At least, I thought I did. The jacket goes first, then the cufflinks and waistcoat. He doesn’t rush. And he watches me the whole time, as he pulls his tie free and unbuttons his shirt. The air in the room gets suddenly thick, and for a moment I feel distinctly dizzy. I knew he was a gym bunny, but this is ridiculous. ‘You must lift a lot of weights,’ I hear myself say.
‘I like to keep in shape.’
‘I can see that.’ He can probably bench press more than I weigh. There’s a strength to him, a power that makes me feel turned on and scared and protected all at the same time. It’s a heady mix of emotion, more than I’m used to dealing with. I swallow, hard, suddenly wondering what I’ve got myself into. I need to shut these feelings down.
And I know exactly how to do that. I don’t give him the chance to take off his trousers. I dig my fingers into his belt and walk backwards to the bed, pulling him with me. I sit down on the edge, and find myself staring straight at his crotch. But I don’t look for long. I ease my fingers into the buckle, pulling the leather free, and then I get to work on the zip. His underwear, predictably, is bright white and snug.
Or, I realise as I ease his trousers down, it’s not so much that his underwear is snug, more that his cock is massive. I guess it fits, given the size of the rest of him, but when I thought I had the measure of him when I touched him in his car, I was wrong. No wonder he’s such an arrogant bastard. I look up at him, built like a god, with that dark hair and those pale blue eyes, hiding it all under a sharp suit and quiet demeanour. ‘Oh my god,’ I say. ‘You’re Clark Kent.’
‘Excuse me?’
I guess I should shut myself up before I say anything else, so I tug the elastic of his boxers over his cock. He’s so hard that it’s practically vertical, and I have to lift off the bed to get my mouth over it. I love giving head. I love the power of it, the way it puts a man completely at my mercy, the way you can make them beg for it. I’m good at it too, which is why it makes no sense when he puts his hands to my shoulders and pushes me away before I’ve even got started.
‘Scott,’ I begin, but he silences me with a kiss that steals my breath and makes my heart race. I find myself being pushed back onto the mattress, then lifted up against that huge pile of pillows as he settles himself next to me and slips a hand between my thighs.
‘Look at me,’ he says, as I close my eyes. I ignore him. I’m much more comfortable in the darkness of my own imagination.
His mouth finds mine again. ‘Coward,’ he whispers. And then his fingers get to work, stroking, sliding over my cunt with the gentlest of strokes. I can feel myself starting to soften, to sink back into the huge mountain of pillows as my whole body goes lax under his hand. His naked chest is hot against my upper arm, his mouth skilled as he explores me with tongue and fingers. I reach for his cock again, but he moves away.
Doesn’t he want me to touch him? I try to move away from his mouth, so I can voice that question, but then his fingers brush over my clit, and I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to. This is not the good, hard screw that I wanted, but I can hardly deny he’s obliging me. There’s elegance in his touch, in the stroke of those strong fingers against my flesh. He brings me to the edge of orgasm and holds me there, and I don’t even try to fight him.
Except in this. ‘Open your eyes,’ he says again, as he trails butterfly kisses over my cheek, my shoulder, and his fingers slow.
I shake my head.
‘Amber,’ he says gently. ‘If you want to come, you have to look at me.’
But I won’t. I won’t give in to him. I slide a hand between my legs, but he takes my wrist and moves it away. ‘Behave.’
‘Or what?’ I squirm against him, as his fingers start their work and he drives me to the edge again.
‘Give it up,’ he says. ‘Just open your eyes and look at me. That’s all you have to do.’
‘I don’t want to,’ I whisper. ‘Please, Scott. Don’t make me.’ I don’t know why he wants this from me, this intimacy, but I am not going to let him have it. This is only casual sex. That’s all it is. We aren’t even properly naked.
But he strokes me more, pushes me further, and I cannot escape from it. He has me so turned on I can’t think straight, the warmth of his breath caressing my face, the smell of his skin and his sheets wrapping itself around me. The fact that it’s him makes this all the more wrong. I didn’t know he was like this.
‘Please,’ he says. ‘For me.’
Those small words undo me. I lose the will to fight. I open my eyes and look at him… He slides his fingers deep into my pussy as I do, fucking me with them, and it’s too much, only it’s not nearly enough, so I dig my fingers into his hair and bring his mouth down to mine.
I won’t let him have his way in this. I feast on his mouth, letting him feel the stud in my tongue, and then I move my mouth to his ear and ask him if he wants to feel it on his cock. I bite into his neck, but he just continues to pleasure my pussy with his hand, as if making me come is going to be easy.
And then he finishes what he started, just as he told me he would. The climax that hits me is huge and furious, a hurricane of sensation that starts between my legs and explodes outwards. And when it finally ends, when I’m left limp and breathless on that mountain of pillows, he carefully unhooks my bra and peels away my thong and my hold-ups, then sits there and looks at me. For endless minutes, drenched in silence, he simply looks at me. I don’t know what he sees, and I’m almost too afraid to ask, which is crazy. I’ve never had a problem with my naked body, just the opposite in fact. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘You’re beautiful and you know it,’ he says. ‘Don’t play that game with me.’
I twist a strand of hair around my fingers, refusing to let my hand tremble. ‘What game?’
That puts a fire in his eyes. He gets off the bed. The shoes, socks, trousers and underwear all go. Everything is put in its place, despite the fact that he is fiercely aroused. I watch as he moves around the room, hanging up his suit, tucking his shoes in the bottom of the wardrobe, watch the flex of muscle in his back, his thighs.
I would think he wasn’t interested, if it wasn’t for that whopper of an erection. It fascinates me. I cannot stop staring at it. I’ve seen naked men before, naked aroused men. They’re not exactly mysterious.
But none of them were like Scott. Looking as he does, his bed should have collapsed from all the notches in the post. He could have a different woman in his bed every night of the week. Instead, he spends his time pounding the treadmill and sniping at me. ‘When did you last have sex?’ I ask him.
‘Why?’
‘Call it curiosity.’ And not a perverse need to know that he hasn’t surrendered to the urge in a while, that I am special.
‘Six months ago,’ he says, his tone clipped. He hangs up his tie, and then he turns to me. ‘It was a conference, we’d both had too much to drink, and it was a mistake.’
He’s moving back towards the bed now, except that it’s more prowling than moving. He goes to the bedside table, slides open the drawer and takes out a little black box. He shakes a square of gold foil into his hand, then proceeds to condom up with practised ease.
‘Why was it a mistake?’ I can barely get the words out. Scott Smithson touching his massive cock is quite possibly the horniest thing I’ve ever seen, and there’s no doubting what he’s planning to do next. The anticipation is killer. This is the most vanilla sex I’ve had in months, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited.
‘Because I didn’t want her and she didn’t want me,’ he says. ‘We wanted sex.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting sex.’ God, I want him inside me. I want him to fuck me, long and hard. And then he climbs onto the bed and pushes my knees apart and slides inside me, and he does. Oh, he does. He grips my hips, putting me exactly where he wants me to be, then he pounds me into the mattress. With every thrust, my breasts bounce, and I can see the excitement flaring in his eyes. ‘Go on, Sc
ott,’ I tell him. ‘Fuck me hard.’
His hands move to my breasts, squeeze the sensitive flesh, then his palms move under my shoulders and he jerks me upright, and if I thought he filled me before, it was nothing compared to this. It takes me a moment to adjust, a moment he uses to cover my mouth with his and let me taste him.
Then he slides a big hand under my bottom and sets the pace, slow and deep, and the fit of him is so perfect, the pleasure so intense that I can’t stop this, don’t want to stop it. He makes me ride him until I come, hard and loud, and then until he thickens and hardens inside me and grips my thighs tight enough to bruise. And just when I think I can’t take any more, he buries himself deep inside me and holds himself still.
‘Come on,’ I whisper. ‘Fuck me. Use me.’
He holds my gaze for a moment, a long, terrifying moment. ‘If that’s what you want,’ he says, as I put my arms around his neck.
And then he quietly lets himself go.
Chapter Eight
When I wake up the next morning, I think about slipping away. The walk of shame is beckoning. But then I remember that it’s my Saturday off so I don’t have to get up for work, and the bed is warm and comfortable, and Scott is awake and he’s looking at me.
Then he says ‘Stay,’ and as I lie there and look at him, sprawled on white sheets with his dark hair all mussed and those pale blue eyes still sleepy, I think why the hell not? If he wants to spend the rest of the day doing some more of what he did to me last night, that’s fine by me. You would think that after threesomes and kink, vanilla sex in a bed with one guy would be boring, but then you’ve clearly never had vanilla sex with Scott Smithson. The man seems to be on a mission to make me come, as often and as hard as possible.
As he spreads my thighs, settles himself between them and shows me exactly how glorious he is in a morning, I feel more than fucked. I feel spoiled. And when he pushes me into the shower and washes my hair with shampoo that smells of him, I start to feel something more. He feeds me croissants and licks away the drops of honey that slide onto my bare breasts, and then he bends me over that mountain of pillows and fucks me some more.
And then, when that is done, and we’re lying on the bed watching re-runs of CSI: Miami, he turns to me and says ‘You never did tell me what you like, Amber.’
‘I think you already know.’ I snuggle down into the pillows, put a hand on his chest, feel the thump of his heart. Then I play with the hair that covers his pecs. There’s plenty of it, dusting his abs, thickening around his cock, like a dark, silken spread to highlight all that magnificence. I touch my fingers to the tip, thrill when I feel him stir.
‘I know what I can do for you,’ he says, covering my hand with his and pressing it more firmly against his penis. ‘But I don’t know what you like. What excites you. What turns you on when you’re alone.’
I wrap my fingers around his rapidly stiffening length. I like the way he feels in my hand, a thick bar of steel. The man gets so erect it’s a miracle he doesn’t pass out.
I tighten my grip¸ and he tips his head back and closes his eyes. ‘I know you were sleeping with your boss and his girlfriend.’
Oh. I see. Well, as he’s spent most of the night giving me the long, hard screw I told him I wanted, I guess it would be cruel of me not to repay the favour. He wants to hear me talk about my kinky exploits, I’m willing to oblige him. ‘I was,’ I say softly. ‘Do you want to know about it?’
‘Yes,’ he groans, as I start to work him. I wet my other hand with my tongue and then I add that to the mix.
‘Sometimes,’ I say, as he rolls onto his back, ‘she would eat my pussy and he would watch.’
He rewards me with a groan. Seems that tits and heels aren’t his only drug. ‘Sometimes he would fuck me while I ate her out.’
I stroke his length, twisting over the slick, swollen head of his cock. His stomach muscles contract, his chest rising and falling fast as he heaves in air. Yup, this is turning him on. I move to straddle his thighs, loving the way his stiff prick looks between my hands, big and dark and angry. ‘Did you like it?’ he asks, his voice hoarse.
Did I? ‘I liked the crazy sex,’ I tell him, which is true. I don’t tell him all the things I didn’t like about it. I keep those to myself. ‘All those hands on my body at once. It was…delicious.’ I don’t tell him that it didn’t even compare to the way his hands feel on my flesh. ‘And I discovered that I like playing with girls.’
‘You do?’
‘You don’t?’
‘That’s different.’
‘I don’t think it’s different,’ I say. ‘It’s the same soft flesh, the same taste.’
He arches his back, lifting off the bed. ‘So is that your fantasy?’ he asks. ‘Is that what you want? You’re into girls?’
I think about that for a moment, as I slide a hand under his balls and gently cup them. The heavy weight sits in my palm, hot and soft, as I explore his sack with my fingertips, finding the places that make him groan and squirm. ‘No,’ I say eventually. ‘Well, not no. But no.’
‘So what do you want?’
You, I think, but I don’t say it out loud. I’m barely able to let myself think it. I’m not interested in that. I’m not prepared to go there again, to let myself fall for someone who wants nothing more from me than sex, and if this conversation is telling me anything, it’s that Scott Smithson wants me for sex.
I could fall for him, though. It would be easy. I wouldn’t even have to try. Maybe that’s why I have always hated him so much. I let my mind work back; let myself drift through all the dirty fantasies I’ve privately indulged in. There are so many, wicked, wanton fantasies, but there is one that sticks in my mind, one that I’ve been playing with for days, ever since I watched that porn film with Lucas. I’m pretty sure that if I let Scott in on it, he’ll only be even more convinced that I’m a slut, but I decide I don’t care. ‘I want to have men begging at my feet,’ I tell him. ‘Begging me to let them pleasure me. Not wanting anything for themselves. Just wanting to make me come. Not caring about anything else.’
It’s dangerously close to what Scott Smithson has spent the past few hours doing, so close in fact that I keep going, making the fantasy as outrageous as I can. ‘I want cocks in my mouth and my pussy. I want them to fuck me until I can’t see straight, filling all my holes.’
I’m working him faster now, his cock slippery with my spit and his pre-come. He thumps the mattress, those big hands curled into fists, the force of it making me bounce. God, he’s sexy when he’s turned on.
He’s fighting his orgasm. I can see it. But I won’t let him. I want to know what he looks like when he comes, and I want to see it clearly, not through the fog of my own climax. I want him to give it up, to give in. I wriggle backwards, caging his heavy thighs between my knees, then I learn forward and capture his erection between my tits. He’s slippery as I push them tight around him and slowly start to rock. ‘I want them to want me, Scott. I want them to want only me.’ His rigid length rubs between my breasts, the contact hot. His foreskin slides back and forth with the movement, showing me more and more of the dark, glistening head and that tight little slit in the end. I press my breasts more firmly together, and he rewards me with a trickle of clear liquid. I lower my head, taste him, but it’s not enough.
He has one hand fisted in the sheets, one forearm covering his eyes. ‘Scott,’ I say. ‘Scott, look at me.’
‘No,’ he says, his voice low and hoarse, his muscles clenching as he fights to keep himself together. But I won’t let him. Taking him apart like this is far too much fun. ‘I know that you’re thinking about it,’ I say. ‘I know that it’s making you hard. I know that you’re thinking about what it would be like to watch me suck cock while you fuck me in the arse.’
‘Amber,’ he says. ‘Please, I just…’
‘Look at me,’ I tell him again. I touch the tip of my tongue to the head of his cock. His whole body jerks at the contact, then he moves his arm
and fixes me with that pale blue gaze.
‘Amber,’ he says. He sounds almost broken. And then he arches his back and spills himself all over me, stripe after stripe of hot, white pleasure. It laces my breasts, my hands, my neck. ‘Is that what you want?’
I look at him, lying in front of me, spent and exhausted. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘That’s what I want.’
He cleans me up in the shower again, his hands firm, his touch commanding. I suppose I should go home at some point, but he hasn’t suggested it and I don’t feel ready to go, not yet. I don’t want to face the outside world, to set foot outside his front door and see that nothing has changed or, worse, that everything has. We don’t talk about what was said, but it plays on my mind almost constantly, as I watch a James Bond marathon wearing nothing but my heels and one of his shirts, with Scott’s face buried between my thighs. It turns out that he has talent in that department, too. Major talent. ‘Fuck,’ I say, as he drives me towards yet another orgasm. ‘You must really like pussy.’ I rest my heels on his shoulders. ‘How on earth did you go six months without it?’
He holds up his left hand, then slides a couple of fingers inside me, making me catch my breath.
‘But it’s no substitute,’ I say. ‘I mean, I’ve got a drawer full of vibrators, but they’re not cocks, no matter how good they feel.’
He finds my G-spot and I nearly fall out of my chair. ‘I got tired of being used,’ he says. ‘I got tired of waking up in a bed that wasn’t mine with a woman I didn’t know, of being kicked out before breakfast because she’d had what she wanted from me. Of being nothing but a warm body they could use to scratch that itch.’
‘I can’t imagine any woman in her right mind kicking you out before breakfast,’ I say. I can’t imagine any woman kicking you out at all.
‘Why not?’ he asks.
‘Because…’ I say, as he curves his fingers and applies pressure to that sensitive spot inside me. Because you’re kind and generous, and you make me feel like I’m more than just tits and heels, even though I know this is nothing more than sex.
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