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  I can probably bring myself to do that—to masturbate in front of him—but it would certainly be for Dan’s pleasure rather than mine. Because I can’t imagine masturbation is any kind of pretty when alone and aiming for release. Unlike dirty movies, it was grunting, writhing, and frantic finger work.

  But his evening would be different. It has to be. And I’m certain I can manage something a little prettier that the regular two-finger twist, but a porn star performance? And that’s where the wine comes in. I think I can do this and do it well if I’ve had enough to drink.

  Damn me and my big talking mouth.

  ‘I like that you wore a dress.’ Leaning back in his chair, Dan’s gaze seems calculating, though not deceitful. It’s more as though he looks at me as if I’m something to solve.

  I raise the glass to my mouth as I speak. ‘Actually, this is a skirt.’ I sip rather than explain the intricacies of the peplum and matching top.

  He shrugs, not appearing to care; a kind of whatever motion, catching me off guard as he asks, ‘Are you wearing stockings or tights?’

  His voice is low and tempting, and I lean into him, placing my palm on his thigh under the table. ‘You could always find out for yourself.’

  Moving closer, he presses soft lips against my cheek. His mouth hovers over my skin for a minute, his breath on my face as he whispers, ‘I think we’re back to the point where you’ve been watching too many dirty films. This isn’t the kind of establishment with dark corners and play rooms.’

  Rather than a reprimand, his words create other things, my mind slipping to the places he’s alluded to. What were the kinds of spaces a man could slide his hand under a skirt without causing issue? How many of these did he frequent? Would he take me, too, if I asked?

  We leave shortly afterwards, hailing a cab. Climbing into the back, I tremble with desire as I slide my hand to the inside of his thigh, my mouth seeking his. I’ll admit I’m a little put out as he grasps my fingers, refusing them passage to travel over him. He kisses my forehead, smiling when I whisper getting to second base in the back of a taxi seems like it could be fun. He doesn’t respond, but instead begins outlining, explicitly but quietly, what he’ll do to me when we get back to his house.

  ~*~

  Dan’s hands reach for his belt before he’s even closed the front door. Half unfastened, he kisses me savagely, walking me backwards along the hall. At the base of the stairs, he slides his hand around my waist in his quest for the zipper of my skirt. I giggle, and he curses, so I hold my hands aloft, the only concession I offer him. His eyes shine with triumph as he finds it, pulling on it quickly in his haste. He yanks it down my thighs, wrapping his hands around me to lift me as he slides my legs around his waist. I might squeal a little as he buries his face between my breasts. It might turn into a moan as he bites.

  As Dan climbs the stairs, our kisses are hot, wet, and unravelling. I’m so caught up in the moment, I don’t realise we’ve reached the bedroom until the door hits my back and it swings open. We stumble towards the bed, our need to be as close to the other overcoming all civility. Grasping and desperate, Dan growls, his fingers tight on my ass as he rubs me against his shaft as I arch my back to deepen the sensation.

  ‘I might not be able to make you behave, but I will make you beg,’ he rasps, almost throwing me to the mattress and slipping the jacket from his arms.

  Anticipation balls in my gut, need fanning out and making my limbs weak. I want what he’s offering—know he’s more than capable of making me beg. He takes my foot in his palm, removing one shoe and then the other, his body an elegant arch as he places them neatly on the floor. It’s almost like a warning or a signal that he’s controlling this thing and in complete contrast to how he’d removed my skirt.

  Hands at my side, he loosens the side zip of my top and we both work to peel me out of the tight-fitting garment. I’m left wearing nothing but my underwear; a black lacy bra and matching thong and lacy-topped hold-up stockings.

  As he begins working his cufflinks loose along with the buttons of his shirt, I prop myself on my elbows and watch. Expectant. Excited. Definitely on the edge. His belt and buttons are already undone, his pants now riding low. I can’t seem to stop my gaze from flicking to that perfect bulge as Dan’s dark eyes watch me watching him. The cotton rustles as he pulls it from his arms, his abdominals flexing as he releases the tip of his cock from his loosened fly.

  I lick my lips without thinking, and Dan smiles, the moment free of pretence.

  ‘You want this.’ It isn’t a question, but I answer anyway with a nod. ‘You remember your big talk?’ I crease my brow a fraction, not liking where this is going. ‘You can’t have my cock until you’ve made yourself come.’

  That one sentence, one suggestion, causes my insides to pulse. Who said stuff like that outside of porn? Almost of their own volition, my hands begin trailing over my warm skin. Between the valley of my breasts, I pull my nipples into peaks over the lace. My sigh is natural, and not for him, as my fingers travel down over my hips and my whole body begins to writhe. Turned on by his dark expression and by the way he looks at me as I touch myself, I’m so desperate for relief as I hook my thumbs into the elastic of my panties.

  ‘Keep them on,’ his voice rumbles. ‘To the side, slide your fingers in.’

  It isn’t the instruction or the tone that lights my nerve endings; it’s his direction. His dominion over me. I do as he says, running one finger against my warmth and dampness, whimpering as I dip it inside, rolling the slick digit across my clit. My eyes fall closed as I stroke once more, my limbs moving suddenly as though poked by hot pins. I find I don’t have to pretend as I caresses and touch—I can hear myself moaning and bite my lip to try to stem the flow of half-spoken words and moans. My legs begin to twitch, my hips lifting as the sensations build. Then as Dan moves over me, I remember why I’m doing this. His lashes lowered, his dark head rests against mine as though to feel my climax build. And he whispers encouragements, the sexiest of things.

  He tells me how glorious I look.

  How sweet smelling this all is.

  How he’ll lick my fingers.

  And when I’m done, he does.

  On his knees between my parted legs, he pushes them wider, inhaling deeply as he adjusts my panties. Sliding a finger down my fabric-covered crease, I know he sees that the fabric is damp, but I can’t care. I’m just coming down—an aftershock twitching mess. He stands, pulls a condom from his back pocket, and slips it over his length once he’s stripped out of his clothes. I don’t know how the sight could be so erotic, but it is.

  Returning his knees to the bed, Dan places the tip of his cock at my opening, sliding his hands under my ass to raise my hips. And, sliding the lace of my panties to the side, he teases me with the tip.

  ‘Please.’ If the word sounds desperate, it’s because that’s what I feel, the end of one climax tied so tightly to the next. I want it. I need it.

  Without a word spoken, Dan lifts my ass higher, and with one smooth push, he slides inside. I shudder with delight and frustration, my body clenching in its instinctive embrace, but he doesn’t move again. Through my wordless appreciation, his fingers dig into my hip, urging me to repeat.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he then asks, moving his hands to my wrists. I nod as he pulls them above my head, clasping them in one hand. He pulls out almost fully then, his fingers tightening, his mouth filling the pause with dirty promises before thrusting back in.

  I cry out, my fingernails stinging my palms, my insides gripping his cock.

  I beg. I plead. I promise to be good, if he’d only move.

  Dan smiles, not exactly sadistically, but maybe with triumph, before kissing me long and sweet. Driving into me so hard and fast as he anchors himself by my wrists. Over and over again, he pounds like he’d crawl inside if he could. Such abuse. Such pleasure. I wrap my legs around him, my fingers grasping the air. I detonate, coming hard while wondering if my wrists can stand the pressure as
he throws back his head, undulating above me. He makes a sound of plaintive pleasure—half agony, half release—so strong it echoes through my bones. Through my very existence, I feel him everywhere as his body cries my name.

  Chapter Thirteen

  DAN

  In the blue-dark of the morning, I wake naked and without an inch of bedclothes. Turning to the warmth radiating from the other side of the bed, I can’t help but smile. Pale light from the streetlamp outside highlights the chaos of tawny golden strands across the pillows next to me, its shadows half-concealing how Louise appears to be rolled in every item of bedding I own. That my balls seem to have retracted inward and my nose feels numb are of no consequence because I’m quite content just to watch her.

  The more time I spend with Louise, the more I need. So I don’t move; I just lie watching her, my ridiculous smile deepening. Until it falls. None of this—my thoughts, our fucking—is reality. Yet also not quite in the realms of fantasy. My fantasies lean toward the hard; places Louise has no business in. She’s real enough and interested enough to dip her toe in this, but did I want to be the one to take her? To corrupt her for my pleasure. Would it turn her into Belle? Impossible, my mind whispers, for Belle’s is responsible for dragging you to hell.

  By what method did a night with a no-name girl snowball into this? A craving to be near. A longing to be cradled within. So much for self-preservation. For not getting involved again. Those plans had been obliterated from the minute she’d stepped through my front door. The place I’d kept detached from the rest of my existence.

  Maybe Belle was right this time. Maybe I do invite trouble.

  The thought of my ex has me groaning and dragging both hands through my hair. Has me swearing under my breath. Belle calls me her monster and, to an extent, she’s right, because she made me this way.

  How Belle hadn’t frightened off Louise was, quite frankly, amazing. Amazing yet strange. Louise seems to keep her thoughts contained. She’d even met Hal, the one thing good from my marriage. But despite the questions, and how well things seem, all I can think about is but how does she feel about me? Like a schoolboy in the first crush, I’ve spent hours analysing and dissecting everything Louise had said. Scrutinizing and verifying every nuanced breath. We didn’t discuss work. She didn’t ask me what I did while we’re apart. She made no effort to get to know me—not beyond the bedroom. Why wasn’t she interested in the information other women sought?

  I know I’m attractive, though perhaps a little vain. Interesting. Commanding. Erudite, even; knowledge gained in the pursuit of pleasure. Gestalt, Jeung, a little Freud. Worldly. Charming, when I’d half a mind. Also a father. An ex-husband. And now a liar.

  My head falls forward, my eyes shuttering closed, as I remembered how, in the heat of the moment that first night, I might have suggested I was an academic of sorts. Why hadn’t I told her I owned a club? Either of them. The one we’d been in or the one I seemed to be hiding her from. Or was it the other way around?

  Would she forgive me for a suggestion that had grown into a lie? Would we ever even get to that point?

  And why wasn’t she asking questions?

  Perhaps, it was that she didn’t intend to hang around.

  Something in my chest tightens. I sit abruptly, swinging my legs out of the bed, my back to Louise. It feels wrong lying next to her. Like I’m some sort of a viper in the nest. I need to get up—man up—tell her! But as she stirs, and I turn to look at her in all her languid-eyed loveliness, I know it won’t happen right now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  LOUISE

  On the edge of the bed wearing little else but one of Dan’s shirts and a wide smile, I watch as he pulls himself to sit. Gloriously naked, the morning light makes the hardness of his body seem more marble than real. Leaning closer, he pulls a couple of damp strands of hair from my face.

  ‘Go on,’ he coaxes, fully aware of how uncomfortable his suggestion makes me. ‘Spill the beans.’

  ‘I-I left them at home. I told you.’ I look away and try to quell my nerves by busying myself by towel drying my hair.

  ‘Nervous looks good on you.’ His voice is low and sexy, but he’s not distracting me this way. ‘I love looking at you when you’re embarrassed, too.’

  My head whips around to him and his admission, which makes me feel a little uncomfortable. At least, the squirming kind. I resist the urge to tell him he’s a pervert because that would make me one, too.

  ‘Come on. Tell me,’ he whispers.

  I shake my head as though to shake off his questions, or maybe the thoughts. ‘They . . . they . . . weren’t much fun, honestly.’

  ‘So you tried them at least?’ He sounds a little titillated. Comically so, for effect.

  ‘Well, yeah.’ I shift slightly, the bed creaking beneath me. ‘You don’t give a gift and then demand a report.’

  ‘Oh, Louise.’ He shakes his head, though his smile sneaks through. ‘You didn’t really expect me not to ask what kind of effect they had on you, did you?’

  ‘Pervert.’ Damn.

  ‘Stop trying to distract me with compliments. The verdict, love. I bought you a gift. Placed the shiny silver box in your hand. Give me my reward now.’

  His words hang in the air like a heated fog. I remember opening the box; the flare of recognition at what was inside. The longing I’d experienced wishing I’d them here, at Dan’s place, rather than alone in my bedroom.

  I’d unpacked them, dropping each steel ball into my palm where they’d lain heavy and cold. What would he have done? Probably had me naked and spread-eagled, or maybe bent over a kitchen stool while he’d pushed them inside with his finger? With his cock?

  Coming back to their purpose, a little wet and little flustered, I’d run them under the warm faucet. For sanitation and comfort, I’d told myself. Then, in my bedroom, I’d leaned one forearm against the dresser, watching my expression carefully as I’d inserted them, feeling extremely perverted for a Tuesday afternoon. Not that I usually have any problem touching myself, but this instance had taken on another dimension. I’d never watched myself . . . play with myself. And Dan hadn’t even been there coaxing or cajoling. Daring me on.

  ‘I’m still waiting.’

  His words are quiet, his hand on my bare thigh. I blink heavily; where to start? How to separate the action from the recollection? And where to begin.

  Would embarrassment always ball words in my throat?

  I recall feeling full . . . not unpleasant in itself but hardly earth-shattering. Despite rinsing them in warm water, the balls had felt cold and moved a little inside me as I’d stood. The feeling was mildly disconcerting, but ultimately, they’d made me feel needy. Horny, as Flo would say. But was it the balls themselves, or the thought of being directed by Dan from a distance. Maybe I should’ve suggested some kind of communication. Skype, maybe?

  I think I might be going insane.

  Dan is on me in that instant, over me, his body pressed hard against mine. His kisses hot and wet as he pushes me up against the pillows, his hands roaming everywhere as he feeds his hips between my legs. Rearing onto his knees, he smiles down at me and all I can think is, Oh, shit.

  ‘Are you being a deliberate tease, or are you genuinely embarrassed?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Absolutely. I’ll punish you for the first.’

  ‘And the second?’

  ‘Delight in it, as I’ve said. Which is it, love?’

  God, his voice. Threats and honeyed promises. My eyes lower to where his shirt lies open, my pussy exposed, then to where his cock hovers, vulgar yet beautiful.

  I look up, inhaling shortly for effect. ‘Boring.’ I add a light shrug, then roll my eyes a little. ‘Thanks for thinking of me, but I’m sorry to say, Ben Wa balls are as much fun as a training bra.’

  I don’t have time for further teasing or insults as he leans over me, slipping his hand into the nightstand. To my shock, and possibly my delight, he pulls a length of rop
e from the drawer. My breath halts and stutters as he trails it over my shoulder, then down where his shirt gapes, tickling between my breasts.

  ‘Boring? We’ll have to improve on that.’ He trails the length down one leg and up the other. ‘There isn’t a girl around who isn’t silenced by twine.’ As he pulls it tight against the flesh of my thigh, it marks in an instant. The scratchy, criss-crossing dents are apparent only for a second before fading.

  ‘You don’t play fair,’ I croak, watching him winding it around his fist. Rope. Who’d have expected this would be my reaction. Excitement. A little fear. Did I mention excitement? My nipples stand to attention, gooseflesh stippling my skin.

  ‘You aren’t here for fair, sweetheart.’ He sounds amused and full of self-satisfaction. It makes me squirm, like I’ve been called out or something. ‘You’re here because you want to pretend this isn’t really who you are. You’re here because you want to be excited and reprimanded in turns. You don’t want me to hold you in my arms and make sweet, tender love. You can get that from any Tom or Dick on the street. You’re not the same as other girls, love. You’re the rare kind. You just need time to find out for yourself.’

  The light in his eyes is so mesmerising, I couldn’t have formed a denial even if I’d wanted to.

  ‘Because you’re exquisite. Any man would be glad to have you in his bed, only most wouldn’t know what to do with you once you were there. You’re quite unique. It’s like the children’s game; opposite’s day. Are you familiar?’ I nod again, his tone hypnotic and as sexy as anything I’ve ever known. ‘I’m coming to find that for you, every fuck should be like opposite day. Because to you, cruelty is more like a kindness. It’s better to be tied and tortured, don’t you think?’