Delecto - Games of Mastery (part 1) (12 page)

He licked my
mouth, and sucked at my lips, his hand anchoring my head close to
him by my hair.

Wild thoughts
entered my fevered brain - how I wanted to taste him - to sink to
my knees and take this hardness into my mouth and make him come
with my tongue - to feel his cock inside me, and to have him fuck
me senseless, from every possible angle and direction until I
screamed for mercy.

I gasped in
reaction. It was like I'd become a mad, wanton hussy. A sex starved
alley-cat. What the hell was the matter with me? But at that moment
I didn't care, my baser instincts had taken me over.

“
Jesus
,” he groaned, “that feels so goddamn
good... keep doing that, give me more... faster...” his hand
covered mine and he moved it how he wanted it. “I've been praying
for this to happen. To have your hands on me. Feel the way my blood
is pumping round my veins? That's all for you. Every inch of my
cock wants be inside your body somewhere. Wherever you want it,
I'll fuck you with it. All night, if you can take it. Come back
inside, Amanda, please?”

I was beyond
tempted to experience everything he was offering. His words turned
me on like nothing else ever had.

Heaven help
me...he had a filthy mouth and I liked it beyond all rhyme and
reason.

But before I
had the chance to think another thought, or to move in reaction, a
blinding vision of my mother's face appeared before me dampening my
excitement like a bucket of icy cold water on my head.

Oh
God...NO!

How disgusting
could I get...giving him a hand job outside his front door? Letting
him do those things to me? And what was worse, indulging myself in
such a filthy, crude way on the anniversary of my mother's death?
So much for my day of quiet mourning and reflection.

I was hoping
and praying, wherever she was, she wasn't watching over me right
now. I was so ashamed of myself, and not a daughter to be proud of,
at all.

But still, I
couldn't stop. My hand couldn't stop. I couldn't remove it from
him. It was attached to him by a much stronger substance than the
guilt and self disgust I was feeling. My mind waged a battle, as I
stroked at him, enjoying every second and dying inside with my
conflict.

Decency won out
in the end.

I wrenched my
hand from his sublime warmth and stood before him in tears. I felt
so sick with myself and so angry with him showing me for what I
really was. I was a loose woman, a filthy tart. A disgusting little
slut who wanted his cock like I've never wanted anything before.
Perhaps I deserved him? To be played with. To be punished for my
sins. To be used and abused, as he surely planned. He could so
easily fuck me to death and screw my mind up even more.

“
This was... a huge... mistake.
” A wild sob broke
out of me.

His face showed
surprise, then he groaned loudly with realization, and bent over,
placing his hands upon his knees, trying to get himself under
control.

“
No. No mistake, Mandy,
” he growled like an
enraged lion, deprived of his mating rights. And, raising his head,
he glared at me, bitterly. His breathing was so wild and furious.
At that moment I was scared at what I had unleashed in
him.

The taxi
appeared at the gate in the distance, its headlights shining down
the graveled drive behind the trees.

I said a
silent prayer.
Thank God.

Then broke into
a run in its direction.

“
You can
run, but I'll come for you. You hear me? I always get what I want,
and what I want is you.
AMANDA
PRESTON.
” He ended his mission statement with a
booming voice.

I didn't look
back. Twenty yards more and I reached the safety of the iron side
gate, and I left his estate and him behind. I collapsed in the back
of the taxi and after giving the driver my address, I closed my
eyes, trying to blot things out. But I wasn't able to. All I could
see was him, those green eyes begging me and his fury at my
rejection. I wept, silently. I wept all the way home. I cried
because I'd wanted all that he did. Because I got what I asked for.
Because I wanted so much more of it now. Because of the truth of
his words. Because I did want him, more than anything. He was
raging like fire in my blood and I couldn't imagine how I could
ever douse the flames.

My body was
aching, crying out for him. I wiped my wet face with my fingers and
I could smell him all over them. I breathed in the scent
hungrily.

Why did I want
him so much?

...Every little
word he spoke. Every look he gave me. Every touch on my body. Every
note he'd played for me. Everything he was. Every second spent with
him was pure heaven...

He was
irresistible. And I was no exception to that rule. I wondered how
many there had been before me and how many more would follow. How
many female lambs had gone to the Sebastian slaughter? I just
needed to acknowledge that that was where I was likely to be
heading.

* *

We came to a
stop.

“
You're
home, Miss.”

I opened my
eyes, thanked the driver and left the cab in a daze.

It wasn't until
I got out of the cab that I realized, I'd left everything behind.
My jacket, my purse, my case.

He had more
than a small reminder of me on his fingers, I was spread across his
hallway like a blanket of debris after the storm.

Entering my
building, I passed the doorman who raised his head with a good
evening and a cheery smile. I managed a hello and tried to smile
but my face wouldn't respond. I stepped inside the elevator and
pressed the button for the sixth floor. I composed myself,
arranging my hair and blouse neatly. I arrived at our penthouse and
pressed the buzzer next to our door. A few seconds later Ruth
answered it. I hoped she didn't notice my lack of jacket and purse.
It was rather unusual for me to arrive home completely empty
handed.

“
Sorry
I'm late,” I gushed. “Client dinner, it overran.”

“
No
problem Mandy, your dad already explained. And I got Abi ready for
bed. So there's nothing to do.”

“
Thanks
Ruth,” I was so grateful for that. It took quite a lot of effort to
wash and dress Abigail and my strength was fading fast.

Ruth put on her
sweater, and briefly kissed my cheek.

“
See you
Monday.”

“
Yes,
have a lovely weekend.”

“
And
you.”

She shut the
door behind her as I watched her leave.

I couldn't
imagine my weekend was going to be lovely, they never were.

I could see my
father's bedroom light was on. I needed a quick word of subtle
reprove before I resumed my usual position at my sister's side.

I knocked at
his door.

“
Come
in.”

I opened it and
went in. He was lying on his bed reading a book.

“
How did
it go?”

“
The
will's finished, and we're arranging...”

“
No, not
the will...you and Mr Shaw... your meal together,” he interrupted
impatiently.

“
It was
okay. He's coming round tomorrow, bringing my car home. We had a
few drinks this evening.” I forced myself to sound normal and
matter of fact.

“
Really?
Well done, Amanda...I'm so proud of you.” My heart soared for a
second, to hear my father say he was proud of me, but then I
realized he wasn't really proud of me at all. He was proud of my
possible association with Sebastian. Hardly the same
thing.

“
We've
only had dinner together.”

“
Yes, but
he invited you, that's a good start and he's quite a
catch.”

“
I
haven't caught him.” Catching Sebastian would be the end of me. I
was sure of it. He was a slippery path to heavenly hell.

“
Keep
trying. Invite him over for dinner. I'll invite Lucy.”

“
No! And
why are you pushing us together? You don't know what he's like.
You've said yourself, you don't know him, you've only just met
him.”

“
I know
his type... stubborn, successful, wealthy, intriguing, well spoken,
a brilliant golf player, an overdose of a real man and the perfect
one for you...right up your street, darling. Pull out the stops and
go for it.”

“
Oh for
God's sake. That's enough, Dad. I'll find my own man, thanks.” Not
that I intended to.

“
You
spend every moment in here or at work. When exactly are you going
to meet anyone? And opportunities like Sebastian Shaw don't come
along every day. It was necessary to intervene.”

“
Maybe I
don't want opportunities like him.”

I slammed the
door on him, my anger rising like a bubble about to burst, but not
before his final “Oh, grow up, will you,” rolled around the room
and into my ears. I'm sure if my dad knew what kind of grown up
behavior I'd been indulging in tonight, he'd be more than shocked.
He'd be horrified. Much like I am.

But then again,
would he be?

He might even
pat me on the back, and say, “Good girl... I knew you could do it,
now go have some more sex...make sure you bed him well and good.
Exhaust him. Make him remember you. Put on a real good show, now.
Remember who's daughter you are. We Prestons don't do anything by
halves.”

Was I going
crazy? Why was I even thinking this?

I entered
Abigail's room and her eyes lit up. They always did when I returned
home.

Abigail...my
little sister. Sweet seventeen. Her short black hair, cropped for
ease of care, her wide brown eyes... so similar to mine. But that
was where the similarity ended. Her wasted limbs lay upon her bed;
her stick thin legs and arms were painful to cast my eyes upon. One
year and lack of real exercise, and she'd simply faded away in the
muscular sense. So thin and fragile. It was beyond unfair. It was
beyond endurance. She didn't deserve this. I looked at the pillows
beneath her head. Pillows I'd looked at so many times before while
I thought these same thoughts in despair. The soothing world of
blackness and nothing entered my head. It would be so easy to end
it. For her and me. Pills and pillows. How often had I thought
this? How many more times would I think it? But the darkness passed
away again. It always did. A shred of positive light held it at
bay. We were a long time dead. However low a quality of life, at
least it was some kind of life. I had no right to take that from
her...or to wish it on her or myself.

“
Hi Abi,
how's my sweetheart?” I said, coming to her side. A new wave of
guilt washed over me. I forced it away, trying to conjure up my
normal mood. My comfortable state of nothing. It was all she could
feel and all I was allowed to feel. And it was safe.

God, I need
this safety-net after tonight's events.

“
Sss..”
she whispered at me. If only she could speak a little better. I had
no idea what she said or what she thought other than the basics. I
could only guess by her eyes, our own special code of blinks and
whispers. Sss meant hello or yes―positive things. Hah meant
something wasn't right, something was bad.

I sat at her
side, on the arm of the bedside chair, placed my head on her
stomach and held her limp cool hand in mine.

Would I ever
stop feeling this heartbreak? How much did she blame me? I couldn't
ever ask her that question. I blamed me completely, and so very
badly, and that was enough to deal with for the rest of my life. I
leaned over her and kissed her face; first her eyes, her cheeks and
her nose. She was smiling at me with her eyes. It broke my heart.
She opened her mouth a little, showing me her tongue, indicating
she wanted a drink. I picked up her cup and put the straw in her
mouth and she sucked gently, her sweet little gulps resounding in
the silence.

My mind was
elsewhere. Straying back to him. I couldn't take the filth of my
thoughts. They were killing me, pounding in my head like a cheap
porn movie.

What have I
done tonight, enjoying myself with him like a crazed animal, while
she laid here, a pure angel, paralyzed and in torment?

“
I'm
having a shower. I'll be back in ten.”

I gritted my
teeth in self-disgust, rose and went into my ensuite bathroom.

I needed to
wash myself clean. Really clean.

I was beyond
disgusting, I was filthy, so dirty inside, a piece of human
trash.

I loaded the
toothbrush with a large portion of paste and scrubbed my teeth with
a vengeance, staring at myself in the mirror. Then I cleaned my
tongue and gums, making myself gag several times.

The paste
dribbled down my chin giving me the look of a mad woman, foaming at
the mouth. When I was satisfied my mouth was scrubbed hard enough,
that not one atom of his saliva remained, I swilled with mouthwash,
straight from the bottle. The strong minty liquid stung my
over-sensitized tongue and gums. My eyes smarted.

Pain...it felt
fitting and so right.

I stripped and
turned on the shower valve, getting straight under the cool water.
I didn't deserve comfort. I shivered as it slowly started to warm.
Then I turned it down, to its coldest setting. I didn't want to
enjoy this. I wasn't enjoying anything ever again. I smothered
myself with handfuls of strong floral-scented shower gel and taking
my nail brush from the shower shelf, I scrubbed my hands and body
with it. I dragged the hard bristles over the sensitive folds of my
sex, scrubbing all traces of my excitement away. I whimpered with
the pain, scrubbing and scrubbing until I was raw everywhere. The
tears began to flow, hard and fast. I'd hurt myself. And it wasn't
the first time I'd done that. I enjoyed hurting myself, scrubbing
myself to the point of pain. Punishing myself. I was well aware how
dangerous this was. How easy it would be to go too far and do
something terrible. And I couldn't do that to her. I had to be
measured with my punishment and only allowed myself that brush,
nothing harder or sharper.