybe he’s not such a bad influence after all.
I’m fast
coming out of the orgasmic haze (you would, wouldn’t you?) and it’s just dawning on me how cool it is for Joshua Lake to catch me up here, in possible flagrante, with a hot guy like JT. Josh is looking at JT with a kind of teenage, fuck-you insolence - which Johnthen returns with an almost pitying expression, like the king of the pride to a junior lion, putting him in his place. Alpha male Josh Lake has just been comprehensively out-alpha’d, with no more than a look from Johnthen. JT for all his sophistication is from a very tough background and I’d guess he takes no shit whatsoever from Joshua Lake and his kind.
Phoebe, for her part, is looking Johnthen up and down with big eyes. She looks like she’s about to take off her pants and throw them at him in homage. It is a joyful situation for me, and let’s face it my life has been very sparse when it comes to joyful situations for some time. Johnthen’s not going to stay around, but it’s worth putting up with the arrogant beast for the look on Phoebe’s face.
Enjoy it while it lasts; which isn’t long. The spell has been broken for Johnthen Trent and me. After a taster of the steamy, passionate lover deploying his wicked arts upon my body, I see that the natural cool of Deep and Dangerous is back.
I am putting my shoes back on, and JT leans down to me and speaks with a resonant, sexy whisper in my ear. ‘To be continued. Sorry we were so rudely interrupted.’
‘I think it might have been you who was being rude, Mr Gamble,’ I whisper back. ‘That was another low trick.’
‘Sure,’ he says, as if he’s already got me. Maybe he has, but I’m not the pushover he thinks. ‘I’ll contact you, Jana,’ says JT, his expensive, spicy scent enveloping me. I can’t help but look into those deep gold-green eyes, burning directly into the still pulsating core of my sexual being. ‘And next time, it’ll be more than a foot rub, Jana Kidd. Give my regards to Andrea, and thank her for me. I’m sure you’ll have a good evening.’
Never Understand Part One ( Johnthen Trent Adult Romance 1) Page 6