Chameleon

by Ashe Barker

  She scraped the swollen head of his cock with her teeth, cautious not to apply too much pressure. So far, he seemed perfectly delighted with her performance, so she leaned in to take more of his erection into her mouth. Fleur sucked, hollowing her cheeks around the solid, smoothness, loving both the feel and the taste of him as his arousal built.

  “Fucking hell, girl. Do that again.”

  His growled command caused Fleur’s pussy to convulse and moisten even as she widened her mouth to repeat the suction. She did it harder this time, allowing her teeth to sink just that fraction deeper. Not much, not enough to…

  “For fuck’s sake.” He grabbed her leg, his large hand tightening around her thigh just above the knee. “Open your legs, girl. Wide. Now.”

  Fleur obeyed, her own strangled moan caressing his cock as Ethan’s fingers slid deep inside her waiting pussy. He thrust, once, hard, then added a third finger. Fleur could hear sounds of her own wetness as he plunged his fingers inside her. She squeezed him, tightening her fist around his shaft to pump hard, matching her rhythm to his.

  Ethan twisted his hand inside her. He continued to finger-fuck her hard, rubbing her G-spot with each stroke. Fleur knew she would come and it would not be long. She was determined not to be the first this time, though she suspected she would have little to say about the matter. Even so, she used the flat of her tongue to press his cock against the roof of her mouth then leaned in farther to suck him to the back of her throat.

  Ethan’s moans became more frenzied, thrusting his hips upwards to meet her strokes. His fingers inside her were equally determined as he plunged and withdrew, hard, fast, deep. Fleur’s response bubbled in her lower abdomen before boiling up, rushing to fill and overflow as she prepared to tumble helplessly into her orgasm. Ethan stilled a moment before Fleur passed the point of no return. His growl seemed to be dragged from the back of his throat an instant before his semen filled her mouth. Briefly distracted from her own response, Fleur swallowed quickly and continued to work her throat as the spunk continued to spurt. Mercifully, Ethan seemed unable to come and finger-fuck simultaneously so she had a few seconds of respite to savor the flow of salty liquid slipping down her throat. His climax passed quickly and he started to work her with renewed determination. It was a matter of moments before Fleur came too, her cunt pulsing and contracting around his digits.

  Ethan had his hands in her hair, gripping her scalp and lifting her head from his cock.

  “You did well, girl. I’m thinking you enjoyed yourself too?”

  Fleur turned to look at him, her smile sleepy now, and more than a little smug. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

  “Thank me by getting on all fours. In the middle of the bed. Now, please.” His expression was stern despite the encouraging tone of his words. Fleur wasted no time in assuming the required position, knowing what would come next. His itinerary had been perfectly clear after all, and thus far, he had stuck to it. Now he would fuck her and she knew he would make a good job of it. He always did.

  This might be the last time, in fact it almost certainly would be. She knew this, accepted this, and fully intended to carry the memory with her for the foreseeable future.

  Ethan stood and removed his jeans, already loose around his hips. The bed shifted as he knelt behind her. Fleur lifted her bottom, her knees spread as wide as she was able. Her buttocks still throbbed beautifully, a sensation intensified as he caressed her skin with both hands, separating her cheeks. “Christ, you are so fucking gorgeous. Your arse is glowing, and your tush is pink and so wet I could drown in it. Are you hot, little slut? Are you desperate for this?

  “Yes, Sir. Please be quick. I do not want to wait.”

  “But you will, won’t you? If I tell you to.”

  “Please do not ask that of me. Not this time. I want you, now. Please, Sir…”

  His response was to sink the full length of his cock into her pussy. Fleur let out a scream as her elbows gave way and she sank her face into the duvet, her bottom raised in welcome. Ethan said nothing, his cock doing the talking for him now as he withdrew and plunged back into her. He set up a brisk rhythm, slapping his body against hers with each stroke. Fleur’s cries of pleasure were muffled by the bedclothes as she tightened around him. Her grip was fierce, her hips gyrating to increase the friction. She wanted and needed more, though, and reached for her clit. Ethan was there ahead of her.

  “Let me, sweetheart.”

  His tone was gentle now—she might have thought affectionate, though that would have been fanciful. Still, this was a fairy tale type of moment so maybe a little fantasy was not out of place. His caress was pure bliss, unerring and accurate. He flicked her bud with his fingertip before laying the pad of his thumb over it and rubbing in easy, soothing circles.

  Fleur came, moaning her delight into the duvet, her cheek flattened against the mattress. Ethan did not stop. He continued to thrust into her, maintaining the soft pressure on her clit as he brought her back to the brink again. He held her there for a few moments before one firm rub sent her hurtling back into her own private orbit. This time she screamed aloud, her body convulsing around his cock. Ethan held still until the crisis had passed, then resumed his steady rhythm. He picked up the pace now, his own pleasure starting to assert itself. Still he did not let up on her greedy clit, rubbing and massaging relentlessly until she clenched and screamed again. This time he was with her, sinking deep one last time and holding still, the head of his cock nudging her cervix as he came too.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dressed, showered, her hair neatly brushed and arranged into a plait, Fleur perched on the edge of a sofa to watch as Ethan completed his preparations to leave. Her own overnight bag was already neatly packed and now waited by the door. He glanced at her, his hair still damp from the shower and slicked back from his face. He smiled, and she noted that the expression reached his eyes. His gaze was warm, and yes, perhaps affectionate would not be too wistful a conclusion to arrive at.

  Fleur’s evolving feelings for him were a mystery to her. She had not expected to be so sad that he was leaving. She had always prided herself on her pragmatic approach to life. His departure had always been on the cards, so why should it distress her now that the moment had arrived? She was determined not to examine those feelings, at least not yet. Right at this moment, she needed to be cool, collected, not clingy and needy. However much she might wish he was staying, he was not. He had a life and so did she. Their paths had crossed and now they were going their separate ways once more. It had been good, better than good, but it was ending. It had to end, and it had to be now.

  “Will you be eating here, at the hotel, before you go?”

  Ethan pulled the zip around his travel holdall as he answered, “No. I planned on a late lunch at the airport. After I’ve checked in.”

  “What time is your flight?”

  “Sixteen ten. If it’s on time, I should be back at Heathrow by around half past seven or eight o’clock this evening.”

  “Do you have far to travel after that?”

  He shook his head. “An hour or so, that’s all.”

  “You will be glad to be home?”

  Now he regarded her, his expression quizzical. He took his time in answering, “Not especially.”

  Fleur did not reply, uncertain how to interpret his remark. Ethan hauled his case over to the door and left it alongside her bag.

  “The porter can bring that down for me later. I’ll be checking out in about half an hour. You don’t have to leave, though. I can ask housekeeping to delay coming in for a while.”

  Fleur stood. She ran her palms down the front of her loose cotton slacks, smoothing imaginary creases. “No, I should be leaving too. I will go now, if you do not mind. I prefer to say goodbye here. In private.”

  “I understand, and of course I don’t mind.” He came to stand in front of her, his smile distinctly sad. Fleur dropped her gaze, unable to bear the sweet pain of this inevitable end. She had promised h
erself that she would not cry, would do and say nothing to make this parting any more painful than it needed to be. She was determined not to make a fool of herself now. Ethan cupped her chin with one hand and tilted her face up. He used the thumb of his other hand to wipe away the tears now forming, then dipped his head to kiss her eyes, first one then the other.

  “Tears, love? You’ll miss me, then?”

  Fleur gulped and nodded. She could find no words at that moment and hoped he would not press her for them. He didn’t.

  “I’ve enjoyed meeting you, Doctor Mansouri. Very much. And not just for the obvious reasons. You’re a remarkable woman.”

  “I am glad too, that we met. You have inspired me. And you have helped me in ways I had not imagined, could never have dreamed…”

  “If I’ve been of service, please be assured that it was a pleasure. Hey, I even find myself developing a fondness for donkeys. Who would have imagined that?”

  “Agwmar is an appealing beast…”

  “Fleur…” His expression turned serious now. “Please take care of yourself. Be happy. And safe. Promise me that.”

  “I will. I will try, at least. And you must do the same.”

  “I have a gift for you, something you might like to keep, to remember me by.”

  “There is no need…”

  “No, but I want to. The cashmere scarves, the ones I bought in the souk, despite your attempts to thwart my bargaining prowess. I’d like you to have them. They’re on the bed.”

  Fleur smiled. The scarves were indeed lovely. “Thank you. I will retain fond memories of them.” That those memories were mainly associated with being tied naked to his bed, blindfolded, she chose not to elaborate on just now.

  “Good. While we’re on the subject of fond memories, I have a request too. Something of yours I’d like to keep, if I may.”

  “Of mine? Yes, of course. What is it?”

  “Your cloak. The one you were wearing when I first saw you and again last night. Could I have that, please?”

  She stared at him incredulous. She had expected him to request a lock of hair, or even her underwear. “You want the cloak? But it is old and not even mine. I borrowed it from my grandmother.”

  “Would she mind you giving it to me, do you think? I’d be happy to pay her for it, or send her a replacement.”

  He seemed to have his heart set on the tatty old cloak. There really is no accounting for the vagaries of sexy Englishmen. “I am certain she will not object. I am surprised, though, that you would want such a thing. It has no value.”

  “It has value to me. I can have it, then?”

  “If course. It is in my bag. I will get it for you.” She hesitated, then, “I… I have another gift too. Something I brought with me intending you to have.”

  “Oh?”

  “It is in the courtyard. I will show it to you.” She turned and headed out of the French window into the inner garden. She stopped beside the fountain where her handmade carpet still lay on the cool tiles. “I made this. It took me over a year to weave. It is mine, but I want you to have it.”

  She turned to see Ethan staring in wonder at her carpet. It was a nice piece of work. She had been proud of it when she’d completed it, almost ten years ago now. Traditionally all Moroccan girls were taught to make the beautiful handcrafted carpets, though many of those sold to tourists were now mass-produced. In the past, it had been considered an essential requirement prior to marriage that a young woman should make a carpet to present to her husband’s family. It seemed to her appropriate that Ethan should have this one.

  Each Berber carpet was unique, designed and stitched by the girl herself, and usually incorporating a deliberate mistake in the pattern. This would be put there on purpose, a sort of signature to mark the work as her own. Fleur’s eye was drawn to the slight flaw in the design running around the border, one bird’s wing a fraction longer than the others. No one but her would ever pick it out, though she might tell Ethan about it. If he asked.

  “This is lovely. But it’s too much. These things are worth a fortune.”

  “It is valuable, yes. But like the cloak, its value is perhaps not monetary. I want you to take it with you. Please accept it. Keep it. Put it in your house and think of me sometimes, when you look at it.”

  He turned to her, took her face between his hands and kissed her mouth. “It’s a beautiful gift. Truly the most perfect thing anyone ever gave me. I’ll treasure it. Thank you.”

  Fleur heaved a relieved sigh. She had not been entirely certain that he would accept her gesture. He might not fully appreciate its significance, but he would at least know that it was a part of her and he would take it with him.

  “It is not perfect. It is not meant to be. Let me show you.” Fleur knelt on the rug, her position so reminiscent of last night that her knickers were already becoming wet. This was not to be, though—not now, not ever again. “See here, the bird at the edge. This wing is a little too long, not exactly like the others. It is done on purpose.”

  He crouched beside her, peering at the woven bird. “Yes, I see it now. Such a tiny thing, you’d have to know what you were looking for.”

  “Yes, that is the idea.” She reached into the back pocket of her pants and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She handed it to Ethan. “You can show this at Customs, at the airport. The paper says that this carpet is a gift. The customs officers often ask how much was paid and you may be charged import duty. The paper may not be accepted as proof, but I have written my contact details on it, here at the hotel and at my home, so they will be able to check. If you do have to pay duty, please let me know and I will do what I can to have it refunded to you.”

  Ethan pocketed the paper and stood.

  Fleur also got to her feet and bent to pick up the carpet. She rolled it quickly and held it out to him. “It should fit in your bag, I think.”

  “I’ll make sure it does, even if I have to leave half my clothes behind. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Ethan smiled and went back into the riad. He returned a couple of minutes later, without the carpet but he was carrying the scarves, neatly folded now. He handed them to Fleur. “I’ll swap these for the cloak, then?”

  “Of course.” She clutched the scarves to her chest and rushed past him, hurrying to her bag waiting by the door. She rummaged quickly, tucking the scarves inside and pulling out the cloak. She handed it to Ethan, who had followed her. He held it briefly to his nose.

  “Mmm, it smells wonderful. Fresh and incredibly sexy.”

  “I will tell my grandmother you said so.”

  “I suspect the scent is yours, unless you’re telling me that sensuality runs in your family.”

  Fleur considered making some other witty and perhaps flippant remark, but had no appetite for it. Tears again blurred her vision. She wanted to remember him clearly.

  “I must go.”

  “I know.”

  “Do not forget me.”

  “I think that’s unlikely. You’re extremely memorable, Doctor Mansouri.”

  “I… Thank you.”

  “Remember me to your parents. They’re remarkable people, with a truly exceptional daughter.”

  “You are very kind.”

  “And you, Fleur, are absolutely fucking gorgeous. I’ve loved spending time with you. Thank you for being here.”

  Fleur had no further words. This was hard, much more painful than she had imagined. She needed it to be over.

  “Goodbye.” Her voice came out just a whisper, because saying the word aloud was just too awful. She reached up on tiptoe to lay her lips against his, the touch soft and light, a kiss of parting rather than passion.

  Ethan closed his arms briefly around her then loosened them as she broke the kiss and bent to pick up her bag. She reached for the door handle and opened the door. She stepped into the corridor then turned back to face him. She touched her fingers to her lips and blew the last kiss to him from the distance of a c
ouple of feet. He winked and blew her a kiss back, leaning casually on the doorframe. He smiled, his grin sexy and somehow totally male. That was how Fleur wanted to remember him.

  She walked away down the corridor. She did not look back. Neither did she hear the door close behind her.

  At last, she reached the corner, conscious of his gaze still on her retreating back, and she remembered having felt the same sensation when she first passed him on that dusty road just a few days ago. This was infinitely more unnerving. She drew in a breath and turned the corner. Out of sight, she clutched her bag to her chest, and made no further attempt to stem her tears. She started running.

  Shit.

  Fucking, bollocking shit.

  Ethan watched the small figure marching away from him. Shoulders stiff, head up, spine ramrod straight, resolute to the core. She’d been close to tears when she’d blown him that last kiss—he fully expected her to be sobbing by now. But she wasn’t. Somehow, she had managed to hold herself together. He had to hand it to her—she had grit. And determination. Her performance as his submissive over the last twenty-four hours had demonstrated that well enough. She had been absolutely superb, despite her inexperience. He had gone easy on her, to be fair, but only at the outset. Whilst he had not forgotten that she was a novice in the art of submission, he had found her to be a natural and had soon ramped up the intensity of their scenes to match her needs.

  He had played with countless submissives over the years and had had one or two significant relationships in and among. There was something special and distinct about Fleur, though—something he found difficult to name but was keenly aware of, even so. She seemed set apart, not like anyone he had met before, whether as his submissive or in any other way.

  He had not thought for a moment that she would agree to scene with him. That would have been beyond his wildest expectations. That she should do so, and with such enthusiasm and aptitude, beggared belief.