Easy

by Donna Alam

  ‘Hit me.’

  The bed had moved away from the wall because we’d been fucking so hard, but I did as I thought I should. One hand on the headboard, I’d snaked the other under her arse, bringing my hips into her harder still.

  She’d moaned, hands balled into fists full of pillow at her head. But this time, she’d closed her eyes and turned her head to one side. ‘Hit me,’ she’d repeated through gritted teeth. ‘Properly. Do it now.’

  I’d pulled out a little, drawing back and trying to understand, to will her words to make sense. She’d opened her eyes and looked at me then, honesty and truth spilling, along with one salty tear.

  ‘I want you to hit me.’ She lifted my hand to her cheek. ‘I want you to make me hurt.’

  I couldn’t be sure if I’d drawn back my arm, or if Belle had pushed it for me. Drawing it back further without the presence of my brain, I’d brought it back down and across her face with reasonable haste.

  Her moan amplified through the room, her torso twisting and rising from the bed. I felt conflicted. Captivated by her writhing.

  Pulled under by the pulsing motion gripping my cock.

  Undone by her hot intake of breath.

  Fascinated and revolted by the instant red bloom on her face.

  You don’t hit girls. The phrase had echoed through my head even as my hips had driven hard, making her cry out again.

  And so it had begun—an incline? A decline?—to debauchery. Hard and fast fucks in restaurant bathrooms. Belle on her knees in grim alleyways with a mouthful of my dick. Ours became a gradual slide into depravity until that kind of sex became our default mode. Sex and violence went hand in hand, and it was a very slippery slope.

  Belle is the daughter of someone quite famous, her father an actor who’d turned to politics the year she was born. She’d grown up in the limelight, a nation’s darling. It’s undoubtedly one of the reasons she is so spoiled. She’d been a dancer once, too—a good one. Though lacking in height to be truly successful, she’d always kept a dancer’s poise, which was fun. I’d contort her body while she’d twisted my mind because it had taken me years of munches and parties to realise I was the principal in a ballet she’d almost solely choreographed. A ballet for one.

  I’d bought the club at her encouragement, branching out from property development. Times were good. The front house already brought in enough to make it a sound investment, adding the members-only area in the back made it even more so. The days before Grey and his red room were heady ones, and we were trailblazers of sorts. It had seemed only natural for us to begin playing there. Natural and certainly much more practical after one of the tabloids had threatened to print pictures of a somewhat compromised Belle. I’d never found out how much it’d cost her dear old dad to buy those images. A close call, though privately, I’ve always thought Belle believed it as some great adventure.

  So the club provided security, if not anonymity. A place to screw with an audience if one at all cared.

  The membership list quickly filled, and Friday parties became all the rage. Members paid highly for the privilege—some came for the cabaret and some purely to play. Some wore elaborate outfits while others walked around naked with collared slaves. But by the end of each Friday evening, the great social equaliser of nakedness became king, and most took part in some kind of fucking. Minds, orifices; that kind of thing.

  It was the perfect setup for us, or so it had seemed, and we’d agreed to play exclusively within the realms of the club. As time wore on, I saw fit to implement a couple of rules.

  Firstly, no fucking without the knowledge of the other. Or to put it into words Belle understood, if she wanted to fuck someone, my permission had to be sought. She wanted to be dominated, and I liked to think I alone fulfilled that role. In that vein, she had to ask. Usually on her knees. I’m not at all sure how we’d strayed from monogamy, and it would no doubt sound strange to others, but for me, trust was the central spoke from which our marriage spun.

  My second rule was to protect Belle from herself. God knows she needed the help. I’ve known the thrill of having sex in public spaces, the kick of excitement. The thrill and tension rooted deep in your belly. Will you be caught? Will you be heard? Exposed? That thrill for me had waned shortly after we had been exposed. Those damned photographs. But I’d done it for Belle—fucked her in spaces not made for sex, though the theory and the reality were different for me. It was never about an audience, or so I’d thought. In fact, an audience, I’d later found, put me off. But Belle was so impulsive. And spoiled. She had to be watched out for.

  Following the clubs fit out, the flat above had been tailored for that very use. Private parties above a members-only club? An exclusivity to beat all. Those invited often looked like they’d died and were headed for sadistic heaven. A night with either Dan or Belle. Sometimes both.

  Am I old fashioned? Belle, at least, began to think so. Perhaps that was when things started to go wrong.

  Small transgressions at first, those I forced myself to believe I could live with. Swallowing the bitter pill and trying for adjustments in attitude. Following her punishment, of course. Difficult when I’d walked into the club unexpectedly some time following our honeymoon. She’d been naked and the centre of attention in a little bukkake. It had been more difficult still when she’d stepped from that same centre covered in cum.

  At this point, I believed she was attention seeking. Perhaps on a punishment quest. It was true, she’s always been a pain whore, and I never disappointed her on that score.

  But by the time Hal was six months old, Belle had begun popping pills recreationally. Only pill popping didn’t do her habit justice because she was open to most substances. Coke. Liquid G.

  It did nothing for her restraint.

  It did nothing for our marriage.

  I spent countless Saturdays wandering London with a tiny Hal strapped to my chest while Belle stayed home, sullen as she dealt with a dopamine come down.

  She was on a downward spiral all her own, one day encouraging me to screw the au pair as an apology for one transgression or another. What was it she’d done? Ah, I remember; she’d gone down on someone at the club while I’d been at home. It was a dark corner, she’d argued, and no one saw. Tit for tat, she’d said as I’d baulked at her suggestion. We were standing in Hal’s nursery, for fuck’s sakes, talking about infidelity as though discussing the weather while our son slept.

  And then I’d found her with the neighbour in our marital bed.

  By the time she’d said she was moving in with Charles, I’d felt almost sorry for the man.

  And now there was Louise, game but inexperienced. Could we be treading the same spiralling descent? By keeping her out of the club, was I trying to protect her, or was I being greedy? Those flashes of daring—if she were truly serious, I’d take her up on them. Deconstruct her fully, in due course. But for now, I’d keep the kid gloves on.

  The handle of the door sounded, and my head rose from the filth. Fuck Belle and her mind twisting and conniving, for I realised at that moment I was in love.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  LOUISE

  The lining of my skirt rubs against my bare skin, somehow affecting my gait. I sashayed and swayed as I pass Dan, perching my bottom on the desk in the front of the chair he sits in. Full of nerves and fright, I raise one foot, placing my toes on the seat between Dan’s splayed legs, using the position to push myself up and back onto the desk.

  ‘What’s up?’

  My voice sounds a little tight. I’ve never had sex anywhere other than the usual places. A house. A bed. A sofa. In the back seat of a Chevy truck. Well, almost. But being bent over a desk at the office is definitely one of my go-to scenarios. A handsome boss—not my boss. He’s nearing sixty and bald with a sizable paunch. In my mind, I’d be dressed in stockings, heels, a gossamer blouse, and a grey pencil skirt. A few minutes alone with those images and my fingers, and the job is done. But spank bank material isn’t meant
to become real. I’m excited and nervous, and well, Dan can play my dominant boss any day of the week.

  ‘Up? The roof. The upper floors.’ Dan rests back in the chair, slipping his hands behind his head, sliding into his role. ‘The heavens, some would say.’

  Tipping my chin, I peer at him from beneath my lowered lashes. The coquette comes quite naturally when you’re not wearing any underwear. Struck by instinct rather than thought, I’d hiked up my skirt while in the bathroom and wriggled my panties to the floor.

  ‘Nothing else?’ My voice turns unconsciously coy. ‘Up?’

  Laughter rumbles in Dan’s chest, stopping abruptly as my shoe drops to the floor, the toes of my right foot curling around his pant-covered cock.

  ‘Not quite up.’ I raise my head from the action. ‘But it has potential.’

  From outside the room, a vacuum cleaner barks to life. My body jumps, and I’m ready to shove this scenario back into the fantasy box, but find I’m unable to move, my heel captured in Dan’s hand.

  ‘Are they likely to come in?’ His voice is low and seductive and makes my pulse pound.

  ‘No, not usually.’ Worried, I bite my lip as my gaze drifts to the door as though I’m able to devine the direction of its path. ‘Maybe. I don’t know.’

  As I look back at him, he’s smiling—a smile of decidedly wicked thoughts.

  ‘Why am I here?’ Dan asks, his hand moving to massage my calf.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I whisper, suddenly unsure. Or maybe not so uncertain as his hand moves to my knee, his other curling around the hem of my skirt. ‘I . . . I have a question,’ I begin. ‘Do you want to go to a thing? Together, for work. You don’t have to or anything—’

  ‘You’re asking me to be plus one?’ His eyebrow quirks like a sudden question mark.

  ‘Forget I asked,’ I begin.

  ‘Ask me properly, love,’ he responds, obviously enjoying my reaction. The absolute shit.

  ‘Would you like to be my date?’ I ask as though it were no big thing.

  His only answer is to push my skirt higher, revealing my thighs. He doesn’t speak again, and I’m not sure if it’s my invitation that garners silence or what he finds beneath my skirt.

  ‘You’re incorrigible.’ He chuckles darkly. ‘I’m very impressed.’ The remains of his laughter hovers at the corners of his mouth, his gaze gleaming as he adds, ‘Now, be a good girl and spread your legs.’

  ‘But the cleaning crew? Let me lock the door.’

  His hands retract to my knees, keeping me in place. ‘We’ll hear them. Besides, we’re both fully clothed.’ His gaze flicks again to my bare pussy, and he smirks. ‘Sort of.’ Hands sliding a little higher, he massages my thighs. ‘You’re so beautiful, my lioness. And so brave.’

  ‘But what if they come in?’ I’m not feeling particularly brave. Maybe breezy. But between my hurried words, my pussy aches.

  In answer, his hands drift to my knees where he parts me farther, the backs of his fingertips trailing up my inner thighs. I tremble as his thumb presses painfully against the bones of my hips, and I sigh another protest as two fingers slide between my lips.

  ‘Because this isn’t turning you on one bit,’ he murmurs as we both hear how wet I am. His smile turns to determination as he grunts, thrusting those two fingers deep inside.

  His fingers plunge and curl as my own grip the edge of the desk. I might’ve felt powerful in my position above Dan, but his dark eyes undo me, and at this moment, I am owned by him.

  With his free hand, he begins loosening the buttons of my blouse, pulling it from my shoulders. I gasp, conflicted, as the noise of the vacuum draws closer, catching my breath.

  ‘Relax, it’ll be fine,’ he whispers as he lowers his head to my lap. ‘But maybe keep the noise down. You don’t want the cleaner bursting in as you come.’

  Fingers still inside me, his thumb parts me, his tongue brushing my clit. My insides clench around his fingers, and with his other hand, he returns the favour, squeezing one nipple tight.

  I arch my back into his hand with a stifled moan, my arms sliding across the desk as I submit myself to his hands and his actions and, almost silently, come undone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  DAN

  ‘Close your eyes.’

  ‘No way!’ Louise giggles, twisting out of my hands. ‘Experience tells me I need to keep an eye on you at all times.’

  My gaze is solemn as I stop her from pulling away, my fingers drifting across her wrist to her palm. ‘Please.’

  As she relaxes, I take the opportunity to pull her down onto the sofa, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear before considering it might’ve been placed strategically there. She’d spent the afternoon at the salon in preparation for her dreaded work party. Hair. Mani. Pedi. She’d even considered topping up her tan in the spray booth, but I’d requested she draw the line there. Her skin is too beautiful to cover in orange dust.

  ‘Who can find a virtuous woman?’ I murmur, lost in how beautiful she is.

  ‘You need to advertise. Try Craig’s List or Gumtree over here?’ I smile at her attempt at levity, but I’m in a much more sombre mood. ‘You’re worryingly quiet,’ she adds. ‘If you don’t want to come tonight . . . ’

  ‘That’s not it at all,’ I answer. ‘I sometimes think I want to place you on a pedestal just to stare at you. Have I told you how beautiful you are today?’

  ‘Just today? Thank the salon, then.’

  ‘Every day, love.’

  ‘Besides, I don’t want to be on a pedestal. I’ve heard they’re not very comfortable.’

  ‘Take the piss all you like, minx, so long as you know you’re breathtakingly lovely. And very important to me.’

  Her gaze slide from mine like silk as she struggles with my compliments. I can’t be the only man in the world who’s ever made her blush? I push the thought to the back of my mind. Those blushes are mine now, and I love that.

  ‘Darling, close your eyes,’ I whisper. ‘You can trust me.’ She raises a brow in disbelief. ‘You can trust me this once,’ I qualify.

  She laughs as her lashes flutter closed, and I release her hand for a moment before slipping on her gift in the place of my fingers.

  ‘Who can find a virtuous woman for her price is beyond rubies.’ My words are a warm whisper as I place her hand on top of the other and back in her lap. ‘You can open your eyes now.’

  ‘Oh, Dan . . .’ Her words trail off, tears glistening like gold. ‘It’s the most . . . beautiful thing.’ Louise holds out her arm to admire the Art Deco style cuff I bought last week. It was antique. Almost a hundred years old. Silver and studded with red stones the shape of pomegranate seeds.

  ‘Not actually rubies.’ I take her hand in mine. ‘Garnets, I’m told. Stones of love.’

  She places a finger across my lips, her mouth soon following, both palms at my cheeks.

  ‘It really is the sweetest thing,’ she whispers, brushing her lips against mine.

  I place my hand over hers, kissing her just once more, my lips gentle even as hers sought depth. That I’d taken control of the kiss didn’t surprise her. That I’d slowed them down did.

  ‘I’ll take thanks on account,’ I whisper. ‘You’ve an engagement to attend.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’ve gotten myself into this.’ Her shoulders sag as she pulls away, a sudden thought seeming to hit her gaze. ‘We could stay home. I could thank you properly.’

  ‘Gotten us into this, darling. Why else am I wearing this monkey suit? And come to that, why are you in such a hurry for me to take it off again?’

  ‘You don’t look like a primate. And for the record, no clothes is always a favourite of mine.’

  I pull back, almost lounging across the sofa as her eyes take their fill. She looks at me as though, given half a chance, she’d devour me. And I’d let her.

  Above this pristine white shirt, I’m all clean-shaven and stylish hair. Her favourite cologne, clean and cool, fills the air around m
e. Midnight-coloured pants hug my thighs, not leaving much to the imagination as they cup the bulge between my legs.

  ‘You’re less primate. More . . . primal. More . . . man.’ Her appraising gaze travels over me again. ‘On the surface, you’re the epitome of a gentleman.’

  ‘On the surface? Is there a compliment in there?’ I laugh.

  ‘Definitely. You’re a gentleman.’ She tilts her head as though considering. ‘Of sorts. And as for the other, I like my meat’—her hand slips to the bulge in my pants—‘with intelligence. Smart gets me off more than anything else.’

  I tilt my hips, encouraging her massaging fingers. ‘Being outsmarted, that’s what you really enjoy.’ And that she can’t deny. ‘We’ve a cab due in ten minutes.’

  ‘We could cancel,’ she whispers. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘And spoil all my fun? Don’t you know how much I’m looking forward to being paraded on your arm?’

  She pulls away with something between a whine and a groan, shoulders rounded and hands in her lap. ‘I suppose I’d better go get my purse.’ She shoots me a look that clearly says please don’t make me. And I’ve no doubt she’d make it worth my while.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ I reply. She rises then, sticking out her tongue.

  As she moves away, her black dress clings to her thighs. Falling slightly above her knee and cinched at the waist, it somehow manages both sexy and demure. I stretch out my legs, releasing the tightness between my thighs. I’m looking forward to an evening of bland smiles. Ridiculously so. They’ll most certainly cover my intentions of whispering filthy words all night long. Verbal foreplay in public is always fun, and I foresee the need for creativity, rising in response to her blush.