Sexy as Hell Box Set (18 page)

“Yeah,” I said on a laugh. “I know the type.”

“I said I was here so I could hit on women like her—something like that anyway—and she suddenly went all cold on me. Got up and said she was seeing someone. Talk about mixed signals. Does my head in when they do that. You know, get you all riled up, cock hard and ready to stick it in, then they back away. Whoever she’s seeing is one hell of a lucky bastard, I’ll tell you that much. I’d bet she gives a blowjob and a half, and that pussy of hers…got to be tight.”

Ollie stared into space, and I knew he was seeing her, imagining his hands all over her. I’d been there, had kissed her mouth and felt her skin, knew how tight her pussy was. Knew what kind of blowjob she gave. I’d licked her lips, inhaled her breath, heard her come. Yes, I was a lucky bastard, but not for much longer.

“What did she look like?” I asked.

“Long black hair, and I mean
black
, and her eyes were…fuck, they were intense. But what got me was this cute little—”

“Mole between her top lip and her nose.”

Ollie stared at me, mouth hanging open. “You know her?” He laughed. “Of course you would, if you come here often.” He shook his head. “Have you dipped your wick in her yet?”

I nodded.

“Aww, shit. Just my luck.” Ollie smacked the side of his fist down onto the table. “What’s she like?”

“Frightening, thrilling, beautiful…and mine.”

Ollie widened his eyes. “What?”

“Mine,” I said, meaning it with everything in me. She
was
mine.

“
You’re
the man she’s seeing?”

“Yep. Why the surprise?” What, didn’t he think I could snag a woman like Zara? Did he think she was out of my league? She was, no doubt about it, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Well, it’s just… She seems like she’d be a bit rude. A bit of a goer. Not your thing. Opposite to how Helen was.”

“She is rude.
Very
rude.” I lifted my cup and sipped. “And I like it that she’s so different to Helen.”

Ollie leaned towards me, his expression one of him wanting to know more, every little detail. “How rude?”

I couldn’t give details to him. It wouldn’t be fair to Zara. “Just take it from me she’s rude, all right? More than you could handle.”

He laughed hard then. “What, and you’re saying you can handle her better than I could?”

“Yes, I can. I’ve done everything she’s asked of me so far and enjoyed it. And we may have been brought up like brothers, Ollie, but that’s all you’re going to get from me. It’s early days, and I kind of want to keep things to myself for a bit.”

“But you’ve always shared before, even things about Helen.” He paused, staring at me for an uncomfortable moment. “Oh, don’t tell me she’s The One. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for a girl like her.”

“Of course not.”

“Good, because girls like her don’t stick around for long, Vic. They get bored, bugger off just when you’ve gone and got yourself well and truly hooked. Remember what it was like when Helen—?”

“She’s nothing like Helen, I already said that, and what we have is poles apart from anything Helen and I shared, so I won’t get hurt,” I said, hoping I’d sounded more sure of myself than I felt. But I didn’t, and that’s what had been bothering me for the past day or so. I wasn’t man enough to keep Zara’s attention, didn’t have enough adventure in me. She wouldn’t want to see me after our month was up even if I still wanted to see her. Unless, that was, I showed her I could take what she dished out—and could keep taking it. But where the hell would that take me? Beyond anything my imagination could even guess at?

A sudden pang for Helen’s gentle, undemanding ways struck me in the chest, but at the same time, my dick stirred at my thoughts of what I’d done with Zara the night before. My cock ramming into her tight arse, the plug up mine. The way she just took what she damn well wanted and gave me so much in the process.

If Ollie knew, he’d probably straight out faint with jealousy. If he believed me, that was. I hardly believed it myself. Women like Zara were the stars of fantasies, not real life.

I was nervous as I got ready for my meeting at Eden Street with Zara. That conversation I’d had with Ollie had unsettled me, forced me to think about things I’d been putting off. It had been pointless to hope that I could have something more with Zara than what we currently had. We had one month—less now, damn it—and that was it. But did it have to be that way? I hadn’t wanted a woman like this before in my life, not even Helen. A week or so ago I would have sworn that I’d adored Helen, had been head over bloody heels in love with her, but now I knew I hadn’t been. I’d loved her, but not like this. Not this heady, mad rush, this all-consuming heat that followed me wherever I went. I couldn’t get Zara out of my head. During the business meeting with Ollie—he organised my marketing—he’d had to repeat himself several times in order to get me back on track. I’d let my mind drift to this black-haired beauty, all slim legs and soaking cunt, beckoning me with one finger to come and get entangled in her web.

I berated myself now. It wasn’t love, this heady feeling of obsession. It was lust—pure, unadulterated, fuck-me-stupid lust.

And I’d be her lust-addled fly, let her wrap me up in her silky threads so I couldn’t escape. Eat me, play with me, never let me go. It would suit me very well indeed.

I stared at the clothes in my wardrobe. My jeans and a polo shirt didn’t appeal. Too casual, too…submissive. I wasn’t sure that was the right word, but I wanted a degree of control, an air about me that made her pause. A suit would give me the courage to be all the things Zara wanted me to be—bold, exploratory, risky, willing to do whatever she suggested. And I could, couldn’t I?

I had to at least try.

Dressed and ready to go, I left my place and jumped in the car, making a speedy trip to Soho. I parked, not worrying whether Carlos would keep an eye on my car or put it in Samson’s garage, whoever the hell he was. It didn’t matter now. I just needed to get inside. To see Zara.

At the door, I knocked and waited for someone to answer. No one did. Instead, the door lock clicked and I went in. A receptionist I hadn’t met before was sitting behind the desk, and she looked up at me and smiled.

“Victor, yes?” she asked.

“Um, yes.” I straightened the knot in my tie, and the thought of tying Zara up with it came so swiftly I couldn’t breathe properly. Where had that come from?

“Zara said to go into room four. Said you know where it is.”

“Err, right. Thanks.”

I went through the rear door and found the room where I’d encountered my first bout of shame. I wondered how many more I’d go through in there before our time was up.

Our time won’t be up. Not for me. Even if she ends it, I’ll never forget her.

It seemed I needed to add being sappy to my list. Straightening my shoulders and trying to man up a bit, I rapped on the door with my knuckle.

“Enter,” Zara said.

My stomach rolled, and I took a second to inhale a deep breath then blew it out again. It was time to watch The Harlequin. Time to let Zara do to me whatever the hell she liked.

Fuck, Victor looked gorgeous tonight. Not that he didn’t every night, but wow, he had me just by stepping into the room.

I
tutted at my fanciful thoughts, they meant nothing. A good suit to a man was what sexy lingerie was for a woman, that was all. But damn, Victor had got it just right. Sexy didn’t begin to describe him, and I ached to touch him, hit him, yank his dick until he cried for release.

The suit, I was sure, was
Savile Row. It was exquisitely cut, a deep shade of grey, and framed his long body to perfection. That Man used to wear similar suits. He’d been the same as Victor—shed loads of cash to throw about. And it worked; clothes that screamed success and hinted at a quiet, controlled dominance were just my thing. Partly because I admired the status the wearer had achieved, but also because it made me itch to break them, have them hand over all that power, get them on the floor begging to lick me, kiss me, fuck me, or even better, unleash the animal in them they didn’t even know was there.

Every man had the basic instinct that could drive them to fuck with violent passion. Just very few knew about it. Not only that, when it came to submission, the higher up the food chain they were, the further they fell. Hit that low with an even greater satisfaction. Playing with those two extreme emotions, absolute submission and the primitive response, could be so much fun.

“Hi,” he said, shutting the door and taking the seat next to me.

I crossed my legs, my black leather, thigh-high boots creaking in the silence. “Victor, I’m so glad you graced me with your presence.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” His gaze slipped down my boots; thighs, knees, sinfully pointy tips of the toes. I wondered if he was remembering Carlos adoring them, albeit briefly, and hoping it would be his turn soon.

It would be.

“Shame you didn’t bother to come last night. It was one hell of a show,” I said.

He reached for my hand, brought my knuckles to his lips. They were soft, barely damp as he kissed me. “We made our own show afterwards.” His breath was hot on my skin and sent an annoying scatter of sensation up my arm.

I tugged away. “You should strip.”

“What.” He raised his eyebrows.

Lunging forward, I gripped his chin. “You want another slap?”

He swallowed, and his eyes narrowed slightly, small wrinkles forming at the edges. “Is that a trick question?”

A deep belly laugh gripped me. He was so fucking funny. “I suppose it is.” I slapped him, hard, across his left cheek. “That’s for forgetting to call me Mistress.”

He turned away, stared at the door as though composing himself, or maybe wondering whether to leave. Again he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the collar of his pristine white shirt. He breathed deep, turned back to me, his eyes still slit-like.

“I’m sorry, Mistress.”

Good, I still had him. He needed to be able to take a bit of a slap, there was so much more to come.

“So what are you waiting for? Strip. It’s a swanky suit and everything, but I want you naked when you watch this.”

He stood and I glanced at my watch. The Harlequin was five minutes late—good, it was what I’d asked for. Didn’t want Victor distracted with undressing when The Harlequin started the show.

He did as I’d asked, and as he peeled away the layers, hanging them on a hook on the wall, I congratulated myself on how far we’d come. That first evening, in my bedroom, there was no way he would have tolerated a slap and then obeyed an order. But now, well, it was like having a puppy to play with.

I licked my lips, and my pussy heated as he stepped out of his boxers and kicked them to one side. He was hard, but not as deliciously hard as I knew he could get.

“Turn around, face the window,” I said.

“Yes, Mistress.”

The other side of the window was still covered by a dense black curtain but he stared at it anyway.

Damn, his back view was cute, and I couldn’t help giving my nipples a little tweak through my top. The nape of his neck was covered in hair, neat and recently brushed, I’d say. He had wide shoulders, not balled with muscle, just strong. The gutter of his spine was deep and lined with sinewy tendons. The small dimples, just above the rise of his buttocks, invited licks. His arse was lovely, pert and high, the skin a fraction lighter than the rest of him, as though he’d enjoyed some foreign sunshine over the last few months. My attention lingered on the cleft of his arse and then swept down his legs. His thighs I knew to be hairy at the front, but at the back, the covering was sparse. I liked the backs of his ankles, just above his heels; the tapered tendons there were defined and screamed strength. I wondered briefly if he was a runner, or maybe had been.

“Put your hands on the glass,” I ordered.

He obeyed.

I shifted to the edge of my seat, reached out and stroked his buttocks, first the left and then the right. Smoothed the skin in delicate sweeps. “I’m sorry if your arsehole has been sore today.” I ran my tongue over those dimples.

A slight shiver went through him. Was he cold, standing naked in this small room, or had my touch affected him the same way his had me, only a few minutes ago?

“My arsehole has been okay, thanks for asking.”

I slipped my finger down the warm crack, touched the hidden hole.

He tensed further. His buttocks clenched, gripping me. He wasn’t up for that kind of play today, but I’d known that.

“It was worth it, though,” I said. “In order for you to learn something new about yourself.”

“Yes.” He paused. “Mistress. It was worth it.”

“Good.” I stood, pressed my lips to his ear. “The show is about to start, and I want you to stay like this, staring into the room, standing, hands on the glass. I know you’re hard and you’ll definitely get harder, but no one but me can see you from the waist down, and to be honest, no one is really interested. So just stay still, enjoy The Harlequin, learn your lessons and I’ll be right here helping you along.”