The Sunday Arrangement (15 page)

I searched his eyes
for his reaction. He stared directly at his cock as it entered my pussy with
effortless ease. Our movement toward each other was like walking, so simple and
natural. And God—it felt amazing. Never had I connected with someone so
tangibly.

He reached up and
pulled down the front of my bustier, releasing my breasts. He sat up and I leaned
back slightly, bracing myself with my hands and arms on the bed. Taking one of
my taut tits into his mouth, he ran his warm, wet tongue over it in small,
rhythmic circles. He then lightly bit my nipple, and I moaned at the surprise
sensation that rippled through my breast.

I pushed him back on
the bed. My hands were now on his shoulders so that I could have more control. Moving
my hips, I quickened my pace and my intensity. Beads of sweat trickled down my
forehead.

“Harder,” he groaned.
He slapped my ass. Pain shot through me, but it somehow spurred me forward. My
energy seemed to arouse him even more. “Harder!”

He placed his hands
on my hips again, and I braced myself on his chest as I attempted to meet his
demands and pick up the pace. My nails dug into his skin as I forced myself to
thrust. And thrust. And thrust. Briefly, I kissed him on the chest while I rode
him harder and harder. From the strong clutch on my hips, I could tell he
enjoyed my efforts to satisfy him.

Soon I could feel my own
climax building once again. I kept going harder until we were both lost in our lust.
The air smelled of sex and sweat, and it was enticingly delicious.

I let out a cry as another
orgasm overwhelmed me. His name fell from my lips in a rushed whisper. He wasn’t
far behind me. His entire body stiffened, and his grip on me tightened as he
came. “God!” he cried as though summoning divine intervention.

We collapsed on the
bed. I curled up into the fetal position, my head on his chest. It took a
moment for us to both catch our breath. Suddenly I was self-conscious at the
intimacy of my cuddles, so I got off the bed. Slipping the bustier off, I tossed
it to the floor. I lay down beside him, farther away this time, and turned my
head to look at him.

His eyes were shut.
His breathing was still heavy. I enjoyed watching the steady rise and fall of
his perfectly chiseled abdomen.

After a few moments,
I decided to ask the question that had burned in my mind since the moment I’d
opened his box that morning. “I have to ask,” I said. “Why a French maid? It’s
one of the most clichéd fantasies out there.” I rolled over and stared at the
speckled texture of the high-rise ceiling. “Couldn’t I have been a nun or a
teacher, at least? Then I could have spanked you with a ruler.” I suppressed a
giggle.

He laughed and turned
his entire, naked body to face me. He rested his head on his hand. “When I was
younger, after my mother committed suicide, my father would pay our maids to
dress up like that while they worked. Feather dusters, hats, those little, pointless
aprons. The whole nine yards. I remember there was this one maid, Natasha. She
was Russian and absolutely stunning. She was the first crush I had on a grown
woman.” He exhaled long and slowly, as if the retelling of his childhood
fantasy was beyond tiring. “When I met you, I thought you looked a little like
a young version of her. I couldn’t help it when the thought popped into my head
to have you dress like her.”

A little surprised he
had shared so much about the rationale behind the French maid costume, I smiled
as I stared into his eyes. “I’m glad I could be of service then . . . monsieur.”

“Trust me. You
definitely were. That little outfit was worth every penny.”

I nodded simply,
agreeing more in my heart than I was letting on. It really
had
been
incredibly arousing to pretend to be someone else—a naughty, little maid afraid
of getting caught sleeping in her boss’s bed. Even more erotic was knowing how
turned on Pierce had been by the performance. He couldn’t have resisted me if
he had wanted to—that much was clear. There was something incredibly powerful
in that awareness.

“You surprised me,
actually,” he whispered softly.

I pressed the white
sheet against my chest. “I did?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d
be into role-playing.”

“To be honest,” I
said, “I wasn’t entirely sure I would either.”

Pierce folded his
hands across his chest. “And now? What would you say having done it?”

I paused before
answering. “I think it was incredibly and surprisingly arousing.” I decided to
leave out the part that
he
was the reason for my total enjoyment of the
evening—not playing a role.

He smiled at me as
though I had answered correctly.

“Did you . . . did
you enjoy your fantasy?” I asked, hesitation on my tongue.

“More than you know,
Lauren. You were every bit as sexy as I have always imagined Natasha would be,
and more.”

I could feel my
cheeks blush at his sincerity. I was grateful his gentleness continued outside
screwing in the silk sheets—such a breath of fresh air from his typical work demeanor.

“It’s your turn next,”
he said. “What do you want to do to me this coming Sunday?”

I laughed. “Oh no,
no, no. I had to wait all week to discover what you wanted. Now you have to
wait for me.” I wondered if the days would pass as slowly and tortuously for
him as they had for me.

He got up from the
bed and started searching for his clothes, haphazardly sprawled over the room.
“I guess I deserve that. A surprise it will be then.”

“Do you have to go?”
I asked before I could stop myself.

He looked at me as he
was putting on his khaki pants. “I’m sorry, Lauren. I never stay the night.” He
shrugged. “I actually have somewhere else to be now anyway.”

Once he had all his clothes
on, he bid me good night and left. I willed myself not to believe he was going
to see April though I didn’t doubt Pierce had the sexual stamina to be with two
women in the same evening. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep up
with him, to match his efforts at ecstasy. I did enjoy the challenge, however. He
was like an experienced lion tamer, challenging me in the ring to dance with
the lovely beasts with the flick of his leather whip.

Still naked on top of
my mattress, I began to toy with my ideas for next Sunday. I had a feeling I
would immensely enjoy any kind of sexual experience with Pierce, but I wanted
it to be special and well thought out. Should I stick to something expected and
overdone? Should I try something fresh? My sexual experience was so limited,
anything I chose would be new and magical to me—especially if it was with the
mysterious Maverick man. I had a week to think it over and decide.

The rest of the
evening, I decided, would be spent with a glass of wine and
Sex and the City
reruns while I reviewed our latest proposals for the casino. Everything had to
be perfect if we were going to move forward with Toby’s design once he
finished. Delays were a project’s worst nightmare.

As I got up from my
bed, the phone rang. My stomach twisted in anticipation. Had Pierce changed his
mind? Would he want to stay the night after all? Grabbing my iPhone from my
nightstand, my stomach flip-flopped for an entirely different reason. It wasn’t
Mr. Maverick on the end of the line.

It was my dad.

I
awoke on Monday morning, my glorious day off, incredibly sore and with two very
different men on my mind. My body felt like I had been run over by a semi truck;
it was a wonderful kind of ache because it made me recall the night before. Pierce’s
animal-like aggression had worn me out both physically and mentally. And then
there was the eerie phone call from Dad just minutes after Pierce left my
penthouse. Any other daughter, especially one who worked for her father’s
company, probably wouldn’t cringe at the sight of her dad’s contact information
lighting up her screen on a Sunday evening. Unlike those girls, I wasn’t used
to phone calls from my father, especially when he knew I was working on one of his
beloved projects. He didn’t like, as he put it, “to waste time shooting the
shit when I have actual shit to do.”

My
mind had raced with a million questions last night: Did he somehow know about
my Sunday arrangement with Pierce? Was there something wrong with the casino’s
projections? Did he not think I could handle this project on my own? Were Mom
and Toby okay? Surely this was something big, really big, if his standard
two-line e-mail wouldn’t suffice.

In
typical Lauren fashion, I screened his call. I wanted to see if he’d leave a
message, if this really was as urgent as I was making it out to be in my head.
When he didn’t send me a voice mail or an urgent text message to answer the
phone, I decided to make him wait until tomorrow. My father could curl my skin
faster than the humidity in Florida, and I wasn’t ready to come down from my
amazing high so quickly. Whatever it was, it could be put off a few more hours.

I
stretched my arms high in the air, willing myself to wake up and seize the day.
Remembering what Pierce had done to me in this comfortable bed last night made
me never want to leave it. Instead, I wanted to call him up and ask him if we
could change our Sunday arrangement to an everyday arrangement. After all, we
did have the day off. Why couldn’t we treat ourselves to another sexual
rendezvous? Shaking my head against the pillow, I answered my own question. The
last thing I needed was for Pierce to think I was some needy woman completely
lost without him. Clingy lovers were never attractive, and I’m sure they didn’t
last long, especially with someone like Pierce. I was no leech, but God—the
thought of waiting an entire week to feel his arms around me, to return his
passionate kisses, and to enter our fantastical, sexual world seemed nearly
impossible.

Suppressing
my desire to call him, I reached for my brown leather briefcase to grab my
laptop. The previous night, while watching the
Sex and the City
reruns,
a sexual epiphany had struck me while watching the infamous Carrie Bradshaw. Something
between Carrie’s infatuation with Mr. Big and a runway project she was working
on made me put my fantasy together. I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my
Maverick maniac next week. There were just a few things I needed to take care
of today in order to ensure my night of erotica would be possibility.

Opening
the web browser, I began my online search for a video camera. I needed to find
one that was absolutely perfect for this Sunday’s arrangement because I had
decided to record it. One of my earliest fantasies, for as long as I could
remember, was to have sex while being filmed. There was a sense of danger in it,
a very real peril when a person whose family was always in the public eye chose
to participate in such sexual exploits. The video was so tangible, so real. As
long as it existed, it posed a threat. There was always a chance the film could
get leaked at any given moment, quickly transforming from a thing of enjoyment
to one of immeasurable scrutiny. That thin line was what aroused me. The danger
behind the red record button and the potency of being in front of the lens,
naked and vulnerable, was sexy as hell.

This
fantasy would go against everything I had represented since my affair with my
college professor so long ago. No more would I be the innocent worker bee, too
busy or too nervous that the paparazzi would want a story about the
billionaire’s daughter to have a real sex life. With this video, I really would
be taking my sexuality by the balls and crying “Fuck you!” to all the
journalists—and even my father—who had pigeon-holed me into the person I was today.
This put everything on the line. I doubted that either Pierce or I would ever
allow our sexual adventure on the mattress to be found by the sleazy
journalists, but it was thrilling to imagine. It made me feel like a naughty
little girl, living a secret life that no one would ever discover . . . if I
was careful. And that was incredibly arousing.

This
was all so new to me, getting a chance to live out a fantasy I’d always wanted
to do. Before Pierce, my nights spent with other men were a black-and-white
kind of boring. Oral sex felt gross and sloppy, like a dog lapping water.
Fingering always felt too forced. And any crazy sexual positions were like a
bad practical joke that wouldn’t end. Even in college, before I met Professor
Tillton, the guys were unwilling to break the sexual box. The kinkiest they
ever got was letting me be on top every once in a while. Perhaps they were
insecure in their own abilities. Maybe they were timid around me. All I wanted
was someone to make me feel desired, and at the time, I thought that’s what
they were giving me. They might have been too nervous to try something crazy because
most of my sexual conquests were one-night stands, but I wished they had. Maybe
then I would have had more experience to offer Pierce. Maybe then I would feel
more comfortable in my own body and not second-guess every moment.

I
bit my lip as I scrolled through endless pages of high-grade cameras. The video
camera needed to be the absolute best quality. Cost wasn’t a question. I didn’t
want some rinky-dink version if I was going to step out on a limb and do this.
Besides, I planned on watching our little home movie many, many times. I hoped
Pierce felt the same way.