by Galia Ryan
Chapter 20.
He bought her a red dress. Balenciaga, it was long and clinging and gathered at the shoulders to drop to her breasts in folds. She loved it immediately. Admiring her reflection in the changing-room mirror, she realised he was right. The colour did infuse her with life.
Afterwards they lunched in a little bistro he knew. Tucked down a pedestrian alley, it was the type of place you only knew about if someone else had informed you of its existence. Stephanie had never noticed it before.
“It’s been owned by the same family for decades,” Sam laughed when she questioned him. “Someone once told me it was here well before the film festivals started.”
“And when was that?”
“When the festivals started? Just after the second world war.”
“You know a lot about this town.”
“It is one of my most favourite places in the world.” He reached forward to replenish her wine. “Have you seen it at night, from the water?”
“No.”
“Then you are in for a treat. We’ll go out and enjoy the lights this evening.”
“Out? As in out to sea?”
Sam nodded. “I have a boat in the harbour.”
Stephanie allowed her face to reflect her dismay. “Unfortunately I have another appointment.”
“Break it.” He shrugged carelessly.
His attitude was a little too cavalier for her liking.
“That would be difficult.”
“Then it must be another man.”
She smiled indulgently. “Why must it be another man?”
“I can’t think of any other reason for turning me down.”
“It’s not another man.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Do you always expect to get your own way?”
“Usually.”
“Then I must be a disappointment.”
She spread another piece of her toasted ciabatta with duck foie gras, and added a smear of ginger jam. To say she was attracted to this man would be an understatement. But she had no intention of throwing herself at him.
Sam was looking at her thoughtfully. “Tomorrow then,” he offered finally.
“That would be lovely.”
That night she luxuriated in a hot, scented bath. She ordered dinner to be brought to her room, and ate it watching a movie on the large TV. She was pleased with the outcome of the day. Sam definitely had potential as a lover. Not only that, he could be a useful contact. Moving to the States could be the solution to her problems, if only in the short term. Under the circumstances no opportunity should be dismissed.
Olivia would be proud of her.
Sam’s launch was not as extravagant as some of the super-yachts moored in the harbour, but it still took her breath away.
“She’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad you think so. We’ll let the crew cast off, and then I’ll give you a tour if you like.”
She was wearing the red dress. As she stepped onto the deck she removed her strappy stiletto sandals to go barefoot.
Sam smiled appreciatively, and led her into the salon. “Can I get you a drink?”
The décor was modern and minimalist. No highly polished woods or urban textiles in sight. Instead, blazing-hot orange-and-yellow throw cushions glowed against white leather sofas. Fire and ice. The effect was clean and energizing.
“Champagne?” He was behind the bar holding a pair of crystal flutes. “Or if you like, I can get the steward to make you a cocktail.”
“Champagne would be perfect.”
“Good.” He grinned.
There was the loud popping of the cork. As if on cue, the throbbing of the ship’s engines increased in tempo, and the propellers spun into life. The immediate rush of seawater caused the deck to roll slightly. When, moments later, they carefully eased away from the quay, Stephanie felt a joyous sense of release. For the first time in many weeks she was actually happy.
“So,” Sam handed her a glass of sparkling foam. “How was your date last night?”
“I thought we’d agreed I was not on a date.”
“Then I forgive you for refusing to join me.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
She glanced around at the understated luxury.
“Do you approve?” he asked, following her gaze.
“What is there not to approve of?”
They were making their way towards the harbour entrance. It would be a while before it was truly dark and she could witness the dramatic light show of the coast.
“You really should find a way to come over more often,” she said, making herself comfortable on an L-shaped sofa.
“I know. I wish I could say my life is one long holiday, but unfortunately I do have to work.”
She already knew he had strong connections to the oil industry. They had touched on the subject the night they met. At the time diplomacy forced her to limit her contribution—she would have loved to challenge him on environmental issues. That oil tanker, for instance, the one that had run aground in Alaska. It had spilled millions of gallons of crude into otherwise pristine waters. The effect on the ecosystem would last for years, and she wanted to ask whether the industry had learned any lessons. But she had held her tongue, staying with less contentious issues.
He joined her on the sofa, sitting close, but not close enough to encroach on her personal space. “This is a much needed break,” he continued.
“Yet you keep your boat here,” she said.
“I do. It’s often chartered out. It just so happens that this time it’s free, and I’ve been able to live on board.”
“A luxurious home away from home.”
“You could put it like that.”
“Or an escape from reality.” She was teasing him, but her words had taken on a tinge of wistfulness. “Do you ever feel the urge to pack up and sail beyond the horizon? Perhaps find a remote tropical island? Somewhere no one will find you?”
“Run around naked, and exist on fish and coconuts? The crew might have something to say about that.”
She blushed. Spoken out loud the idea really did sound ludicrous.
He swallowed the last of his champagne and stood. “Give me your glass. I’ll fill it up.” He went back to the bar. “Do I ever feel the urge to sail away?” he repeated her question as he refilled their glasses. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I do.”
She glanced over in surprise.
He continued, “I’m sure I’m not the only one who finds life can be a little too intense at times. More of a treadmill than a carousel, you could say. Unfortunately I just can’t jump off whenever I like. What about you?”
“I definitely wanted to when my father died a couple of months ago.”
“That’s completely understandable. Traumatic events often make us want to do things we normally wouldn’t.”
“So now you’re a psychologist.” Her eyes danced mischievously.
Sam replaced the bottle in the ice bucket and picked up the brimming glasses. “No, just someone with a little too much experience of what life can throw at you.”
“Do you want to share?”
She had never forgotten Olivia’s advice on how to glean information, and deliberately kept her voice casual. That she was genuinely interested in him was not something she wanted to make too obvious.
“Maybe another time.”
Placing the flutes down on the coffee table he offered her his arm. “Come on. It’s not really dark enough yet, but there’s still a worthwhile view.”
They made their way to the stern of the ship. The moon had made an appearance, but it was translucent and low on the horizon. To the west, the last vestiges of daylight were still in evidence. The breeze held the faintest hint of mimosa. The scent would come from the hills behind the town, she thought.
She gazed back at the coastline. Even at dusk Cannes was a myriad of glittering lights.
“Worth coming out here?” he asked, slipping his arm aroun
d her waist.
“Definitely.”
“It will be even better later.”
His lips were on her neck. She tilted her head to encourage his mouth to explore further and sighed in pleasure.
“So beautiful. Yet such a mystery,” he murmured against her skin.
“Am I?”
“You are. Why don’t you tell me what you really want from me?”
She turned, and pulled his head down to hers. “I want this.”
His tongue was immediately in her mouth, and he was holding her hard against him. One hand was roughly manipulating her breast under the silky fabric.
“I know you do. Don’t worry; I am going to fuck you. We’ll do it right here on the deck. Then we will have more champagne, and after that I will fuck you again.”
The words were heady, exciting. Stephanie’s nipples hardened.
Without warning he spun her around and forced her forward onto the ship’s rail. Her beautiful red dress was yanked up and bunched on her back. He was running a hand over the cheeks of her arse, and for a moment she thought he was going to smack her bottom. Surely he wouldn’t? She shivered with excitement. He hooked his fingers into her briefs and dragged them down to her knees. A moment later they had slipped to the deck, and he was parting her legs with his knee.
His hand was at her cunt, his fingers on her clit. When he flicked over it and then pinched the sensitive flesh, she gasped in shock and would have reared up had he not been holding her down. He continued to torment her, running his fingers up and down her soaking cunt and skirting over her entrance. Then he would return to her clit and rub it, almost abrasively. Each time he did so she thought she couldn’t take anymore. She was so close to cumming, and yet he wouldn’t let her.
She was groaning loudly, pleading with him to take her, to fuck her. She wanted to be stretched and filled with his cock. She needed to cum so badly.
* * *
Sam was enjoying himself. He hadn’t been with a woman like Stephanie for a long time. She was a paradox. Outwardly sophisticated and intelligent, he wondered how many others had discovered that, hidden behind the classy façade, was a delectably submissive slut.
He was ignoring her pleas to push his fingers into her, perhaps because she was already open and ready for him. He didn’t want to take the edge off her desperation. Instead he wanted to see how far he could go.
He slapped her arse. He did not hold back, and she yelped. But she remained in position. The palm of his hand tingled.
“Stand up and take off the dress.”
Without a word she did as she was told. Her face was suffused with colour. Whether it was because she was so turned on or because he had already removed her only scrap of underwear, he had no idea. Nor did he care. Perhaps it was the realisation that at any minute a member of the crew might appear. There was no reason for her to know that discretion was an unwritten rule on board. Of course, her naked body would be the talk of the crew’s mess later. But he could live with that.
He stood in front of her, taking up her personal space. “Now tell me what you want.”
Her head lowered. He could see she was biting her lip.
“I want to be used. To be punished.”
He could hardly breathe. It was just as he had thought. “Ah. Then you shall be.”
As he had that first night, he made her kneel in front of him and take his cock into her mouth. He was impressed that she could take him as deeply as she could without choking. As he pulled out, she tightened her lips around his shaft. A finger was massaging the sensitive spot behind his balls. Someone had taught her well.
Her mouth was hot and wet, her tongue skilled, gliding over the head of his cock and exploring the rim. He imagined watching her serve another man. Several men, even. Energy surged through him, and his balls tightened. He gave in to the amazing sensations coursing through his body. She was sucking vigorously, and he was cumming as if he had been celibate for the last few years. Even after the last dregs of his seed had spurted into her mouth, his cock still jerked as if to ensure he had given her everything.
They lay together on the leather sofa. He was idly stroking her body. Her eyes were closed, her breathing a little erratic. Her skin was reacting to his touch with tiny goose bumps.
“You like that?”
“Mmm.”
“Here?” He circled a nipple. “Or here?” He attended to the other one. Both were standing proud and hard.
“Everywhere,” she murmured.
His fingers trailed down her belly.
“Here?”
She moaned, and lifted her hips in response.
He lowered his head and kissed her mouth. “Still horny, my darling?”
She made a sound in her throat.
“How frustrated are you?” he wanted to know.
“Very.”
His fingers glided over her clit. She opened her legs farther, and her hand moved to caress her breast.
“You are so wet.” His finger slipped between her cunt lips. “So wet, and so swollen. Should I give you what you want? Or make you wait a little longer?”
“Please.” The word was little more than a desperate sigh.
“And what would you do for me?”
“Anything. Anything.”
The tip of a thumb and forefinger closed around her clit. Massaged it.
Almost incoherent, she pulled wildly at her nipples, as if that might gain her some relief.
“Anything,” he repeated slowly, wanting her to know he was considering his options. “You say it now. But you might not be so willing later.”
“I will. I promise. Just fuck me. For God’s sake, let me cum!”
His thumb continued to manipulate her clit as he eased two fingers into her. Her back arched, and she grabbed for his arm.
“More. Please, more.”
He began to frig her. At first slowly, and then harder. Her nails dug into the rounded flesh of her breasts as she lifted and offered them to him.
He knew she wouldn’t last much longer.
“Cum for me, baby.”
He pressed his thumb down on her clit, and pushed his fingers in as far as they would go. He could feel her spasming uncontrollably. Then she was shaking and jerking against his hand, lost in her own world.
When she had finally stilled, he moved over her. She moaned softly when he lowered himself, and the hardness of his cock lay against her clit. He knew it would still be extremely sensitive. He also knew it would not be long before she was desperate and needy again. And willing to do anything for him.
* * *
By the time the sun had risen, Stephanie had been fucked two more times.
Each time Sam brought her close to orgasm before stopping, leaving her almost delirious. He stroked her breasts or gently rolled her nipples in his fingers until they calmed down.
Then he played with her again.
He made her sit in front of him and spread her legs wide. He suggested she might like to play with herself, to use her fingers to bring herself off.
Any other time she would have refused. She had never displayed herself that way. Not ever. But she still needed to cum and didn’t care how she did it.
Her eyes closed. One hand was on her breast, the other between her legs. Her fingers found her clit. For a moment or two she rubbed vigorously. Then slowed to a gentler stroking. After a moment or two, still panting, she rubbed again. Each time she used more pressure and lasted longer. She was seated on the edge of the chair, the cheeks of her arse clenched, her hips lifted.
She was so very close to cumming, but part of her wanted to hold back a little longer. Control the urge until it became almost impossible to do so.
Her breasts were suffused in a soft pink flush and her nipples puckered and hard. Her body arched, and her head went back.
“Not yet, darling.”
Her eyes flew open in shock when he pulled her hand away.
“But I need it,” she sobbed.
“I
know. And I will let you cum. But first I want you to please me.” He placed her on all fours, and knelt behind her. “I want us to cum together. Can you wait?”
“No,” she wailed.
“Oh. That’s a shame. Perhaps I should let you calm down for a while. We can always fuck later.”
“No. Please no. Don’t do that. I’ll be good. I won’t cum until you say so.”
“Are you sure you can manage that?”
“Yes.” She was frantic.
He fucked her mercilessly. It was as if he had known exactly what she needed. Her breasts jolted and bounced with each thrust. Her cunt was on fire, and it was nearly impossible to remain on the edge without tipping over into her orgasm. But she had to hold back. He had demanded it of her. She bit her lip and tasted blood.
He was taunting her, calling her names. My whore, my slut, my cunt. That he thought so little of her pushed her closer and closer to her limit. Her senses went into overload.
She had to be punished. She knew that. Everything was her fault. Charles, her father, Antoinette, even the way she had treated Amelie. She had sinned, grievously, and if she wanted absolution she had to be made to suffer.
When his hand came down hard on her arse, she screamed.
The second time it made contact, she came.
Chapter 21.
Sam returned to America three days later. Before then he’d made one request of her.
They were in her suite. It was late afternoon, and they were sharing a bath as a prelude to the evening. She lay in the perfumed water, her eyes half closed, sipping her champagne.
Sam reached for the bath gel and poured a generous amount onto a sponge.
“Give me your foot,” he said.
He used long, slow strokes to cover her leg with creamy foam.
“I could get used to this,” Stephanie sighed happily. To have such attention was blissful.
“You don’t think you would get bored after a while?”
