The Only Choice (The Choices Trilogy #3)

by Palmer, Dee

  “Fuck!” He shouts and roughly removes his hand. It’s not ideal. I love it when he brings me down gently with tender caresses or his sublime tongue but I guess under the circumstance that was unlikely. I can’t move. I lie wilted as short, sharp waves of pleasure ripple through me. My body blissfully drained of sexual tension. I wisely keep my face pressed against the sofa. I don’t think it would do me any favours if he saw my shit eating grin right now. “Fuck!” He growls again and pulls me up sharply and turns me to face him. My head spins as I adjust to the blood now rushing to my feet. I feel woozy, really lightheaded and wobbly. Despite the furious look on his face he waits for me to steady myself. “You are so going to pay for that.” He grinds the words out through gritted teeth but I see nothing but pure lust and desire in his deep dark blue eyes.

  “I know.” I hold his challenging gaze and tilt my chin in an open invitation for him to do his worst. Because frankly, he has done his worst and this now, this is a picnic in comparison. A sexy as hell, mind blowing, painfully erotic picnic. His grip on my arms is tight enough to know that it will bruise, but then given the treatment of my backside they won’t be the only ones I pick up this afternoon. He positions me in the centre of the room and tells me not to move. He reaches into the draw on his desk and presses some sort on control button. I hear a whirring sound above and look up as a panel slides out at an angel holding a film projector. I must look confused but he chooses not to enlighten me as he returns and reaches up to pull at thin metal wire on a retractable pulley from the ceiling next to the projector. He unties my hands from behind me and secures them in front. He then loops the metal wire around my bound wrists, clips a padded bar to the wire and places it in my hands on the bar with no explanation. He presses a button to retract the slack in the wire, pulling my arms high above my head until I am on my tip toes, every muscle stretched tight like a bow. I can ease the tension by supporting my weight with my hands on the bar but it just brings me further off the floor and makes me swing helplessly like an act for Cirque De Soleil that didn’t quite make the cut.

  “God you look amazing.” His breathy response has my body humming with anticipation. I take a quick glance up into his eyes and can see the hunger and pure undiluted desire. As wound as I am I think I could come from his penetrating eyes alone and his sinful grin makes me wonder if he thinks the same. He still has his trousers on although the strain in material has the seams on the very edge of their tolerance. He has lost his shirt; his bare chest is cut, defined and glowing with a similar hard earned sheen to the one covering my skin. His solid sculptured muscles tantalise as he draws deep powerful breaths. He presses his firm body against mine, holding my hips as I sway. I frantically try to grip with my toes to steady myself. I am obviously exposed and vulnerable, not a huge surprise since this was his intention in putting me in this position but I am super turned on, off the charts horny, one touch and I just know I’ll lose it. “You’re going to need to focus baby. I can’t have you going off like that again.” He holds my chin, his nose touching mine his eyes piercing my soul with their fire. “Not unless I say so, understood?” His voice is sinfully seductive and I tremble again, with his words alone. What the hell is wrong with me? He is right I do need to focus, focus on my role, my distance and my pain.

  His hand cups my cheek and he sweeps his soft lips up my neck, nibbling my ear and drawing the lobe through his teeth biting enough to make me jump. He chuckles again, grabs my hair tight. I gasp but just as he is about to brush is sweet gentle lips across mine I snap my mouth shut, pull my lips in and shift enough to the side to evade his kiss. He snarls, actually snarls, baring his teeth. He grips tighter on my hair and tries again to kiss me but despite the sharp needles in my scalp from having my hair pulled so tight, I twist my head and again successfully avoid is beautiful mouth, now this is torture. “What the fuck do you think you are doing? Fucking kiss me!” He shakes his hand that is gripping me tight and I wince as the hairs pinch and resist being torn from my scalp. I shake my head, not helping to ease this particular pain. He pulls harder and I cry out, he takes the opportunity to sweep his tongue across my lips and dip inside, sliding and trying to engage with mine. His lips caress and move but I just lock my jaw open, my tongue lifeless, and my head stiff and unyielding.

  He pulls back like I’ve spat in his face and growls again. “I asked you to kiss me and I fucking meant it.” He shakes his head in anger and tilts my head. “Look at me.” That command I obey, instantly, his eyes are dark pools of yearning and anger. He lets out a deep breath. “Lola is not a whore, you are not a whore. Now fucking kiss me.” For the first time tonight his voice sounds uncertain and for the second time his eyes are tinged with sadness.

  “Aren’t I?” My voice is a breathless whisper but he freezes at my words.

  “What? No, never!” His face registers the shock his tone conveys.

  “Really, because I am pretty sure I’m exchanging my body for information. Doesn’t that make me a whore?” My voice is surprisingly calm, he sounds increasingly irritated.

  “No!” He snaps angrily, his tone brooking no further debate but I press on regardless of my defenceless predicament.

  “Oh because that is exactly what it sounded like in your boardroom, when you were handing out my details like you were my fucking pimp.” I have lost the edge of calmness and my voice breaks as the emotions underlying this revelation hits home, hard. He recoils; my words have hit him too. Anger in his eyes giving way to softness, a softness I cherished and loved so deeply that a slew of fresh wounds puncture my fragile heart. He cups my face with his hands, his voice like velvet and his thumbs gently stroking my cheeks.

  “Why the fuck would I disclose my personal life to some motherfucker just because he thinks he knows me and we happen to have lunch together?” His tone is deadly serious and his face a picture of heart-rending concern. I shake my head, I heard the words. I didn’t believe them at the time but that is because I didn’t want to believe them but looking at his beautiful face and his soul searching eyes I believe him now. “Kiss me.” His voice is a quiet plea but I know I am struggling to keep my emotional-self safe, it tenuous at best and kissing him would be the end. This has to be physical, just physical. I shake my head, my eyes glass over with regret that I can’t give him what he wants without shredding my self-esteem, destroying my heart and losing my fucking mind. He holds my stare for endless minutes waiting for my reply and all I can manage is to repeat the slightest shake of my head. He lets me go with an exaggerated exhale of angry breath; his voice is cold and harsh. “Very well have it your way.”

  He drops to his knees in front of me on with one sweep of his arms down the backs of my legs he scoops behind my knees and lifts them over his shoulders. I squeal and pull my weight onto the bar. I clench and tense every muscle from my tightly gripped hands to my tummy, thighs on his shoulders and calves against his back. His fingers press like individual spikes into the soft flesh of my bottom and his mouth covers my core. All in an instant, all too fast to register until it’s too late and I am gasping for air. His tongue delves deep with deliciously languid strokes along my folds, swirling and pushing, dipping inside he moans and the vibrations ripple deep inside and echo through every nerve ending. I try to swallow my scream but there is no hope. I am open and helpless and he is relentlessly devouring every intimate part of me.

  “Ahh God Sir, Fuck. . . . . Please. . . . . please ahhhh . . .” The muscles in my arms are shaking, no, my whole body is shaking and he pushes on and on. I throw my head back and scream as I feel my blessed body take over and I have no will to stop it. I am grateful to step aside a moment and let this overwhelm me, because fuck it feels so good. It is driving me insane. He stills and I must look panicked as he catches my expression through his heavy lidded eyes and his impossibly long lashes.

  “Please what baby?” His words are endearing but his tone is ice cold and I understand what he wants from me, but I can’t.

  “Please let me co
me.” I offer but he shakes his head and blows a cool breath on my ultra-sensitive centre.

  “Nah–ah. Try again baby, Please what?” He slowly licks his lips and my thighs tremble like they’ve just run a marathon.

  “Please fuck me.” My begging words are turning more hostile with frustration.

  “Oh I will but nah–ah. Third times a charm baby, please what?” His lips are millimetres from my core and he inhales deeply and my whole body sags onto his shoulders.

  “Fuck!” I cry. “I can’t, please Sir. . . . arhhh.” His lips press and suck my folds and his tongue circles my clit building the instant tremors that had barely subsided, his mouth fixes over my very centre. He sucks and draws his tongue flat across the nub of nerves, only to flick with the tip of his tongue so lightly I try to tense my thighs and move my hips to gain some much needed leverage. His hands clasp down tight and I know I’m not moving anywhere he doesn’t want me. “Arghhh.” I puff out aching again for release. “Please . . . please I’m begging please.” I pull myself against his grip but I can do nothing more and receive an angry growl and a graze of his teeth over my sensitive flesh. He stops once again as I start to spasm.

  “Please what?” His cold voice cuts me out of my haze, he looks calm and unaffected by my pleas and I realise he could probably do this all night but my body is spent.

  I whisper. “Please. Kiss me Sir.” My eyes are closed and I hear him shuffle and let out a deep moan. He wipes his mouth along the inside of my thigh, the slight scrape indicating a shadow of stubble not yet visible. Standing firm against my swaying, trembling body he cups the back of my head and I sigh conceding this sweet painful submission. His lips touch mine, soft and sure, sweet and tender. It’s killing me, his tongue is tentative as it traces the seam gently urging me to open; my fight and resistance long departed I welcome him. Light tangled dances; my tongue strokes his and quickly turns demanding and vital, like my next breath. He pulls my hair and I catch my breath while I try to regain my focus on his feral eyes so close to mine. His jaw is clenched and the small muscle ticks wildly at the sharp edge of the curve on his face. He releases me and frantically pulls at my bound wrists, unclipping the cable and untying the restraint but without giving me time to stabilise on my feet he scoops me into his arms and carries me to the sofa. He reverently lays me flat, suddenly I’m made of glass again. His hands slowly trace my skin from my neck, along my collar bone down my torso. To my hips and back up sweeping movement until he captures my breasts and holds watching with heated eyes as my nipples tighten and my breath hitches. Shaking his head he straightens and starts to undo his buttons and zip. He takes himself in his hand stroking his length slowly, fuck I’ve missed this sight. So strong, so sensual, so fucking sexy.

  My next words surprise me as much as him, but in a moment of clarity in a haze of passionate euphoria my inner common sense peaks through. “Condom?” It may have been quiet but it had the impact of screaming through a bull horn.

  “What?” His eyes widen but quickly narrow and he seems undistracted as he continues to languidly stroke himself. I tilt my head because it wasn’t a trick question but in this bizarre standoff it looks like I am the one that needs to clarify.

  “Condom Sir, I don’t mean to offend, but I don’t trust her as much as you seem to.” I try to shift away and squeeze my legs together but he pushes himself further between, not quite leaning his full weight over me but his hips are keeping my thighs spread and his other hand on my hip prevents me moving away.

  “We are not doing this now.” His deep voice is strained and he pushes the tip of his cock against my folds, smoothly moving up and down the slick sensitive tissue causing my thighs to quiver. I throw my head back and whimper because I need to feel him more than my next breath, more than my sanity and certainly more than my timid common sense which didn’t stand a chance against this desire consuming every fibre of my being. He pushes deeper and we both exhale on a guttural moan. He moves further up the sofa taking me with him, pushing deeper, getting closer. I find my fingers gripping his hard unforgiving muscles on his back pulling him closer; needing his weight, his dominance, needing him. One hand strokes my cheek, tilting my chin firmly so he can kiss me without fear of rebuttal, not that I could. I couldn’t deny him a single thing right now. I cry as he pushes deeper, changing his angle and using his other hand to grip my knee moving it higher to get just that little bit deeper and he does. Christ, I choke out a scream as he touches something so deep it sets my core alight, sending fire sizzling through my nerve endings and leaving me a panting trembling wreck.

  “Oh fuck, ah . .ah yes God, yes.” I exhale, limp and quivering. He looks down into my eyes with a wicked smirk.

  “We are going to keep doing this until you remember to ask for permission to come.” He kisses me lightly on the nose and pulls his hips back and plunges hard causing a sharp cry in the back of my throat. My breath is ragged, my skin a slick sheen of fresh perspiration and my muscles are in a constant state of nervous twitching, alert and exhausted in equal measure. He leans up on one elbow and takes one hand to where we are joined. His thumb sweeping small delicate circles on my exposed nub of nerves and sensing the instant build of pressure he drives deep again, relentless and hard. All the time he lunges and grinds, pushing my body like an expert, talented and intuitive he holds my eyes with his dark pools of liquid lust and passion, raw and real. He takes my breath away and he’s going to make me come, again. I cry out this time.

  “Please, please sir . . . please may I come?” My frantic plea is almost too late as I can feel the ripple of contractions begin at the base of my spine. He chuckles knowing how close I am.

  “Oh you do like living on the edge.” He slows the tortuous roll of his hips and I can see he is struggling too as beads of perspiration gather and fall in rivulets down his temples. “Come for me.” He whispers and I let go before he finishes his consent. He throws his head back on an animalistic roar so loud. I am for the first time glad he has cleared the office floor. Following me with his own release he sinks deep and collapses onto me pushing my breath from my body with his weight.

  WE LAY ENTWINED and immobile for, I’m not sure how long and I would still be there if Daniel hadn’t moved and carefully carried me to his bathroom. I watch silently as he readies the shower and strips the rest of his clothes. My body is too exhausted and my mind too frazzled to process how I feel but I am looking forward to that shower. Clouds of billowing steam rise and mist the glass of the shower door and the mirrors on the walls. He holds my hand and leads me in, standing, held in his arms as the hot rods of water pummel my aching bones and I sigh because I think I must be in heaven. He takes some soap in his hands and begins to massage and wash my tired body, delicately worshiping every inch and I can feel my eyes pool when I realise I am actually in hell. This is too much . . . it has to stop. He has to stop. “Blue.” I struggle to mumble my safe word because it sticks in my throat and the noise of the shower muffles the sound.

  “What’s that baby?” He still has one arm wrapped around my waist as he cleanses me with the other and he leans his ear to my mouth. I am glad the water is hiding the tears I can now feel flow freely down my cheeks.

  “Blue.” I repeat and everything stops. He steps back, hands in the air like I have a gun to his chest. An interesting analogy, because he blasted my heart to smithereens when he walked away last week. His jaw clenches as does his fists but he turns, leaves the shower and leaves the bathroom without a word. I sink to the floor, my cries drowned out by the noise of the falling water. What the fuck was I thinking; that I could be that detached I could just fuck him without feeling something, without having all this hurt just heaped upon me once more. I’m not a robot and nothing’s changed. He didn’t even want to see me. If I hadn’t pulled that little stunt would I have even seen him again, ever? He has enough gatekeepers to keep me away. Would I have found another way? Surely I can’t be that desperate. God I hope I am never that desperate. He made his choice
and I remind myself that if it wasn’t for him steeling my idea and risking my future I wouldn’t be here. Fuck, I don’t want to make a fool of myself any more than I have already. I need to get my shit sorted and I need to get out of here.

  I open the door to the office still towel drying my hair. Daniel is pacing angrily, running his hand through his own wet hair with badly hidden agitation. He stops and faces me, his face a picture of fury. “It’s pretty fucking insulting that you think I would be fucking someone else, you know that right?” His angry voice is loud and as an indignant edge. “I mean, wouldn’t you be insulted if I threw that in your face or asked if you’d had your contraceptive shot; treated you like some irresponsible tramp. Fuck! You’d be more than insulted you’d rightly rip my bollocks off, so why?” He swallows to calm his raging runaway temper, dragging his hand through his hair once more. His voice is softer. “How could you ask that?” His eyes are deep blue and hold a wealth of love and longing. I walk over to him and take his hands just as they are about to repeat their hair dragging journey.