by Sara Forbes
He traces a finger around my wet folds, murmuring, “And after I taste you, I'm going to fuck you.”
I hear myself saying, “Please, Alex,” as he sucks my clit into his mouth and drives a finger inside me. His finger doesn't totally stretch me, but it's enough to make me feel full. His mouth's moving on me, sucking, licking as he adds another finger. I squirm and rock, wanting to thrust against his whole body, craving his cock inside me, filling me.
He teases me further. I gather he's reading my body, understanding my responses better than I can. An expert. Of course he is. Again and again, he plays me, bringing me to the edge of what I can bear, leaving me gasping, pleading before backing off again, denying me. He only lifts his head once to say, “Play with your nipples, Hayley.”
I hesitate, but he gives me such a heartfelt, pleading smile that my reservations crumble. I've never done this before, but there's no way I'm refusing him anything now. I'm way too far gone. Lifting a trembling hand from the cool tabletop, I trace my fingertips around my nipples, tentatively, then harder, shivering at the twinges of pleasure.
His tongue licks me, pressing into my swollen clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. My hips surge up to his mouth, unafraid to ask. My fingers pinch harder as my body loses control.
The orgasm rips through me and my pussy clamps for dear life around Alex's fingers. He fucks me harder with them, sucking at my clit, dragging out my waves of pleasure until I need to gasp in breaths.
When I come back to myself, Alex is sitting on top of the table too, cradling me in his arms. I'm still woozy from coming so hard. Through the haze of bliss, I lift my face to his, seeking his touch. I taste myself on his lips.
He looks down at me indulgently. “You okay, Countess?”
“Yes. No.” Because even though I've come harder than I thought I could, I'm now massively aware of his hard cock under my ass and I want it inside of me. And I know it's what he wants, too. I reach for him.
“More?”
I nod.
“Absolutely. But not here.” He grabs me in his arms, lifts me, strides across the gallery, unlocks and kicks open the door and carries me up the stairs, naked, in the darkness. I gasp when I realize what he's doing, but he shushes me. “Nobody uses these stairs.”
“I don't care. I'm naked, you idiot.” I clutch onto his damp shirt with a vise grip.
“I'm fully aware of that.”
I cringe and close my eyes, imagining all kinds of embarrassing scenarios, and only reopen them when he lays me gently on cool, satin sheets. As I loll there on his ginormous bed, trembling with anticipation, he grabs a condom from a drawer in the bedside table. Of course, this is why he needed to come up here.
He's naked in seconds, and seconds later, sheathed and pressing his thick cock inside my swollen pussy. I thought his fingers had filled me, but this is so much more. His cock stretches me in a satisfying, mind–numbing way and I love it. I'm clinging to his hips for all I'm worth, moving him deeper inside of me with every thrust.
Very soon, I feel the urgent need to come and I can tell he's ready, too. I'm gasping his name as I go wild under his body, thrashing into a blind ecstasy. He surrenders to his orgasm, groaning my name and then collapses, shuddering, beside me. He rolls over and pulls me on top so I'm sprawled on his chest.
My mind goes off to happy la–la land as I look into his sultry eyes. I brush back hair from his forehead, sinking my fingers into its softness. The heaving of his chest slows down and he closes his eyes. I examine his beautiful, resting face. I'm in new territory … sated, but raw. Different. I don't know what any of this means. My thoughts are wispy clouds, hard to catch hold of. All I know is, this feels damn good.
His fingertips trace lazy circles on the base of my spine as if to tell me he's still awake but doesn't want to talk or open his eyes. I so get that. I want to stay in this position forever, just feeling, looking, breathing.
He finally says. “I knew you'd drive me wild.”
My body's so relaxed, I doubt I'll ever be able to move it again. Because this is, hands down, the best sex I've ever had. He's just raised the bar to impossible heights. I know I'll regret it sometime, but not right now.
When the wooziness passes and my surroundings come into sharper focus, I'm bracing myself for some kind of anti–climax, but judging by Alex's beaming face, and the way he can't keep his hands off my body, he's feeling the same way as I am—giddy, excited.
“You hungry?” he asks.
“Among other things,” I murmur. “Okay, yes.” We skipped dinner, after all. But who needs food?
“I'll go pick up some scraps from the kitchen then. Wait here.” Alex pulls on trousers and a shirt and wags his forefinger at me. “Don't move.”
I'm laughing, shaking my head, as he bounds out the door. Why does he think I'd move? I'll never be able to move again. He'll always be a sex god to me. I'll live here on this massive bed forever.
I lose track of time, lolling against the pillows, dreaming. At last he returns with a large silver tray and a triumphant smile. Out of “scraps” he's managed to concoct an amazing supper of salmon pastries, avocado dip, crudités, and tiny strawberry shortcake tarts. Everything tastes melt–in–the–mouth heavenly. I know Mrs. B should take the credit for the food quality, but I'm loving the fact that Alex went to the effort of presenting everything so beautifully, linen napkins and all.
I hate to say it, but I feel like a princess.
We eat in comfortable silence. Alex is as hungry as I am, if his speed of demolishing his pastry is anything to go by.
“Why don't you have people in to see them? The paintings? The sketches?” I ask, munching on the strawberry tart. It's clear he doesn't have a clue what he's got down there. I don't even know what they are, for the most part, but I want to find out.
“I guess I don't think about it much, what with the funeral and the business, and … I've been busy.”
“Of course,” I say gently. “It's just pretty overwhelming as an art student to see all this.”
He looks at me speculatively. “I suppose it must be, yes. Could you … perhaps … see yourself … you know, cataloging this lot? Or even outsourcing the task to someone you know? Maybe the local art club? See, I just don't have a clue. All I know is that the obsession took over too much of Father's time.” His voice is grim.
“What? Oh my God, I'd love that,” I blurt, eager to help him in any way I can. That is, until I remember it's a nonsensical idea. My heart is soaring nonetheless. It's a dream job—on paper. Imagine being the cataloguer, the curator even, of this collection! What an honor. I could brighten the gallery rooms up, rearrange the paintings into themes because right now … no, just no. And maybe procure more rooms to display all of them. There must be at least seventy hanging up, but I saw a lot of cabinets and rolled up paper.
He's grinning at my stunned reaction. “Come work for me. I'll pay you whatever you think is reasonable. Although I must warn you,”—his voice lowers to a sexy rumble as he smooths his thumb down my cheek—“it's not a job for the fainthearted.”
I lean into his hand, playing along. “And why would that be?”
A wicked flash gleams in his eyes. “There will be some extracurricular activities expected of you.”
I shut my eyes. “Alex, I'm going home tomorrow.”
“Are you?” He flops back against the pillows, hands behind his head. “Why?”
“Well, I kind of have to.”
His mouth is a stubborn line. “Again. Why?”
“I–I've got college. I can't stay here.”
“I thought you said it didn't start until September.”
“I did,” I say, biting down on my lip, running through my options. “It doesn't.”
“So. Stay at least until September. Or longer. Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you yesterday, but we don't have to worry about your uncle for now because I've heard from some contacts in the foreign service that they found him in London and he's u
nder their surveillance and, we hope, behaving himself. So, what do you say?”
I look at his eager face. The way he's saying this tells me he thinks all obstacles have been cleared. Stuffing my annoyance at Uncle Stig to the back of my mind, I open my mouth to explain how it's really not that simple. “Ale—mmmmmf.” His lips press onto mine then his tongue flicks out, tasting me.
He slides the tray to the edge of the bed and tugs me back into him. My body catches fire. I wriggle against him, feeling his cock swell.
I slide down the sheets, come up on my knees between his legs to suck his cock. Alex is the first man I've wanted in my mouth and I've been wondering what he'll taste like ever since he stretched me out on the gallery table. I get my answer—he's salty and male and perfect. I want him to come in my mouth, but before that happens, he grasps me by the hips and starts fucking me again. I don't refuse him.
I lose myself even harder. Because somewhere in the last few minutes, I know I've made the decision to stay until he's had enough of me, or me of him, or until college starts, whichever happens first.
17
HAYLEY
I HAVE NEVER BEEN MUCH of a morning person, but this I could get used to. The first thing greeting my eyes is a rose—pink and perfectly defined, sitting on top of a napkin. I blink and rise up on my elbow. Alex is gone, but laid out before me on the duvet is the same tray as last night but adorned with fragrant, fluffy croissants and a pot of what smells like tea, along with a tiny jug of milk and a cute little silver dish of thinly sliced lemon. I eye the spread greedily. I must've burned a million calories last night, so I'm good.
I can't remember the last time I drank tea and I'm wondering whether I'd prefer to drink it with milk or lemon when Alex strides into the room. He laughs at my expression, and sits on the side of the bed, fully dressed in a pristine, navy–blue suit that's molded to his to–die–for frame that I know is hiding underneath. It doesn't seem right that he's wearing clothes again, all buttoned up to perfection, while I'm wriggling under his duvet, naked.
“Morning, gorgeous.” He leans in and slides an errant lock of hair behind my ear. His fingertips grazing my skin are enough to make my nipples perk up, and I squeeze my thighs together to ease the tension building there. I still can't believe I shared a bed with him and did all those things. And that it felt so good. I'm so freaking happy there are dance tunes blaring over everything going on in my head.
“Mm, thank you.” I sit up straighter and let out a long, contented sigh. “Been up long?”
“Not long. But I'm late for the office.”
I wish I could have woken up earlier and enjoyed the feeling of basking in his arms, but my comatose slumber prevented that luxury.
“Here, I got you a new phone.” He places a spanking new device into my hand.
I rub sleep out of my eyes and stare at the sleek, white device. “You shouldn't have.”
“Yes, I should. I need to be able to contact you.”
I finger the on button and watch the screen come to life. “I can't accept this.”
“Hayley, see it as your work phone that your employer is giving you.”
I sit up straighter. “You were serious about that?” Excitement ripples through me at the thought of taking control of that gallery downstairs. Mixed in with the lust for this incredible man, I'm trembling at the sheer abundance of my luck.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Like a maniac, I smile into empty space. Then, it hits me. All of it.
“Oh no! My flight! Dad thinks I'm coming home today! Alex … I can't stay till September. That's ridiculous. What was I thinking? This is impossible.” I lift the heavy tray off my lap, maneuvering it carefully on to the duvet, and slide off the bed, not caring that I'm naked. I scramble to the chair where clothes are lying in a heap. But they're all his clothes.
“Shit, Alex, where are my clothes?” I do a madwoman dance in front of the chair.
“Where you left them. In the gallery.”
“Come on,” I insist. I race over to the faded grandfather clock on his wall to check the time. “Jesus, seven ten.”
“Hayley.” Alex is standing before me, looking bemused. “What, exactly, are you doing?”
I swat strands of hair from my face and search around for something to tie it back with. “What does it look like? I need to go.”
“But—go where?" He reaches out to me. "We talked about this yesterday. I asked you to stay.”
“Yes, but I thought … I thought it was just … you know … talk.” I redden. I may as well admit that I'd have said anything to have him do the things he did to me. “I didn't think you meant it that way.”
He frowns. “Well, what other way is there?”
I stop moving. His unguarded expression of sheer incomprehension makes him seem naked to me for the first time.
I gulp and meet his gaze. “You mean— You want me to stay?”
Alex lets out a sigh. “Hayley, if you want me to say it again, I will.”
As the truth of his words sink it, I need to slump back down on the bed. It's crazy. Dad will have a heart attack. And Uncle Stig's running around somewhere, God knows where. Or dead. I was so ready to leave this country. Until now.
Alex sits down beside me, his warmth seeping through my side. He pulls the top blanket up around my shoulders as I'm starting to shiver. “I want you to stay, but if you feel you can't, I won't pressure you.” His fingers trail down my forearm, making the hairs spring up.
I clutch the blanket and pull both sides together at my chest. Call me a prude, but I can't talk career moves with my tits on display. “But how would that even work? I mean, in theory, if I were to stay?”
“I would get papers drawn up to employ you as a student worker. A decent wage. If, that is, you still feel you can make a go of this gallery idea? You'd have the creative freedom to set up the gallery for public viewing as you see fit. And you could stay in my room, if you want.” Alex gestures to me and him with a vague, circular motion of his fingers.
I imitate his vague, circular gesture. "Another perk of the job, huh?”
He smiles broadly. "Every night. Every morning, too, if you wish.”
"Plus breakfast in bed?" I'm smiling now. He makes it all sound so easy. But most importantly, he's couched it in terms that shows respect for me and who I am.
“Oh yes. Absolutely.”
Christ, what do I have to go back to? Two months of summertime boredom while I wait for the semester to start. Besides, Alex is offering me a legitimate reason to stay. I'll be able to earn my own fare back to Portland and not rely on my flaky uncle. It's actually a no–brainer. "I have to talk to Dad first."
“Of course.” He slaps his knees and rises. “I'll go and fetch clothes from your room. In the meantime, wear this.” He hands me a gray terry cloth bathrobe. It's got the family crest on the pocket.
“I'm impressed,” I say, running my fingers over the embroidered crest of two lions fighting. “Are there slippers to match?”
“I'll put it on the list of employee demands.”
After Alex has delivered my clothes and gone again, I get dressed and carry the cup of tea down to my own bedroom. I start up Skype. It's 7:30 a.m. in England, 11:30 p.m. in Oregon. Mara's a night owl, so there's no danger she'll be in bed yet. And it's no surprise that she's still at work when I make contact. She seems to be slaving over architectural design details that her boss will probably never give her credit for.
“Are you out of your mind?” is her first response to my news that I'm staying in Fernborough for the rest of the summer.
“It's a once–in–a–lifetime opportunity,” I say defensively.
“I'm sure it is. But. Well. Wow.”
“Right?” A traitorous smile breaks out on my face.
She slaps her hand to her mouth. “No, don't tell me. You and Big Cucumber?”
“Alex. His name's Alex.”
“So, was he big, I mean, good?”
“Out of
this world, Mara. I'm one part intoxicated, another part terrified, or something. I hardly know!”
“Okay, calm down.”
“I'm fine.” I laugh. “I'm great. I've never felt better. Oh, if only you were here, then it would be perfect.”
“Seriously, Hayley. You need to think. Call your father. Tell him something. I saw him in Freddy's again this morning. I actually hid behind the shelves to avoid having that conversation with him. You. Need. To. Talk. To him.”
Mara has always had a soft spot for my dad. Probably because her own father is a horrible narcissist and she spent more hours of her childhood and adolescence with us than in her own house. Her disapproval acts as a barometer of how well—or badly—I'm fulfilling my daughterly role. “I know,” I wail. “He thought I was coming home today.”
“Do it. Or he'll be catching a plane out there. You know he will.”
After the call with Mara, I run all the arguments through my head again. It all sounds good. But is it good enough to withstand the guilt fest that's awaiting me when I lay it all out for Dad?
“Hayley!” Dad's face absolutely confirms my deepest fears. The lines of fatigue and anxiety around his eyes seem to have deepened.
“Are you all right, Dad?”
“I am now.”
“Have you heard anything from Stig?”
I need to know what bullshit Uncle's been feeding him, if any.
Dad frowns. “Shouldn't I be asking you that? Last I heard was three days ago.”
“Okay, well maybe he's going to contact you at some stage and explain where he's at, but the point is, he's not here with me, and I don't know what he's up to. But never mind that. Dad … I've decided to stay on here in Belgrave Castle for a few more weeks."
Sheer incomprehension washes over his face. “What do you mean? Your flight's tomorrow!"
Poor Dad. At this moment, I feel evil for disappointing him. “Yeah, I'm cancelling that. Or postponing, if the airline lets me.”
