by Dae, Harlem
It was That Man.
He lowered his hand and reached across the triangle of space between the armrest of his chair and that of the sofa. She dipped her head back down and took it, their fingers entwining. Said something that made him shake his head as if he were indulging her. He shifted his gaze my way—already bored of her, I guessed—and we came into eye contact.
Heat flushed my face as I took him in. He’d aged—well, I had to admit—but I wondered what I’d ever seen in the man. His nose was slightly hooked, his eyes cold, mean, and I must have been blinded by love or lust to have ever considered his features handsome. His mouth dropped open a bit as he realised who I was, and, much unlike him, he blushed too. Why, I had no idea. Perhaps he thought I might make trouble.
I was determined not to look away first, and it seemed he had the same idea. This battle of wills was one I wasn’t prepared to lose. Not now, not when I’d grown up and saw him for who he really was—a user, a man who messed with women’s emotions. Made them think they loved him and he loved them, only to cast them aside when it suited him.
My heart hurt for the young duped, blinded, damaged woman I’d once been. I’d loved That Man and all we’d done was fuck, so I couldn’t imagine how attached I could become to someone if I spent time in his company that wasn’t linked to having sex.
Yet I was here, on a proper date, with Victor. We were spending time together.
Shit. I’d have to think of a lesson for him later so I was still on track with being just his Mistress.
That Man rose and, quite rudely I felt, abandoned the woman and drifted over towards me. I was rooted to the spot. Our gaze connection still hadn’t broken, and although I’d told myself I wouldn’t be the first to snap it in two, the urge to do so was overwhelming.
He reached me, widening his eyes a little. “Zara.”
He’d sounded breathy, creepy, and a flash of what we’d done together in bed whipped through my mind. Yes, he’d taught me a lot, had shown me how to manage my dormant desires before I even knew I longed for them to be released, but the love or lust I’d had for him was no longer there. Instead, there was a wall of disgust, one that stood between us, hard and impenetrable, unable to be knocked down.
I didn’t want to say his name. “Hello,” I said, eyeing him coldly, wanting him to see he couldn’t just pick up where we’d left off—and I sensed that was what he wanted, going by his half-closed eyes and that dreamy look he used to have when aroused.
“You’ve…matured,” he said, finally sliding his gaze from my eyes. It landed on my chest.
I shuddered inwardly, damned if I’d let him see how much he revolted me now. And what an odd thing to say. Matured. “As have you. Visually.” Silly of me to have made a barbed comment like that—did it mean I still cared?—but I hadn’t been able to help myself. Yes, he’d matured on the outside—more wrinkles, hair at the temples white-grey instead of steel—but I doubted very much the inside had grown up at all.
He still stared at my breasts, especially fixated on my cleavage. His cock had fitted there once, had slid up and down, and he’d spurted cum onto my neck. I’d been delighted, thrilled with the hot splash, the rudeness of it. Heat had seared through me at being so…so wanton, yet now the memory of it left me cold.
“How have you been?” he asked, his gaze rising so he once again stared at my face.
I almost wished he’d kept his attention on my breasts. It had been less intrusive. Less…personal.
I glanced towards his date. She had leant forward and now looked over at us, her laughter long gone, replaced by anger, perhaps a touch of bewilderment, worry maybe, high spots of colour prominent on her beautiful face.
“I see you’re still the same,” I said. “Impolite. Your female companion. Nice of you to just leave her there. I suggest you get back to her if you want a fuck tonight.”
He huffed. “Once a Mistress always one, eh.”
“Indeed.”
I glanced away casually, as though he was nothing to me—and he wasn’t, not now—hoping Victor would hurry the hell up and save me. I spotted him coming from the far right corner, walking towards us with a frown in place. I smiled at him—a smile that hurt my face it was so broad—relieved that he was here, that I wouldn’t have to stand with That Man for much longer. As Victor neared, his frown disappeared, and he widened his eyes, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. Or was it a grimace?
“Is our table ready, darling?” I asked as Victor reached my side. I slid my hand around his arm and held it close.
“Yes,” he said, smiling down at me, then giving That Man his attention. “Good to see you again, Geoffrey.”
It hadn’t sounded as though Victor had meant it. Not really, not when you’d heard him say hello to someone he was really pleased to see.
“Likewise,” That Man said, nodding. “I see you know Zara. Quite a girl. We were just catching up.” He laughed lightly.
“Yes, quite a girl,” Victor said, his frown back in place.
Had he sensed something? Did men have a code like women did, where what you said, combined with a certain expression, wasn’t what you’d actually meant? I wanted to leave, to not have dinner here, but what excuse could I give for a change of venue?
“We must go,” I said, tugging Victor’s arm. “The show…”
“Ah,” That Man said. “A show. They’re so…revealing, are they not?”
Victor frowned harder. “Entertaining, I’d say.”
“Oh, that as well.” That Man smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I’d better let you two go.” He leant forward and brushed his lips to my cheek and whispered, “The shows…I’ve seen you.”
I jerked back, my blood racing, and managed a porcelain smile—a doll-like pout, fixed and hard. What I really wanted to do was beat him, hard. Then make him crawl naked up the street, bleeding and in pain and with a flag pole sticking out of his arse, the red flag holding the words ‘I’m a fucking cunt’.
“Goodbye, Zara, Victor,” he said and turned briskly, heading back to his companion.
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat, feeling faint as fury turned to horror. He’d been to one of my shows. On purpose or by accident? The idea of the former had me feeling sick. I inhaled deeply, kept the wide smile on my face, and pushed off the pillar.
“Come on,” I said brightly. “I’m starving.”
Victor walked beside me, glancing across at me every so often. I smiled harder, hoping it masked my inner feelings. I wouldn’t let That Man ruin this evening. Once we were out of the foyer, I relaxed a little and, seated at our corner table for two in a dining room with red marbled walls, mirrored pillars, and chocolate-brown seating, I relaxed some more.
“How do you know Geoffrey Dell?” Victor asked, rubbing his finger up and down the dimples on a fat-bottomed, amber-coloured tealight holder, his gaze on that instead of me.
He seemed to be lost in thought, seeing some memory or other.
“Oh,” I said, shrugging, even though he might not have seen the gesture. “I did a private show for him once or twice.” May I be forgiven for such a lie.
“I see. It seemed he knows you…from more than just a private show.”
I shrugged again as he tore his attention from the glass and levelled it on me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
“Not particularly,” I said. “What I want to talk about is you and me. About what we’re doing after you take me to your version of a show.”
“Oh, I thought…”
“What did you think?” I asked, slipping back into my usual dominant persona. “That this was a date?” I laughed, trying not to sound bitter or cruel.
“No, of course not,” he said, blushing furiously. “I just imagined we’d have a night off from all that…intensity.”
“Not on your life, mister. In fact, I rather thought it might be nice to start off with a little appetiser, seeing as it’s time to eat. I did say I was starving.”
I glanced around the busy room to make sure no one was watching, then slid off my chair. The white tablecloth only reached three quarters of the way to the vintage-style flooring and wouldn’t fully hide me should anyone look our way, but given that we were in a corner, I could only hope that what I was about to do would go unnoticed. It was pretty dark under the table, and the centre pole pressed into my side as I crawled across to rest my forearms on his thighs.
“Zara, I really don’t think—” His voice was strung with tension, the words tumbling down beneath the table in an angry, anxious, whispered flow.
I wondered if he’d be able to go through with it. Let his propriety go for just a few minutes and be the bad boy that I knew nestled in the far corners of his soul.
“Shh!” I whispered. “Shh and keep still.”
I unzipped his trousers then pulled his cock out, licking my lips in anticipation of swallowing his growing hardness whole.
He shifted closer as he tried to bat me away, his actions conflicting but hiding nothing from me. He wanted it as much as I did.
And fuck did I want it. I needed to purge That Man out of my head, and giving Victor pleasure and teaching him to be naughty in public was my way of doing it. I knew Victor would be uncomfortable, probably getting redder by the minute, and a thrill went through me at having such control.
I licked his tip—pre-cum there already—then smiled at him being so excited that he was leaking. His flavour burst on my tongue, and I savoured it, staring at his expanding cock, salivating. Instead of a teasing dance with my lips, I plunged him deep inside.
He gasped, his legs snapping together, and I elbowed them open, wedging myself between them. From my previous oral forays, I’d gathered he loved a blowjob and would be hard pressed not to come.
I pulled up, sucking hard, then slid down again until his pubes tickled my lips. I inhaled the scent of his curls, the musky odour making my cunt leak as I bobbed my head up and down, fast and steady.
“Christ, Zara, don’t…”
“Are you ready to order, sir?” a woman asked.
I sucked on.
“Um, uh… Not just yet.” He’d sounded in pain.
I smiled around his cock and, as I eased up, scraped my teeth over the head.
“My…oh…my dinner guest is indisposed at present. Perhaps,” he cleared his throat, “you’d give me another five minutes?”
Five minutes was too long.
“Of course, sir.”
I took him deep, his tip touching the back of my throat.
“Oh, God,” he whispered. “I’m…stop, please stop!”
I ignored him, letting him plunder my mouth as he raised his hips, the small movement belying his request. His vein throbbed, and I helped him along by massaging him with one hand while stroking his balls with the other. His cock thickened a second before cum shot out in bursts, hot wetness smacking into the back of my throat. I swallowed everything he gave, listening to his soft “Ah, ah, ah”, and he lowered his hands under the table to grip at my hair. He fisted it, pulled hard, and another, final stream burst from him, flowing over my tongue. I drew up, letting his pulsing cock leave my mouth, and carefully tucked him away. He released my hair and, backing up, I ran my fingers through it, hoping it was tidy enough not to give off that I’ve-been-sucking-my-dinner-date-under-the-table look.
Back in my seat, I studied him. His face was indeed flushed, and his bottom lip trembled with a tic. He stared at me, and I picked up on his silent question: What the hell were you thinking?
“That’s better,” I said, giving him a smile then licking my lips.
“Zara, you are so bad. Too bad.”
I smirked and looked away. And wished I hadn’t. That Man sat two tables across from us, his face like thunder, his eyes also sending me a message: I saw that. I saw everything you just did.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Why do you do such things?” I asked her, needing an explanation because, fuck, I’d never thought women did this kind of thing for real. Clearly, they did. My cock was still pulsating, and my balls ached from the suddenness of me coming. It had been intense, more so than the other times she’d sucked me off, and I wondered if, every time she had my dick in her mouth, it would just keep getting better and better. And bloody hell, she must like doing it, because she seemed to deep-throat me at every opportunity whether it was appropriate to or not.
She didn’t answer, was staring across the room, her face a mask of shock.
“Zara? What’s the matter?”
Without waiting for her reply, I looked to where her attention was. Geoffrey Dell was sitting with a black-haired woman, her back to me, glaring at Zara as though he owned her. What the hell was it between those two? My gut clenched, and I resisted the urge to get up and go over to him, to demand to know what the fuck was going on. A private showing, my arse. There was more to it than that, and it didn’t sit well with me at all. Sure, I knew she had a past, and yes, I knew her job meant she showed herself to any Tom, Dick or Harry, but to actually have one of those dicks—one I knew myself, unfortunately—leering at her across the room made me want to hurt him. Again. I balled my hands in my lap and watched a range of emotions play out over his face—anger, shock, and…jealousy?
I snapped my gaze away from him to Zara. “What’s going on?” I asked, sounding demanding and jealous myself. And, damnit, I was jealous. This woman was with me, was my Mistress, and Geoffrey needed to be made aware of that. Needed to know that if he coveted her, he ought to keep that to his bloody self while she was with another man. He’d failed to do so in the past and it still riled me senseless whenever I thought about that night he’d been all over Helen, just before she’d left the country. Until recently perhaps. Until Zara. Then I hadn’t thought about it any more.
But would I have to cope with this kind of thing happening for the rest of our time together? I wasn’t sure I’d be able to contain my annoyance, my need to lash out and make it known she was mine.
She seemed to drag her face around, the thread between them too hard to break, and smiled tightly at me. “Um, nothing’s going on.” She smiled. “Nothing at all, I assure you.”
“Doesn’t look that way to me,” I said, aware I’d sounded testy, petulant. I kept my voice low so Geoffrey couldn’t hear us. “Seems there’s more than a private showing or two between you.”
“How do you know him?” she asked quietly.
Oh, she was clever, directing the conversation that way.
“I drew up the plans for his house. Barn conversion.” Suddenly, I wondered whether she’d been flat on her back on his bed, staring at the black wooden beams streaking across his ceiling that he’d been so insistent on having and that I’d designed. Whether she’d sat in front of his vast fireplace, so vast that if she stood her head still wouldn’t touch the mantel; quite a task that had been, creating a giant inglenook feature. Had she splashed in his pool, his hot tub? Had she perched her cuter-than-hell arse on one of the stools surrounding his black granite breakfast bar, granite I’d had imported from Southern India? What about that room with the patio doors looking over the view, the one he’d said would hold a grand piano, had she been in there? I blinked, trying, and failing, to get those images out of my head.
“I see,” she said.
“Have you seen him outside work?” I asked, not wanting to know the answer, yet needing to all the same.
“On occasion, although not outside the work I do now. I knew him…before that.” She smiled again. “He’s an arse, Victor. A complete and utter arse. I haven’t seen him for ages, and seeing him tonight just makes me glad what was between us is over.”
“It doesn’t look over to me. Not with the way he’s looking at you. Makes me want to… Shit, it doesn’t matter what it makes me want to do, does it? It’s not like you’re my girlfriend or anything.”
“No, it’s not,” she said, glancing down at the tablecloth, running one red-painted fingernail up and down the fabri
c. “I’m nobody’s girlfriend. Never have been, never will be.”
I’d say she’d sounded wistful, but it had to be my imagination. She only wanted to teach me, and I had to understand that being a girlfriend wasn’t on her agenda. I also had to accept that other men would grope her in the future, that many men had groped her in the past. Had anyone ever touched her in a different way, though? Breached the wall she’d surrounded herself with and got inside her—into her heart and soul?
“Did you love him?” I blurted, cursing myself for being so blatantly green-eyed.
“Once,” she said. “But not in the way you might think. It’s…complicated.”
“Try and tell me. I’m interested.”
Would she tell me? Would I tell her about Helen if she asked about my past? I wasn’t sure.
“I’d rather not,” she said, then whipped her eyes away from me to look over my shoulder. “The waitress is back.”
We ordered, and I wasn’t bothered about what meal I’d have because I wasn’t hungry. It would be bland, I knew it, a tight ball of food in my mouth that I couldn’t swallow. I wanted to leave, sod the show, too, just go, take her back to my place and fuck her so hard she’d have the best shag she’d ever had—one she’d never forget. The shine had well and truly gone off the evening, reduced to a dull veneer that I had no energy to varnish, returning it to its former glory.
“I don’t want to be here,” she said abruptly as the waitress sauntered off. “Could we do this another time?”
I glanced at my watch, feeling Geoffrey’s hot gaze on me. “We could possibly get into the show early, or go for a drink elsewhere to fill the time. Would you like a drink, in a bar?”
