The Alexandra Series (82 page)

What there was to do in the dark of her beloved but tainted office was not much except to grieve. Hearing the sound of a door opening and soft footfalls on the linoleum corridor, she perked. With the security guard on duty she had little to fear, except, of course, another dour message of her demise delivered by some night owl with a predilection for dramatic announcements in the quiet after-hours when she should have some reprieve.

It was a stranger at the doorway of her office. One with an effervescent smile that shone through her gloom. With her second look at him, she recognized the man though struggled to remember why.

“My god, Ian Pennywhistle!” she exclaimed, charging from her desk to greet him.

“Shush!” he drew his finger over his mouth like a naughty kid.

“Why so quiet?” she whispered feeling the first genuine smile in weeks break out on her excited face.

“I bet the authorities have been here, no?”

Remembering Trueblood, the detective who visited her two weeks before with all too much information, she replied, “How did you know?”

“The man’s everywhere, must be related to the Pinkertons.”

Jocelyn laughed, something she remembered doing often when she was in Ian’s company.

“How did you find me?”

“I’m afraid you’re becoming as notorious as I am.”

“Oh, no,” she sighed. She shouldn’t be surprised remembering how her fortunes had been linked with Ibercon’s numerous times in the financial pages.

“You do you remember that I read the papers thoroughly, especially when it involves money. Who has it, who doesn’t. Great clues to who has it to lose.”

“So you’re still involved in larceny?”

“Not really,” his eyes knit painfully and he shook his head sadly. “I’m trying to straighten out my life.”

“So you revisit a woman down on her luck?”

“But such a beautiful woman,” he observed, resting his eyes on Jocelyn’s untamed locks and pink blushed cheeks.

Drawing her close to him so their chests touched, he looked down while she looked up. With Ian nearly six feet four there were few women he didn’t dwarf. A bit gangly but very masculine. Anyone noting his appearance could see that he was much more powerfully built than a first impression would indicate. It was his height that was deceiving. A long face, narrowed features, bushy graying eyebrows over eyes seeming black as coal, he maintained an old quality about him. His gray/brown hair was still an unruly bush. Several locks above his brow would threaten to fall over his eyes and he’d push them back with a flick of his hand. He was not handsome in the classical sense. Though simple, raw power exuded from him that lured women like Jocelyn into a delicious bath of sexual charm.

He kissed her lightly, erotically, that painfully held back brushing of lips that precedes deeper kisses.

“Ah, you still have such appeal,” he said.

A hand was at her breast, fully covering the orb beneath her jacket. The gentle massage stimulated her to the far corners of her body. Her hair felt as though it was standing on end, so warmly titillated by the fresh delight of Ian’s unexpected return. He’d found her nipple through the fabric, that tiny bud crushed lightly between two fingers.

“And you respond the same as always,” he added.

“But I can’t,” she answered backing away from what could have produced an orgasm in a few minutes time. No one but Reggie had such instincts with her body. “I’m married.”

“And what’s the problem with that?”

She returned with a sweet ‘I’m sorry’ on her face.

“You mean you’re monogamous?” he asked surprised.

“Not exactly, but it wouldn’t be a good idea tonight.”

“Ah, I see. Paying penance for past infidelities.”

That was as good as any excuse, so she let it serve to explain her reluctance.

“Then I’ll take you to dinner,” he said.

“I’d rather not be seen?”

“This is a big city and I have the perfect spot to dine in secret. Won’t you come?”

Such an actor, a tramp in the world, a swindler, gigolo and occasionally he was the paramour to wealthy women who’d happily fund his vices.

“How can I refuse since I feel like a criminal about to eat my last meal.”

“Should you make arrangements with your husband?” Ian asked.

“How strange of you to even think of that,” Jocelyn observed.

“I just recently had to flee a delightful woman whose husband was threatening me with an ax. I guess I’ve grown more careful in my old age.”

“You’re hardly old, Ian, just very ripe,” Jocelyn returned. “And no, we don’t have to fear my ax wielding husband, he’s away on business.”

A small French restaurant in a quiet neighborhood became the backdrop for the seduction. Six tables total in the tiny hole-in-the-wall, theirs was set in an alcove with drapes to close around them. Having the look of a Renaissance tavern, with the lushness of gilded gold frames, withering flowers, threadbare velvet, wooden floors and simple tables, it recalled a time steeped in sensuous pleasure. Every sense was heightened. The smell of butter, cream and garlic roasting. The old world sights, the rich tastes and the fragrant aromas tingled more than the palate—they engaged the sexual organs.

Somewhere between the entree and the salad the flippant conversation between the amused Jocelyn and the actor Ian changed.

“You’re not going to deny me tonight, are you, pet?” he cajoled. With his hand running along her bare thigh above her nylons, he coaxed her into unfaithfulness.

“You’ve made me a dishonest woman so many times, I’m not sure you’re good for anything else,” Jocelyn answered, keeping her reply purposely vague.

“Jean-Paul has this upstairs room. If I could just press my face to your pussy lips and lick that nectar for dessert.” His eyes glassed over with that precious image in the front of his mind.

“You’re too full of yourself,” Jocelyn protested light-heartedly pushing his hand away.

“But you want to be seduced,” he said. “You’re already giving yourself away.”

“If I remember right, we had some disagreements about sex,” she reminded him.

“It’s not those other things I want from you, just your passion, darling. Your juicy hole down under. A place to spew my cock. And those breasts to caress, and the graceful arch of your back to kiss, and the lilt of your laughter afterwards. That’s all I want.” Such a twinkle in his eye—she hadn’t seen the likes of it in some time.

“You are the best,” she purred, leaning in to feel his lips touch her lightly.

“Better than the bastard that’s married to you?”

“Don’t bring him into this,” she instantly turned sullen.

“Ah! I won’t say another word, as long as you’ll accompany me upstairs. They can serve us dessert there.”

“But we haven’t even finished dinner.”

“You’re not hungry anymore, are you?”

The distressing fact of her hunger was that it was for something other than food. She’d been sexually bereft since Reggie’s last departure three days before. The added stimulation of a love tryst with a scoundrel lover from the past, she was reckless enough to have the man lift her from her seat, skirt the main dining room at his side and allow him to push her up the stairs to the tiny apartment above—which seemed to be Ian’s home while he was in town.

“It’s not quite the Carlton,” she observed.

“And that’s the good news,” he took the optimistic point of view. “Our privacy is guaranteed.” That was another way of saying that some policeman or hotel security guard wouldn’t be banging down the door in the middle of the night to roust them out.

“You will let me tie you to the bed, won’t you?” Ian prodded, as his deft fingers began undoing buttons to find her lace covered breasts underneath her suit.

“You said you just wanted my juicy hole,” she reminded him, though she wasn’t objecting to the idea of bondage the way she would have ten years before.

“Just your hands above you head, so these will stretch out nicely.” He ran his fingers along her shoulders, taking down the straps of her teddy. He glided over the unveiled mounds, and the pink aureoles and the buds at the end. “Just some rope about your wrists,” he assured her having miraculously produced a silken drapery cord. He looped it about her wrists so it fit snug, though it didn’t cut into the flesh.

“Lie down, darling,” he said, guiding her to the bed. She lay back to find her arms secured above her to the headboard of the bed. His hands along her stretched torso whisked off her remaining clothes so she was utterly naked. Her white skin glowed in the soft overhead light. Leaning over her groin, Ian tenderly stroked her flesh, then allowed his hands to slip behind her where he could grab her bottom and lift it to his face. He pinched the swollen center bud and heard her gasp, the audible cry a soprano melody, building in volume as the pressure on that intimate spot turned painful. “Ian…” she softly murmured. “Ian, please no…”

“Then let me suck perhaps,” he offered. His mouth took its turn adding to the mounting rawness of sensation there.

“Ah, ah, yes. Oooo yes, so sweet,” the gibberish went on.

While his one hand kneaded her ass from behind and his lips and tongue made a feast of her juices, she was ready to climax.

“Ah, not so fast,” he said abruptly withdrawing. “Not before I have my own.”

“Oh, no Ian!” she moaned unhappily. “You’re horrible.”

“That I am, my pet.”

It was like him to be condescending, making love to her as if she’d never been made love to before. He assumed there was no other lover that could match his ability. That was almost true.

He turned her on her stomach, only to have her sex making love to the sheets beneath her. From just squirming against them she might have cum, except that he pounced on her behind. “What have we here,” he said. “You’ve been holding out on me?”

“Holding out?” She wondered what he meant. Then she remembered that he was seeing the marks of her last session with Reggie. He’d come to her the night before he left on business and made several nasty cuts with a cane on her behind. It had been another of many testy evenings since that first one after the leather shop. The same impasse and the same argument ensued between them. The same solution followed—all some form of her relinquishing her bottom to her husband’s dominant sexual whims. Considering how much she enjoyed the violations, Jocelyn had the feeling it was simply the best way, perhaps the only way, they could keep their affection for each other alive until the cause of their battle was finally resolved.

“You have marks,” Ian seemed pleased. “Someone’s been bruising your behind. By the looks of it, this was done with a cane. Expertly too.” Ian was rarely impressed, though he seemed so now. His thorough inspection covered every inch of her rear, including the clenched cleft which he forced apart so he could see just how nasty this dominant had been.

“Your husband?” he wondered.

“Who else?” she asked.

“No other lovers?” he wondered.

She wasn’t about to explain her lifestyle to him, about Alexandra or the times that Reggie gave her away. Those times had been rare, but they were moments she could hardly forget. Regardless, they would not be a subject of conversation with the very man who’d use each detail about her life against her.

“I would have never guessed that you, my feminist femme fatale, would submit. But how convenient,” he said completely delighted with this information.

“Convenient, nothing,” her protest came out vehement. “You said you wanted my juicy hole, Ian. Please take that, it’s yours.”

She could see the grin on his face without having to see it with her eyes.

“Ah, too sore for more punishment,” he concluded with one last longing glance at her marred behind. “But how tempting.”

“Ian please.” With him backing away, she managed to propel herself onto her back again, only to find the man eager to spread her legs apart and tie her by the ankles to the bottom of the bed. Not risking another protest—which might be much too loud in this room above the lazy restaurant below—Ian stripped himself of his clothes and shoved his erection into the soothing warmth of Jocelyn’s inner master. And how her cunt became alive with him there. Despite the way Ian had pinned her to the bed, she bucked against him, her inner muscles squeezed tightly, and her pussy seemed to press itself into his groin as if somehow she could grab her orgasm away from him.

Ian held himself above her as his cock toyed with her for a long while. He watched the long build-up affect the expression on her face. How it made her cheeks flush, her lips purr, her eyes darken with the green turning verdant like a sun-starved forest in the middle of a storm. Yet when she climaxed, her eyes were closed, her hips six inches off the bed, and her back was arched as though she was offering up her belly and breasts to the gods. With his cock still erect inside the gushing fountain between her legs, he was content to wait until her spasms were nearly over before forcing her body back against the bed and pummeling her to his own end.

“Ah, you are a feast, my darling,” he vowed, as he withdrew from her.

He always vowed eternal love, even when the sentiment was suspect coming from a man who knew nothing but physical passion and how to brutalize a woman’s emotions.