Thor (Recherché #1) (8 page)

“Fuck.” He groans. My pussy is clenching around him in shock, and if his trembling grip on my neck is anything to go by, he’s not as controlled as he thinks. I bow my back and push back against him, forcing him to slide deeper. “God, your fucking pussy.” He grates out. His hand lands over my arse hard, the slap leaving a sharp sting.

His hands grip my hips and he fucks me like a man possessed. Thor’s so refined looking, so in control. He’s the kind of guy you want to push, to snap, until he actually does. Now all I can do is hold on for the ride. He wraps a hand around my throat again and uses it to pull me upright, keeping my back bowed.

“You feel so good.” He bites down on the side of my neck, thrusting hard and deep. Something starts to build deep within me, and with every thrust, it gains momentum, until it’s creeping up on me so fast and hard that I’m not sure whether I’m excited by it or scared. He groans in my ear, the sound so masculine and primal that it sends me hurtling into oblivion. His grip on my throat remains unyielding and I clutch at the arm holding me, desperately needing something to hold onto. The orgasm rips through me in a wave so fierce I buckle forward against the sofa. Thor keeps me upright, fucking me all the way through. By the time I’m done I’m dizzy.

He pulls out of me. “You need some more stamina, ginge. I’m not fucking done with you yet. Not even close.”

I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow.

I lay on my back on my bed. Thor is sprawled next to me, the sound of his labored breaths filling the air. I turn my head and study the way his stomach muscles bunch and flex with each breath. A sheen of sweat clings to his tanned skin and it only makes him look more beautiful. I’m not sure I ever expected to see him again, let alone that. The man is a machine.

“I see what you mean about memorable.” I mumble. I think I can safely say that I didn’t fuck Thor after the wedding because he’s right, you couldn’t forget that.

He drags a hand over his face. “I can’t remember ever coming that hard.” He says. It’s crass but the way he says it, it’s so hot.

He trails his fingers backward and forward over my thigh absentmindedly. His touch tickles, but not in an unwanted way. “Tell me something about you, Poppy.”

I frown. “You want to know about me?”

He huffs a laugh. “Well, I’ve already met your mother, your sister, your brother-in-law, and June. I know you obviously don’t get on with your family, you have a friend called Elodie and you paint. That’s it. Tell me something about you, something I couldn’t read on a gossip site.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath and think about it. “My favourite colour is blue. I love pandas. My favourite painting is The Ophelia….”I bite my lip on a smile and he rolls over, bringing his face close to mine.

“Something you don’t tell many people.” He breathes against my lips. My heart thumps unevenly in my chest for a few beats. I look into his eyes and he strips me the same way he did before. Something about him makes me want to bare my damn soul to him. I want to show him my weaknesses so he can make them stronger.

“I can stand in a room full of people and always feel alone.” I hear myself say. His hand cups my cheek. “I like to be alone, but I hate to be lonely.”

“The path to success is a lonely one, ginge.” He sweeps a stray tendril of hair away from my face. “Just keep walking.” He murmurs.

I smile. “Hot and smart.”

“Yeah, but the hot gets you further in life than the smart.” He winks.

“Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong. I should just go and marry some rich boy like my sister.”

He snorts. “No one would have you.” I gasp, feigning offense. “You are ginger.” I slap his chest and he rolls onto his back laughing. His fingers wrap around my thigh, pulling me on top of him. “Luckily I like the short fuse.” He raises his eyebrows. “Angry sex is fucking hot.”

“You have issues.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” He yanks me forward and I fall against his chest before he holds me in a kiss. This is only the third time I’ve seen this man. It shouldn’t feel so easy, so effortless, but it does. I feel like I’ve known him for years, which considering I literally know nothing about him, is strange.

Right now, though, his lips are on me, his body is pressed between my thighs, and all logical thought has run screaming out the window.

I shouldn’t have gone to see Poppy. I told myself that I was paid for the wedding, so technically anything that occurred within that time frame was work even if it wasn’t specifically requested.

As for waking up in her bed, well, I was drunk. That was my excuse, it was plausible, it was fine. I was done. I wasn’t going back, no matter how much I couldn’t stop fucking thinking about her. Literally, she was consuming me without even knowing it. And then Saturday night, she texts me. It just so happened that my client had cancelled. And I was still good. No intention of fucking her, until she sent that damn picture. In my defence, Poppy in white lace…I’ve got a hard on just thinking about it. She looks so fucking innocent and I wanted a taste, just a taste of what it’s like to fuck a girl like that. I wanted to corrupt her, ruin her and make her scream my fucking name. It was better than I could have imagined. I left her bed at four in the morning and I’m telling myself it doesn’t count as sleeping over because twice in a row….well, that’s just fucked up. Hell, fucking her is fucked up! That was a week ago, and I can’t stop thinking about her
. Once.
I’ve fucked her once and it’s like she’s a disease crawling beneath my skin and seeping into my bloodstream. How is that even possible? Every day I have to resist the urge to call her, to go and see her. I tell myself I’m fine but it feels as though it’s just a matter of time before I break.

I’m still doing what I do best, fucking women and getting paid, but something has changed. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s kind of like I’ve been seeing my life through rose tinted glasses and Poppy has ripped them off. It sounds ridiculous, I know, how can she change something she doesn’t even know about? Women have always looked at me as if I’m some kind of God, and I’ve always loved it, thrived on it, made a damn profession from it. Poppy looks at me with the same lust in her eyes, but there’s something else too. She looks at me with a basic respect. She looks at me like she actually likes me and wants to be around me, even when I’m clothed. Everything is just worth so much more coming from her.

I’m balls deep in April, watching her moan and writhe as I fuck her when for the first time in my life I feel uneasy about what I’m doing. I shove the feeling down, angry that it’s even crossed my fucking mind. My fingers dig into her hips and I slam into her harder, angrily. She moans louder and rakes her nails over my abs. My mind keeps trying to pull away and I fight with myself to focus on the job at hand. I was barely able to get my dick hard for this shit, and that’s after I took a Viagra. I slam my eyes shut and try to tune out her high pitched whining, but it doesn’t work. Damn it. I pull out of her and flip her over, throwing her face down on the mattress. She lets out a little squeak as I wrench her hips back up and pin her face into the pillow as I slam inside her. I close my eyes and imagine I’m somewhere else. I imagine long red hair, perfect milky skin, that tight pussy.

I pick up my pace, groaning as I fuck her harder. “Fuck.”

She pushes back against me, demanding more and I give it to her. I fuck her so hard it’s bordering on brutal. Her pussy clenches around my dick and my balls tighten, that tingling sensation forming at the bottom of my spine before I come. Her moans are muffled, barely audible. When I open my eyes and see April I feel sick. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Oh my god. That was amazing.” She sighs. I climb off the bed and go to her ensuite, dropping the condom in the bin. I turn the tap on and splash cold water on my face.

“I have to go.” I say when I walk back into the room. She frowns as I pull my jeans on and yank the t-shirt over my head.

“But you’ve only been here for half an hour.” What does the woman want from me? She came twice. I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to say just that.

“I’ll make it up to you.” She sighs but seems somewhat appeased.

“You know it really upset me seeing you with that Whitely girl.” She pouts and moves across the bed on her knees. Reaching out, she drags her nail over the centre of my chest. “I don’t like sharing you.”

I grip her wrist and her eyes lift to meet mine. “I’m not your boyfriend, April. Not sharing isn’t an option.”

She falls back on her haunches, a look of hurt crossing her features. “You know I could pay you enough that you’d never have to go to another woman ever again.”

I drag both hands through my hair and tilt my head back, focusing in the ceiling. “We’ve spoken about this before…”

“I don’t understand.” Her voice hitches up a notch and I focus my gaze back on her. She purses her collagen-filled lips and crosses her arms over her fake tits. “I would give you everything, and yet you choose to keep whoring yourself out.”

I take a measured step closer and bring my face close to hers. She tilts her head back so as to look up at me. “Careful, April. You’re not indispensable. You’re a client. And clients can be replaced.”

Tears well in her eyes before they flash with anger. She opens her mouth to say something and then closes it again. I turn away from her and leave without another word. I don’t need this shit.

I get in my car and sit there for a few minutes staring at my phone. Poppy’s number is pulled up on the screen and my finger is hovering over the call button. This is getting out of hand. She’s all I can fucking think about. It’s borderline obsessive. I press the call button and then toss the phone on the passenger seat. Resting my forehead on the steering wheel I listen the ring tone blare through the speakers. After a few rings she picks up.

“Oh, shit. Hello?” She says breathlessly. I smile straight away.

“Hey.”

“Hey. How are you?”

“Good. I’m…I’m good.” Shit, I don’t even know what I am anymore.

“Okay.” I can hear the amusement in her voice. 

God, even just the sound of her voice…How is it possible to feel like you need someone you barely even know? I’m annoyed by the prospect but I just came in a client while imagining it was her. Shit doesn’t get much more fucked up than that.

“What are you up to?” She asks.

“Uh, I just finished work.” I inwardly cringe and again, what the fuck?

“Well, I’m just in the studio, but I said I’d go and watch my friend at this open mic night tonight. Want to come?”
Say no. Say no!

“When and where?”
Fuck.

“Note in Soho. It starts at eight but turn up whenever.”

“Okay.” I hesitate. “I’ll text you.” And then I press the hang up button on the steering wheel before the sound of her fucking voice can lure me any further off the path. Sex is one thing. Sex can be passed off as physical, a release…not sure that works when you fuck people for a living but still. This though…what the fuck am I doing? I ask myself these questions, tell myself to stop but I can’t and I don’t.

I try not to keep looking at the door, I really do. Michelina sits next to me, sipping on her gin and tonic as we watch the first act. I’m not drinking, not after the last two times I’ve seen him. He’ll think I’m a raging alcoholic. I double check my phone again, convinced he’ll cancel. The last text he sent to me is still there