by Donna Alam
‘Are you cold?’ I ask, the thought just occurring as I attempt to pull the abandoned quilt from the bottom of the bed with my foot. She begins to giggle at my attempts, so I give up, rolling her underneath me instead.
‘Shall I be your blanket?’ I whisper huskily as she spreads her legs around me. ‘I could cover you. Keep you warm.’
Her groan is pure pleasure that I taste on my tongue. Lips move and tongues caress as, between us, her stomach rumbles.
‘Hungry?’ I graze her jaw with my teeth, wondering how long before I can have my fill of her again.
‘For you, maybe.’
I flick my tongue across the seam of her lips, light and deft. Because, God, it turns me on to hear that. As she tilts her head, exhaling a shaking breath, I take her lip between my teeth to hear her moan. To hear her hunger for me.
Teeth grazing, hips lifting, skin rubbing skin. How long had it been since I petted heavily while naked in bed? For added effect, I take her hands in mine and lift them to the pillows. Her breath hitches; her fingers close enough to reach out and graze the cuffs. All telling pointers to slot away as I bring my mouth to her ear for some sadistic whisperings.
‘Get up.’ I as good as plank above her, delighting in her lust-suffused confusion. ‘Come on; let’s get you fed.’
‘I’m a different type of hungry,’ she complains, her tone petulant.
‘Food now,’ I repeat, rolling from her. I slip from the bed and slip on my discarded jeans. ‘I promise, you’ll need your strength later.’ As I turn my head from her shoulder, she peers out from under the weight of her bed-messy hair.
‘Who says I’m staying?’
‘You should. I think you’ll enjoy what I have in mind for dessert.’
‘Why do I feel like it isn’t going to be cake or ice cream?’
I laugh, throwing her my shirt. The majority of her clothing is still in the kitchen, and as much as I’d love to see her walk around my house naked, I don’t think she’s quite ready for that yet.
‘The kitchen will be colder now, the floor especially. Help yourself to socks or whatever from the dresser.’ I point in the vague direction, not wanting to take my eyes from the golden creature lying across my bed like some temptress. I clear my throat and run my hand through my hair, all things to distract me from making her stay there indefinitely. And under me. ‘The bathroom’s through there.’ Again with the pointing. ‘I’ll be waiting. Don’t be long.’
I hope it sounds like a warning as I stride from the room.
Chapter Six
LOUISE
Sometime later, I make my way down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen, thinking maybe Dan didn’t know what cold was because the flagstone floor is warm on my toes. He must be spoiled. His back is to me as I enter the kitchen, still naked to the waist. Ink peeks out from his low-slung jeans, and I wonder how I hadn’t noticed that, mentally adding it to my list of curiosities.
As he hears me, he turns and smiles, holding some kind of implement in his hand.
‘Please, sit,’ he says, conducting me to a seat in the large bay window as if the spatula is a conductor’s baton.
I do as I’m told, though I feel pretty odd sitting here in his window in nothing but a shirt—his shirt, no less. I curl one leg under my ass in the odd way I usually sit, my eyes drawn to the garden. Is that a swing set? I can’t be sure as I don’t have my glasses on. I mean, it’s green and so far away that it blends into the lawn. But could it be that he has a kid? My dangling leg begins to bounce minutely against the panelling in anticipation of my question.
‘Wine.’ That isn’t a question as he hands me a glass. My eyes slide to the scrubbed table, the spilled wine and bottle from earlier nowhere to be seen. My cheeks burn pink with the memory as his voice pulls me from my head. ‘What shall we drink to?’ I shrug; I have no idea beyond the trite kind of toast. His eyes slide over my shoulder to the window and garden beyond. ‘How about to ex-wives and sweethearts?’ He raises his glass. ‘May they never meet.’ I’ve no idea what to make of that as he turns back to the kitchen. ‘Do you like venison?’
Do I? I have no idea. I’m overcome with the ridiculous need to snort; oh deer. I’m not even hungry anymore. Just confused.
Dan turns his head over his shoulder, sliding me a sly smile. ‘Well, I know you like meat.’
I roll my eyes, bringing the glass to my lips and swallowing a large mouthful. ‘I, er . . .’ I clear my throat. ‘I see you’ve got a cat,’ I say, making bland conversation and pointing at the matching pink bowls on the floor.
His answer is a noncommittal murmur as he turns away, but surely, the bowls spoke for themselves? Unless . . . no. I’ve definitely read too many books. The man is a little bossy and a little commanding in bed, but not a dominant. He didn’t look the type to keep those sort of pets.
And no way am I interested in playing those kinds of games. I shake my head minutely. What was it Flo said? I must be fuck drunk?
‘What’s her name?’ I ask. Pink bowls? I’m guessing her.
‘Depends who’s calling.’ As he pauses, I see the bunch in his shoulder, the muscles flexing before he forces them to relax with an exhaled breath. ‘If you must know, her name is Pussy. Or Twat.’
I choke a little on my next sip. ‘You’re kidding!’
‘She’s a sort of a salmon pink colour.’ Was that supposed to be some kind of explanation? As he turns, the spatula is still in his hand. ‘Annabelle, my ex, calls her Pussy, and I . . .’ His words trail off, his eyes gliding down to my seated but barely covered crotch.
‘You got custody of a cat; a cat you don’t even like?’ No one would call a treasured pet such a horrible name. I can’t imagine taking the thing to a vet with a name like that; both were equally awful. Maybe he’s the vindictive type?
‘Who says I don’t like the thing? Maybe I just like twats.’ His short laugh has a hard edge. ‘Besides, we have a sort of joint custody agreement, instigated by the cat. It’s not like she moved very far away, and the damn thing keeps coming back.’
The implement—spatula, flip, or whatever the name was for that thing—waves in the direction of the window I sat in.
‘What?’ I turn my head in the direction his pointing, trying to make sense of his words. ‘The cat lives nearby or . . . ?’
‘Annabelle, and by default, the cat, live next door.’
Un-fucking-believable! Yet, by his face, apparently true. Trying not to show any reaction, I definitely refrain from turning my head to look out of the large bay window I’m currently back-lit in.
‘I think I mentioned good old Charles, the bloke from next door. She had an affair with the neighbour.’ He tries to sound unaffected, an effect ruined as he adds, ‘The clichéd whore.’
‘I thought you were kidding.’ Wow. Why would he stay?
‘About her leaving or about him not doing arse?’
‘You said she’d shagged him.’ The word feels unfamiliar and a little false. ‘Not that she lives with him.’ Not that she lives next door. No matter. Not my business.
‘Obviously, one preceded the other, not that I care anymore.’
I hold out my hand in prevention, suddenly hit by the inappropriateness of my enquiries. Two-night stand etiquette didn’t extend to this. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘I’m fine with not talking about it, as you’d imagine,’ he replies, a touch droll, before stalking back to where I sit. ‘If bigamy is having one wife too many, then marriage, in my opinion, is tantamount to the same.’
I laugh in spite of myself. Easy to do as he seems to bear no scars. Well, other than the one at his ribs. Sheesh. He stands next to me, staring down, but I can’t make out his expression in the light.
‘Take it off,’ he purrs. I frown. I’m only wearing one item of clothing; he can’t possibly mean that. But as he slides the edge of the spatula down the inside of my arm, I realise he does. ‘Would it help if I said please?’ The edge of danger in his tone makes
my stomach flip deliciously.
But no. Nope, not happening. Not happening at all.
Sliding the implement across my waist, he pushes it down between my bare legs, sliding it farther until he’s caressing my inner thigh. ‘You weren’t shy earlier when you were on the kitchen table, spread across it like a feast.’ His words bloom deep in my belly. Why does this turn me on? It was much lighter earlier. We could’ve been seen. I could’ve been seen.
‘You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? The prospect of being watched. Driving your audience wild as you writhe under my mouth.’
Damn him for being right. The scene he paints is so darkly tempting, the words like silk against my skin.
‘You are so very beautiful, you know.’ His words are heavy with awe.
‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’ My response sounds husky and encouraging, probably to us both.
He brings the metal down on my outer thigh swiftly, leaving my skin pinked and smarting. Leaving me aching in other places.
‘That’s for being saucy. When I pay you a compliment, you are to accept.’
I find myself nodding, washed away in this world his words create. He places the spatula down next to me, kneeling on the floor in front as he pushes my legs wider, forcing me to unfold my awkwardly placed legs. His hands slide the length of my thighs, thumbs curling inwards as he reaches the very apex.
I tremble, a mixture of desire and distrust consuming me. One hand reaches up and loosens another button at my chest—the shirt wasn’t fastened well to begin with, I’d sort of made sure of that. Dan spreads his long fingers to span my collarbone, sliding the shirt from my shoulder a touch. Just a little . . . then a just a little more.
‘I thought we were going to eat?’ My words are more breath than true words, my back relaxing against the cool glass. His eyes seem darker, heavier, though mischief lurks in his smile before he speaks.
‘I thought we’d established earlier we’re beginning with dessert.’
Chapter Seven
LOUISE
Dinner lay abandoned in the kitchen as we lay once more in his bed. As Dan lies on his back, my head rests in the hollow of his shoulder as his thumb absently strokes my hip. Outside, it’s begun to rain, the room silent but for the soft patter against the glass. My skin is chilled as the duvet pools across one corner of the bed, hanging down onto the floor. But sated and comfortable, neither of us are disposed to move.
‘Oh, my Louise, if I take you home, I’ll make you plead.’ His lips against my hairline, his song is half whisper, half sultry tune.
I laugh softly, placing my hand flat against his chest as I look up at him. ‘My pop, my grandfather, used to sing that to me. Though he used the right words.’
‘You think my words are wrong? I think they’re perfect.’ Continuing in a low, husky tone, his song makes me shiver. ‘I know just what you need.’
‘Neil Diamond won’t be happy with what you’ve done to his song. How old did you say you were, anyway?’ My hand shakes against his chest as it rumbles with laughter.
‘Old enough,’ he replies softly, kissing my head again.
I could get used to this; used to being kissed for whatever his reasons. Desire. Comfort. With a deep breath, I remind myself that’s not what this is. This is a one-night stand extended. Neither are us are looking to get involved beyond sex. This isn’t a relationship.
‘What is it?’ Dan asks softly. I shake my head rather than answer. ‘Come on; I can feel your frown against my lips.’
‘I can’t believe we’re here in bed again,’ I say, picking the first thing out of my head to say.
‘I’m not complaining,’ he answers, tipping my chin with his index finger, when he adds quite suddenly, ‘Though I can’t make out if you’ve done this before.’
‘This thing?’ I repeat, moving an indicative finger between us. ‘Casual sex?’
Laughter rumbles through his chest. ‘What strikes you about this situation as casual? Casual implies unintentional . . . a sense of happenstance. These were no accident,’ he almost growls, brushing his hand along the back of my thigh to where my leg meets ass. ‘I can’t believe you’re still red. I barely touched you.’
Downstairs, he’d licked me into oblivion by turning me to face the window and working me from behind with his mouth. I can’t recall ever coming as much as I have today, and if you’d asked me before, I’d say it wasn’t possible. Maybe it was something more to do with the way he’d used his hand intermittently to smack my ass.
Best. Dinner. Ever.
‘I agree,’ I say, burrowing closer. ‘You were very . . .’ What were the words?
‘Particular about their placing?’ he offers. Try intense. Commanding. I’m sure I could come up with a few others given time. ‘I’m particular kind of man,’ he murmurs, pulling me closer still and tipping his head over my shoulder to gaze down at my smarting cheeks again.
‘I probably should’ve mentioned I bruise easily.’
The idea seems to delight him, but after a moment of silence, he speaks again. ‘You didn’t answer.’
‘About what?’
‘If you’ve done this kind of thing before. You like being spanked, you’ve enjoyed my hand around your throat, and you’ve a thing for being held down.’
‘Are you asking me if I’m kinky?’ I keep my words light to hide how I really feel. Conflicted. It’s easier in the moment, easier when my synapses are drunk on endorphins. Or half pickled by tequila. Stone sober and after the fact? I can’t explain. Won’t explain.
‘No, I’m pretty sure you are.’ His words come out in a rumble, but I’ve not time to protest as he carries on. ‘What I’m asking is if you’ve played before. Dabbled in the scene.’
I know these words from movies—from books. It’s all been theory up until now.
‘No,’ I answer quietly. ‘This is a first for me.’
‘For a complete novice, you seem pretty adventurous.’ It isn’t a statement of disbelief, but I still wasn’t sure what he could mean. Was it that I’d complied with his earlier demands? That I’d lain pliant and semi-naked in the large window as he’d gone down on me? That I’d made all the right noises as he’d bent me over that same window seat? That I’d allowed him to spank me? With his hand? With the metal spatula?
‘I hit you quite hard.’
‘I liked it.’ Disconcertingly, I feel my face reddening. It would probably match my ass on a colour chart.
‘Yes, that much was clear.’ His low laugh rumbles hollow against my ear.
‘While hating it at the same time.’ My voice is low as I impart this.
‘That sounds very normal.’
I snort because that can’t be true at all. More like abnormal. Who likes and dislikes being hurt? Pulling my head away from his chest, I prop it on my bent arm.
‘Maybe I’ve watched a lot of porn.’ It was a truth I hadn’t meant to share. I should’ve started by mentioning the books.
As he laughs heartily, I cover my eyes with my hand.
‘And how was it for you, darling?’ he asks, once his laughter becomes manageable.
‘It wasn’t exactly satisfactory, but it took off the edge.’ My skin tingles with the admission, but at least I can laugh at myself. Even if I’m laughing alone. I’d started watching mainstream porn some time ago and, in a moment of feministic defiance, subscribed to a woman-centric site. It was there I’d found the delights of bondage. A little S&M. Fifty Shades has a lot to answer for, though truthfully, I can trace my interest farther back than that. Much farther back. With a small shrug and a smile, I try to disguise how hard the admission is.
‘What else?’ Dan asked, his sultry tone encouraging our game of show and tell. ‘When did your interest start?’
‘I think, if I’m honest, it’s always been there.’ My answer is quiet, and I find I can’t look at him, instead pulling at a loose thread on the pillow holding Dan’s head. ‘When I was a little girl, I wasn’t much interested in dolls.
I loved the rough and tumble, games of cops and robbers where I was always the bad guy, cuffed to the fence. Tied to a tree, that sort of thing.’
‘You weren’t a very good bad guy then?’
‘No,’ I reflect, a smile peeking through. ‘Somehow, I always seemed to get caught.’
‘Funny, that,’ Dan says, amused. ‘And now?’
‘I’m a little old for games.’
‘Really? I thought you played rather well.’ He strokes a finger across my cheek, no doubt following the red blaze. ‘Have you pursued it in other ways?’
My head comes up quickly as I send him a look that I hope says, what is this we’re doing here?
‘You just jumped in the deep end?’
‘I might’ve joined some websites. Sort of.’
‘You sort of joined some websites?’
‘Okay, I joined some sort of websites,’ I repeat, giggling. ‘God, I can’t believe you’ve needled that out of me.’
‘I’m not much into needle play,’ Dan sates plainly, not giving me time to ask as he speaks again. ‘These websites? I take it they’re the kind where people don’t list their places of work?’ I shake my head. ‘Post photographs of their lunch? Their pets?’
‘Well, they post pictures . . . just not of what they had for dinner.’ My shiver is tinged with revulsion as I recall some of the things that I can’t now unsee. ‘And some do include pets.’ Mask-wearing folk in cages, eating from bowls at their Master’s feet fills my mind. Women and men on all fours, of ponytails sprouting from butts, presumably plugged.
‘I can imagine.’
‘I just bet you can.’
‘But you found no satisfaction in the internet?’
I shake my head again. ‘You know the term keyboard warriors?’ He nods. ‘Well, I attracted a lot of keyboard Doms. Lots of instruction of how to get down on my knees and worship.’
He chuckles crookedly, his hand stroking the hair from my shoulders, tender touches against my back. ‘And that didn’t do it for you?’
‘Funnily enough, badly spelled demands are kind of a hard limit for me.’
