Fragile Crystal: Rubies and Rivalries (The Crystal Fragments Trilogy)

by M. J. Lawless

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  He was waiting for her when she entered the hotel room—as indeed he should be. Without her he was nothing, as she never tired of reminding him and as he willingly repeated at ever opportunity. Perhaps a little too eagerly, if the truth be told, but he was hers for the afternoon at least.

  She stripped out of her long, fox cur coat. January was drawing to a close and the weather outside was wet and cold, but at least it was warm in here. As she let the coat fall to the floor, he rushed forward and picked it up eagerly before returning to his position in the corner as she had so often instructed him. “Good boy,” she murmured in French, then frowned slightly. She enjoyed seeing him dress up, but she was not so sure about the leather chaps. They looked, well, they looked rather gay to be honest. She had nothing against homosexuals, quite the opposite, but to be fucked by a man—a boy really—who looked so overtly queer himself did not necessarily strike the right tone.

  Nonetheless, with his oiled pecs and his washboard abdomen, the rest of him looked the part. His biceps bulged as he leaned forward on his knees, and his tight buttocks were pushed upwards in a pleasing manner. She always found herself a little more critical than she intended in such situations, and sometimes she wondered why. It was so rare for her to lose herself, to recapture that sense of falling into the abyss that had held her in rapture all those years before. She shook her head. This kind of thinking was not welcome now—this was neither the time nor the place.

  She realised that there was some kind of banging sounds, muffled but persistent coming from next door. “How long has that been going on?” she asked him.

  “For the past hour, and they were at it when I arrived, mistress,” he replied, unable to suppress a grin. He did manage to hide it again when he saw the sour look on her face, but she supposed she ought to be glad it was having an effect on him, and the length hanging forward beneath his thighs indicated that it was having an effect. She just hoped it would not ruin her own enjoyment. The thumps were occasionally punctuated by what sounded like a woman’s howls, and for a moment a shiver ran down her spine.

  “Are you feeling alright, mistress?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, a little more sharply than she had intended, but it didn’t matter—indeed, it added to their game. “Shouldn’t I be?”

  “I’m sorry mistress, I thought—

  “I would avoid thinking too much, if I were you. It’s not why I keep you. Your body is among the finest, but let’s leave your mind out of this.”

  Taking off her sunglasses she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Beneath the fur coat she had been wearing only a basque and lace knickers, with stockings that framed her thigh above the long, black leather boots. Still, she had only been outside for a few moments, and she sniggered as she thought how her driver had tried to sneak a look beneath the coat. He desired her, of course, they all did. It was how she kept control of them.

  Her skin was paler than normal, the winter having bleached out her colour even more. Not that she minded: she admired herself, her death-in-life limbs and her delicate face, the only colour from the cruel arch of her lips and her green eyes. Before returning her gaze to the boy in the corner, she looked around the room. She did not need to ask how long she had been returning to this room. More than nine years now. It made her feel closer to him, and the ritual was something that satisfied her. He had enjoyed those rituals then.

  There was a crash from next door and the sound of laughter, distant but still obtrusive. Doubtless some provincial banker in the city for the weekend, fucking his mistress while his mousey wife visited her family with the children. The thought made her smirk, but she hoped that they would not make too much of a distraction.

  He had heard it too, and that stupid, lopsided grin had returned to his face. She had thought it cute when she first chose him, but now it was as liable to irritate her as anything. He was handsome, very handsome. When first she had begun to select such men, she had chosen men with scars, but inevitably they lacked the other necessary requirements, either in terms of character or physique.

  And he most certainly had the body she wanted. He was tall, taller even than her when she wore these boots, and his shoulders were broad, his arms strong and powerful. His face was dark and though his eyes were more brown than hazel they were near enough. She had wondered from time to time whether she should make him wear prosthetic lenses, and then when she looked into those eyes she could pretend and lose herself.

  She went a little cold at the thought. Daniel had not been in touch for a month. She had expected at least some form of violent rebuttal, a series of calls and messages telling her how foul she had been. But nothing. That was surprising. At least she had come between him and that whore, though at the thought of the Avelar woman she did become a little moist between the legs. One final time with her would have been worth something.

  “Did you bring the things I wanted?”

  “Yes, mistress. They’re in the bathroom.”

  “Good.” She gave him a final look. If he stopped that stupid grinning and kept a sombre expression on his face, he would be much more suitable, with that flop of dark hair across his eyes. Never mind. She would be sure to wipe the smile from his face. His father was someone big in the government, she thought to herself with a wicked smirk. If only you could see what your son gets up to.

  Going into the bathroom, she saw a range of toys and implements lined up next to the bath. She wasn’t sure how many she would require today, but at least there would be nothing missing if she required it. She picked up a crop and one of the larger dildos. Those would do to begin with.

  “Did I do well, mistress?” he asked, his smile more nervous this time.

  She nodded, but without speaking gestured to the bed with her crop. He did not have to be told twice, and immediately went and bent over the bed, his supple arms and shoulders stretched out, his spine curving slightly. His buttocks betrayed former scars from their sessions together—that tight, luscious rump—and she knew that if she were to insert a finger into his rectum it would be soft and pliable to her touch. That would come later.

  She stood to one side of him, her boots creaking slightly as she walked, her own sex opening up a little. There was another thump from next door which made her lose her concentration, and the woman had started howling again, her words inarticulate because of the walls between them. Shaking her head to dismiss the noise, she lifted the crop and brought it down hard on the firm flesh, making him jump.

  She struck him several more times, stopping from time to time to reach under him and feel how hard his erection was. He was enjoying it, but the cries and banging from the room next door was beginning to irritate her.

  “For the love of God,” she muttered to herself. “Wait here. I don’t fucking believe this.”

  Pulling on her fur coat, she unlocked the door and went out into the corridor. The sounds were clearly coming from the next room and must have been getting louder as she had not particularly noticed them when she arrived. The woman was literally screaming, alternating howls of pleasure with laughter, her voice not so muffled though she could only just make out a man’s voice.

  For some reason, her hackles rose and she started to experience a sense of dread. It was only a few footsteps towards the door, but each one seemed to take her an age. She reached out one hand towards the door, the ruby on her finger glinting in the light, and simply stood there for a few moments, wondering whether to turn back.

  “What is it?”

  Her companion’s voice so close to her made her jump. She had been so intent on the noises behind the door that she had not even heard him creep up on her. He looked utterly ridiculous in his leather chaps, his erection swinging freely, but he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he was looking towards the door with open curiosity.

  “Get back inside,” she hissed. “Someone might see you.”

  But this time he ignored her, a fact that infuriated her. Instead, he reache
d his arm over her shoulder and pushed against the door. To her surprise, it opened easily and she heard the moans from inside all too clearly now.

  He held her head backwards, pulling her hair firmly so that her neck arched, the sinews clear and stretched. Her mouth was open, her lips red from where he had bitten her so many times, not brutally but enough to bruise the tender flesh to crimson. Her eyes were closed, and at times she would grimace as he thrust deeper inside her, hitting her hard against the neck of her womb so that it felt as though she would scream.

  “Fuck me,” she gasped, squirming in his grip as he lay on top of her on the floor. “Fuck me. Harder, yes, harder.”

  As she writhed beneath him on the bed, sweat flinging from her short hair as she moved her head from side to side, her breasts, wet and lathered in her own perspiration, she pushed them into his face and he bit down on the flesh hard, a little too hard. Her moans were loud and her hands lashed around his back, digging into his shoulders, tearing into him. He grunted, and thrust another inch into her, more than she had taken so far that morning.

  At this, her eyes went wide and she glared down at him angrily for a moment with a sharp, blue look until her mouth opened into a wide, incredulous grin and she began to laugh. “You bastard!” she said, hitting him with her fist, striking him hard between the shoulder blades. “You bloody, fucking bastard!”

  It was his turn to grin and then he returned his mouth to her breast, taking her nipple between his teeth more gently this time, flicking his tongue along it as he moved with a steadier motion inside her, drawing himself out almost to the tip before he penetrated her again slowly, fully in control of himself.

  Her whimpering was sweeter this time, and she stroked her fingers along his shoulders, sliding along the layer of perspiration that coated his back. She raised her legs, her smooth thighs lifting up alongside his hips, pressing them together so that his warm skin burnt against her own slightly as her tender flesh caught and rucked up against him. She slid her calves along his thighs, her heels resting in the hollows of his knees as he lifted up his buttocks and pumped into her more firmly now. Those buttocks, almost as hard as iron. She loved to dig her nails into them and, as he lifted his head, she took his earlobe between her own teeth and sucked hard, biting him provocatively.

  Her own orgasm was building up yet again as he began to move with firmer thrusts. He had to maintain more control over himself to prevent his own ejaculation, but the twice that he had cum already that morning she had quickly taken him into her mouth, sucking down his salty-sweet seed and making him hard again.

  And so he was fucking her again to whatever number climax it was. Her whole body felt burning with lust, and between her legs was so sensitive, her breasts covered with love bites and marks, that she was sure that she was going to ache more than ever before the next day. She had not allowed him to go easy on her: whenever it looked as though he was slowing or being too tender, she had punched him again—once straight between his legs (which, she had to admit immediately, was something of a mistake)—goading him to return to his labour. This reckoning was as much about him as it was for her benefit.

  They both wanted more, however, and he shifted position, pulling one of her legs into an almost impossible position, her ankle up by his head while her other leg stretched outwards, opening her even further. This made her gasp this time, and his entry made her body shake and tremble uncontrollably.

  When the young man came through into the room where the two of them were taking each other on the bed—Daniel’s buttocks rising and falling, Kris clawing his back as she dragged her nails into back, screaming to the very heavens themselves—he laughed out loud and watched them in frank astonishment, his own erection becoming even stiffer as he saw how Kris’s sex was stretched by her lover.

  Maria, in a long, ruddy brown fur coat and plainly disgusted by what she saw, made to walk away—looking at the young man in horror when he took hold of her arm.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked him icily. At the same moment, Kris threw back her head, giving herself up to the most glorious orgasm that ripped through her loins and made her scream even more loudly.

  Daniel had not ejaculated this time, but remained inside her long enough for her own climax to begin to subside. As such, when he pulled out of her his cock was long and heavy, and it was with amusement she noticed the young man’s expression. Whatever Maria was thinking, her face was a mask.

  Daniel’s erection was slick and sticky with her juices, and Kris lazily reached across with her hand, stroking it and enjoying its mess. Her own loins were wet, her breasts shining with her own sweat and her face red and, she guessed, somewhat ridiculous to look at. It didn’t matter. She made an effort to sit up but fell backwards, her chin rucking up double, her legs falling apart gracelessly.

  His own legs trembling slightly as he stood up, only to flop backwards onto the bed. Daniel’s eyes were fixed on Maria, a slight smile on his lips. For her part, Maria was clearly staring enviously at his erection as it only slowly began to subside, her heart as green as her eyes, and when she turned to her young companion she noticed that he was gawping at the pair on the bed, his own cock hard and clearly eager to join in.

  “Go back next door,” she told him sternly in French. “You look ridiculous. I’ll come and fetch you when I’ve finished here.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “This looks like too good an opportunity to miss. That bitch is clearly up for it...”

  “Go back!” Maria’s eyes flashed in temper so that, with a peevish expression, he turned and left the room, his buttocks tensing as he walked in the leather chaps.

  “Quite a catch,” Daniel said, lifting his face towards Kris as she leaned across and kissed him. The perspiration on her breasts was beginning to dry and she grimaced at her own sweatiness.

  “I need to go and bathe,” she told him. When she shot a glance towards Maria, the other woman clearly saw the look of triumph in her eyes and clenched her jaw. “You two need to talk.”

  Maria felt her chest constricting as she saw the younger woman stagger from the bed and walk towards the bathroom. She was so... inelegant, so gauche, and yet the easy swagger of her hips as she walked, her buttocks red from where they had been mauled and slapped, spoke volumes of her superior power.

  “Why are you here?” she asked once the bathroom door had closed.

  “I would sack Maurice, if I were you. Five hundred Euros and he was willing even to book us a room next to yours. I would expect my own PA to hold out at least for ten thousand.”

  “You expect greater loyalty from your staff?” she sneered, fighting back the tears in her eyes.

  “No. I expect better negotiating skills. You shouldn’t fire him for selling you out, just how low the price was.” Daniel stood and walked towards the chair, reaching for the robe that hung from the back. As he came closer to her, Maria felt the heat from his body and she flinched—more in fear at her own desire for him than anything else.

  He paused as he pulled the robe across his shoulders, leaving the front open so that she could see the lines of his body, not as clearly defined as the boy’s next door, but with a bulk to them that indicated greater surety of himself. “I should have guessed it would be here,” he told her, “although it surprised me when I found out. Have you been coming here ever since...?” He left the question unfinished.

  She nodded. “Once a week, when I can. It reminds me...” It was her turn to stop, and she shrugged.

  He looked at her thoughtfully. “He seems a good enough man.”

  “Man?” she said scornfully, and now the tears were hot and bitter in her eyes. “We both know what he is, and what he can’t be. You shouldn’t have brought that whore here—”

  He slapped her, once, a sharp blow across the face that stung and immediately stopped her tears and self-pity. She looked at him glowering for a moment, wondering whether to claw at his scarred face, still red from his exertions. Instead she turned on
her heel and began to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist.

  For a second she struggled against him as he took both of her arms and forced her backwards into the chair, pushing her downwards. She kicked out, connecting her boot with his shin and making him grunt, but he was too strong for her and easily made her sit. She was ashamed as she fell backwards, her coat opening, that between her thighs was hot and sticky, her mind full of memories of when he had been forceful before. Her shame was even greater, however, when she looked down to where his cock, thick but soft, swung between his legs.

  He placed himself on the edge of the bed, those strange eyes of his not leaving her face. From the bathroom they could hear the sound of water flowing.

  “Why did you come here?” she asked.

  “It was Kris’s idea, actually,” he said. “When I told her about our rendezvous here—”

  “So she knows all our secrets?” Maria spat out the words.

  “The ones I can be bothered to remember, yes.”

  That stung more than the blow to her face. “And does she know everything about you?”

  “She will, as much as we both want to know about each other.”

  “I thought when you were in love you shared everything. That’s the cliché, isn’t it?”

  Daniel’s face darkened at this, but instead of reacting he folded the robe across the front of his torso. “We both have a past. That’s not important any more.”

  “Oh, but you have so many secrets, don’t you, Daniel Stone? Does she know what you get up to in New York? Does she really know why you don’t touch alcohol anymore, how many people were drunk that night...?”

  Daniel’s eyes were flashing with anger now, and Maria paused fearfully for a moment. Yes, she thought. Hit me. Please. But instead he looked at her glowering for a few seconds until the emotion drained from his eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have slapped you,” he said. “That was wrong of me. You always knew how to provoke me, though.” He laughed ruefully. “You were one of the very few who could make me lose control.”