by Lyra Parish
Like clockwork, I parted my legs as his hand searched below my stomach. He readjusted himself and then moved his body back into position between me. I could feel the pressure of his cock on my sex, and it felt good, hard and longing for me. His lips searched and teased my mouth. When I moved in to kiss him, he pulled away.
"Rule number two, never kiss a client on his or her mouth," he purred.
"But."
He placed his finger over my mouth and whispered in my ear. "Shh. If you are to be one of my girls, you have to play by the rules."
"This is protocol, right?"
"You are mouthy, aren't you?"
"Will it hurt when you go inside of me?"
"No," he chuckled. "I'm not going to fuck you, Ms. Downs."
But my body begged for pleasure, and he undid the blindfold.
"I want you to look at me while you come. Imagine me pushing deep inside of that pretty pussy," he said. The way he looked at my body as if it were precious gold turned me on. I may have never had sex before, but at that moment, I wanted to be fucked, and hard.
He rubbed his hand over my breast and down over my belly button until he was down below. Parting my sex, he rubbed clockwise with his index and middle finger allowing my wetness to lubricate. The slow, steady movements felt like heaven. Little moans escaped from me as he picked up the pace and moved his hands horizontally and then vertically, learning what I liked most.
"Ohhh," I moaned as he discovered me.
"That's it. Moan as loud as you want. It's fucking sexy," he whispered.
The circular movements became faster and harder, and everything below began to tighten as if I would completely detonate into nothingness. I pushed my sex into him harder. I wanted him to keep going, keep pleasuring me into sweet oblivion. I grabbed the blanket and waited for the sweet release.
"Yes. I am almost there."
But instead of continuing, he stopped before I tipped over the edge.
"How does it feel?" The smile on his face was sinister and evil.
"How do you want me to feel?"
Before I could say another word, Mr. Felton flipped me onto my stomach and pinned me to the bed. With a slight movement, he moved my hair from my neck and whispered in my ear.
"While here, I don't answer your fucking sarcastic questions, Ms. Downs." And that's when I felt a burning, but pleasurable pain from his hand on my ass. I grabbed the comforter, and another semi-soft slap came, and another, and another, and then my arms were pinned against the wall, and he was touching my clit from behind. I pushed my ass onto his erection, and he groaned.
"Concentrate on how you feel. Tell me," he said, gently.
I closed my eyes letting my body respond to his touch.
"I want you to fuck me. Not soft, but hard. I want to be your whore, your dirty, little sex slave, and have you come so hard that it hurts. I want to make you feel like I do." I pushed into him, feeling his dick ache for me.
Still behind me, he forcefully pulled me against him, my back to his chest, and trailed one hand up my waist as his other continued to explore below. I grabbed my nipples and pinched, allowing the sweet sensation to shoot through my body.
"You're so fucking hot," he said into my shoulder, biting the curve.
A warm and tingly sensation spread from my clit to my vagina. My toes began to curl, and I knew I would soon lose myself in the rhythm. Every part of my body tensed, and I cried out in satisfaction until each inch of me relaxed and melted into him. I leaned against his bare chest, and he wrapped his arms around my stomach, and placed his chin on my shoulder. For a moment, I thought I felt his face contract into a smile.
"I want to please you," I said to the wall that I still faced.
"You couldn't fucking handle me, Ms. Downs." He gave a small slap to my ass and then moved himself from the bed and began to dress.
"Mr. Felton," I whispered.
"What we do in here is a lesson to help you understand what your body likes and craves. I can't have an inexperienced virgin running around."
"So this was protocol?"
"Understanding your body will allow you to better please our clients."
"Clients? You are always the fucking asshole," I muttered and lay down on the bed.
"I guarantee one hundred percent satisfaction. Oh, and get dressed, Ms. Downs. We don't sleep where we play."
Twelve
The next morning, I woke to cool sheets and an empty bed. Curtains allowed streaks of dim light to stack and spread among the wooden floor. Morning had barely come, but my body woke with an eagerness to start the day.
I needed to know more about Finnley Felton. I opened the browser on my phone and searched his name. 1 million pages showed. Finnley Felton, Sexiest CEO Under Thirty. Pictures of him with women on vacation, in suits, at movie premieres; he was everywhere.
I found pages of gossip sites with rumors of him and celebrities and countless interviews. I searched the web for an hour, trying to soak up as much information about him as I could. Mr. Felton was only five years older than me, and known for being a bastard in social situations. Someone pinned the tail on the ass that was my boss.
The floor felt cold on my feet, so I slid on the pink slippers and slipped down the stairs.
Surprisingly, Mr. Felton sat at the table sipping a cup of cream-filled coffee as he read the paper. Before making myself known, I watched how he acted when he thought no one was looking.
Completely comfortable in his skin, he chuckled as he read and sipped. Although it was barely light outside, Mr. Felton dressed professionally in a brown vest, cream dress shirt, and a checkered tie that brought out the red hues in the browns. I realized how early his days must begin. I supposed being the CEO of a successful sex corporation, and being ranked as one of the sexiest men in business, wasn't easy.
"Come in, Ms. Downs. Have a seat." His eyes never left the newspaper.
Damn it. Busted.
Gently, he folded the newspaper in half and then interlocked his fingers. He greeted me with a soft smile although it never reached his eyes.
"Sleep well?"
"Mmhmm, like a baby."
"How rude of me. Would you like a cup of coffee, or tea, even? I'll make it how I like it. You do know the English are known for excellent coffee and tea, and for many, many other things."
With a purpose, he stood and walked to the kitchen. Cups tinkered together as Mr. Felton hummed a soft tune. He hummed, too?
I couldn't help but fantasize and replay the events of last night. The way he straddled me, and held my wrists above my head, or the way I wanted it.
A delicate coffee cup and saucer with a cookie scooted in front of me. Steam rose from the top and the sweet scent of cream and sugar smelled like heaven.
"It's hot, be careful."
I picked the thin glass cup and blew the steam from the top, then placed it back on the saucer with a smile and a thank you. The tension pulled at the pit of my stomach, and I wanted to talk about last night, but didn't. Awkwardness stretched on for minutes before either of us spoke. With hopes for a distraction, I took a small nibble from the soft, honey-covered cookie. Sweet warmth filled my mouth, and before I knew it, I had eaten the whole thing.
"Would you like another?"
"Oh no, no thank you. Did you make them?"
"Does the sun rise every morning? It's my mother's biscuit recipe, passed down from her mother's mother, and so on."
"Biscuit? I thought that was a cookie."
"Not quite."
The thought of him mixing flour and salt and sugar to create something so fulfilling, warmed me.
"Finding a man who enjoys and appreciates cooking is a delicacy. Maybe one day I'll share my secrets with you. Cooking can be fun, you know."
I laughed. "I hate cooking."
"You must have never been taught to really cook. It's rewarding to mix different ingredients together and create a concoction of something you want. Something that your body needs and desires. Something tha
t satisfies you, but leaves you wanting more. And although you might want to share, and others may want a bite, you know deep down inside it's best to be greedy, and keep the secret to yourself. I don't particularly like to share."
Lips, luscious and full, mixed with soft, sensual words created a sexual tension that almost drove me from my seat. I swallowed, and my pulse quickened. I couldn't stop imaging his hands on me, touching me, teasing me, pleasing me. We weren't talking about recipes, or biscuits. No, it was much bigger than that.
"I'm a man who always gets what he wants. But recently, I've found myself caught between wants and needs, and am unsure of which path to take. Life. It's funny, isn't it?"
He sipped his coffee and watched me over the rim of the cup. I hesitated before I spoke, but I had to know.
"What do you want in life, sir?"
"A question I've yet to discover the answer to. Now it's my turn to ask you the same."
Long eyelashes and messy hair made up Mr. Felton. A perfect picture of poise and sex.
"I want happiness."
"It seems like a simple answer to a simple question, but it is much deeper than that. Seems like something is missing in your life, and you are steadily trying to fill the void."
Ding. Ding. Ding. Is he a mind reader?
"That may be true, but I think you struggle with the same thing. The two of us aren't that different from one another."
"It's not easy being this intelligent, or good looking," he said.
Mr. Felton gathered the plates that sat in front of us both and brought them to the kitchen. The refrigerator closed and opened several times, and the water ran in the sink. I leaned on the doorframe and watched him wipe the counters, put up the flour, and rinse the dishes. He was a bit of a Susie Homemaker. I smiled.
"What?" he asked.
"Just thinking about how domestic you are."
"No, I will not fuck you. I'm saving myself for marriage," he said.
"Then you'll be saving yourself forever, won't you?"
His face turned grave. The attitude went from happy-go-lucky to bleak in seconds.
"I'm sorry," he said, and darted his eyes toward me before returning to the counter he wiped so diligently. I didn't respond. There was no reason to. But the silence pressed on, and I knew it was time to leave. I stood, and he wiped his hands on a dishtowel and walked toward me. I straightened instantaneously.
His thumb found my lips and he traced the outside of them before running his fingers through my hair and grabbing the bottom of my chin.
I waited.
I waited for him to make his move, to kiss me, to pin me against the wall, but instead, he stared into my eyes and then walked passed me. My heart fluttered and then fell. The stairs acted as his getaway car to escape me. Before taking another step, he turned around and didn't take his eyes from me.
"You said last night that you wanted to please me. You do, Ms. Downs. You don't even fucking know."
I opened my mouth to speak. To call out to him. But instead, I stood there in the kitchen. Once I heard his door close, I exhaled.
Thirteen
I crawled back in bed, hoping for a do-over on the day. Too many mixed emotions bounced around in me like constantly moving particles. I lay there for at least an hour staring at the blank ceiling, trying to replay the morning.
The trigger was the mention of a marriage. Once that was said, the morning went to shit. I would never mention that in a conversation again and made note to find out more information.
Maybe Lori would know.
I grabbed the little notebook next to the bed and wrote a quick, little sentence to remind me to ask her. Since she'd been back, we'd both been busy. But today, we had planned to have brunch: mimosas and turkey sandwiches at a cute, little diner in town. It reminded me of home, and did the same for her, so we met for lunch, once a week. I wore a cute little dress; yellow and sunny, hoping it would bring my sour mood to another level.
No panties today. I didn't feel like it. I wanted to be scandalous in my own little way. And then my mind traveled back to Mr. Felton. I hated that he walked away from me. How could I know what I said would upset him when I don't really know him at all?
I tucked the little notebook into my clutch, grabbed the keys to the Honda, and arrived five minutes early. Lori, always on time and punctual, had been waiting for at least ten minutes.
We sat in the corner, in our regular place, and I pulled out the notebook and started going down the questions.
"Why do some men like to be called 'sir'?"
"It's because they like to be thought of as the dominant to their submissive. It's kinky and sexy all at the same time. I've got a few sirs."
Next question. I didn't know how to say it or how to word it, but I asked anyway.
"Does Mr. Felton train all of his girls, you know, to be sexual?"
Lori dropped her fork on her plate with a clink. I gave her the most confused look I could muster. She finished chewing her food and then stared at me long and hard.
"No."
My adrenaline pumped, and I couldn't help but be nervous. Was I breaking the rules, with my boss? Would I be fired?
"No, he doesn't. Not to say he hasn't, but he hasn't in quite a long time, like years. Is he… is he teaching you?"
"Yes. Should he not be?"
"Oh, it's his right to teach whomever he pleases, but…"
She paused for a long time, searching for the right words.
"But, he doesn't because it always becomes too personal."
I flushed.
Personal: the word that so easily described every bit of Mr. Felton and me.
"But you're different, Jennifer. He handpicked you. He sees something in you that he likes, not to say that he shouldn't, but he's our boss. It's dangerous territory. Just be careful. Okay?"
"Dangerous, like how? Will he hurt me?"
"Oh no. He won't hurt you. Mr. Felton would never let anyone hurt his girls, not even him. The only thing that might hurt is your heart. Build a wall. He isn't an asshole bastard. It's just, he is the kind of guy that women fall in love with."
"I see, and I would like to disagree with you on the asshole bastard thing. He is pretty assholish and bastardish."
"Assholes are kind of sexy, I think. Training is important, especially since you know you're a virgin," she whispered. Then she continued talking at her normal volume. "But don't take anything personally. Block your emotions like we learned in etiquette training. He is only preparing you for your Number One. You must remember that, no matter what happens."
"I won't fall in love with him. He's too much of a dick for me." I had to say it out loud. I had to believe that it was true.
"If you know what's best, you'll avoid the mention of love at all costs."
"This morning, I joked about Mr. Felton getting married, and he acted weird. Why?"
The waitress, Sue Mary, arrived with another round of mimosas. We thanked her as we sipped from mismatched champagne glasses.
Lori leaned over the table and whispered.
"He was married before."
"Really? Oh my god. Did she divorce him or something?"
"She died, Jennifer. He moved to the States for her. They fell madly in love. She was pregnant with their firstborn, and a few months before she was due, she was involved in a fatal car accident. It killed both her and Mr. Felton's unborn son."
"Oh my god. I feel horrible."
"Don't worry about it. He's still sensitive about it, and it's been wow, six years, I think? He was young, like your age, when it happened. I secretly think that's why he hates love so much. It was a tragic love story like a modern day Romeo and Juliet. I don't think The Elite would be here today if it hadn't happened. Felton created the business to busy himself into forgetting about his wife and son, but I don't think it worked."
I couldn't speak. I was such a fucking idiot. Out of everyone in the house, I knew what it felt like to lose someone close. No wonder he turned cold. I sipped m
y drink, hoping to drink my dumbness away.
Changing the subject abruptly, Lori said, "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but Luke has a weekend getaway scheduled for the two of you."
"What?" I semi-yelled.
"Shh. I overheard Jesse telling Mr. Felton early this morning in the kitchen. You'll find out this afternoon, and leave in the morning, so try to act surprised?"
"Where are we going?"
"I'm not sure, but I'm sure it will be somewhere sexy. Damn, that man is gorgeous."
I smiled thinking about Luketon and I playing on the swing set, watching the light show at the park.
We finished our mimosas, paid our ticket, and tipped Sue Mary a few hundred dollars. The old woman loved us, which is why she made our drinks so damn strong.
***
Lori and I arrived back at the same time, but she left quickly afterward to meet a client. The afternoon crept in, and the shadows of the house moved across the lawn.
Knowing that I would be somewhere else tomorrow gave me a thrill. I felt like a little kid on Christmas morning. And then the thought of my parents appeared, and the happiness subsided. Damn it. I pulled myself from the dark place I went when I thought of them, closed my eyes, and then opened them quickly.
I would be somewhere else tomorrow. I tried to focus on that and that alone. The four mimosas I drank helped.
Not a soul stirred in the house. Not a car in the driveway. Quietness lingered.
A door closed upstairs and footsteps softly pounded down the hall. I sipped a bottle of water at the kitchen table as I checked the outrageous amount of spam email on my phone.
Mr. Felton walked to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, and sat across from me at the table. I gave a half smile and then returned my attention back to my phone. He continued to stare.
