by Mandy Lee
‘Excuse me?’ I gasp. ‘People can see.’
‘Only if they’ve got binoculars.’ Releasing me from his grip, he reaches up and begins to unbutton my blouse. Making quick work of it, he pulls it from my shoulders and drops it to the floor. ‘Or superhuman vision. This is the fifteenth floor.’ He snakes his hands round my backside and unfastens my skirt. ‘And besides, the glass is tinted on the outside.’ The skirt falls to the floor and he gazes at my body in admiration. Reaching out, he traces a finger down my stomach, slowly working his way outwards to my hip bone and then back again, down towards the apex of my thighs. I struggle to control my breathing while he hooks a finger into the top of my knickers, gently easing them down my legs. Taking his time, he crouches in front of me, motioning for me to lift my feet so that he can remove the knickers completely. He takes a moment to smooth his fingers across my hair, sending a delicious wave of pressure rippling through my abdomen, before he raises himself back up to his feet.
‘You are a work of art, Miss Scotton.’ Kicking off his shoes, he gives me a cheeky smile and reaches round to unfasten my bra.
Well, if he’s going to have me stark naked against his floor-to-ceiling window, then he’s going to have to lose a few items of clothing himself. I begin to unbutton his shirt. I’ve barely managed to get it off his shoulders when he tosses my bra to the floor. He helps me out with his belt, trousers, pants and socks and for a few magical seconds, I get the full impact of his body, the glorious contours of his muscles, the six pack, the broad, strong shoulders, the perfectly proportioned biceps. God, I could look at that body all night. But I get little chance to take it all in. Without any further ado, he thrusts himself against me and I gasp at the sudden contrasts: hard, cold glass from behind; the heat of his taut body in front.
I run my hands over his shoulders, across his muscles. And while I explore his body, his lips work their way around my neck, under my chin, finding my left ear lobe, nibbling and licking for a moment before he trails them round to my mouth and locks me into a deep kiss. He presses his crotch against mine, his hard, hot erection rubbing against my clitoris, and I light up in anticipation. Delicious sparks are sent flying through my muscles, and every last one of them begins to clench.
‘Shit,’ he breathes at last. ‘What the fuck are you doing to me?’
What am I doing to you? I want to laugh. Shouldn’t that be the other way round, I’d like to ask, but I can barely breathe let alone talk. A hand moves between my thighs, coaxing them apart. I convulse with a groan as his fingers enter me, two of them, checking urgently that I’m ready for him. And I am. I’m so ready. He takes them out, leaving me a second’s worth of respite before I feel his cock edging its way inside me, his hands under my buttocks, grasping them firmly, lifting me off the ground. He pushes further, moaning at the sudden pleasure. Moving slowly, he works his way at one angle, and then another until he hits just the right spot and I squeal in delight.
‘Too much?’ he asks.
‘Bloody hell, no! Get on with it, man!’
He smiles darkly and begins to thrust, sending me squeaking my way up the glass. I cry out in pleasure, my muscles are tingling. He withdraws and thrusts again, picking up the pace, pounding into me, forcing my body up the glass with each new onslaught. And each time, I sense a wave of pleasure in my groin, growing in power with each new lunge, ebbing away as I slide back down in his grip.
‘I fucking own you, woman.’ Another thrust, another pounding thrum of contractions inside. ‘Never forget that.’
My brain is scrambled. I can barely take in what he’s just said. But there’s no point in arguing over it right now. He can fucking own me. If it means that I get this on a regular basis, then I’m fine with that. Out of nowhere, on the next thrust, my insides begin to contract.
‘I’m going to come,’ I moan.
‘Not until I say so, Maya. You know the deal.’
His arms tighten across my back and I wrap my legs around his firm waist, concentrating for all I’m worth, squirming in his hold, trying to fend off my orgasm. I feel him thrust and ram harder now, fast and relentless. His lips covers mine, his tongue pushing its way into me as he grunts his appreciation against my mouth.
‘Now.’ He pulls back. ‘Look at me.’
I lock eyes with him as he rams into me one last time, and I let go, allowing my muscles free rein. A final wave of contractions surges its way through my vagina, while he spills himself into me.
‘Fuck,’ he cries out, slowing his rhythm and digging his face into my neck. ‘Fuck.’ He slows further while the aftershocks of my own orgasm clutch at him greedily.
Finally, he comes to a halt, still holding me tight. I skim my hands across his shoulders. They’re covered in sweat now, and I must be covered in sweat too. Along with the obscenities I’ve scrawled in his diary, there are going to be some pretty questionable smear marks on the window come tomorrow morning. What on Earth is Carla going to think? He raises his head and grins at me. A wide open, boyish grin.
‘That was fucking wonderful,’ he sighs.
‘I’m with you on that one,’ I whisper, slowly gathering my senses. ‘But just for the record, I’d like to get something straight.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘I fucking own you too.’
Chapter Sixteen
The short drive along the south bank begins in silence. I gaze out of the window of the Mercedes, wondering what the hell’s going on. After starting the day hating the man, I’m about to finish it off in his bed. It’s an unspoken fact. And it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
I bite my lip. Well, how do I answer that?
‘You’re very quiet.’
‘I’ve had a strange day. I still can’t work out why you blanked me last night.’ I hear him take in a deep breath. ‘Can’t you just explain it?’
‘I’m sorry and that’s all you need to know. I’ll make it up to you.’
‘You’d better.’
We swing by a roundabout and out onto the embankment. Almost immediately, he takes a left, down into the basement of a huge apartment complex. He waits for the garage doors to open and then manoeuvres the Mercedes inside, pulling into his own space. I stay exactly where I am, taking in a few deep breaths of my own. Whatever happens tonight, something tells me there’ll be no turning back from this, at least not without some major heartbreak. The door opens and I look up to find him standing there, holding out his hand to me. He’s spent the entire afternoon treating me like crap, followed by taking his fill of me in full view of anyone on the south bank with superhuman vision, and now that’s all swept away by an old-fashioned gentlemanly gesture. I can’t help but smile as he draws me up and gathers me into his arms. Holding me tight, he touches his cheek against mine. His hard body is up against me and I can feel a thudding, a real honest to God thudding. And for once, it’s not my heart. It’s his.
‘Thank you for this,’ he whispers into my ear.
I lean my head back.
‘Thank you for what?’
‘For being with me.’
He smiles, and there’s not a trace of the arrogant man from earlier. His eyes are vulnerable now, exactly like they were in my picture, and I find myself wondering just how long it’s going to last, because I want this Dan tonight: the tender, caring, quiet gentleman.
‘Come on.’
Unwrapping me, he takes hold of my hand, guiding me away from the garage and into a lift. He pulls me in close to his side as he punches in a code for the top floor. For a few seconds, we ride the lift in silence. When the doors open again, I step out into an entrance hall I barely remember from the last time I was here. I’m surrounded by white marble, and in front of me there’s a dark wooden door. Letting go of my hand, he opens the door, gesturing for me to enter first. I find myself in a huge, open plan space that I can only vaguely recall: a kitchen, lined with sleek, grey cabinets, and beyond that, a living area. All I can see from here are two vast, cr
eam-coloured sofas facing each other across a heavy, wooden coffee table and beyond that, an open fireplace.
‘Wine?’
He puts his briefcase down and takes his mobile out of his jacket pocket, making a show of switching it off and throwing it onto the counter.
‘Yes please.’
‘I’ve got a Sancerre on the chill. Will that do?’
I nod, drop my bag to the floor and heave myself up onto a leather stool, one of four that are arranged around a granite breakfast bar. Watching as he shrugs off his jacket, throws it over another stool and saunters over to a stainless steel fridge, I decide right here and now that I’ll never get enough of ogling that backside. And yes, it may well be pervy, but I just can’t help it. The man’s got the perfect ass. He pulls out a bottle of white, kicks the fridge door shut, grabs a couple of glasses from a cupboard and comes over to join me. I watch as he uncorks the bottle, fills my glass and hands it to me with a smile. I know that my fingers are shaking again as I grip the stem. I take a sip, examining my surroundings, and notice a pile of paperwork on the counter top.
‘The factory closure in Tyneside,’ he says quietly, sinking onto the stool next to mine. ‘Redundancy deals. Nothing interesting.’
‘I’ll have to disagree with you on that one.’
His eyes widen for a moment before he fills his own glass.
‘And why’s that?’
‘Because I happen to know you’ve organised some pretty generous redundancy packages.’
Nudging the glass to one side, he frowns.
‘And how do you know about that?’
‘Norman.’
‘Bloody man.’ He shakes his head.
‘You didn’t want me to know about it?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I thought …’
His features soften. His mouth twitches slightly and then, while his face breaks out into a wide smile, he points a finger at me.
‘You thought I did it just to get in your knickers.’ He bites back a laugh. ‘Well, I didn’t. I was going to get in your knickers come what may. And besides, that’s a pretty expensive way to woo a woman.’
‘So, why did you do it?’
He rubs his chin. ‘Because you made me think.’
While he turns his wine glass around, I fidget uncomfortably on my stool. I’m just not satisfied with his explanation. I need a bit more of an answer than that.
‘But it’s a bit out of character. I mean, for a mega-rich, power-hungry businessman like you …’
Oh shit, I’ve gone and said the wrong thing there. That much is obvious because the frown to end all frowns has just spread itself across his face. I’m about to apologise when the clouds finally break.
‘You really shouldn’t go judging people before you know them, Miss Scotton.’
‘No, I shouldn’t. But these deals are out of the ordinary, and they’re eating into your profits. I bet your head of Finance isn’t too pleased about it.’
‘Spot on.’
He takes a mouthful of wine and stares at me. So, that’s it then? The real reason why Clive Watson doesn’t like me? Because I’ve inadvertently persuaded the big kahuna to find a speck of humanity in himself? Well, that explains everything.
‘I don’t think he’s too keen on me.’ I’ve got my theory but I’d still like to gain some confirmation here. ‘I just can’t work out why.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ll deal with Clive. Now, why don’t you go and have a look around?’ He nods towards the lounge. ‘It’s time to start peeling away those layers.’
I glance around the apartment before turning back to face him.
‘Go on,’ he urges me. ‘Go and have a nose.’
Picking up my glass, I make my way through to the living area. Ignoring everything else, I’m drawn straight towards the huge window that stretches the entire length of the room, reaching from the wooden floor right up to the high ceiling. It gives out over the Thames just like the window in his bedroom upstairs. To the right, I can see a bridge and across the river, the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. A little further along I can just about catch the edge of the London Eye, while to the left, a forest of cranes spreads its way along the south side of the river bank. I turn and examine the room. It’s simple and beautiful, made all the more so by the five huge oil paintings displayed around the walls. I hear myself gasp. Why didn’t I notice those before? In a trance, I take a step forwards, gazing up at the pictures, one after the other. Landscapes and seascapes. All by different artists. Exactly the sort of thing I’d choose for my own home.
‘Do you like them?’
I tear my attention away from a painting to find him standing nearby, glass in hand.
‘I didn’t notice these the other night.’
‘I didn’t give you much chance.’
He moves towards me.
‘They’re beautiful,’ I murmur.
‘They are. The one on the left there is by Phillipa Green.’ He motions his glass towards a painting. ‘I’m a fan of hers. I love the colours. And this one is by David Grant. You must know these people.’
‘I know of them. I’ve seen their work in Slaters.’
‘Which is where I bought these.’
He watches my face, gauging my reaction.
‘You really are an art lover.’
‘I guess it’s my mother’s influence.’
I shake my head in disbelief and he laughs.
‘And you thought I was just some glorified builder.’
‘An arrogant, sexist, glorified builder.’ Oh shit, why did I have to say that? Wishing that I could suck the words back in, I take a look at him. Am I getting this right? Does he actually look wounded?
‘Sometimes,’ he mutters, ‘people put on a front.’
And why would you need to put on a front, I’d like to ask. But I really shouldn’t probe any further. The expression on his face tells me that.
‘I don’t know you, do I?’ I ask instead.
‘Not yet.’
I raise my glass again and hide behind a gulp of wine. Not yet? My mind is on the verge of spinning over what he means by that when he saves me from the bother.
‘Why don’t you go and slip into something a little more comfortable?’
‘Slip into what?’
‘One of my shirts. Go on. You can rummage through my wardrobe. I’ve got nothing to hide.’ He nods towards an open wooden staircase that twists its way up towards some sort of balcony. ‘First door on the left, remember?’
Placing my glass on the coffee table, I make my way up the stairs, knowing that he’s watching me as I go. I can feel the heat of his eyes on the back of my body.
‘And Maya,’ he calls out as I reach the top step. I turn round and look back down at him. ‘Just a shirt.’ He winks. ‘Nothing else.’
I waver for a moment, wondering whether or not I should tell him to get stuffed because nobody tells me what to wear, but yet again, my body seems to have broken ranks with my brain. Instead, I simply throw him a coy smile and nod before turning away to find myself confronted by a corridor: two doors on the left and two on the right. I’m sorely tempted to have a nosey round, but that would be going a little too far. Instead, I head straight for the first door on the left, right back into his bedroom.
After taking a moment or two to reacquaint myself with the room, I slowly undress, arranging my clothes on the chaise longue. At last, completely naked, I make my way across to the huge built in wardrobe, pulling open a door and discovering a range of perfectly ironed shirts in a myriad of colours, from white on the left, through greys, black, pale blue, pink and shades of purple on the right. I opt for a plain white shirt, shrugging it off its hanger and over my head, smelling its freshness, feeling its expensive quality. I’m about to close the wardrobe door when I notice a set of drawers to the right. So, how does he arrange his socks and his pants, I wonder. Just how anal is he about these things?
As soon as I open the first drawe
r, I suck in a breath and my heart decides to do a quick jig. The drawer doesn’t contain socks and pants at all. Instead, it’s lined with a black silk-like material, and it’s filled with a strange collection of objects that I’ve only ever heard about before. I hold my breath, wondering what the hell I’ve got myself into.
My eyes have fallen straight onto a pair of leather cuffs.
‘Is everything alright?’
His voice comes from behind me, pinning me into place, and I know he’s close by. Another few seconds and I feel his chest against my back. My pulse has quickened now.
‘I thought you said you had nothing to hide.’
The next few seconds drag by in silence.
‘I don’t,’ he says at last. ‘You already know something about my sexual preferences.’
Of course I do. But this?
‘So, you keep these here for your women?’
‘You’re the first woman I’ve ever brought back to my apartment. And these are brand new.’
Brand new? Well, that can only mean one thing.
‘You bought them for me?’
‘I did. I picked them up on Saturday.’
Good God, he went straight from Slaters to a porno store.
‘You were that confident?’
‘Not confident. Just hopeful.’ His body remains pressed against me, the heat of his chest coursing its way through my spine. ‘I wasn’t planning on introducing this tonight.’
Of course not, my brain whirls, because tonight you’re playing the gentleman, not the dominant. But suddenly, I’m not entirely sure that I want the gentleman any more. At the sight of the cuffs, I’m beginning to tremble … and it’s not with fear.
‘Close the drawer, Maya.’
My heart pounds in my chest. ‘I don’t want to close the drawer.’ With an unsteady hand, I reach out and touch a leather cuff. His left arm snakes around my stomach, holding me fast, while his right hand covers mine for a moment or two before moving on. He picks up the cuff.
‘Two for your wrists and two for your ankles. They attach to straps on the bed.’
‘What straps?’
‘Already in place. Just out of sight.’ He places the cuff back down. His hand moves across the drawer to a strip of black silk. ‘A blindfold, obviously.’ His fingers move further, coming to rest against a piece of leather. ‘And this is a basic gag.’
