The Ninety Days of Genevieve (35 page)

Cool and self-possessed, she thought. If only you knew!

'Now kindly let go of me/ he requested. 'Or I won't be in any fit state to give you what you want.'

'And what do I want?' she asked, still holding him.

'Fucking, I hope/ he said. 'It seems a shame to waste this room and this bed. The mirrors should appeal to you, too. You can watch yourself from all angles in here.'

He had freed his hands without her noticing, and he sat up suddenly, grasped her wrists, and rocked her until she sprawled flat on her back. In one swift move he was astride her, gripping her with his knees. He kissed the side of her neck and moved to her mouth, his tongue entering gently, then insistently. His hands found her breasts and captured them, thumbs moving over her nipples.

She moved her head until she could glance upward over his shoulder. In the canopy mirror she saw a woman with her blonde hair spread wildly and a lithe, tanned man holding her in delicious captivity. As she watched the man raised himself up. As if in a dream she saw the woman shift position, and the man move with her.

'Which way?' Sinclair murmured, close to her ear. He licked her with tantalising slow movements. 'From the front, or behind? It's your choice.'

'I thought you were the one who gave the orders,' she said.

'Not tonight,' he said. 'Maybe I'll get back into character later.'

'From the front,' she said.

She wanted to feel overpowered by him. She wanted to see his face above hers and watch his expression when he came. She wanted to look over his shoulder and enjoy the reflection of his thrusting movements in the mirror.

When he entered her she was already wet with need, and as his cock drove into her she closed her internal muscles round it and pulled him deeper. His hands tightened on her breasts. She put her legs round him and clasped him strongly. She felt that she could not get close enough to him. She wanted to share his heart beat, his breath, his life. She lost track of time and abandoned herself to pure sensation.

Sinclair gave a deep groan of pleasure and his body shook in orgasmic release. Her own orgasm came only moments later. It was not as intense as some of those he had already given her, during his carefully arranged fantasies, but she knew that she would treasure this particular memory because, for the first time, she felt that they had been entwined in a true lover's knot. He relaxed against her for a moment, and she felt the warmth of his body against hers. Then, gently, he withdrew and lay next to her.

'That was good,' he said simply. He turned to her. 'And for you, too?'

'If s always good with you,' she said. 'Even when I'm strapped into a bondage corset. Even when I'm tied to your door, or to a motor-bike.'

'I knew you'd like playing games,' he said. 'I'm a great judge of character.'

'So you won't be surprised if I start discussing business?' she teased. 'You know what a hard-headed woman I am.' She pointed to the small clock on the white and gilt dressing table. 'Ifs midnight. Our agreement is over. You owe me a signature.'

'You'll get it,' he said. 'It wasn't ever in doubt. And later, when we discuss my possible financial investment into Barringtons, you might get a lot more than that.' He caught her wrist and pulled her back towards him. 'And now let's mix business with pleasure again. I've paid two thousand pounds for the pleasure of your company. Two hours, wasn't it? How many orgasms do you think I can give you in two hours?'

'I don't know.' She relaxed on the bed and glanced sideways at him, admiring the lean strength of his body. Even looking at him turned her on. 'But I've got a feeling I'm about to find out.'

* * *

London, she decided, had never looked better. She suddenly knew why people came from all over the world and took photographs of the buses, the pigeons, the Thames. Never mind that the buses were frequently late, snarled up in traffic, the pigeons unintentionally ruined buildings, the Thames was sluggish. London was beautiful. She loved it. She had decided to walk to work from the Underground partly because it was sunny and partly because she felt more like dancing than sitting behind a desk.

She crossed the road and saw a familiar figure walking ahead of her, his arm round a girl, his mouth close to the girl's ear. His hand rested, flat but possessive, on the girl's behind.

Genevieve ran forward. 'Philip!'

Her brother's head turned quickly. 'Gen?' He looked positively guilty. 'Whaf re you doing here?'

'Going to work,' she said. 'You know? It's what you do when you leave university.'

'I didn't know you walked.'

Genevieve looked from her brother to his companion, and back again. 'And I didn't know you ...' she began.

'This is Ingrid,' Philip interrupted her firmly. 'My girlfriend.' The girl smiled at Genevieve. 'She's doing economics. Ingrid, this is my sister Genevieve. She's a lot older than me.'

'She doesn't look it/ Ingrid said.

'And she's in a hurry to get to work/ Philip added. 'How's work going, by the way?'

'Fine/ she said. 'I've just netted a really big client. He's even interested in investing in the agency. If s made me very popular.'

'That's great/ Philip said. 'All you need now is a nice boyfriend, and your life will be complete.'

'I think I'll take a vow of celibacy/ Genevieve said sweetly. 'That should do the trick.'

Ingrid stared at her in surprise. 'What an odd idea/ she said. 'How would that help?'

Genevieve smiled at them both. "Ask Philip/ she said.

In the middle of the week a messenger arrived at Genevieve's apartment with a small parcel. 'From Mr Sinclair/ he said cheerfully. 'Sign please.' When she opened the box a solitaire diamond ring winked in the light. She looked at the small card with it. It said, simply: MARRY ME?

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PANDORA'S BOX

ed. Kerri Sharp

This unique anthology of erotic writing by women brings together new material with extracts from the best-selling and most popular titles in the Black Lace series.
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is a celebration of this revolutionary imprint which put women's erotic fiction in the media spotlight. The diversity of the material is a testament to the many facets of the female erotic imagination.