The way he had taken charge aroused me immensely.
We rode the rest of the way in silence. That prowling aura surrounded him again. Expectation built steadily inside me.
“Yours is the only apartment up here?” I said as we stepped onto the landing. There was only one door. It bore no number or name, unlike all the others in the block.
“Yes. The building belonged to my grandmother and when I inherited it I added this space, to make the most of the view, and the light.”
As soon as he unlocked the door I saw what he meant. Despite the fact we were in a long hallway, a glass wall at the far end filled the space with amber light as the sun lowered over the city skyline.
“Come in, please.”
I hadn’t realized that I’d hesitated by the door, but I had. Nerves gathered in my belly. I’d stepped into his cage, and now I was going into his lair. I wanted to do it, but fear of the unknown had me in its grip.
When he led me into the lounge I found myself mesmerized by the massive space, and the view. Once again, tinted ceiling-to-floor glass gave way to a superb view across the rooftops of the city. Stepping through the room—which was furnished with black lacquered cabinets and low leather sofas—I put my laptop case and shoulder bag down and gazed out at the sight.
It was only when I heard the chink of glasses in the background I realized that he’d been busy. I heard wine sloshing into glasses, and then he switched on the stereo. Fusion music filtered up all around me, orchestral but with a samba beat. I turned back to him, ready to comment on the amazing view, but my words slipped away into nothing as I caught sight of the massive framed photographic print on the wall.
“Wow.” My eyebrows lifted. Frozen to the spot, I stared at the blatantly sexual image. It depicted a naked woman, starkly lit so that her body faded into darkness on one side. She was tethered by rope from above. The rope twined around her wrists, then back and forth across her torso, waist and hips. The way the rope was arranged seemed to emphasize her bared breasts and shaved pussy. She stared out of the image with fiery, accusing eyes. Thick, blunt-cut, bleached hair gave her a punky look Armand watched on, as if waiting for me to say something. He’d removed his jacket. “Shibari, do you know it?”
I shook my head.
“It is the art of sensual rope work. Does it offend you?”
There was humor in his eyes.
He knew I wasn’t offended. He knew exactly what I was. Horny, and getting hornier by the moment. It was as if he’d led me in here and stood me in front of this picture to get a reaction out of me, and he certainly had. Between my thighs I was hot and damp, my body bristling with uncertainty and expectation. I thought we were going to sip wine, chat and listen to the music, some kind of slow lead in. Instead I felt confronted—raw and edgy because I’d been thrust into a situation that both aroused and unnerved me.
When I didn’t speak, he stepped closer to me. He put his finger under my chin and lifted my face, staring into my eyes as if examining my soul.
I swallowed, willing myself to act appropriately. “Is it your girlfriend?”
Was it an impertinent question? Maybe, but I didn’t think so until it was out. I’d exposed my concern about territory and what was going on here.
“I like your directness, Jennie,” he replied.
My directness was more blundering than intentional, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
“It’s a friend,” he continued. “We were lovers for a while, not anymore. She moved to the States. We shared the same interests, as you see.” His gaze flickered to the image and back to me.
That was to the point. His interests included rope, and cages. I forced myself to look at the image again. Armand bound and displayed her that way. That much was obvious.
“It is art.” His sensual mouth moved in a provocative smile.
It was art, yes. It was also blatantly kinky and erotic, but I wasn’t going to be pedantic about it, not while he was touching me that way. Besides, the image thrilled and fascinated me.
Still he studied me, his fingers moving down the length of my throat. “Human nature intrigues me. We are greedy sometimes, we like to keep beautiful things as possessions, so that we can admire them, caged even.”
He was so close I was sure he was about to kiss me.
“From the prettiest birds to rare, wild creatures…other people.”
His knuckles moved around the curve of my breast, his touch all too vague and tantalizing through my clothing. “The urge to possess the thing we desire, even for a fleeting time, is great.”
With his fingertips exploring me and his philosophical meandering about cages and possession, I was awash with desire. Over his shoulder, the blonde punk stared at me with those accusing eyes. I wanted to be displayed that way, naked and lewd and helpless—and so obviously his plaything. All the things he said to me about being caged, and the sound of the metal doors shunting together and apart as he handled them, filled my mind.
I thought he was going to kiss me, but although he looked at my lips, he didn’t. Instead he asked me another question, one that I wasn’t expecting.
“Why did you come up here, Jennie?” His tone was serious.
My heart raced erratically. “Because you invited me.”
He shook his head, and his eyes bored into mine. “The real reason?”
Heat flared in my face. Unnerved by his serious tone I squirmed, my weight shifting from left foot to right. I couldn’t believe he was pushing me to say it aloud. The attraction had been there between us, but his sudden interrogation made me feel awkward and obvious.
“You are so beautiful when you blush.” His expression softened. “The real reason you came up here is because there is curiosity between us, n’est-ce pas?”
“Yes, there is.” It was hard to voice my thoughts so blatantly and so soon, but the rush I experienced having said it aloud was astonishing. It was liberating, and now that it was out I felt as if we’d been shunted up to the next level.
“Have you seen anything that surprised you? The photograph, perhaps?” He’d reached inside my jacket and was running the back of his knuckles over the buttons on my shirt, as if he was readying to undo them.
“It did surprise me.”
“It has that effect, but she was a willing submissive, believe me.”
I bet she was. My eyelids flickered down, because I was unable to meet his bold stare a moment longer. I could scarcely believe it. He was touching me, questioning me provocatively while we stood there in his black lacquered bachelor pad, with its bleached bondage queen looking on, making me feel as if I couldn’t ever be as good as her. A willing submissive. I could see why. The man made me melt just by looking at me. His touch would have me in puddle of lust at his feet. But I also felt horribly inadequate and gauche.
“Perhaps I should go.” I turned away, breaking the contact.
Armand put his hand on my shoulder, halting me. With the other he reached around and stroked my torso from collarbone to waist. The brusque, demanding nature of his touch stole my breath away. My eyes closed. When I moaned aloud, he eased me back to him. My upper body rested against the wall of his chest.
“Do you really want to go now, Jennie?” His fingers moved inside the collar of my shirt, pushing it aside. His mouth was on my neck, then my collarbone, his kisses making me sizzle. “If you want to leave I’ll let you go, but I don’t think that’s what you really want.”
I could have stopped him then, he was making that obvious, but I didn’t want to. His hips moved from side to side, slow and seductive, taking mine with them.
“No,” I said, breathlessly. “I don’t want to go, I’m just…” Overwhelmed.
It felt good, though, and I didn’t want to be afraid to explore this. I wanted to know this masterful man who had shocked me several times over within the space of a few minutes.
With his hands locked on my shoulders, he turned me around and his mouth covered mine. Finally. His kiss melted me. M
y lips gave and his tongue moved between them. He devoured me, his tongue tasting my lips before thrusting into the damp cave of my mouth. I clutched at his shirt. My center ached, my clit throbbing wildly.
“I wanted you the moment I saw you,” he whispered as he drew back. His voice was husky. He removed my jacket as he spoke, then his fingers went to my hair, easing it free of the clips that held it up. As it fell to my shoulders he murmured something in French.
I nodded. “It was the same for me.”
My words seemed to act like a trigger on him, because he cursed in French. His eyes turned dark and his hands moved to my skirt. Without further ado he tugged it up, handling it roughly, until it was bunched at my waist. With his hands around my bottom he lifted me, wrapping my legs around his hips. I was so astonished that I clung to him, arms twined around his neck. One of my shoes fell to the floor. A moment later the other followed. The position he had put me in splayed my pussy against his hard erection. Unable to stifle my response, I gripped his shoulders and rocked my hips, rubbing against the hard, bulky protrusion.
His jaw clenched. He carried me easily, walking over to the long dining table that ran down the far side of the massive lounge. Resting me down on it, he eased my upper body flat to the table with his hand against my chest. “I think that first we must fuck, then we can play.”
My body arched on the table. Overwhelmed.
I covered my eyes with the back of my wrist, moaning aloud at his blatant statement. He was going to have me on his dining table, right now.
“Unbutton your shirt.” He stared at my stocking tops and his eyes flickered mischievously as if they were giving him ideas.
As I undid the buttons with trembling hands, he stripped off his own shirt and I had my first look at his body. I already knew from the way he’d lifted me so easily that he was strong, but his muscles were hard and defined, solid. He stared down at my groin and shook his head. “This must be done.”
As soon as I got my shirt open, he bent to kiss me in the dip of my cleavage. My head rolled against the hard surface of the table. The way he took control made my pulse race and the damp heat between my thighs became sweltering. He tugged at the cups of my bra, pushing my breasts free of the fabric. He tongued one nipple, then the other, and the stiff points stung, making my hips squirm.
Armand lifted his head, put his hand between my thighs and cupped my pussy through my lace panties. Direct and demanding, it triggered a heightened need for release. The firm squeeze he gave me there at my pussy made me gasp aloud.
He trailed his fingers over my bare abdomen, which made me shiver. When I glanced down I saw a damp smudge on the front of the fabric. Pressing my lips together tightly, I moaned softly. Meanwhile Armand’s eyebrows lowered, and his expression was brooding.
When I glanced lower—and I couldn’t help myself—I saw the bulge of his erection beneath the zipper on his jeans and my eyes flashed closed.
He ran his fingers beneath the band of my panties then tugged at them, pulling them down. I wriggled my bottom and lifted it to assist. When I was entirely naked, I squeezed my thighs together, suddenly aware that he had only removed his shirt. I felt so exposed.
“Open your legs,” he instructed.
The way he said it made something hot coil and flex deep in my womb.
“Show me.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a condom packet and put it on the table.
I wanted to see him rip it open and roll it on. I wanted his hard cock ready to be inside me. It was the urgent sense of need that made me braver. I parted my thighs a couple of inches, exposing myself to him.
It was enough, Armand acted on it. First he inserted his fingers between my thighs and stroked them up and down over the soft, sensitive skin there. I began to pant, my hips rolling against the hard surface of the table. Still he stroked me. When the muscles in my thighs began to relax, he lifted my stockinged feet and put them flat to the table, forcing me to plant them wide apart, exposing my pussy fully. The sound of my blood rushing thundered in my ears. For several long moments that and the music were the only sounds in the room. Armand stood between my open legs in silence, apparently admiring me while I was so thoroughly debauched and displayed.
“Beautiful.” He stroked his fingers up and down my damp folds.
I cried out, the tantalizing touch like torture when he made contact with my swollen clit. My hips rocked again. I wanted to rub myself against his hand, desperate for release.
“Easy.” He arrested my jaw in one strong hand, making me meet his gaze. “I’m going to prepare you now,” he whispered, “then I will fuck you, and I will need to do it hard.”
The statement left me speechless, but I didn’t need to respond because he ducked down and dipped his tongue into the damp groove of my pussy, rolling it back and forth over my swollen clit. The rush, the relief, the pleasure—for a moment I couldn’t catch my breath. Then the lap of his tongue forced me to pant aloud. He had his hands planted either side of my hips on the table, his shoulders gleaming while his mouth engulfed my swollen clit—eating me from his dining table as if I was a delicious meal and he was a starving man.
His cologne and the scent of his body danced through my senses, making me want him even more. His hands were now wrapped around my buttocks as he lifted me to his mouth. The muscles in his shoulders rippled. All the while his words repeated in my mind, his promise to fuck me hard making me wilder still. My breasts ached, the nipples needling with sensation. My clit felt unbearably tight and hot, but his rapid tongue movements were pushing me ever closer. Then he grazed my tender flesh with his teeth and the release barreled through me. He pushed his tongue inside me, collecting my copious juices.
I was still gasping for breath when I heard him rip open the condom packet. I glanced down in time to see him rolling it the length of his erection, which arched up from his hips. My sex, still in spasm, clutched in anticipation. A moment later he hauled my hips closer to the edge the table, moving me bodily across the surface so that I was positioned right at the edge and my legs dangled free. Never had I been so thoroughly manhandled, and never had I felt so deliriously high on something that I might consider base and primal if I was asked to think about it for too long.
When I felt the blunt head of his cock pushing at my slippery opening, my fingers curled into my palms. I remembered his warning. I wasn’t ready. I felt too vulnerable—too exposed and sensitive, with my sex awash and swollen. But Armand had warned me, and he moved into position quickly, thrusting the hard length of his cock into me in one swift maneuver, stretching me, filling me and possessing me to the core.
“Armand!”
The pressure of his crown against my center sent an aftershock through my entire body. My torso lifted from the table, my hands latching on his shoulders.
He scarcely gave me a moment before he had me flat to the table again, my legs over his shoulders while he worked his length in and out of my sensitized sex, his hands on the table for purchase while he drove himself into me, relentlessly.
I was back at the precipice in moments, my groin alive with sensation.
The table was strong but shifted under us as he banged into me. His forehead gleamed, the depth and rhythm he maintained pushing us both closer. I could hear the slick pull of my wet pussy as he worked his cock in and out. My sex was sensitive to the point of being in pain, and yet it felt glorious. I was so close to coming again that my back arched and my fingernails bit into my palms.
Armand leaned closer still, bending my legs under him, his weight against my pussy. Again I flooded. The release was so great that I felt dizzy even though I was flat on my back, but the hard rod of his cock inside and the pressure of his body against my clit kept me there.
The muscles in his shoulders and neck stood out, his eyes closing.
His cock stiffened, stilled and jerked repeatedly. Another wave hit, my thighs shuddering as my every nerve ending was strung out with the raw pleasure of multiple orgasms brought o
n by this man.
He took me out to eat.
“You need sustenance,” he said. “I will take good care of you, if you spend the weekend with me.”
Sustenance for what? I wondered, remembering his comment about playing later. And now I was spending the weekend, not just the evening. Both fear and desire flared in my gut, making me tremble. I felt shell-shocked. He wasn’t done with me yet. That certain knowledge was exhilarating. When we stepped out of the apartment block, the noise and lights of the city street seemed even more dazzling and exciting than they already were. I was high on the afterglow, and let him lead and guide me.
He took me to a small bistro two minutes walk away from the apartments. It was simple, and busy. As if aware of my heightened senses, he asked for a secluded booth at the back. There he sat alongside me, closing me into a world of our own. He ordered for us both and fed me delicacies with his fingers, while I sat looking at him in awe, accepting whatever he gave me. A couple of hours in his company, not much longer, and he’d mastered me so thoroughly.
The claret he ordered was good, and it made my muscles relax. Was that his intention? “The woman in the photograph…”
“Yes.” He sat back and studied me as I spoke.
“She was a girlfriend?”
“Yes.” He put his head on one side. “It bothers you?”
“No.” It did. Of course it did. What woman likes to see the gorgeous ex, even if this was only a one-night stand or a wild weekend or whatever it was. “I have no right, we’re just…”
I looked away from our booth.
“Your hair is the color of honey,” he said, drawing my attention back. He eased his finger through my thick mop, admiration shining in his eyes. When I met his gaze he shook his head. “You are what I want.”
The simple statement did exactly what he meant it to.
It pushed away my doubts.
“I mean to enjoy you, thoroughly,” he added. “If you are willing?”
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