I shut my eyes, holding my breath, willing myself not to cry. “I’m just exhausted.”
“Sleep, then.”
While I lay there, he caressed my cheeks with his knuckles, his thumb rubbing my ear. I could barely keep it together. His thumb traced my bottom lip and he kissed me, barely nudging his mouth to mine, a whisper of a kiss.
“I’m tired.”
“I’m only admiring your beauty.”
“I can’t sleep until you leave me alone.”
“I’ll never leave you alone.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you. I always have.”
“Ah, my love.”
Heat in my chest stung me, right in the centre of my breastplate. Without even opening my eyes, I pulled him in closer, bringing his lips tight to mine. Resting his chest against my breast, I was almost crushed until he shifted his arms either side of my body to hold himself up over me. My hands felt for his arms, solid as steel. He was so lean, so powerful.
My breathing picked up again but I managed to mumble, “I love calling you sir.”
He showered me in kisses; my lips, my clavicle, my throat, my chest, then my breasts. My nipples. I howled when he kissed those.
When he’d been kissing my mouth for so long I began to get breathless, I opened my eyes to look at him and his eyes were closed. I looked on in awe at this oak of a man, this lived-in body and soul. A body which showed signs of wear and tear but shone so bright. He caught me watching him and smiled, murmuring against my lips, “You’re distracting me.”
“I’m not sorry.”
“You never are.”
“I’m meant to be exhausted.”
“I’m meant to be a total arsehole.”
“You still are.”
His chest swelled with laughter against mine and I lost my hands in his hair.
I slid my legs around his back and he began teasing himself at my entrance, the plush tip of his sex connecting with my clit.
“Dante, please.”
He nibbled my mouth, his eyes staring into mine.
“Remember… it is please, sir.”
“Why, sir,” I giggled, “shall we find out if the toys could do better.”
“No fucking way, Ciara.”
“Sir?”
“Yes?” he huffed, impatient now.
“Permission to let my hands roam your gorgeous body.”
“Since you asked so nicely–”
He held himself at my opening and pushed inside once more. I knew it had been a good idea preparing myself for sex with big dildos otherwise this might have been very uncomfortable. This man had six years of leaving me constantly horny to catch up on and I wanted to know how on earth he was going to make it all up to me.
Digging my fingers into his shoulders, I laid leisurely beneath him, letting him lick at my skin, at my mouth, my breast. I pushed my fingers down his body, slick with sweat, and dug my hands into the butt of my dreams. So hard, tight, solid. Not meaty. Just solid. Like the rest of him. There was nothing whatsoever cuddly about Dante.
“You’re so wet, Ciara. Full of me, my cum… your cum. God, I love your tits.”
“I love your cock. Every inch.”
Grunting, his green eyes flashed yellow. “Close your legs. Make sure I don’t fall out.”
I did as he asked and when I was ready for him, he put his legs outside of mine and continued kissing me, using different pressure. Hard kisses to my lips were accompanied by nibbling and biting. Soft kisses to my cheeks and forehead. Wet kisses to my throat and breasts, French kisses to my nipples.
So tight between my legs, my slit so wet, he wasn’t deep but he was hitting me in all the right ways.
Fisting his hair, my body slick against his, the scent of sex fermenting in my nostrils, I felt the thud-thud-thud of his big cock between my squished lips and growled, “Fuck being a gentleman.”
Within half a second, I was on my stomach and he lifted my bum slightly, piercing me with his cock in a much deeper, much more volatile way. Clutching the sheets in my hands, I screamed as he pounded me in the exact way I needed to be fucked.
Fuck him being a gentleman.
Fuck lovemaking.
“Yes, you want me Ciara?”
“More than anything.”
I had a hunger for this man which ran out of control the moment I realised he loved me.
His body over mine, hands on top of mine, our fingers tightened together and I yelled, “Please!”
He reached beneath me and swirled his fingers around my clit. I pushed back against him, grinding, trying to find more of him. More and more.
Panting, screeching, begging for mercy, I could hardly believe what I was feeling when I milked his cock so hard he fell out of me, crying, “Jesus Christ!”
He spurted cum all over my arse and I swear, I collapsed into the mattress ten centimetres deeper than I usually would. He collapsed partially on top of me, his cheek on my back.
“You’re forgiven, dear.”
“I never knew they contained that much cum.” His words came out almost strangled.
He spooned me, dragging me into a tight hold. Pressing kisses constantly to my neck, he repeatedly called me “baby” and put his hands all over me. “Thank you for letting me be a man again. I love you.”
“I love you. I love you so much.”
A few deep breaths… and I was asleep.
Six
WE WOKE A COUPLE OF hours later and he took me to the shower where he washed me from head to toe, dried me from head to toe, even my hair. While he gazed at me like he’d known my body all his life, like it was exactly how he’d imagined me to be, I noticed something deeper in his eyes, something sparse but there – vulnerability.
As he finished towelling me, I asked him, “Do you really like it curly?”
“I adore it,” he said, teasing his hands through my long waves.
He sat behind me on the bed, towels covering the duvet beneath our bottoms. His hands cupped my breasts and he kissed my neck, raising gooseflesh all over my body.
He loved me…
“Are you real?” I asked, such jubilation making me doubt this was actually, finally happening.
“Yes,” he said, “but you see me in a way nobody else does… and it’s strange.”
“I’m glad.”
“We’ll see,” he murmured into my hair, and kissed my skin once more before putting on his suit.
“We’re not staying in bed?” I asked, disappointed.
“We’re not staying here, Ciara. Come back home with me? My shower runs much better than the archaic ones here.” He couldn’t stop himself chuckling.
I smiled. “Okay. For how long? What do I need–”
“If you want, forever.”
I ran to him and he scooped me up against him, my naked body against his clothed one. His hands running up and down the silky skin of my back, he demonstrated the barest, most feather-light touch of a worshipful man.
He made me some breakfast while I remained stunned, wondering whether Stockholm syndrome was to blame – or was this really happening? After all this time…
I should’ve used another man to make him jealous, so long ago!
SEXTON drove us out of the city towards Dante’s home in the country. I’d always thought he had a penthouse on the Thames or a huge mansion in Notting Hill somewhere, but he didn’t even live in the city.
All his trips to see me had no doubt taken him out of his way. He once said his work could be mostly done from home… so I felt a little confused as we drove through winding country roads, trying not to get stuck behind all the tractors preparing the land for a new season. Spring wasn’t my favourite time of year, summer was, but spring heralded summer and I loved it almost as much for that very reason.
On the backseat I gazed at Dante as he spent time working through emails on his phone. Occasionally I’d catch Sexton watching through the rear-view mirror with curiosity. Did he wonder what was happenin
g between Dante and me? Or did he know something about Dante I ought to have done? Had my lover been selfish in keeping me waiting all these years, or had he indeed been protecting me from the danger his job involved?
“Will I like your house?”
He threw me an intent green gaze. “It’s superb. You’ll love it, Ciara.”
“How far now?” I grinned, feeling excited. We’d not long pulled off the M1 and having passed signs for Elstree, we drove through one village after another.
Dante looked out of the window. “No more than five minutes.”
“Okay.”
I winced when the car hit some bumps in the road, my bottom stinging from earlier. My pussy was also sore. Having had Dante’s large sex thrust so deep and so powerfully inside me, I still felt him and my walls experienced a twinge every now and again from the memory of it. I’d had some painkillers but my brain seemed to have designated their response to my arm and nowhere else. Dante had checked the wound I’d given myself and told me it would heal fine, despite my shoddy stitching. Anyway, it was too late to repair that now.
“We’re here,” Sexton said, more for my benefit I guessed. We slowed towards a big white house and pulled off a quiet road to stop at some gates leading uphill to the property.
“Oh, god.”
It was beautiful.
Sexton used a small remote control to release the gates and they slid wide open to allow the Phantom inside.
The property was new-build, custom-build if anything. White stone. Modern. The front lawn was pristinely cut, just a few mature shrubs lining the evenly dug borders. There were twelve windows at the front of the house and it seemed there were three floors, going by the skylights in the roof.
“Who gave you a mortgage?” I gasped, laughing out loud.
“I built this, darling.”
Of course you did.
Sexton stopped the car on the brick driveway and I knew better than to let myself out even though I was so excited to see indoors.
Behind us, the gates clunked shut and as Sexton opened my door, Dante met me at my side with his hand held out for me.
“Come on,” he said, gesturing I take his arm. “See to the car, Sexton.”
“Of course, Mr Sinclair.”
While Sexton seemed eager to put the car in the garage, Dante walked me to the house and at the entrance, put his eye up to a retinal scan before keying in a code. The double doors clicked open and he gestured I walk in. I heard him shut us in together and still, I wondered if this was really happening to me.
I looked around the airy hallway. “It’s a show home. You’ve brought me to a show home?”
Everything was pale and clean and clear. The stairs marble, the floor was some sort of polished stone matching the exterior outside. It should have felt mildly cool, but it was warm.
“This is my home, Ciara.”
Biting my nails, I decided, “This can’t be your home.”
“Well, it is!” He chuckled, and removed his suit jacket, holding it over his shoulder.
I noticed stairs going down and shouted, “There isn’t a basement?”
He grinned. “There is.”
I started dashing for the stairs down and almost slipped. I also shouted, “Feck!” when I saw a huge feature window the entire height of the house showing the expansive lawns at the back – and an outdoor swimming pool.
“Careful, Ciara!” he hollered, chasing after me.
Below ground, I ran like a lunatic around all the rooms, constantly repeating, “Oh my god, oh god!”
There was a games room, cinema… and then, an indoor pool and steam room. He caught up with me and begged, “Please, slow down.”
I held my hands to the sides of my head. “Two pools, two whole pools. Two pools!”
“What are you doing?”
“How can you live here? Don’t you get scared you’ll break something!”
He looked stern. “Ciara, in the roof are where my team work. I don’t want you giving them a shock with your shrill screams. I haven’t told anyone about you.”
“What? You have people working here? But what if I want to swim naked?”
His squinting dispersed to make way for that telltale smirk of his. “There are no cameras down here, but if you continue chasing round the house like a giddy child, I will have to put you over my knee and punish you. Now, calm down before you give someone a fright.”
I sat on my butt on the hallway floor, which was under-heated (I realised). Staring around me at all the rooms, and all the opulence… and all the facilities in one place… I felt overwhelmed. His house encompassed leisure. Work. Perfection. Grounds. Pools. A place to barbecue food out back.
Everything hit me like a train and I whimpered. “What’s wrong with you?”
Why hadn’t he brought me here years ago?
He knelt by my side and dropped the suit jacket he’d been holding to the floor. Lifting my chin with a finger, he stole a tear from my eye with his sad eyes when he whispered, “So much is wrong with me.” He lowered his eyes and stared at the floor. Something in me wanted to rescue him, even though another part of me knew I couldn’t.
“What am I to you? How could you let me live like I was living? All… alone… and you’ve been alone too, haven’t you?”
He looked away, hiding his face from me. “I don’t know. It was easier to live having you disgusted by me. Now, you have expectations of me. You have some sort of hope you didn’t before. I don’t know if I can live up to all that. I’m not damaged, I’m just not right.”
I knew barely anything about Dante except that he was rich, had this house, and liked kink.
Oh, and he ran some sort of agency… whatever that was.
All I felt was that I didn’t have anything to lose – and he was sexy enough to forgive, for now.
I stood up and winked. “Well, I’m going for a swim.”
“Be my guest,” he said as I walked away from him.
I dove into the pool naked, sheltered by the dim lighting and the windowless pool area. I saw him watching me for a minute or two before he told me, “Take your time. I’ll have lunch prepared and call you on the intercom when it’s ready. Use the robes and the showers. It’s all yours. I’ll put the spa music on for you, if you like?”
“Please!”
He grinned and left me to it, the sounds of winds and beach waves echoing around me as I swam, free as a bird.
***
I was aware Sexton was occupied with duties of some sort throughout the rest of that day, and I was also aware the staff up in the roof were blocked off from the rest of the house. There was a door leading to the attic with a keypad entry system and I didn’t know the code. I doubted Dante would give it to me if I asked. After all, it had taken him six years to even bring me home with him.
Lunch had been awfully formal with places set out for me and him at a table big enough for twenty. I felt awkward and as far from home as I’d ever felt. His drapes were too long and too lavish and his chandeliers loomed over us like they’d smash us over the head if we breathed one breath wrong. His house was the home of a very particular man. Everything had lines. Everything was in grey, white and subtle charcoal colours. There was a place for everything; most of his kitchen was built-in, integrated… whatever the word was… and his space was ordered. Not a cushion or a vase or a speck of anything out of place. I didn’t like that there was no mess, and even more disarming was that there was no scope to make a mess. His cook made all the meals, delivered all the meals, then took the plates away, plonked them in a dishwasher so Dante didn’t have to lift a finger. I gathered a team of cleaners came everyday at nine a.m. to dust and vacuum and were all gone by ten a.m., when he started work.
(It was alright for some.)
It had only been my first day but I felt sure I wasn’t going to like living with him. The Knightsbridge home was poky in comparison but had old-world charm and character, whereas this place was just a show home. Not a place to make a
mess of and live in!
Christ, I felt strangulated.
As evening crept closer Dante left the en suite with a towel wrapped around his waist and looked down on me, still sat on his bed in my robe. I’d bathed in the freestanding tub but I was in no hurry to make myself pretty for dinner.
He pottered around, gathering underwear and clothes from drawers to put on. He lined them all up on the bed ready to change into.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t like formal dining.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’ve dined with me dozens of times in Paris.” I saw the greedy look in his eye as he towelled his hair and tried not to focus on my exposed thighs.
“That’s fun. People let their dogs sit at tables in Paris and most of the bullshit conversation you can’t understand, so I happily make it up for myself. I don’t enjoy eating while your cook peers round the corner, waiting to see if she’s done something wrong.”
“You’re insane.”
“I am not. She’s terrified of you.”
He frowned. “Aren’t you?”
“NO! Why would I be?”
He shrugged. “I must be a really good liar around you.”
“I want to go out, without Sexton… and without a plan. I just want to drive and live… I’m tired of your rules.”
He sighed and sat on the super-sized bed, another item customised to his huge ego.
“We have rules so that people stay safe. In my line of work, it pays to have rules.”
“I don’t care for rules.” I played nonchalant, picking my nails. “I want my new lover to show me some of his real self, not the persona he plasters on for the rest of the world.”
Shaking his head, he rose off the bed and began pacing the floor. “I warned you I won’t change. If you want to be with me, you will never be free. I make the rules.”
“Those are just words. Actions equal change.”
He turned and stared at me, his hand stroking his chin. “What did you just say?”
“Actions equal change.”
The Contract (Nightlong #1) Page 7
