He puts down his pen and stares at me for a long while. His gaze is deep and penetrating, and he seems to be staring straight into my soul, into my deepest, darkest fears and desires. I shift in my seat, feeling the temperature climb exponentially and the crotch of my panties suddenly warm and wet. I seem to be melting under his gaze.
His eyes move to my lips and his gaze suddenly becomes more intense. An urgency and heat flares in his dark, brown eyes and he leans forward almost imperceptibly. “You are beautiful,” he whispers.
My mouth opens and my mind goes blank for an instant. No one has told me that in such a long time. I can hear my heart hammering wildly in my chest. Can it be that Julian is attracted to me as well, that the attraction here is mutual and not just my own wishful thinking and sex-starved fantasizing?
I let my eyes roam down his lanky, muscular frame, lingering on his waist and letting my burning gaze trail ever so slowly lower down his delicious body. When I stare at the bulge between his legs, Julian clears his throat sharply and straightens up. I blush and bristle, suddenly annoyed at myself, and him. Who was the one who started asking all these suggestive questions anyway? The atmosphere is way too charged with sexual energy, pent-up, frustrated sexual energy.
I fold my arms in front of me, which has the unfortunate effect of pushing up my bosom and making my bra rub against my sensitized, erect nipples. All this sex talk is making me highly aroused.
Perhaps if I steer the conversation away from sex for a bit, I can get my libido and emotions under control. “Shouldn't you be asking more...clinical questions, like my height, weight, state of health?” I say, trying to sound more controlled and confident than I feel.
“Oh. Those...” Julian waves his pen in the air absently. “...can be easily ascertained. I don't need you to answer those questions. I can get the answers easily enough. Just some measurements and tests and whatnots. What I want and need are the answers that I cannot get so easily. Answers only you can provide.”
I blow out a breath. I know that he is right, but somehow his question sounds too intrusive, too intimate, and it makes me think about him in a way which is highly inappropriate. He is my would-be employer, my boss and paymaster. I shouldn't be lusting after him.
“When was the last time you had sex, Sophia?” he repeats his question, more softly this time. His pen is poised over his clipboard. It seems to tremble a little, but I'm not sure. My own hands are beginning to shake and I have to lace my fingers tightly on my lap to keep them still. I cross my legs and tense, my whole body in knots.
Sensing my unease, Julian puts down the clipboard and explains patiently, “There are a couple of factors to be taken into account in calibrating the machine for the subject. How frequently and recently the subject has had sex, how easily it is for the subject to achieve orgasm, how recently the subject has been sexually fulfilled, or not...well...” He looks away briefly. “...every body is different. How you respond, how your body and mind respond, will depend on various considerations and co-ordinates...” He lets out a breath as his eyes move to my lips and trail further down. I tense as raw, pulsing heat seems to envelop my entire body. He doesn't seem to be looking at me as merely a test subject. His look is intense, penetrating, sexual. I force myself to breathe. Julian might be a man of science, a researcher, a doctor, but he is still a man. And well, put a man, a woman and a sex machine together...
I bite my lip hard. Keep it together, girl! I remind myself. Think about the contract. Answer his questions, and ask your own questions. Snap out of it!
Steeling my nerves and my resolve, I prepare to answer his questions and hope fervently that I won't make a bloody fool of myself.
Chapter Four
Tilting my chin up, I answer coolly, “It's been a few months.”
Julian raises an eyebrow. “A few months? How few? One month? Two months? Half a month?”
“Six months.”
He scribbles down my answer, mumbling almost inaudibly, “Was that with your boyfriend?”
“Pardon? I didn't catch your question.”
He clears his throat but doesn't look up. “Um...was that with a regular sex partner, or...?”
“The last person I had sex with...I never saw him again. I met him in a pub, and that was that. One night. I don't even know if that's his real name.” I shrug, wrinkling my nose at the memory. He was not particularly good-looking, and he had seemed nice. But he wasn't a good lay. In fact, he was downright terrible. In, out, in, out and he was done.
“At that...session, did you...orgasm...?” Julian asks.
“No.”
“No? Not even once during...”
I roll my eyes. “Not even close. Yeah, it was that bad.”
“Are you in a relationship right now?”
“No.”
The corners of his mouth quirk up, but he tugs them down immediately. Why my answer should please him I have no idea, but he does look so much better when he isn't frowning.
“You should smile more. Looks good on you. The smile.” I bite my lip hard. Did I just say that? What the hell is wrong with me? Getting all horny and flirty with my prospective employer.
He meets my gaze and holds it for a breathless moment. “You...” He draws a ragged breath and forces his eyes back to the clipboard. “Have you ever had any problem in achieving an orgasm during sex, Sophia?”
Somehow his question makes me think back on my brief and tumultuous marriage. My hackles and voice rise. “Problem? If there's a problem, I'm sure it wasn't mine! I can get myself off just fine. It's those selfish bastards who...” I fold my arms across my chest and huff. “They should just jerk themselves off. Effect would have been the same.”
“That bad, huh?” he manages to mumble after a while.
“Worse,” I state emphatically. “It's true what they say, you know. Bad sex and a bad marriage go together like a horse and carriage.”
His expression changes. “You're married?” His eyes flick to my bare ring finger.
“Was. It's over now...in fact, it was over a long time ago. I just refused to see it.”
His next words are barely audible. “I'm sorry.”
“Why?” I frown. “I'm not.”
He seems momentarily at a loss for words.
“Hey, I'm fine,” I tell him. “Really.”
He smiles and hands a sheet of paper to me. “Here. You might want to take a look at the contract.”
“Oh?” I take the document from him, and he moves quietly behind his desk and powers up the computer.
“That's it?” I frown. “Don't you need to...to ask me about my, um, preferences?”
“Huh?” Julian turns to me, puzzled.
“I mean, we are testing a sex machine, right? Don't you need to know what turns me on? Which parts of my body are my...my erogenous zones?” Erogenous zone, that is a medical term right?
“My dear, your whole body is an erogenous zone,” he answers in a low voice, his eyes darkening. I almost flinch from the heat burning behind his serious, scholarly expression. Am I imagining it, or do I read a smoldering desire in the doctor's eyes?
“I...I see.” I look down and try to concentrate on the piece of paper in my hands. I can't let him see me blushing like crazy.
I must be out of my mind. Why do I keep thinking about sex...with him? I've been deprived of sex for too long, that's why. Of good sex. I'm only human, aren't I? I have needs and wants. With a start, I realize that Julian is right. Sex, intimacy, pleasure...these are basic human needs and wants. I want to be held and touched and tasted and pleasured. I want him. There is nothing wrong with wanting what I want. Didn't the good doctor say so himself? Dr. Julian James.
With a sudden flash of inspiration, I reach inside my bag and fish out my mobile phone. “I've got to reply to this.”
“Of course. Take your time.” He nods and goes back to typing something at his computer.
Pretending to reply to a text message, I run a quick search for his name and credent
ials on my phone. Thank goodness for smartphones and instant information. I scroll through the search results. Julian is listed as a specialist and consultant at the Royal Women's Hospital. There is a mugshot of him as well, but it doesn't do him justice. In the photograph, he is wearing a striped tie and a white coat and glasses. His dark brown eyes are bright but stern and he is unsmiling. He doesn't smile much I notice. But his hair still looks tousled and messy, with some wavy locks of dark hair sticking out from behind his ears and neck. His education and credentials check out, and I smile a little. This is one smart, sexy man, though he seems blissfully unaware of his sex appeal. He just seems intensely interested and absorbed in his research and his machine. He did seem to take an interest in me though, but that's probably because he sees me merely as a test subject. His interest in me is purely professional, not personal, I remind myself.
I sneak a peak at Julian over the top of the paper. As he hammers away furiously at the keyboard, I can see the muscles on his arms and broad shoulders move under his shirt. I force myself to remain seated. It takes all my willpower not to get up and run my hands down his solid back. Julian might be a scientist, but he is solidly built. Tall, lean and muscular.
I look through the terms and conditions of the contract. It is just one page, and the duration and amount to be paid are clearly stipulated. I am to allow the good doctor to run tests and experiments on me, in connection with the machine, hereinafter referred to as The Sex Machine, which seeks to monitor and stimulate my physiological and psychological response to various stimuli and sensations. The doctor undertakes on his part to ensure my safety and well-being, and I am to communicate to him any discomfort or disagreement that I may have during the experiments. I am to stay within the premises for the entire duration and I am not to leave before the stipulated three weeks, otherwise all amounts due to me will be forfeited. Well, three weeks is a short time really, and thirty grand is a large sum.
So.
I stand up and approach his desk. He stops typing and his lips part as he looks up at me. I lean forward across his desk. “Do you want me?” I ask huskily.
He starts. “I...I do. Yes.” He swallows and whispers, “Very much.”
I am taken aback by the raw hunger in his eyes, and I can see his hands shake ever so slightly as his fingers freeze in position over his keyboard. He attempts a smile, and asks, “Do you have any questions, Sophia?”
“Just one.”
“Yes?”
“Where do I sign?”
Julian raises his eyebrows, and his lips curve up in a broad smile. He starts to hand me the pen. As his hand brushes against mine, I feel the jolt of electric current course through my body and I draw a sharp breath. I wonder if he knows the effect he is having on me. I sneak a glance at him, and I see that his fists are clenched. He is staring at the pen in my hand and his eyes move to my wrist and then slowly up my forearm.
I can feel my hand begin to shake under his gaze, so I scrawl my name and signature hurriedly on the contract before I can lose my nerve and my composure.
I put the pen down after signing the contract, and step shakily away from the desk. I suddenly feel like I need to sit down, or lie down. Everything in the room seems to tilt at a precarious angle. I back into a chair and slump heavily into the seat. I'm not sure if it is just nerves, self-consciousness, doubt or something else that is making me all woozy and wobbly.
Through the blood roaring in my ears, I can hear Julian's voice floating across the room to me. “Okay, now what's the date?” Julian glances up at the digital clock on his desk and scribbles something on the top of the document. With a flourish, he puts his signature at the bottom beside mine and looks up at me. “It's now fifteen minutes past ten exactly. At this time, three weeks from now, you will be paid in full and you will be free to go. The contract is now in force. There will be certain instructions that you have to follow. These instructions are meant to protect you and to ensure the success of the experiments. Do you understand?” he says clearly but gently.
I nod without intending to. My head just bops up and down as I blink at him.
“Good.” Julian strides towards me. He raises his hands as if to touch me, but at the last instant, lets them fall to his sides. I stare at his strong arms and just wish that he would fold me into his arms and hold me. Just for a while. I suddenly feel lost and vulnerable, and I just want a touch, a hug, something warm and comforting.
Somehow, I feel as though I have just dived headlong into a strange, surreal world, one full of forbidden, hidden pleasures and promise. It is like climbing to the highest crest of a roller-coaster, knowing that at any moment, you will have to face that gut-clenching, breath-taking plunge. Nothing can prepare you for that. You just have to go with it...and scream. But it would be nice to hold someone's hand, or bury your face in a broad, strong shoulder as you scream. The longing of being held, or being loved and wanted, is so strong it is like an ache. The empty, aching feeling continues welling up in me, eating at me and hurting me.
“To record and compare your responses accurately, I will have to take your measurements immediately,” Julian's voice is droning on above me. “I have to record your natural heart rate, blood pressure, neurological patterns...it shouldn't take long.” He inclines his head slightly, as if waiting for my permission.
“Okay.” I'm glad that my voice sounds strong and steady even though strong and steady is far from what I am feeling right now.
He holds out his hand to me to help me up, and I grasp it tightly. I try to stand but my legs just give out under my weight. Julian catches me as I collapse against him. “Oh my god, Sophia, you're shivering. Are you cold? Your hands are freezing!”
“What's wrong?” He settles me back in the chair and kneels in front of me. “Are you ill? Talk to me. You have to communicate with me, Sophia, tell me what you need. I can be absent-minded and forgetful, and sometimes I even forget to eat and...oh! Oh, you haven't had dinner!” He shakes his head at the realization. “You haven't eaten since...since...what time did you arrive? And you walked all that distance...oh my! Come, I'll get you something to eat.”
I see the stricken look on his face and feel his warm hands on my shoulders. His worry and concern seem genuine. I begin to relax, even though I'm still feeling dizzy and empty.
I manage to smile up at him. “Dinner would be nice,” I mutter, just before my stomach lets out a ferocious growl. I only had a sandwich for lunch, and I haven't eaten since late morning. No wonder I'm feeling faint. But I thought my stomach would be used to it by now. I've been skipping meals to try to save as much money as I can.
“All right, your stomach has spoken. Off to dinner we go,” he says cheerfully.
“Go? Where are we going?”
“The kitchen, of course. I'm cooking!” he grins. That boyish grin takes ten years off him, and I find myself wondering why women didn't throw themselves at this handsome, rich, young doctor. Maybe he beat them all off with a stick, or made them test his strange sex machine. That might be a turn on for some women, but for most women I suspect, it would just be too damn weird.
Where does that leave me then?
A weird, broke, hungry woman with a fetish for strange men and machines. I shake my head. No, I'm just doing this for the money. I have been skimping and saving to try to pay my rent I've been skipping lunch and sometimes dinner. This contract is a godsend. The thirty thousand dollars would definitely go a long way.
Julian's kitchen is spacious, well-kept and well-stocked. I offer to help but Julian insists I just sit down and wait to be served since I'm a guest. I settle comfortably into the chair and place my elbows on the wooden dining table. He pulls a bottle of sauce from the fridge and starts chopping onions, carrots and celery into tiny pieces. I watch his fingers move expertly over the chopping board, slicing and dicing and throwing all the ingredients into the sauce that is simmering on the stove. “I hope you like pasta,” he says.
“Love,” I reply in appreciation.<
br />
“Great. Because if you don't, I'll have to make you a sandwich. That's the extent of my culinary repertoire,” he deadpans.
I laugh. “You don't cook much?”
“No. My housekeeper, Mrs Kenny, gets dinner ready before she leaves for the evening. You'll see her tomorrow.”
“She catches the last bus home?” I shudder at the memory of that grueling walk from the bus stop to his house.
“Oh god, no. She drives. Transport is covered in her employment.”
“Transport?”
“A car is provided. But she pays for her own petrol.” He starts stirring the pot and a wonderful aroma fills the kitchen.
“Wow.” That is some employment perk. “You must be a very generous boss,” I mumble.
I see Julian lift his shoulders in a shrug. “It's just a small, second-hand car. It's a necessity. You've seen the distance from the nearest bus stop to my house. I can't expect her to walk that distance at her age. And she needs the car to ferry her husband around. He can't walk so well.”
He places a large bowl of spaghetti and meat balls in front of me. The sauce smells just heavenly. “Dig in.”
I do. With gusto.
He sits opposite me and watches me eat. I polish off at least half the bowl before I finally look up. “Aren't you eating?” I ask with my mouth full.
He shakes his head and smiles. “Mrs Kenny made me a huge dinner and dessert. Oh yes, there's leftover apple pie in the fridge. I'll get you a slice.”
Before I can stop him, he is busying himself at the fridge, extracting apple pie and a tub of ice cream from the freezer.
“I'll be joining you for dessert. If you don't mind,” he winks, heaping the ice cream onto two enormous slices of apple pie.
I push aside my empty bowl as he sets the plates down on the table. “But I'm stuffed. I think I'm too full for dessert,” I protest feebly.
How You Tempt Me Page 3
