Reaching Lily

by Vivacia K Ahwen

  I fell to my knees and he tore off his silken pajamas, letting his enormous cock spring free. It was swollen fit to bursting, and had just the slightest upward curve. Impressive.

  ‘Suck it,’ he said, and held my head still as he stuffed his engorged member between my lips and halfway into my mouth. Not down my throat; he pulled back before losing control.

  ‘Please let me finish, please. Sir Dorian.’

  ‘Lick my cock, Lily.’

  I ran my tongue down Dorian’s impressive length, cupping his balls as I did so. His breath hitched, and I took his head between my lips, teasing the tip of my tongue against his frenulum, swirling the dribbling of his sweetness in my mouth, then leaned back, waiting for his next command. Sweat dripped down his forehead. He yanked his T-shirt over his head and stood before me looking like a Greek statue. Except hung.

  Well hung.

  ‘On your feet,’ he said. ‘Please take off your shirt, Lily.’

  He said please. I removed my cami at once, and revelled in his unabashed admiration of my breasts. ‘Make love to me, Dorian.’

  ‘No.’ He stepped toward me, cupped my breasts and kissed me hard on the mouth. ‘I won’t make love to you. But I will fuck you. If you’re good.’

  ‘Squeeze my nipples,’ I said. ‘Make me hurt some more.’

  The skin on my backside was burning.

  ‘My, my, Lily.’ He raised an eyebrow, and for a moment I saw a playful twinkle in his eyes, which quickly vanished. His penis pressed just above my bellybutton. ‘As you wish.’

  He squeezed my nipples, but not enough. ‘Harder.’

  Dorian ducked his head low and delighted in drawing my nipples between his teeth and nibbling ever so slightly.

  ‘Harder,’ I whispered. ‘Please.’

  Dorian bit down until I yelped. He held off for a moment, as though waiting to hear ‘Mercy’, and when I was silent, but for the slightest whimper, he moved his mouth to the right side, while continuing to pinch my left nipple. ‘Have you had enough, Lily?’

  ‘Not even close.’

  With a snarl, Dorian Holder swung me up in his arms and stalked into the adjoining master bedroom. He carried me princess-style, as though I were light as a feather, but his jaw was set with grim determination. I went limp, as my entire body ached for his touch, wanted to complete, acted and reacted of its own accord. Careful, Lily, said a voice in my head. Which I should have listened to, but my willpower had disappeared. He flung me on the bed and stared at me, awestruck. Awestruck by what I had no idea, but seeing the worshipful expression on his face gave me such peace, and I found myself smiling.

  ‘What is it, Lily?’ He drew in a ragged breath. ‘What do you want now?’

  ‘Let me come.’ I touched myself, while he watched. ‘Please me, or I’ll have to do it myself.’

  ‘I’ll tie you up again.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of you, Dorian.’

  ‘Yeah, well, maybe you should be.’ He grasped my wrists together, pinned them over my head and moved on top of me like a lion taking down its prey. The pressure of the mattress below me and his weight on top set my nerves off again, spreading sweet pain all over my buttocks, and stung my nipples. With his strong, sinewy thighs Dorian spread my legs apart, still gripping my wrists. He took my chin in his free hand and ordered, ‘Open your eyes, Lily Dewitt.’

  ‘Yes, Dorian. Sir.’ We faced each other, excited and terrified. He let go of my chin and ran his hand along my ribs, down my belly. Then he gripped his penis and stroked himself, hard and fast.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he asked, circling the head of his cock around my clit, and slipped two fingers in in a swirling motion, causing me to instinctively raise my hips to meet him. ‘Because you sure feel ready to me.’

  I wrenched my arms. ‘Mercy on my wrists. I need to touch you now.’

  He let go at once. Safety. My heart leaped as I reached up to caress his cheek and inhaled. The air smelled like caramel and the ocean. ‘Fuck me, Dorian.’

  ‘Beg me, and maybe I will.’ He rolled away from me, fumbled open the drawer of the bedside table, grabbed a condom and tore off the wrapper. ‘But first things first.’

  I took another breath and said, ‘I beg you to fuck me.’

  ‘“Mr Holder, I beg you to fuck my pussy,”’ he corrected, rolling the condom along the considerable length and girth of his manhood. Even though it was a Magnum XXL, Dorian’s penis could barely be contained. ‘Say it.’

  ‘Mr Holder, I beg you to fuck my pussy.’ I grasped his buttcheeks, trying to force him to enter me. But he was stronger and braced himself.

  ‘You’re no match for me, Lily.’

  ‘No. I surrender.’

  ‘Say this.’ He grabbed his enormous cock, circled swiftly around my cleft, but held himself back. This teasing had to be as torturous for him as it was for me, and, if that was so, his self-restraint was impressive. ‘“Mr Holder, fuck me now, and fuck me hard.”’

  ‘Yes.’ It was a whisper. There was no way that I could form a sentence at this point in whatever this journey was that we had begun, despite our best intentions. ‘Mr Holder, fuck me now, and fuck me hard.’

  ‘Hmm …’

  ‘Please, Dorian! I can’t wait much longer.’

  ‘As you wish,’ he said, and moved the crown of his dick into the opening of my soaking wetness, ready to plunge inside.

  I closed my eyes, waiting for what would surely come next.

  His phone buzzed in the living room, and he lunged as though to leave me hanging again.

  ‘No!’

  Laughing, he rammed his full length inside me, so deep and hard that for a moment I could not breathe. I grasped his shoulders and ran my fingernails the length of his back, eager for more.

  ‘Ow. You foxy bitch.’ Dorian nailed me harder, and I continued to claw the smooth skin of his back whenever he slowed the steady pace of his insistent pounding. That night, I didn’t want him to wait, I didn’t want him to stop or make it last longer. All I wanted was to lose myself in him, fast and furious, and he in me. We would have other evenings to linger, to play, to explore. I hoped so, I hoped we would, and I rejoiced in the discovery of a man whose fire burned bright enough to unthaw me. To wake me up, and remind me that burning bright was not the worst thing a girl could do. He can have whatever he pleases after tonight, I thought, though it was not entirely true. It felt true. Right now, I just needed a proper, furious, fast fuck.

  I needed him.

  ‘I need you,’ I caught myself gasping. ‘Dorian.’

  ‘You have me,’ Dorian whispered, and let out a cry as he came, and his final thrust against that secret spot deep within drove me, shuddering, over the edge. We rode the cresting climax together, and I could no longer tell where one of us ended and the other began. Moments later, I came a second time, a rolling wave of pure light, glorious energy, satiated desire. At last, my hunger was fed, my thirst slaked, and I could never remember feeling more alive.

  Dorian rolled over on his side, and propped his head on his arm. ‘You OK, baby?’

  I nodded, since I couldn’t speak, and touched his temple. He kissed my forehead, a lingering kiss that made me feel safe and cherished.

  ‘Thank you, Lily,’ he said, ever the gentleman. ‘Your tight little pussy tastes like agave nectar. Did anyone ever tell you that?’

  ‘No,’ I managed. ‘Never.’

  ‘God, I hate these things.’ Dorian was all business as he removed his condom, tied a knot, wrapped it in tissues then tossed it into the trashcan. ‘No one’s ever mentioned how tasty your pie is? Tsk, tsk. You’ve suffered fools gladly.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ I shifted my hips, trying to position myself so that my butt wouldn’t be quite so sore. ‘Am I making a mistake, Dorian? Have I just made a horrific mistake?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He smoothed my hair. ‘Quite likely. Time will tell.’

  ‘Please don’t hurt me.’ The words came out small and choked.

  ‘I will hurt
you, Lily. No matter how hard I try not to, I will. It’s my nature. This is who I am, what I am.’ He sounded bitter. ‘Of course all you have to do is say “When”. Or “Mercy”, since that’s your preference. But I’m speaking in the emotional sense of torture, not the physical. Though there is that, as well. I don’t know why I need that control, but this is the only way I feel connected to the planet, to people. Ownership is the only way I feel safe. When I get through with you, you may wish you’d never met me.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  Of course it was. But sometimes the biggest risk is never taking a risk at all. I was up for the task.

  Or so I believed.

  ‘I tend to have that effect on women.’

  ‘I’m not like other women,’ I informed him.

  ‘I know that, Lily Dewitt.’

  ‘But I’m terrified of you,’ I added. ‘Just so you know.’

  ‘If it helps, you’re not the only one who has a lot to lose.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Could he read my mind?

  ‘No more questions, Lily. We just had a lovely fuck. Enjoy the peace. Or “bask in the afterglow”.’ Though he was trying to be playful and ironic, there was heaviness in the air. ‘Whatever you like to call it.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Let yourself have a bit of joy. You deserve it.’ He inhaled the scent of my hair and sighed. ‘It’s time to rest, Lily.’

  ‘Goodnight, Dorian Holder,’ I said, closing my eyes.

  ‘Sweet dreams, pretty girl.’

  Don’t you dare fall in love with him, Lily.

  As though having heard my thought, Dorian held me tighter, and I gave in to his embrace.

  What else could I do?

  And after one more deep breath, I gave in to the velvety darkness of sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Save A Prayer

  The last scene of my dreamscape took place in a Buddhist monastery. A monk was walking amongst his parishioners, one of whom was me. He carried a long stick and swatted the backs of those who had dozed off. I sat cross-legged, still as granite. ‘Wake up,’ said the monk, and lifted his switch high, as though to strike me. Instead, a sweet bell chimed three times, and the dulcet tone awoke me.

  Just a text alert from some new pink smartphone on the bedside table.

  Dorian had a pink cell?

  Ew. So not into the metrosexual thing. Furthermore, how was I not supposed to pick up a phone that my Never Will Be A Boyfriend boss left beside me? Given our cell history, my curiosity and soon-to-be walk of shame? Props to me for not grabbing it. Which I didn’t.

  But.

  There was also a blue glass vase, filled with garish orange lilies.

  Hmm.

  I picked up the envelope beside it and tore it open to find a now familiar script:

  Good Morning, Tiger.

  Feel free to ring room service, and don’t worry about tipping. That’s been more than covered. You will find a breakfast menu in the living room, next to our neglected tea and biscuits. I recommend the blueberry brie and fruit platter.

  As you can see, I took the liberty of purchasing a phone for you that was not carved out of stone and varnished with pitch, unlike the dinosaur-age one you like to leave lying around your desk. All information has been transferred. No, I did not investigate your digital backstory, tempted though I was. There’s an instruction manual in the drawer, should you struggle with the new-fanglery. You’ll find your ancient model in there as well, should you prefer a Gary Numan ringtone and no internet access.

  Just say Mercy.

  In your Back Bay Room downstairs a tub awaits you. Housekeeping was instructed to run it half an hour from now. At noon, Beezus will be by with staff to have your garments properly fitted, take you to lunch, bring you to the salon of her choice and introduce you to Marla Gheiszler. Frau Gheiszler will be your dance instructor. She’s a lovely woman; you’ll be fond of her.

  Do call me if you have questions or – more likely – protestations, and I will ease your addled mind.

  Thank you for what turned out to be a revelatory evening. I cannot say I’m sorry for winning the bet. But, as I mentioned, Holders always win. You were warned.

  All Yours,

  D

  The nerve.

  Before I had time to get good and mad, the phone knelled again, asking if I wanted to receive a photo message.

  A photo of a sinewy, muscular back, covered in red scratches for my viewing pleasure and shame. One comment:

  TIGER LILY!

  Oh.

  I got it. And no, I would not apologise for the damage I’d done to Dorian Hartley Holder, CEO. We subs have more pizzazz than some might think. Dorian had been warned of my feistiness, and I knew the more I resisted him and misbehaved, the more he would discipline me and put me in my place. Which was precisely what I wanted. Correction: what I thought I wanted.

  Back to Dorian Hartley Holder, who clearly needed an ‘impertinent’ email from yours truly:

  D – Thank you for the fancy new phone. I just may keep it. Look, I figured out how to get online! It’s even technophobe friendly.

  Please stop with the ‘Tiger’ thing. Though I apparently shredded you more than I thought possible, you still don’t know me well enough for pet names.

  Also: the whole ‘Sir Dorian’ thing doesn’t work for me any more.

  Regarding your poor, sore back: should it make you feel any better, my bum feels like I sat on a friggin’ woodstove. My ‘China’ and thighs are mottled with bruises from what can only be described as a battering ram, my nipples are ringed with toothmarks, and I smell like a Turkish prison.*

  Also, these are Asiatic lilies, not tiger lilies. It’s a common error. But I appreciate the gesture.

  You see, I know from lilies.

  Lily

  *I’ve never actually been to a Turkish prison, so that’s merely a guess. What I smell like is last night, and the better (or worse?) part of me doesn’t want to wash you off. Not yet.

  Hopefully, I’d be punished for my impertinence.

  Perhaps Holders always win, but Dewitts put up a damned good fight.

  * * *

  Despite my initial misgivings – seeing as catered breakfast wasn’t my idea – I ordered Dorian’s cheesy/fruity recommendation, along with a cinnamon sugar scone, triple espresso and a Fuji water. My head throbbed like the dickens for the third time in a week. Whilst nibbling away, I fielded texts from Beatrice Collins, whom I was less than thrilled to hang out with. She apologised for snapping at me and claimed she’d explain later. On one hand, I had half a mind to tell all Holders to go fuck themselves, but on the other I was beyond curious as to what information Beatrice might provide. Now that I knew she was Dorian’s sister, my respect for her had skyrocketed. Beatrice Collins wasn’t a complete wretch, or at least not in the way I had assumed. She was worried about her big brother getting his poor billionaire feelings hurt.

  Which was kind of crazy, given that Dorian was holding all the cards.

  Or was he?

  Then there was my nosy factor. Like most of us, I’ve been seriously inquisitive about the few men I’ve slept with. And apparently I’m especially so when I’m trying not to fall in love. What makes Dorian Hartley Holder tick? Beatrice would reveal some information before the day’s end. Granted, I’m a bit awkward, and have some serious social anxiety, but tend to do quite well one-on-one. Introverts have ways of making people talk.

  Gals like Beatrice Collins don’t have a lot of lady-friends to confide in; it’s just the unfortunate way we girls can be. I get that, and hate that I’ve participated. Not cool. Commercially pretty, sharp, independent women with more than a kiss of sass have few pals, unless they star in reality shows. Even then, would you bare your soul to Kim Kardashian? I felt really guilty for judging her so much before I knew how she was related to Dorian, but who could blame me? Beatrice Collins-Holder was quite cold and hard on the surface. If I could figure out what made Beatr
ice (whom I will never call ‘Beezus’) tick, I might learn a few things about Dorian, even if she tried to hold back private details. Chances were, she was doing a background check on me too. I’d like to say I have nothing to hide, but that wouldn’t be the truth. I can say this: any skeletons in my closet are not available on Google.

  Fair is fair.

  When I returned to what should have been my sleeping quarters last night, I had a twinge of regret for not taking advantage of the Mandarin Back Bay Room, and wished I could afford another day. This place was amazing. I tossed my few belongings onto the bed, to investigate the bubbling sound coming from the bathroom. Bubbling is the wrong word; it sounded as though there were a raging river, just freed after a winter’s thaw. I opened the door, closed my eyes and inhaled.

  Good Lord.

  The room was steamy, dim, but glowing with candlelight. My nostrils filled with restless layers of odour: cloves, tangy fruit, flowers.

  Lilies.

  There was another familiar scent from childhood I could not recognise. Chalky. Not unpleasant, but chalky.

  The enormous, eggshell-white jacuzzi was surrounded by orange and yellow candles. And within the raging mineral waters orange petals swam and bubbled about like mad goldfish. Tropical plants added to the lushness of the atmosphere. There was a shining silver bucket of ice, in which nestled a bottle of champagne, a decanter of water and a glass jar of freshly squeezed orange juice. Next to it sat a wineglass. DIY Mimosas?

  I could get used to this, I thought.

  Not saying I expected to get used to it, but I could, should the opportunity present itself.

  So I dropped my well-spun cottony attire to the floor, as though I were shedding a second skin. Dipping a shy toe in the tub, I found the water to be tepid; Dorian remembered my skin might be searing from his less than forgiving spanks. So sweet of him.

  No, I’m not being ironic. I seriously still thought that was sweet of him.

  Grateful for – and anticipating – the liquid relief, I sank into the swirling waters, taking another deep breath. OK, cornstarch! That was the mysterious odour.