Except maybe Dick.
She pushed Dick out of her mind in order to let Hunter fill it. In his sad little furnished efficiency, she’d let him restrain her and do… things… she’d never let anyone else try. Bondage. Sexual hurts and humiliations. Not being allowed to climax for hours on end, while he’d taken his own pleasure and shown her no mercy.
In the bedroom, she’d given over control to him, and she had loved it all: every welt, every delayed orgasm, every anal sex session, her pelvis propped up with pillows while spread-eagled on his bed, wrists and ankles bound and straining.
Her experiment of ceding control, the relief of just being, of experiencing superb pain and pleasure, had carried them both through most of the second semester. Then, she’d had an emotional implosion in early May, throwing a trash can through the front window of a Harvard Square
sandwich shop. Father had made her arrest, for disturbing the peace and vandalism, go away, after which he’d shipped her to a tony private hospital for the summer.
You can fall apart all you want until September, he’d said. Then it’s back to school. Remember our agreement.
She stood abruptly, splashing another couple of fingers of Scotch in her glass. Hunter was old news; Dick was new. She liked new. Recalling the marvelous fuck with him, a stranger, in public yet unseen, with glorious Beethoven filling her head–well, she had to have more.
Retiring to bed with a dildo, her fingers toyed with her clit until the satisfying tingles resulted in a mellow orgasm.
Chapter 2
A week later, again in her private box, she scanned the crowd below while thinking about the sex toys and accessories hidden in her large, boxy purse. She’d decided that she wanted to be butt-fucked in her private box. And Dick was just the man to do it. Never mind the why of what she wanted. It was only another experiment, like the one with Hunter.
And this time, I won’t implode. I can walk away from the sex any time I want.
But Dick didn’t show. She ended up masturbating while sitting on a giant dildo. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t what she wanted. She needed a partner to indulge her needs.
Two weeks later at the Symphony, Dick sought her out at intermission. She pretended not to notice him, but he backed her into a corner, his hands pressing the wall on either side of her head as he leaned over her.
“Feels like such a long time since we’ve seen each other. As I recall, you enjoy a bit of rough.” He dropped one hand to her breast, where her nipple stood at attention, and tweaked it hard.
Already wet, she hungered for him to join her in her box—or did she? Now that he was here, pinching a nipple and pushing his erection into her mound, her sheer need for him scared her.
Remember how the “experiment” with Hunter turned out.
She couldn’t go through that again. She was older, wiser, and more wary these days.
Striding away as fast as she could in stilettos, she knew the hound would follow the fox, and that fact made her pussy shudder, even as she attempted to escape. He caught her by the arm just before she entered the stairway to her private box.
“You know you want it,” he said. “I can smell you.”
She kept her tone chilly. “Sorry. One time only. You agreed, remember? Now, let me go.”
He pressed his erection into the cleft in her buttocks. “Stop the bullshit and go on up to the box,” he muttered.
She resisted. He shoved her forward, and she stumbled up the stairs, her heart in her throat, her breasts feeling warm and pleasantly heavy.
He sat, pointing wordlessly at the floor. Her ambivalence—and her anticipation—were choking her. She knelt before him as he unzipped his trousers and removed his erect cock.
She sucked him until he came, which didn’t take long. Afterwards, he held her head in place, indicating she should continue sucking. It felt like forever until he stiffened the second time. Her jaw muscles hurt.
Then, he moved them both to the back of the box, where the brocaded wall and curtain hung. Until now, he hadn’t touched her in any of the places she wanted to be touched. When he bent her forward, she braced herself, palms against the wall. He raised her dress, pulled down her panties, and pressed his still-wet penis against her anus.
Her jaw still aching from the extended fellatio, her ass began hurting in the familiar way she craved. He worked at slipping the head of his cock inside her, opening the back door that had been closed since Hunter. She couldn’t help keening a little over her discomfort, but after she did, he murmured in her ear, “Hang on tight, and don’t make a sound.”
With that, he gripped her hips and jerked her to him, so that his last few inches penetrated her with force. She bit her tongue against the pain, but it receded soon enough. Dick held her perfectly still while he fucked her ass in earnest, until she knew that the slightest touch on her pussy would set off an avalanche of orgasmic bliss. She remained in place, bent over, her ass taking its delicious reaming, and bit her tongue again, this time to keep from pleading with him to touch her clit.
He pounded her until, with one final thrust, he came. He made no noise, but she could tell by his frenzied movements that he’d reached satisfaction nicely.
And she hadn’t. She removed one hand from the wall to touch herself, but he grabbed her wrist, pulling it behind her back. She removed the other hand to touch herself, only to put it back on the wall to keep her balance.
She twisted her head around, mouthing only one word: “Please.”
He smiled and withdrew from her body, leaving a terrible emptiness.
And she still hadn’t come.
She waited, bent over. She couldn’t believe he’d leave without giving her some pleasure. Even Hunter had, if she’d waited long enough.
He found the wipes in her toy bag, using two before placing his dick back in his pants. Positioning her so that she stood, her back against the wall, he grasped one of her hands. He placed it on her mound, mouthing, “I want to watch you.”
Hunkering down, he knelt, his face scant inches from her pussy. At first, she thought he would lick her—and what a relief that would have been—but he didn’t. He gently pulled her nether lips apart, caught her glance, and nodded in the direction of her pussy.
She slid two fingers inside, sensing something like an electric shock when she touched her G-spot, hot and swollen like the rest of her pussy. Once her index and middle fingers were wet, she withdrew them, sliding them slowly toward her clit, with him still holding her labia apart. His gaze riveted on her sex as it responded to her fingers’ approach.
She longed to close her eyes and lose herself in the sensations, but watching him watch her while she masturbated in her private box rocketed her lust. She strummed her exposed clit as he brought his face closer to her pussy. He stuck out his tongue, and she removed her fingers.
He shook his head. No, there would be no licking for her. She wet her fingers inside herself again, and stroked her puffy, sensitive clit. He wiggled his tongue as if he were actually licking her, when he was actually an inch away. Seeing him do so increased her arousal. She swore she could feel his tongue moving between her inner lips, laving her trembling clit. When she finally came, it took all her concentration to keep her eyes open and watch him watch her, her pussy pulsing and clenching. The intimacy of it, and his obvious pleasure from it—he smiled—pleased her.
Once her orgasm faded, she removed her fingers. He kissed her pussy gently—no tongue, just tenderness—and let her go. Now that she’d climaxed, she felt the ache in the aftermath of her butt-reaming. He pulled down her dress, whispered, “So much for your rules,” and left.
God help her, but she wanted the man more madly than before. She’d been in love once, with Hunter, and it had ended badly. She now recognized the signs, the signs in her that indicated the man had engaged her emotions.
And she didn’t even know his real name.
Fuck.
* * * *
The following day, her jaw and anus jock
eyed for the position of which one hurt more while she attempted to concentrate on income projections and risk assessments. She told everyone in the office that she’d had dental work done, and no wish to talk more than was essential. Her brother had picked a fine time to run off to an island and leave her with his work as well as her own, but then again, it was fall, a very good time to leave cold, rainy Boston in favor of Curaçao.
Her assistant called to her from outside her office. “Delivery for you.”
“Just put it in my inbox,” Elizabeth said. They were wooing a new client, and she needed all the research she could wrap her wonky mind around to make the firm’s case.
“It won’t fit,” her assistant said. “Rather, they won’t fit.”
“Unless it’s a personal invitation from the President to dinner, or the building’s on fire, I don’t care.” Really, why couldn’t Tracey leave her alone?
“Ms. Lawrence, please.”
Annoyed, Elizabeth stood to close her office door, only to discover what her assistant had meant by “they.” Flowers in vases, a good dozen bouquets, surrounded the assistant’s desk. Another dozen were sitting on a sideboard. Tracey looked at her, shrugging helplessly.
Then she saw the boxes, at least six of them, clearly embossed with the initials of the most exclusive boutique on Newbury Street
. Another six smaller boxes were the robin’s egg blue shade favored by Tiffany’s.
What the hell is going on?
“Tracey,” she said, “please put the flowers wherever you can, I don’t care where, but get them off the floor. Mr. Landsman will be here momentarily. As for the boxes, I’ll stash them in my closet.” She bent over to pick up the ones from the boutique, only to hear her assistant clear her throat.
Elizabeth stood, arms full of packages, and dropped them all. “Dick” stood before her. Saying nothing for a moment, she finally choked out, “How may she help you?”
He offered his hand. “I’m Stephen Landsman. I have an eleven o’clock meeting with you, Ms. Lawrence.”
His eyes betrayed no former acquaintance. When she shook his hand, her body responded to the feel of his skin. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Landsman. Please come in.” Stepping aside, she motioned for him to precede her into her office. As he passed, his subtle scent made her pussy squeeze.
“No, interruptions, please,” she said to Tracey before closing the door. While she walked to her desk, she sensed his gaze on her. Sitting, she said, “I understand you have some money you’d like to invest?”
He lounged in the guest chair, facing her, and his doing so emphasized his height and build. He was almost a dead ringer for Hunter. Christ. Why hadn’t she realized that before?
“I’ve come into some money, yes, and I want to ensure that it will grow steadily, if not rapidly.” His eyes regarded her, an insolent smile curving his lips. “Lawrence and Company has a reputation for turning a bit of money into something much larger, while not sacrificing safety. And you, Ms. Lawrence, are extremely skilled at making something grow larger. As we are both perfectly aware.”
She walked to the minibar, keeping her back to him. “Would you like something to drink, Mr. Landsman? I have ice water as well as stronger liquids. If you’d prefer tea or coffee, I can ask Tracey to bring some.”
“Water will be fine, Ms. Lawrence.”
She poured two glasses from a sweating pewter pitcher. After handing him his crystal tumbler, she sat and sipped hers, waiting for him to say exactly what he wanted. She wasn’t buying his story about coming into some money. Lawrence and Company didn’t usually accept clients with less than eight figures to invest. If he had that much, her contacts in the money world would have made her aware of it.
He drank all the water, placing the glass on a nearby table before returning to his relaxed slouch. “I’m not bullshitting you. I have inherited several million, and I want to invest it. With you.”
“Give me a break,” she said. “We invest most of Boston’s big, private money. We’re a shark in a very small pool. If a Stephen Landsman—and I don’t for a minute believe that’s your real name—had inherited a sizeable chunk, I’d have heard about it before you arranged an appointment with me.”
He shrugged. “You don’t have to believe it. All you have to do is invest the money for me.” He tossed a letter on her desk that listed his accounts and their amounts. She noted that all of the money resided in off-shore financial institutions.
“You have something to hide?” she asked. “I don’t want to involve my family’s firm in anything illegal.”
“You’ve never had a client present you with funds not held by a U.S. bank?” His gaze said, Cut the crap. I know the score.
“Well,” she managed, her sexual need inside her screaming, “I guess it’s not unprecedented.”
He placed a photocopy of an ID from Suffolk County General Hospital, the largest and most prestigious in the area, on her desk. The picture of Stephen K. Landsman, Emergency Department Chair, matched the man sitting in front of her desk.
“IDs can be faked.” Something smelled hinky to her, despite his bona fides.
“Oh, Christ, this is getting tiresome,” he said. The wallet he produced was clearly an expensive one, and the IDs he lobbed, one from Suffolk County General and the other from the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles, both matched. “You’re a great fuck. I thought it might be fun to have you manage my money. After all, if you do it well, I can think of a hundred ways to reward you, and if you don’t, I can think of even more ways to punish you.”
She leaned toward him, drawn to him the same way she had been both nights at Symphony Hall. “How did you find out who I am? And why haven’t I heard about your inheritance before now?”
His smile had an edge to it. “It’s not too difficult to discover who owns a private box at Symphony Hall. Once I saw the last name, I was pretty sure I knew who you were—after all, you did tell me you were an investment banker that first night we fucked. That’s close enough to what you really do. After our first time, I hired someone to photograph everyone coming and going from your building in a twenty-four-hour period. You were shown entering in the early morning and leaving about twelve hours later.
“I deliberately stayed away from the Symphony, knowing your need for me would grow to insatiable proportions—”
“That's pretty goddamned arrogant,” she cut in.
“It’s also goddamned true,” he shot back. “As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, I stayed away to heighten the anticipation of our second meeting last night. Yesterday, I called to arrange an appointment with you. I even spoke to you personally. As to why you haven’t heard about my money—” he shrugged again “—that sounds like your problem. Maybe your grapevine isn’t as good as you think it is.”
He stood. “But investing with you is turning out to be a lot less fun than I’d imagined it would be.” He picked up his IDs and the letter from her desk. “I’ll show myself out, Ms. Lawrence. Have a nice day.”
“Wait a minute,” she said as he moved toward the door, suddenly realizing who he was. “Was your father Jonathan Landsman? In New York?”
When he faced her again, the smile on his face made her want to slap him—and fuck him. “As in, the Head of Manhattan Memorial? The most famous neurologist on the east coast? Yes, that was my father.”
She’d read about the fortune that Landsman senior had amassed with careful investing of his income, and the smell of money was making her nose itch. “He died a while back.”
“Yes, seven months ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I suspect you’d be sorrier to lose the business. I noticed how your face changed when you realized my money is real.” He came around to her side of the desk, standing too close. “You ready to take me on?”
She had to look up, way up, to see his face. “We don’t usually take accounts of less than ten million. You’ve got four and change. What’s in it for me?”
“Besides the money, you mean?” He reached down with one hand, ensnaring it in her hair, tugging. It hurt a little, and had the result of her moving her head wherever he pulled it. “You like that, don’t you? My pulling your hair as a way to make you move your head?”
Why lie?
“Yes.”
He slipped between her and the desk. “If you want the account, suck me.”
She considered refusing, but not for long. With his looks, she’d been secretly wondering if he were related to Hunter. Now that she felt confident that he wasn’t, her emotions no longer felt in danger.
Moving into position, she reached behind her to drop the blinds, but he stopped her arm with the hand not tangled in her hair. “No. You’re going to suck me, and you’ll leave the blinds up, so that people in other high-rise buildings can see what you’re doing. Of course, all they’ll see will be your head bobbing up and down in front of my groin, hardly an X-rated sight, and none of the other buildings are terribly close to this one. Still, it’s an embarrassing situation for you, potentially.”
She stopped trying to draw the blinds, so he let go of her arm. He unbuckled his belt and undid his trousers. When his cock sprang free, it looked bigger, somehow, than the last time she’d seen it. He pulled her hair toward him so that her lips touched it. “Suck.”
“My jaw hurts from last night. I sucked you forever.” Her voice sounded whiny even to her.
“Like she gives a shit,” he said, yanking her hair. “Last chance. Suck me now, or I’m leaving, Elizabeth.”
Her nipples had been hard for several minutes, her pussy, wide and wet. Dick-slash-Stephen’s commands made her hot, as did the money she would make.
Christ, I’m venal, but I already knew that, giving up my art for a mess of pottage or, more accurately, for a townhouse, a Jaguar, and a black American Express card.
She sucked, opening her mouth as wide as she could, engulfing him, the effort making her groan. Her jaw really was sore from the previous night’s workout. He guided her head up and down, which helped a bit, and he talked while she sucked.
Private Box Page 2
