Substitute

by Rey, Isobel

  The rabbit was noisier than the bullet, and the colliding beads added a layer of sound to its motion. But she didn’t care. Romy and Richard would still be fast asleep at this hour. She was alone, this was private.

  She moved her hand to stroke her now dampening curls, sliding her fingers along the tops of her inner thighs, just below the tips of her inner lips.

  She looked at Nathan and imagined his fingers, those long, strong fingers she had studied when they covered her hand in the car. They were elegant fingers; they would be gentle at first, she thought, teasing and sensual. She moved her fingers in little circles as the rabbit’s attention was fixed on her nipples. Nathan’s mouth on her breasts? She looked into his eyes, at his lips, strong, smooth lips. She remembered the taste of him as she brought her fingers closer to herself. She felt her wetness increase.

  His eyes looked into her, urging her on.

  She moved the rabbit down, tracing the jiggling ears along her stomach. Nathan’s hands, Nathan’s fingers, running down; a straight line down the middle, down to the secret place she longed for him to touch.

  She fixed on his eyes again. She could almost imagine the fire in them, watching her pleasure, the pleasure that came from his touch.

  The ears whispered through her downy hair as they settled either side of her now straining nub. She felt the surge, a small gasp. Nathan, look what you do to me. Look at what I want you to do to me …

  The rabbit ears were vibrating against her clit now, teasing it from either side, a flurry of buzzing and fluttering, filling her pussy with want.

  She pinched her nipple with her free hand. Nathan’s teeth. Gentle nipping as the pressure intensified.

  She rubbed her heels on the bed, lifting her knees to open herself. The bullet had pleasured her but her delicious little friend had been replaced by a better one, a pink and rampant one that had so much more to offer.

  She turned the rabbit so the tip faced her now yawning cunt. She felt it rotate and coat itself in her juices, ready to plunder her, to slide into her.

  She looked at Nathan. Why can’t this be you? This morning it is you, this morning I will have you, this morning you’re mine …

  She pushed the base and felt the head as it swooshed inside her. Her breath halted. She paused and breathed out, relaxing herself to let the rabbit make its way in, all the way in. Round and round it went as it inched its way up, sweeping over her secret spot. She gasped.

  She closed her eyes and felt the urgent motion curling inside her, against her G-spot, over and over. It swirled and curled and she felt herself gripping it. Without thinking, she pinched her nipple hard. She was long past thought, this was instinct now, a primeval, driving need, and she knew how to feed it.

  The rabbit was up to the hilt, the beads circling faster as she turned up the dial. She bit her lip as she looked at Nathan. What would she look like to him? If he was looking down at her now, driving his cock into her now, what would he see? Would he see how she felt, how she needed him?

  She rode the waves and closed her eyes. She had his face fixed in her mind, his eyes boring into her. The pulsating in her cunt grew stronger; she turned the dial again. Now the rabbit was racing, racing to the finish line. The head rotated against her G-spot as the ears trembled against her clit. A pincer movement of exquisite torture.

  ‘Nathan! Nathan!’ She voiced her need now, not caring who would hear. She grabbed the end of the vibrator and held it jammed into her with both hands. Two final circles and she came. She pushed her head back into the pillows as the first contraction rocketed through her pelvis. Then another and another, jerking, bucking contractions, followed by a flooding of warmth and peace.

  She lay flat. She dropped her knees, her legs lying limply. Spent, exhausted, sated.

  She opened her eyes and looked across at his face and felt a pang of regret. ‘But you weren’t really here!’ she said quietly. ‘It wasn’t really you.’

  An hour and half later she arrived at the office, dressed as usual in tight skirt, beautiful blouse, and heels. Her morning’s fantasy was still fresh in her mind.

  It was still very early, and there were only two staff in the office. She made her usual hellos, and found that they paid her a little more attention than usual. She was the boss’s right-hand woman now, even if only temporarily, and she was getting noticed.

  She looked at her computer and saw a message blinking on the internal network.

  Message: Nathan Fallon - Come and see me when you get in.

  Message Sent: 6.45 a.m.

  She felt her heart skip a beat. She knew she would see him today, they had to go to Wimbledon together, and yet a simple message could make her lose her composure. And why was he here so early?

  Her hands were perspiring and her mouth was dry. She got up and smoothed down her skirt. This was crazy: if she couldn’t control the way she reacted to him, pretty soon her nerves would be in shreds.

  As she moved through the office, she tried to breathe some calmness into herself. She went into the small kitchen. She would take Nathan a coffee; that’s what personal assistants do, she would anticipate his needs.

  A quick examination of the shiny, complicated coffee machine made her doubt her ability to anticipate anything. No instant here; fresh ground, only the best. She’d only ever made herself tea; she had no idea how to work it. She picked up a cup. Where to start?

  ‘Need any help?’ Tony was standing in the doorway.

  ‘You always seem to turn up, don’t you –’ said Alexia coolly.

  ‘When I’m needed?’ He finished the sentence.

  She didn’t respond. He was still very handsome, damn him. He stepped forward and took charge of the machine.

  ‘How do you take it?’ he said, his eyes dancing. His double meaning was obvious. Alexia fumed.

  ‘It’s not for me,’ she said. ‘It’s for Nathan.’

  ‘Ah, the boss man. Well, we’d better make sure he gets it just the way he wants it.’

  Alexia couldn’t help but wonder what “the way he wants it” would mean. She pushed the thought from her head.

  ‘Strong and blaaaack,’ said Tony, exaggerating every syllable.

  The coffee machine hissed into life under his expert hand. He took the cup from her hand and poured the aromatic, dark coffee into it. He put the cup on a saucer and handed them to her.

  She took them without thanking him and turned to leave. He stopped her, holding her arm.

  ‘We still have unfinished business, you and I. Don’t pretend like we don’t. You weren’t running yesterday morning, not until Nathan showed up. You were loving it, you were about to beg me for it – and you know it!’

  He had moved very close to her. She could smell his sweet aftershave; smell the fresh toothpaste on his breath. She wanted to slap him, to run out the room, but she was holding a cup of scalding hot liquid and she didn’t dare spill it.

  He was right and she knew it. The memory of his cock tickling her pussy, the realisation that she’d been seconds away from begging him to fuck her, gave her a sickening feeling deep in her stomach. She thought about throwing the coffee in his face. But she realised too that she wasn’t feeling turned on by the nearness of him, not any more.

  She wriggled free of him, mumbling an excuse that Nathan was waiting for her, and left the kitchen. But he’d unnerved her. Last night, Richard had helped her forget, but the memory was fresh again, disturbing. She had nearly begged him, she had certainly silently begged him. There was no doubt of that. She knew it – and he knew it. No blushing denials would work here. She longed for Nathan, but he had given his attention to another woman, and she had run for solace elsewhere. Solace? Is that what it was? Or just a need to disentangle herself from the “frigid” label that had hung around her neck for too long now?

  Nathan’s door. She’d arrived all too quickly. She knocked gently, but heard no answer. She took a deep breath and opened the door, trying not to let the cup rattle as she steadied her nerves. She
stepped in to find the room empty. She was putting the cup and saucer on the table when she heard his voice.

  ‘You’re early!’

  She turned around to see him in his little bathroom, that bathroom.

  He wasn’t wearing a shirt. He appeared to have been washing, and his chest was damp. The wet black curls clung to his skin. She wanted to bury her head in them. Had he been here all night? She watched as he towelled himself dry.

  She stammered, ‘I just wanted to make sure everything was OK – for Wimbledon – and I brought you some coffee …’

  He looked at her, studying her. She blushed. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.

  They regarded each other, neither moving nor speaking. She looked into his eyes, the same eyes that had stared out at her from her laptop this morning as she’d fucked herself, when she’d imagined his hands and his cock pleasuring her.

  She wasn’t quite sure how it happened, or if she’d made a conscious decision. But she found herself walking straight towards him, straight up to him.

  She put her hands on his chest and looked up into his face. His mouth had fallen open; he was caught off guard.

  His hands moved cautiously onto her shoulders, then something seemed to shift inside him, seemed to snap, and suddenly he was enveloping her, wrapping his arms around her. She felt a surge go through her abdomen and then his mouth was on hers.

  She melted against him as his lips pressed against hers. She tasted him again, drank in the warm, masculine smell of him. He pulled her up to meet his mouth, as her heels came off the floor and she strained on tiptoes to accept his lips.

  The kiss was endless, searching, tasting, probing. She felt his hand move up her side, tracing up her ribcage to settle on her breast.

  She felt him pressed against her, felt his erection harden with the contact.

  They staggered back until she was pressed against the wall. She felt the withdrawal of his lips. Not too far, just a few inches, just far enough to let him look at her, look into her face. His eyes were on fire now, on fire for her. He was breathing hard; she felt his chest as he pulled in gasps of air.

  She felt him press his cock against her, his hips forward as he bent his head over her. She moaned and he demanded her mouth again. He kissed her hard and she felt herself moisten in readiness for him. His mouth moved down to her throat, to the little pulsing vein in her neck, and he nipped it. Then he withdrew and stood back. She was shocked. Had she done anything wrong?

  But he was looking at her again, really studying her. He moved backwards, pulling her towards him, and he sat back onto a low sill that ran along the bathroom wall. He was so tall, it made his head level with hers. He pulled her forward, and opened his legs so she could stand right up against him.

  He kissed her again and she felt his hand unbutton her blouse. She moaned in his mouth as she felt the warmth of his fingers trace the top of her breast.

  Then his mouth was moving down. His fingers pulled aside the lace of her bra and she felt his tongue run over her nipple. She gasped. Only that morning she’d been fantasising about his lips on her breast, and now here he was. This time it was real. Her fantasy had been a pale imitation of the pleasure his mouth was bringing. His hand palmed the other cup as his tongue worked its way around the straining tip of her breast. She wound her fingers into his thick, black hair and held his head to her chest.

  His legs pinned her own together as he held her in front of him. She longed to free herself, to hitch up her tight skirt and sit astride him, to feel his erection right up against her cunt.

  ‘God, Alexia, I want you,’ he exclaimed.

  Alexia thought the rush of juices would flood her flimsy panties. He had no idea how badly she’d wanted to hear those words. Was it real? Was this really happening? It had been so fast.

  She looked down at his face, watching his tongue circle her nipple as his hand held the mound of her other breast. She watched the strong brow, the line of his dark eyebrows, the dark pink of his tongue as it flexed and flicked. She ran her hands over the sweep of his naked shoulders. His skin was warm and soft. She pushed her hips forward. Her need for him was agonising.

  He lifted his head. His eyes were cloudy now, heavy with desire. His hands ran down her and round behind her, settling on her bottom and pulling her hard to him.

  ‘Oh God, Nathan!’ she moaned. ‘I …’

  But she couldn’t finish. She was afraid of the words that would come out, afraid that she might confess her love for him. Love? She loved him. As she looked down at him and felt his breath on her, she knew she loved him.

  She heard a knocking from outside. They both froze. Someone was looking for Nathan. Another knock. They waited – and waited. Silence. Whoever it was had gone away, but it had broken the spell. They had got lost in each other, in their desire, but life had intruded sharply. They were at work. They were always at work.

  Nathan looked up at her. ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea to get caught in here,’ he said.

  Alexia laughed nervously. ‘No, not like last time.’

  She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to say it; the words just tumbled out of her mouth.

  His eyes darkened.

  She stammered to explain, to retract, retrace.

  ‘When I was stuck in here … When Tony and …’

  Nathan breathed out. He was retreating now, still wrapped around her but moving away, emotionally.

  ‘When he was in here before …’

  He pushed her away from him slightly so he could look at her, but he kept his hands on her.

  ‘I have to know, Alexia. I have to know about you and Tony.’

  She flushed. ‘There’s nothing between us, nothing,’ she said. ‘He keeps trying to come on to me …’ Her words trailed away to nothing.

  ‘And that’s it?’ demanded Nathan. He looked at her. ‘You’ve never encouraged him or –?’

  He didn’t elaborate, he didn’t have to. She knew what he meant. Or let him push his tongue into your cunt and then almost fuck you?

  She wanted to scream no. She had never encouraged him, or worse … But how could she? She couldn’t lie, she felt so raw, so open; she couldn’t bring herself to tell a blatant untruth. His eyes were fixed on her. She felt he could see into her, see right through her.

  He registered her silence. His jaw set hard. He stood up suddenly, and moved her away from him.

  ‘This shouldn’t have happened!’ His voice was cold and hard.

  She started to protest. ‘You don’t understand.’

  But he would have none of it. ‘Oh, I understand, I understand very well. I shouldn’t be surprised. Not many women are immune to his charms, why should you be any different?’

  The words rang through her like a rapier, straight to the heart. Why should you be any different?

  A moment ago she was different; she was someone Nathan desired. But now? Now, in a matter of seconds, she’d become just another notch on Tony’s bedpost.

  ‘I’m going to Wimbledon early. Order a car and be there for two.’

  And with that, he grabbed his shirt and left. She heard him exit the outer office. He was gone.

  She heaved a huge, wracking sob. She sat against the sill as her head swirled. She could still feel him on her breast, feel the wetness inside her. But a chill enveloped her now, a Siberian chill that made her shiver and shake.

  She buttoned up her blouse and looked in the mirror. She was dishevelled. With shaking hands, she tidied up her hair and smoothed down her clothes. She took a huge, deep breath and left the bathroom. On her way to the door she saw his coffee cup. The coffee was cold.

  The rest of the staff were arriving as Alexia got to her desk. She batted off morning greetings and enquiries about the trip with the best smile she could muster.

  She willed herself to concentrate on her work. It was agonising. She combed through the details of the event at Wimbledon. A presentation about something or other; she wasn’t really interested. She just needed to
work out where and what time they were going. Jim Brooker, the young tennis star and their latest client, was a guest, and he would surely be getting attention from various other guests. Nathan was his chaperone, and he would need his PA in tow. He would need her in tow.

  Her heart sank as she realised there was really nothing for her to do, just stand around. She’d know no one. Talking to Nathan wouldn’t be an option. She closed her eyes and wondered how she could have so quickly made a mess of the opportunity life had given her, the opportunity Romy had created for her. Her new job, her new life was in tatters.

  She’d done what Sonia told her to do; she’d taken a risk, a risk on love, on the man she wanted. But she’d lost. So close, but now further away than ever.

  Alexia looked through the guest list. She knew there was little point. She was unlikely to find a name that would make any difference to her. They would all be strangers. Her eyes passed over a name and she stopped. Sonia Varma. Sonia was going to be there! Relief swept over her. Her newest friend and, strangely, her greatest confidante.

  If only she could speak to her now; she needed to hear her soft voice, her gentle reassurances, her motherly advice.

  She’d taken Sonia’s card at the hotel bar; it was in her bag somewhere. She grabbed her bag and fished around for it. There it was nestled in a pocket, a little piece of cardboard but a huge piece of comfort. She took it from her bag along with her mobile and went into one of the empty meeting rooms.

  It’s only 8.45, she thought. But she was desperate. She tapped in the number.

  ‘Sonia Varma,’ said the familiar voice.

  ‘Sonia? It’s Alexia!’

  ‘Alexia, darling,’ she started in a cheery tone, but stopped. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘Oh Sonia, I’ve messed it all up!’

  Alexia recounted the whole story, even telling Sonia about how Tony had caught her when she was vulnerable, how he’d turned her on but she’d always batted him away, how Nathan had almost caught them. It all came pouring out.