“Good.” His voice was hard. He pulled out his fingers and pushed in another ice cube. I jumped as the shock of the coldness inside me almost made me cramp up. My voice came from somewhere else, crying out.
Then he ran yet another piece of ice over where he had whipped me earlier. It felt good, cold soothing the soreness, melting fast on my superheated skin. But he slid it down, down to my clit and rubbed it over and over with the ice cube. The pain of it, the coldness, my muscles tensing up. His rhythm, perfect pressure. The feel of his leather jacket against my skin. Knowing he was watching me. My breathing sped up, even as I tried to be silent and stop moving, trying to hide from him that I was about to come.
But he stopped, again. “You don’t know that I can tell when you’re going to come? It doesn’t say much for the lovers you’ve had before. I think you need to be fucked a lot to make up for that. Do you want me to fuck you?”
“Yes.” My voice was a low hiss. “Please.”
His voice was tense. “That’s not begging. Too polite.” He laughed. “Try again.”
I felt desperate. Hollow with need. “I want to beg you, but I don’t know how.” I would do anything now. And I realized I knew nothing, nothing at all. What a joke everything had been that had gone before. I thought I could hear him smiling.
He pulled me to my feet and held me against him, until I got my balance. “Hold on to me.” He walked me in the direction of the bathroom, up the stairs, but went left, not right. My thighs were suddenly against the arm of the sofa. “Bend over.” I did, and my ass was sticking out, my body lying tense against the pillows of the couch. I felt completely exposed.
“That’s it. Yes. Now tell me you want me.” And he put a finger inside me. The ice cubes were completely gone, but it was still cooler and wet inside me.
My voice was shaky. “I want you.”
“No. Let’s start slowly. Repeat after me: I want your cock inside me.” I imagined what he must look like, in his leather, standing over my naked body. Smiling. Victorious.
I took a deep breath. “I want your cock inside me.”
I heard the telling rip of another packet. “Say it again.”
“I want your cock in me. Now. Please. Please.”
“I think I can do that. Look at you, open, wet.” He slid inside me. “Oh, that’s good. Yes. Maybe I’ll let you come on me.”
“I want to come. I want you to come in me. Please.” I felt like I had no control of my voice. Words were coming out, unforced.
“Do you now?” He thrust up, and further in to me and I moaned. “You like that.” His fingers found my clit, and began teasing it, and I felt the beginnings of my orgasm. “Oh no, not yet.” And he stopped. Again.
I started actually crying with frustration. My words were broken up and rasping out of me. “Please Tristan, please god, I need to come so badly. I want you so much, it hurts, it hurts, please fuck me, hard, I’ll be, I’ll be whatever you want, please, you’re driving me insane, I’ve never felt like this ever, please, god.” I was taking in big gulps of air, frustration and need and pain and desire making me hysterical.
“That’s it, baby, let it go.” And he sped up, just slightly, angling my hips so he plunged into me even deeper. “You know I want to give you just what you need. But you,” and he paused, flicking my clit with his fingers as I sobbed, “need to give me what I need.”
I could do it. I had to. I started murmuring, “fuck me please, you’re so fucking huge, use me, you make me crazy, I’ll do anything you want.”
He gasped, and pulled back on my hair, making me cry out. “That’s it, fuck you’re so lovely, you’re fucking tight, you’re so small around me, squeeze me like that again, clever tricks, oh god.” And he sped up again, his breathing heavier. His fingers rubbed against my clit again. “Soon baby.” I cried out, making him moan again. “Yeah, that’s it.” He moved against me, his cock sliding in and out of me, his leather pants burning friction on my skin. He moaned again, “oh baby, soon, oh fuck.” And he held my hips down, like before. His voice was altered. “You make me fucking crazy, tell me you want me, little girl, make me come, make me come, so fucking hard.”
And he was plunging into me, faster now, his fingers moving circles around my clit. I felt my orgasm start to shake me, tearing me up. And he said, “yes now, now come for me, fuck,” and his cock was pulsing inside me, over and over, as his loud cries cut into my body. His sounds, his orgasm going on and on as I tightened around him, coming so hard, rattled, out of control, both of us together as my body followed his convulsions as though we had known all this forever.
Chapter 23
Finally, the aftershocks slowed down, and some kind of sense returned. I could feel him lying on me, heavy and warm, pushing me into the sofa. The weight felt good, solid and comforting. His arms were on either side of me, helping support his body, enclosing us. We lay there like for a while, dazed, and then I felt him pulling out. We both groaned from the change in contact, and I tried to move but couldn’t with my wrists tied. He stood up, and pulled me up after him, holding me against him, my back to his leather jacket. I wanted to feel his skin, my mind was whirling, all the things I’d ever wanted had suddenly come out to play and were insisting to be heard. Then he whispered in my ear.
“It’s not usually like this, you know.” And he kissed my neck, very gently. The contrast was overwhelming.
And I started to cry again.
“Oh, little girl, little girl, it’s ok.” And he whispered soothing sounds in my ear, as he untied my hands. “No, it’s not always like this for you, either. No. No. It’s ok. I’m here.” He untied the scarf from around my eyes, but I kept them tightly shut, even as the tears were squeezing their way out.
It was too much. I felt like I’d been pried open and everything was at the surface now. No shell, no protective covering. And there he was, soft and hard, being gentle, sweet with me. Too much.
He turned me to face him. “Open your eyes.”
“I can’t.” I couldn’t face him, it would just be too real then, his beautiful face and these feelings and all my needs would collide. I would die.
“Darling, don’t be ashamed of who you are and what you’ve done. Look me in the eye and show me who you are.” It was a reminder rather than a challenge, a philosophical idea, spoken in his soft, slow drawl, encouragement instead of a victory call.
And I opened my eyes. And there he was, beautiful, mysterious, his heavy lidded gaze filled with a million thoughts that I didn’t know. I looked up at him, taking in all of his face, his messy hair, dark brows, long eyelashes, his strong bones and masculine nose, but I returned to his eyes. There was his real beauty. The intelligence, the questioning, the complications. And we stared at each other.
He placed a gentle kiss on my nose. “Come little girl. So much to talk about, but we’ll leave it until tomorrow.” He began taking off his jacket, then stopped, and looked at me again. “Unless you want to go home?”
I drew in a breath, sharp and cold. I tried to find an answer to his question in his eyes, but there was nothing. His expression was careful, neutral. “Do you want me to go?”
“I want to hear what you want to do. Tell me.”
I played with a snap on his leather jacket as I considered everything that meant. Yes, I was still scared. Yes, it would be easier to go home. Did he want me to? What did I want to do? And all this closeness now…what would happen? Ah, fuck it.
I raised my head to look at him and tried to smile. “I’d like to stay. I’d like to feel you close to me tonight, try and sleep again with you.” I couldn’t believe I felt shy saying it after all the things we’d just shouted to each other, fucking like rabbits.
His eyes lightened, and he kissed me again. “As you wish, little girl. But let’s have a bath first. It’s hot under here.” He held one side of his jacket and moved it around, as though he were fanning himself. He gave me a lopsided smile and began walking towards the bathroom. Without him there, I felt v
ery uncertain, and I began to teeter slightly. I stuck out an arm, still feeling pins and needles, to hold myself up. But he noticed, and was there, back next to me, in an instant. “Slowly now. I’ve thrown a lot at you. You’ve done so well. We don’t want you falling down, not now.” He curled his arm around me, and placed me in front of him. “To the bath.” And he pushed me gently forwards.
The bathroom was warm, the heated towel rack on, everything clean and spotless. Again, in the back of my head, I marveled at his planning. Did he think of everything? Or was he just meticulous in whatever he did? He bent over and began running the bath. He put in some foaming bath oil, that same Jo Malone jasmine and mint scent, and turned towards me. He gave me one of those looks again. “Are you shy? You probably need a moment. I don’t mind, but maybe you do.” And he walked out, closing the door behind him. I was confused for a minute, and then I realized what he meant. Oh. Oh right. He didn’t mind. But I might. Did I?
Not really, I thought. But. That did mean intimacy. Closeness on another level. Almost like a couple. What did we have? And how could you be that close, that uninhibited in one way, and yet reticent in another? Human flesh, so complicated. Or was it the thinking?
I wondered if I should wait for him, but the bath looked so good, warm scented soft bubbles against the black and white tile. I climbed in, feeling slightly guilty. The water was soothing and I was just sinking in, when the bath water hit my bruised and beaten skin. I gasped. It stung like hell, and I lowered myself in, slowly, clenching my teeth. I wasn’t sure whether I was sorry he’d missed this spectacle, presenting him with more evidence of his power, or glad I’d shown my wounds to no one but myself. Either way, it was too late now, and the scent was calming. I felt like I’d been running for miles. All my muscles had been used, hard, and were now untwisting in the warmth.
Then the door opened, and he stood there on the threshold, completely naked. There were red marks from where the leather had rubbed against his torso and legs, and his chest was faintly glistening with sweat. His cock was still impressive, even in its normal state, slightly reddened against his heavy balls. He was animal and beautiful, and I felt like I was looking at a work of art. His beauty was so modern, but there was a whisper of something ancient in his proportions, strangely statuesque for someone so pulsing and alive. I returned my eyes to his face, to see him grinning at me. “You like?”
I smiled back. There was no need to speak about it. I was sure it was obvious how I felt.
“Did it hurt getting in?” He looked a little concerned, as he began climbing in the bath carefully opposite me.
“Yeah, it did a bit. Did you hear me?”
He laughed. “Ok, that was you. I thought I heard something.” He lay back and groaned, ducking his head under the water. He popped back up, dripping.
Wet was such a good look on him. He glistened, like a seal, his eyes at once darker and more sparkling in contrast to his almost black wet hair. He seemed to have an entire range of matching bottles and he chose one, and began washing himself, with a sort of sensual efficiency. I watched, forgetting about my own aches and soreness.
He rinsed his hair under the water again, and rubbed the water from his eyes. “Do you want me to wash your hair?”
“I’d love it.”
“Here, turn around.” I turned gently on my sore backside, and scooted up the tub until I was nestled between his legs. His hands were gentle, and his fingertips began firmly pushing at the tense spots in my skull. I closed my eyes and moaned softly, it felt so fantastic.
“You like?”
“It’s wonderful. It feels amazing.”
“Funny how much easier it is to talk about someone giving a massage than an orgasm, isn’t it?” And he continued adjusting the pressure points in my head, as I tensed up again. “It’s only an observation, no need to be alarmed.” He snorted.
He rinsed my hair with the shower attachment, and squeezed it out. “Come on little girl, I’m exhausted. It must be three in the morning. Let’s try and sleep.” He pulled the bath sheet off the rack, and wrapped me in it, rubbing his hands up and down my body. There it was again; that strange feeling of being looked after.
When he thought I was dry, he unwrapped the thick towel and dried himself off, carefully, like he was handling something precious. It was fascinating to see how he cared for his body. It didn’t take long, but there was an attention in his movements, the same attention he had paid to me.
“Interesting.” It came out of my mouth before I could stop it.
He looked up at me. He had been drying his feet. “What is?”
“Just you. Your attention to detail. The way you look after yourself.”
He looked thoughtful. “You get no extra points being careless. If you can’t take time over simple things, you miss the larger ones as well.” He finished, and folded the towel back over the rack, and flipped the lever to drain the bath.
• • •
“Come on darling. Come to bed.” And he held my hand as we walked back down the little stairs, over to the bed. He flung open the covers, and tucked me in, then went around the other side of the bed and climbed in. Oh, so that was his side, and this was mine. Ok. Then I realized what I’d thought. My side.
I was pushing away my domestic thoughts, when he leaned over and kissed me, sweetly and softly on the mouth. “It’s not what I expected,” he whispered against my lips. And he leaned back on the pillows and held his arm out. I nestled in, against his chest, and sighed. He kissed my head.
I needed to ask.
“Are you happy?”
I felt him smiling in the dark.
“Yes.”
Chapter 24
We slept with a part of us touching each other, close if not cuddled up all night. I woke up a few times, and looked around, confused, until I saw his back and dark hair, rising up and down with his breath. He was sound asleep, and it was soothing to watch him. I curled up, careful not to wake him, and listened to his steady breathing until I fell asleep again.
The next thing I knew, it was full morning, and the bed was empty. I rubbed my eyes, and looked around. The room seemed so normal; it was hard to believe what had happened the night before. Waking up in here. For the second time. But last night was different. What to call it, I wondered. Super charged emotional sexual whirlwind? Something like that. I had a moment of panic. Where was he? Now what? And I sank back down on the pillows, and shut my eyes again. No. I wasn’t going to be a coward. I would be who I was. In the daylight too. Whatever, whoever that turned out to be.
I went and washed my face and brushed my teeth with my finger. I’d have to carry a toothbrush if this was going to be a regular thing. If. I sighed. I debated whether to put on my underwear, and decided against it, seeing as the panties were little more than shreds anyway. I’d feel stupid just going out in a bra. Then I saw the robe, and slipped it on. I wasn’t ready to march around his house naked and careless.
I took a deep breath and went in the kitchen. There was a pot of green tea, but no Tristan. The door to the living room was shut. I walked up to it and was about to turn the handle, when I stopped and listened. He was talking to someone. On the phone? In person? I held my breath and tried to make out the voices. Yes. Yes, there was someone there. My heart stopped for a moment. Discretion. My presence would raise some questions. I didn’t want to eavesdrop, not really, but I was curious to know who it was. I could only hear the low murmurs of their voices. It sounded a bit like his manager. What would he be doing here, this early? He wasn’t due to leave until the day after tomorrow, right? Then I would leave the day after that. Reality kicked in. Calls to make. Life to organize. And I didn’t listen at doors. Jesus.
I sat down and poured myself some tea. The voices were getting louder suddenly. I was taking a sip of the warm green tea when I heard Tristan’s voice quite distinctly. He sounded coldly furious.
“No, I won’t drop it. It’s really none of your business, is it?”
Th
ere was a protesting mumble.
“Yes, you’ve been great at protecting me. Thank you. Now—leave it alone.” I knew that tone of voice, the drawl that meant he was calming himself down. Yes, like the other night, when he did that. That slow down must mean he was holding back. I wondered what the argument was about, but I had my suspicions. There was another growling mumble. Then there was silence. Then Tristan’s voice again.
“We’ll see who is right after London. And you might want to rethink what you’re doing. I’ll see you at JFK tonight.”
I drew in my breath sharply. So this was about London. And he was leaving tonight. Sooner than expected. What would he see afterwards? I felt slightly sick. The real world intruding back, threatening my beautiful little bubble. I heard the front door open and close, and the sound of the elevator, distantly muffled through the walls. A moment later, Tristan was opening the kitchen door. He looked at me, startled. His mouth was a thin line of displeasure, and I quailed inside, even though I didn’t think he was angry with me.
“You’re up.” There was still a hint of fury in his voice. He stood there, tense.
“Yes, been sitting here for about 10 minutes.”
“So you heard everything.” He stared at me.
Direct, I thought. I needed to deal with this right away before it became more than it should.
“I didn’t actually. I heard you getting angry, and something about London. About what, I don’t know.” I was annoyed that I needed to justify myself, but I didn’t want any misunderstandings. And I wanted to know what this was about. “ ‘You’ll see after London.’ That’s it. That’s what came through the wall. I don’t listen at doors, you know. I just wanted to drink some tea, and get out of bed, see where you were.”
He turned his head, and stared out the window for a moment. Then he looked back at me. There it was again, that look, as though he were about to decide against something in favor of another.
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