by Tara Jones
She filled it with water and put the orange-red roses in it.
Two cats had come to greet us, and she bent down and stroked one of them behind the ears. They looked like purebred Siamese cats. They purred and rubbed against Eleanor’s ankles, but looked at me with large, sceptical eyes. The cats had the same ice-blue eyes as Eleanor, I realized with a start.
It was, however, quite clear they didn’t approve of their owner’s taste in guests.
“Well... yes,” she said. “I share it with Cadbury and Twix.”
“Here, kitty-kitty,” I tried to pat one of the cats, but was rewarded by a swift, sharp claw that efficiently embedded itself into the back of my hand.
More like Hannibal and Dexter! I thought with a frown.
Dexter looked at me, like he speculated if I would be stupid enough to pet him too. I declined and withdrew my bleeding hand.
“I’m sorry,” Eleanor said. “They don’t like visitors, and I usually don’t have people here.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t socialize that much,” she said after a pause, still petting the cats lovingly. “And to be honest, I wouldn’t have brought you here unless I knew I could trust you.”
“Of course you can trust me!” I said, slightly offended. I silently told the voice at the back of my head that reminded me of that I had planned to ask Dave to dig around for information about her to be quiet. “And how do you know that you can trust me now?”
“Well, the guards would never have let you pass otherwise,” she said nonchalantly and then she looked up at me and tilted her head at one side, inspecting me. “And besides, you pushed me out of the way of that car. You probably saved my life, in fact.”
“Ah, well...”
She reached up and placed a soft kiss on my cheek.
“Thank you for that, by the way,” she whispered.
“It was nothing,” I said casually, like I normally saved human lives on a daily basis. “But don’t try to change the subject. Who are you? And who was trying to kill you?”
Now that I had started, I didn’t seem to be able to stop the questions from pouring out of my mouth.
She smiled disarmingly at me.
“It... it’s complicated, all right?”
“Then explain it to me,” I said.
“Later, perhaps.” She stood up and stretched, looking oddly similar to the two cats around her ankles. “But right now, I need a shower.”
“But...” I had a feeling that she was trying to change the subject as she walked away from me.
“...And I think you should join me,” Eleanor added over her shoulder as she walked away from me.
There was no denying it, she was trying to steer away from the topic and distract me!
And of course it’s bloody working too, I added somewhat darkly.
“But I can ask her all the questions in the world tomorrow,” I told Hannibal, who ignored me pointedly.
I followed the trail of the tweed jacket, high heels, and blouse thrown casually on the floor until I reached what must be the bathroom door, where I found the rest of her clothes, including a white bra and matching cotton knickers. I could hear running water from the other side of the door.
I opened the door to the bathroom, although to be perfectly honest I’m not sure it could still be called a ‘bathroom’. Somehow the description just didn’t quite cover it.
At my flat I most certainly had a bathroom. It contained a toilet, a washing basin with a crack in it, and a bathtub in desperate need of an upgrade, something I had been planning to do the last couple of years, but always put off. The water from the pipes at my flat was often lukewarm and never as hot as you would like it to be.
This room, however, looked like something the Romans would have approved of. It was quite clear the interior designer hadn’t been working under a limited budget.
The walls were completely tiled in white marble and the floor was decorated in a complicated mosaic pattern. The bathroom had not one, but two oval Jacuzzi bath tubs next to each other that were built into the floor. They faced a massively large window with the stunning view over Tower Bridge, which most likely had added an extra zero to the price of the apartment.
The bathroom was easily as large as my sitting room, and also contained a bathroom cabinet in chocolate-coloured hard wood with a pile of fresh towels, and a luxury half-crescent shaped shower cabin with frosted glass. The water was on in the shower cabin, and apparently both the temperature and the water pressure were significantly better than at my place, because the room was already quite foggy.
“Eleanor,” I called out hesitantly. She had told me to join me, but I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions.
“Get undressed,” she said. “Oh, and just so that you know, the windows are mirrored, so no one can see in,” she added to my own private relief.
I obeyed and hastily started to undress, before I stopped myself. I didn’t want to appear too eager, so I took off my clothes slowly while I wondered about what she had in mind this time.
The other times we had met it had been slightly rushed in a manner, since–ah, well we had been at the local library! This time, however, we were completely alone and had all the time in the world.
The mosaic floor was rather cool in comparison to the hot, humid air, but not as cold as I would have expected. I walked over to the shower cabin. The inside of the glass was foggy and I could only barely make out the silhouette of her curvy, naked body.
Slowly I opened the frosted sliding doors.
“You took your time,” Eleanor said and smiled at me while she looked me up and down in a way that could only be described as ‘hungry’.
It immediately had an effect on me and I felt myself grow harder. I wanted nothing else than wrap my arms around her sensual body, and I wished she would allow me to press her up against the frosted glass and enter her directly, without any further delay. The fact that she was slowly drawing the shower head over her body, from her shoulders to between her rounded breasts, while she watched for my reaction, didn’t really decreased my desire for her either.
But of course I had already learnt that we did what she wanted, and in a way it was tantalizingly rewarding to wait until she told me what to do.
Then suddenly I felt mischievous. I remembered last time we had met when she had ordered me to kneel in front of her and give her oral pleasure. Just to see how she would react, I sank to my knees in front of her.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, looking up at her.
I wasn’t entirely joking, I realized.
There was something quite appealing about submitting to her and to my surprise I didn’t feel meek or silly. I really did want to please her however she wanted me to. I felt a certain strange relief to hand over the decision-making to her, but also an odd, mixed sensation of feeling manly enough to let her control and dominate me.
My actions had the most intriguing effect on her. A shadow of astonishment crossed her face before she flashed me a broad, dimpled smile. Her eyes glittered, and I could almost feel her pleasure radiating from her.
“Why, Peter...” she said in a slightly sultry voice. “If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought that you had been trained, after all.”
Trained?
She had mentioned it last time, but I still wasn’t sure what she meant. The word sent a shiver of excitement down my spine.
“I haven’t been trained,” I confessed and slowly I let my hands wander to her ankles and up along her calves. The water trickled along her curvy legs. “But I’ll do my best,” I added and placed a soft kiss just above her knee.
I remembered last time when she had let me please her and the thought was making me uncomfortable hard. Teasingly I placed another kiss on the inside of her thigh and started to work my way upwards, wondered if she would let me please her like last time or if she had other plans.
“Do you want me to continue?” I asked her permission and let my fingertips lightly fo
llow her legs, her hips, and bottom. I heard her breathing increase and knew she was getting more and more excited.
“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” she said and placed one hand under my chin and roughly tilted my head upwards. “After all, you’re not the one in control, now are you?”
I met her icy blue gaze.
“No,” I said and added in a whisper, “I’m not.”
But I couldn’t help groaning quietly in disappointment when she removed my hands from her body.
“Get the soap,” she ordered with a smile and an arched eyebrow.
The shower cabin was large enough for two people, and I had no problem locating a loofah, a large peach-coloured soap bar, and two bottles of what I assumed were some sort of expensive shampoo and conditioner.
“Where do you want me to start?” I asked quietly and lowered my eyes.
She laughed in delight at my question.
“You know, I think you’ve a quite a natural instinct for submission.”
I didn’t really know what to think or say about that.
“Thank you,” I said at last and was rewarded by another smile.
“I think you should start by washing me,” she said and then she added in different voice that was much more demanding and harder, “You can start with my feet, since you’re already down on your knees.”
Her tone slightly reminded me of my old French teacher, who had ruled our class with an iron fist without ever needing to raise her voice. No one had dared to fail her tests, and to this day I can still conjugate French verbs flawlessly.
Slowly I lathered the soap bar between my hands. She adjusted the shower head so most of the water was directed away from us, which would prevent the soap from instantly washing away, but so there was still enough water that ran in a trickle over her body. A steady stream of water fell from her long red hair and down her chest. Her hair was darker now when it was wet, but was still rebelliously curly. The water drops fell from her hair down to her full breasts and then over her soft belly and down along her curvy legs.
In the dimmed light, she was more beautiful than ever.
Slowly I put the soap back, let my lathered hand surround her ankle, and started to wash one of her small feet. I was amazed over how short, but proportional she was. Every bone seemed to be had been reduced in size to a smaller version of perfection. In fact, she looked like those old paintings of women from a time when a more voluptuous body was considered attractive, since it was a sign of wealth and status.
She’s like a Renaissance painting of Venus, I thought as I lathered her other foot. And with her perfect porcelain skin and her slightly posh attitude, she would have fit right in at any Victorian court, I concluded as I let the water rinse away some of the soap.
My thoughts of Renaissance art and the Victorian era gradually abandoned me as I slowly worked my way upward, massaging first her calves and then her rounded thighs. The feeling of her soft skin under my fingers and the closeness to her body made me more and more turned on, but I forced myself to continue to wash her body in an unhurried and devoted manner. With a tight grip over my self-control, I let my lathered hands massage her hips and soft bottom. To my satisfaction I heard her inhale sharply as I slowly let my fingers glide over her soap-covered body towards her most sensitive spot, which hid behind dark red, curly pubic hair.
But as she hadn’t given me the permission to proceed, so I didn’t continue, although I couldn’t stop myself from letting my fingers touch her lightly, dangerously high on the inside of her thighs, only brushing her teasingly in between her legs, as if by accident. Her breathing was becoming unsteady, and I saw her small hand tense as she gripped the built-in marble shower rack hard.
She turned around, so I could continue washing her back. My fingers glided along her waist and her hips, cupping her rounded bottom, while I let the lather from the fragrant soap cover her. She arched her back slightly as I let my hands glide along her spine and slowly follow it downwards until I reached the cleft between her buttocks.
Her desire spread over to me and I was gradually becoming more and more excited. But she didn’t give me any new orders, so I continued washing her as slowly as I could, enjoying watching her get increasingly excited. I had to concentrate on not reaching down and pleasing myself at the same time, although I definitely wanted to.
If I had had it my way, we would already have been reduced to a sweaty, wet mess on the bathroom floor long ago, but strangely enough I did enjoy this slow, lust-filled torment.
When I had thoroughly washed her legs and bottom, I got up on my knees so I could reach more of her body. She was so short that she only reached my shoulder when we stood next to each other, so when I was on my knees I reached just under her chin.
I continued to rub soap all over her body, from her neck and her shoulder blades down to her waist. Experimentally I kissed her lower back as I let my soap-covered hands slowly glide from her hips upwards and in front of her until they reached the lower parts of her breasts.
She moaned quietly and moved her body closer to mine as my fingertips lightly circled her nipples. I felt my erection grow harder in response. I wanted nothing more than to stand up, spread her legs wide, and take her‒preferably in a rough manner‒from behind. The visual almost made me reach down and touch myself, but instead I tried to get rid of the distracting thought by concentrating on her again.
She had moved her legs a little bit apart, clearly signalling to me that she was ready, but she hadn’t told me to proceed; I cupped one hand under one of her full breasts and massaged the nipple between my fingers, playing with it lazily.
“You’re so beautiful,” I mumbled.
I stood up slowly and moved my body a little bit closer to her, so my chest touched her backside lightly and I embraced her from behind. She reacted by pressing her body closer to mine. The water and the lather from the soap increased the sensation of the sudden skin contact, and although I tried to maintain control I was unable to stop myself from pressing my erection against her soft bottom and letting her feel exactly how eager I was. It glided easily against the cleft of her bottom, as I pushed my hips deliberately slowly, but firmly against her.
“Are you getting turned on?” she asked softly, although she most definitely already knew the answer to that question.
“Yes,” I admitted, and while I continued to massage one of her perfectly rounded breasts with one hand, I let the other glide downwards until I touched the soft hair between her legs. “Very much,” I added in a thick voice that betrayed just how turned on I was.
“And do you want me?” she continued, somewhat breathlessly. I felt her press herself a little bit harder against me. It felt like all blood in my body surged downwards when my erection glided teasingly against her body. I was almost delirious with excitement.
“Yes,” I whispered huskily.
I pushed my hips forward, so that there could be no doubt about how turned on she had made me, and I heard her sigh with pleasure as my hardness glided back and forth against her body, without ever entering her.
“Please,” I groaned in desperation, pressing myself firmer against her.
I would come against her back if she didn’t let me continue soon, I realized while I nuzzled her red hair, placing a trail of kisses from her ear, down her neck and to her collarbone. Teasingly I let my fingertips brush against the wet hair in between her legs and when she didn’t protest, I continued and started to slowly stroke her gently.
“No, not yet,” she answered, although I felt her move against me and my fingers. Her voice was pleasantly unsteady.
“But I’m so turned on,” I mumbled in her hair.
My index finger experimentally glided in between her labia lips and I found her most sensitive spot, brushing against her clitoris. I heard her gasp in reply. She was just as excited as I was, I noticed rather pleased.
She was wet and ready under my touch, which wasn’t a result of the trickling water from the shower. I
let my fingers make small circles, touching her teasingly, before I started to slowly and rhythmically stroke her. I matched the rhythm with my hips, rubbing my erection against her body, driving myself a little bit mad in the process.
“Good boy,” she mumbled, and turned her head and reached up to kiss me, burying her hands in my hair to drag me down.
Her comment made even harder. There was something in the way she said it, letting me know she was the one in control that just did it for me.
“Please,” I begged, not teasing her anymore. I pressed myself desperately against her, and I knew that I would probably come against her backside if she denied me. My erection glided up and down against her soft skin. “Please...” I repeated.
For a second her ice-blue eyes met mine in a crystal-clear moment of full awareness. Time seemed to slow down, and I let her see all my raw desire for her, but also my honest need for her permission.
An emotion I couldn’t really decipher crossed her face, and her pupils dilated, suddenly looking large, dark, and nearly feral.
“Take me,” she ordered, breathlessly.
I growled in reply, a mixture of desperation and relief that she didn’t deny me anymore.
And finally I did what I had wanted to do ever since I stepped into the shower. With water drizzling down over us, I embraced her in one quick movement and lifted her from the floor, turning her around so she faced me. I pressed her back against the frosted glass and with one hand around her hips, I grabbed my erection and steered myself in between her legs. I was too turned on to be gentle with her.
She locked her legs around my waist, kissed me possessively, and moved against me eagerly.
I almost cried out when I finally entered her. With a half-strangled groan I started to thrust against her, burying myself deep in one, almost harsh, movement. I had to stop myself from coming, but she wouldn’t give me a chance to regain some sort of control and instead she pushed herself further, finding her own rhythm, while she kissed me again, deeper this time. Our tongues met, and she took one of my hands and placed it over one of her full breasts, while her grip around my neck tightened.
