Lady: Impossible (69 page)

I glance up, pretending I don’t know why he’s complaining. The lust in his eyes almost makes him appear crazed, but I continue to defy him, rubbing him very gently and only taking the occasional lick.

He moves his hand under my upper arm and hoists me up, probably not appreciating the smirk on my face.
 

‘It’s not nice to tease.’ He nods at the end of the bed. ‘All fours. Now.’

Scrambling into position, I quickly move to the end of the bed, quivering with anticipation. I’ve thought a few too many times about how good it’d feel to be fucked like this by Blair. He’s always so primal with me, and it’s such a turn-on.

I hear the opening and closing of a drawer, and then a tearing sound.
 

‘Very responsible of you.’

‘Did I tell you to say anything?’

His weight on the bed shifts. He must be getting into position behind me.
 

I arch my back inwards and lift my chest up, wanting to show myself off. ‘Sorry.’

Blair places a hand on my hips, his legs on either side of mine now. ‘You will be.’

I immediately regret teasing him earlier. In what is pure torture, Blair teases me by rubbing his tip along my warmth, pulling away every time I try to move against him. He’s so hard and so close to being inside me – I don’t know how he can stand it – I almost feel like crying.

‘Don’t, Blair.’ I’m pleading.
 

‘What’s that?’
 

He punishes me with the shallowest of penetrations, slipping in lightly, before pulling out.
 

‘I said
don’t
.’ If he won’t respond to pleas, then maybe arguing is what he wants.
 

‘Don’t what?’ He slips in an inch or two again, this time rubbing against my clit once he’s pulled out for several amazing seconds. It’s like being robbed, the emptiness which follows positively maddening.
 

I’m getting desperate now, so needy and flustered that I can feel my heart beating through the skin of my wrists. ‘Don’t fucking tease me.’

‘You’re very disobedient, Millie. Lucky for you, I’m willing to forgive.’

Forgiveness rams into me, eight inches deep. I gasp from the fullness, too overwhelmed to say anything as my knees buckle from the shock.
 

‘Stay up or I’ll stop.’

I whimper and try to better lock myself into position. ‘Sorry.’ The word is barely audible.

Blair isn’t moving, leaving me to clench around his thick cock.
 

‘What was that?’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say with more force.

Finally, he relents. ‘Good.’

My reward comes as deep, hard thrusts, the kind of fucking I so desperately need from him. All the stress of not knowing if he would be mine has to be relieved right now. Even though we’re not having lovey-dovey slow sex, we both know we prefer this. This is exclusivity for us, a conscious decision to be together. Guilty, last-chance shagging is a thing of the past.

I throw my head back, moaning at his steady rhythm. I love the way he moves inside me – like he’s so sure we work. ‘So good.’

‘I’ve missed you.’ His fingers reach up my spine, tugging at my hair between grunts. ‘I’ve. Really. Fucking. Missed you.’

I catch a glimpse of the shadow created by the lamplight on the wall. The whole room is about us: his grunts, my moans and the projected image of him fucking me from behind. Connection and culmination.

‘Faster,’ I beg, impressed he’s lasted this long after, well, half a blow job.

He holds me with both hands now, slamming me back against him as he quickens his pace.
 

‘See? Sometimes I listen to you.’

Though breathless, I manage a laugh. ‘Just hurry up and make me come.’

‘Yes, m’lady.’

‘You don’t have to call me that anymore.’

‘I can call you whatever the fuck I want.’

As Blair’s movements get more vigorous, I suddenly worry that I won’t be able to reach my high. I’m too wound up, the tension so intense that my back is aching badly.
 

Maybe I won’t get there. I can’t expect to come every time. A lot of women never come at all. Plus, the joy of being together is already so great.

So when the charge of pleasure bolts through me, it’s a complete surprise, the searing exhilaration a miraculous remedy. I’m tired but soaring, weightless and oh, so happy. It’s the sort of joy that comes after a well-fought victory – you simply don’t care about how strained and spent you are.
 

I collapse after, so exhausted that Blair can’t get me to move the right way up on the bed. After disposing of the condom, he pulls the discarded sheet from below my head and grabs his pillow so I can rest properly as I cool down.
 

‘Amazing.’ I can only manage one word, and that’s the one that fits.

Blair laughs as he drapes the sheet over me, climbing back onto the bed and spooning me once I’m covered. ‘I know.’

It takes a while for my heart rate to go back to normal, probably because Blair is holding me and nuzzling my neck. I quickly see the reasoning behind keeping the flimsy sheet between us – too much temptation. I actually need a break, or at least a moment to fully appreciate how sated I feel physically and emotionally.

Sated? I’m stupidly happy.
 

‘Sleepy?’ Blair asks.

That too. ‘A bit.’ I pause, humming as he kisses my neck. ‘What about you though? What time did you wake up?’

‘Half past four.’

‘Jesus. Aren’t you tired? Were you trying to get me to nap earlier so you could, too?’

‘We’re resting now, aren’t we?’

He kisses me on the cheek before tracing my face with his fingers and grazing my ear with his nose. When he finally settles in the crook of my neck, all I want to do is to hold his hand.
 

‘You’re so bossy during sex,’ I say, enjoying how deliciously warm he feels against me now. I can already feel my eyes closing. ‘I don’t know why I like it.’

‘Of course you like it. Who else is going to put you in your place?’

‘And where’s that? My place, I mean.’

He squeezes my hand. ‘Right here.’

Satisfied, I let myself drift off, succumbing to the fatigue. I can rest easy for now. Even if the reservations he had about us still hang in the back of his mind, I can tell he’s happy too.

I’m not sure how much time passes before I’m roused awake. The culprit? Blair – whose wandering hands are caressing me through the sheet.
 

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’ His touch and voice are gentle. ‘Just couldn’t resist.’

I moan as he massages my breast, his thumb rubbing over my nipple. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Yeah, didn’t think you would.’

I turn my head so I can kiss him, sucking on his bottom lip before covering his mouth with mine. This is the comfort I envisaged earlier this morning, when I woke at daybreak and yearned to be in Blair’s arms.
 

Content, I pull away smiling, turning back around to rest my head on the pillow.

‘Minx,’ he mutters.
 

‘Find a new word.’

‘Not enough brain power today.’ He tugs at the sheet but doesn’t uncover me completely, apparently having the access he needs. ‘I want to touch you. Badly.’

‘Be gentle.’ It always aches, in a good way, after he’s had me.

I scissor my legs a bit more, making it easier for him. He gently uses two fingers to play with me, no sense of urgency in his strokes. Even the pleasure is calm, sweet even.

‘So wet for me.’ His lips are at my ear, his length hardening against me.

My breathing becomes heavier as he slowly pumps into me. Enjoying it but wanting more, I decide to tease him a bit again. ‘Yes. Don’t I feel all hot and ready for you?’

‘Mmm.’ He adds another finger, the sensation of three of them accelerating my arousal, and his too, apparently.

I clutch the pillow. ‘Oh. That’s almost as good as your cock.’

‘Fuck it.’ He withdraws his hand, lust roughening his voice deliciously. ‘I don’t know why I bother being patient with you. Prop yourself up, will you?’

I’m barely up on one elbow when he enters me again, the feeling of being filled even more satisfying from this angle.

‘Oh, God.’
 

‘Yeah, that’s better,’ Blair says. His breathing and his thrusts are now more measured than before. ‘I can’t stand it when I’m not inside you.’

This is why I have to be on the pill. He has no patience. Not that I mind, really, especially as my slip of the tongue this morning was definitely a lie. I do need him to get me off, and I’m going to let him get me off all day long.

Chapter 33:

The following Monday I find myself in Polly’s office, wondering where on Earth she could be. She has yet to arrive at the building, which doesn’t make any sense because I was told to be here at half past eight on the dot. It’s usually not a good sign when the client is left to her own devices like this. Already, I’m getting the impression that I am here not to meet with her, but to think on what I’ve done to Oliver.
 

Her absence forces me to spend time staring at the crystal replica of the Atlantis hotel on her desk. Oliver gave it to her, presumably within the five days it took for me to break it off with him after we returned from Dubai. I can’t imagine what she would want with it now, a memento of a failed arrangement. It’s a sad crystal souvenir. Witch doctors should use it to cast bad luck spells, or to refract enough sunlight to help illuminate their voodoo ceremonies. If I were Polly, I would smash it, though there’s probably some superstitious reason why you can’t destroy a replica of a hotel named after a lost civilisation. It would probably generate double the bad luck, and create some kind of black hole to engulf all that is good in one’s life. It may be the size of a snow globe, but who knows what crazy properties it may have?

I hope to God she’s not going to try and return it to me – or worse, get me to return it to Oliver. I’m not going to accept either of those situations. I’m here, bright and early, to bring closure to this whole matchmaking experiment. Mother, Blair and Abby are parked down the road, waiting for me to return so we can all be done with this as a collective. If I leave them for too long, Abby is going to get even more nervous about being around Blair, which will lead to babbling (possibly even babbling about how she always planned to push me to him in the first place).

I can’t be annoyed with Abby for not knowing how to act around Blair. Mother doesn’t even know how to act around Blair. Despite the fact that Father is back in Yorkshire, she’s insisting that we mustn’t muddle the line between work and play. When Blair is on duty, he is to go about his day as professionally as possible, and we are to support this by not being informal or inappropriate. In other words, I am not to touch him, let alone kiss him or seduce him. When he’s off the clock, then he’s all mine. Of course, drawing such a distinction only works in theory, because it’s actually impossible to carry on in such a clear-cut manner. It’s like being in a play that lasts hours and hours, and getting confused during the intermission because you’re actually playing yourself, just a slightly more ignorant version. Mother can’t ignore that Blair and I are together, while I have difficulty pretending I’m not openly pining for him during his working day.
 

Out of anyone, he’s the one who’s most comfortable with the Butler Blair/Real Blair situation because he takes his job so seriously. He even protests when I try to come onto him during his meal breaks. It’s all very admirable, really, a true sign of resolve. Or maybe he’s only insisting on it so I end up so sexually frustrated by the end of the day that I will do anything he says.

Interesting.
 

I stop myself there, knowing it can do no good to think such naughty thoughts in this office. I do not need to radiate smugness. Matchmaking is not a stupid enterprise. People want to find someone, and I will not scoff at that.
 

However, people thinking it’s fine to be late for appointments that they themselves have made is something at which I might definitely scoff, particularly if it goes on for much longer. Another five minutes pass before Polly arrives – making her a total of twenty-five minutes late. I have to tell myself not to be snippy when she strides in, just in case the delay was something justifiable.

‘Millie, thanks so much for coming in,’ she says, shaking my hand as firmly as the day we first met. ‘Sorry I’m late. Did Penny offer you some tea?’

‘She did but I declined. Thank you, though.’
 

I sit back down to wait for Polly to get settled in her own chair, and try not to stare. Then again, I can’t help averting my eyes automatically from the colourful Missoni top she’s wearing. It’s more than a bit too busy for someone her age.
 

No, I should look at her. I don’t want her to think I’m being shifty.

‘So, how have you been?’
 

It’s a chitchat question, or so I think. How I’ve been is really explained by the fact I’m here saying goodbye to her. Nevertheless, I try to be agreeable.

‘I’ve had a good week. And how have you been? Busy as always?’

‘Yes, definitely busy.’

Seemingly distracted, Polly takes out a Smythson diary from her bag, as well as another book I recognise as her old diary. It then occurs to me that maybe the Smythson diary was never a new one in the first place. For all I know, it could be a separate place for jotting down her suspicions. Certainly, the no-nonsense look she gives me after rereading a particular entry supports this theory.
 

‘Now, I have to say I did think something was a little off the last time I saw you,’ she says, tapping her pen on the desk. ‘But I ignored it because you and Oliver are such a good match.’

I’m sensing that I’ve bruised her professional pride, or at least skewed her win–loss ratio. She may be smiling, but there’s an undercurrent of hostility. Best to tread carefully.

‘I’m really grateful for the help you’ve given me. He is a great guy.’ I throw my hands up in front of me for emphasis, not wanting her to question how serious I am. ‘Just not the one for me.’