True Colours (The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2)

by Mandy Lee

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ I protest. ‘We made a deal. I beat you.’

  ‘And then, rather strangely, you conceded defeat.’

  ‘I said I’d move in if you beat me. You didn’t.’

  He screws up his nose. ‘You’re being pedantic.’

  ‘And you’re being pushy.’

  ‘So, that’s a no then?’

  ‘Of course it’s a no. There’s plenty more talking to do yet.’

  The grip on my hair relaxes. I sit up. He grimaces.

  ‘No more big talk, Maya. Please.’

  I gaze down at his face and begin to crumble. There’s something so innocent, so child-like about his plea that I just can’t refuse. And besides, after last night, I’m not entirely sure that I’m ready for any more heavy-duty conversation. Perhaps we should lighten things up a little.

  ‘Not today,’ I reassure him. ‘We did enough of that last night. I think we can move on to the small talk today.’

  He rolls his eyes.

  ‘All the little things.’ I take his chin in my hand. ‘The window dressing.’

  As if I’ve just asked him to drink straight out of an unflushed toilet, a frown takes hold of his face.

  ‘If we must.’

  Before I know what’s going on, I’m flipped onto my back, my hands pinned into place above my head, and now he’s straddling me. Jesus, this man can move at the speed of light.

  ‘I suppose it had to happen sooner or later.’ His lips skim across mine and then, without warning, he pushes himself up from the bed.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I demand, flummoxed by the move.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ With a wink, he makes his way over to the wardrobes. Sliding open the door, he pulls out a drawer, rummages around and retrieves the leather cuffs. ‘Kink.’ He sidles back over to the bed, holding the cuffs in the air.

  Oh shit, my brain gurgles, you’re in for it, lady.

  ‘You’re not going to torture me into moving in.’

  He climbs onto the bed and kneels next to me. ‘Give me your hands.’

  ‘I mean it, Dan.’

  ‘So do I. Hands.’

  Within seconds, I cave in. While every last part of my body lights up with excitement, I offer him my wrists. With a smile of satisfaction, he wraps a cuff around my left wrist, concentrating intently as he buckles it up, moving on to my right wrist when he’s satisfied. Finally, he motions towards the headboard and knowing exactly what I have to do, I lie on my back and raise my arms, watching as he manoeuvres himself above me, tugging out the straps and fixing the cuffs in place.

  ‘Seriously,’ I breathe, my pulse quickening. ‘You’re not forcing me into it.’

  ‘That’s not my intention.’ He checks the bindings and looks down at me, his eyes hooded.

  Starting at my clitoris, a tremor of lust passes right through me.

  ‘So, what is your intention?’ I ask, my voice uneven.

  He traces a finger across my cheek.

  ‘Small talk is eminently dull.’ The finger moves further, down the side of my neck, causing me to close my eyes and groan. He pauses at my sternum. ‘Legs apart.’

  Immediately, I follow his order, watching as he repositions himself. Lying next to me and watching out for every single reaction, he runs the same finger from my chest downwards, stopping to circle my belly button, slowly, lazily. ‘However, I clearly need to discover the tiny, irrelevant facts about you.’ The finger travels further down, across my left thigh. ‘And you need to discover the tiny, irrelevant facts about me.’ While he gazes into my eyes, he brushes the finger across my pubic hair. ‘So, I might as well have some fun while we’re at it.’ Lightly, he traces a path around my labia, pausing to press against my clitoris, sending a flutter of want deep into my loins.

  ‘What?’ I gasp. ‘You’re going to ask about my favourite sandwich while you’re …’

  ‘Doing this?’ he grins, sliding the finger into my vagina.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Scotton, you’re so wet.’ He bites his lip. ‘Now, what is your favourite sandwich?’

  I almost laugh. Almost. But it’s pretty much impossible with Dan’s finger causing all sorts of havoc inside. Waiting for an answer, he begins to massage me, but not for long. Removing the finger, he replaces it with two, gently thrumming them against the inside of my clitoris while his thumb squeezes rhythmically at the outside. I take in a deep breath, fighting the need to moan again.

  ‘Ah … I don’t know.’ I can barely think already. A knot of warmth has formed deep inside.

  ‘Cheese or ham?’

  ‘Oh shit. Prawns. Prawn salad.’

  ‘Duly noted.’ He picks up the pace, pushing a little further inwards, knowing exactly which spots to hit. ‘Mine’s a BLT, by the way. Favourite drink?’

  Assuming a serious face, he waits for an answer, but I just can’t give him one. The knot has doubled in size, and now it’s pulsating outwards. Suddenly, I seem to be close to hyperventilating.

  He helps me out. ‘Oh, that’s a no-brainer. Dry white wine, preferably in a pint glass. And mine’s a decent whisky.’

  ‘Stop.’

  ‘No.’

  Lowering his mouth to mine, he kisses me deeply, and while he’s otherwise engaged, I take advantage of the situation, moving my legs together, just a little. I need to come, and it needs to be soon, and closing the gap can only help matters. Breaking the kiss, he shakes his head. Oh bugger. He’s noticed. And I have no choice: obediently, I part my legs again.

  ‘Favourite meal.’

  ‘This …’ The fingers probe further. In an instant, my brain turns to mush. It’s a miracle I manage to finish the sentence. ‘This is … childish.’

  Ignoring my complaint, he leans down, taking my right nipple between his lips and sucking slowly, gently at times, harder at others. Tingles of pleasure cascade throughout my breast, and I’m lost. I hear a long, low moan and I know that it’s mine. Finally, after what seems like an age, he lets go.

  ‘This is small talk,’ he reminds me. ‘You asked for it. Favourite meal.’

  ‘Spaghetti,’ I gulp. ‘Puttanesca.’

  ‘What a coincidence.’ He smiles brightly. ‘Now, let’s see.’ He lowers his mouth to my left nipple. Sealing his lips around it, he repeats the process while the fingers continue to work me into a frenzy down below. I’m barely conscious when he raises his head again.

  ‘Tell me something. Where’s your favourite place for a holiday?’

  ‘No,’ I cry.

  ‘Oh come on, Maya.’ The fingers begin to circle now, exploring the depths of my muscles.

  ‘I don’t know.’ My voice jumps through the air. ‘Cornwall,’ I splurt.

  ‘Cornwall?’ The fingers move deeper still, rubbing against my g-spot. ‘Nowhere a little more exotic?’

  I catch my breath and force out the words, one by one. ‘I’ve … never … been … abroad.’ I gasp, and then I pant. He presses his thumb against my clit, sending a super-charged bolt of energy through my nerves.

  ‘Never?’ He eyes me, quizzically.

  ‘Never. I’ve got a passport. Lucy … Lucy made me get it. Never used it.’

  ‘Then we shall have to rectify that situation. I’m going to take you away, Miss Scotton.’

  Oh, bloody hell. That’s not good news. A stinking rich man wants to whisk me away to an exotic location and that can only mean one thing … because stinking rich men just don’t do ferries. I might be teetering on the edge of sexual oblivion, but I really do need to sort this one out.

  ‘Not on a plane.’

  ‘Yes, on a plane.’

  ‘I … I can’t do planes,’ I stammer. ‘Big scary things. Shouldn’t fly. Witchcraft.’

  ‘You and your fears.’ He chuckles. ‘You’re going to conquer them all. I’ll take you to my favourite holiday destination. Bermuda. In fact, I’ll take you next week.’

  Fighting back a floodtide of spasms, I raise my head.

  ‘What?
’

  He removes the fingers and gets onto his knees.

  ‘Find your passport. Favourite song.’

  My head flops back.

  ‘I don’t know. I like Elbow.’ While my crotch takes a break, I wrestle my lungs back under control.

  ‘I like arse.’

  ‘Dan, that’s not funny.’

  Manoeuvring himself between my legs, he turns his attention to my labia, parting the folds gently. Oh good God, I know what this means: he’s about to go in again, only this time with his tongue.

  ‘Woman,’ he says quietly, running his thumb across my flesh.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Woman. John Lennon.’ He slides the fingers back into me and I let out a breath. ‘I love that song. You should listen to it.’ He lowers his head to my crotch and while his fingers continue to work their magic, his tongue begins to swirl against the bundle of nerves at my clit. The warmth begins to rise again, pulsating, radiating, consuming every muscle, every nerve, every last bit of me.

  ‘Holy fucking fuck,’ I groan, digging my head back into the pillow and closing my eyes.

  I hear him laugh. ‘I like this small talk thing. It’s not so bad after all. Film.’ His tongue goes back to torturing me. My insides crackle. My muscles tense.

  ‘Jane Eyre,’ I pant. ‘Jane Eyre. Orson Welles.’

  ‘Romance?’ He looks up, his hair a tangled mess.

  ‘Yes. Oh, romance.’

  Slowly, he withdraws the fingers. Slowly, he pushes them back in again.

  ‘The rich, powerful, domineering man.’ He watches me closely as I writhe under his touch. ‘Unexpectedly tamed. The happy ending. I think that might be my favourite too.’

  He swirls the fingers some more, slowly, patiently. He’s in no hurry. Again, he pushes deeper, and I convulse. Taking hold of my thigh with his free hand, he presses a reminder into my flesh. I have to stay still.

  ‘Favourite colour,’ he demands.

  And while muscles quiver, threatening to collapse in on themselves, I rummage through the chaos of my brain. I know the bloody answer. Where is it?

  ‘Burnt Sienna.’

  His free hand travels round from my thigh to my stomach. While he continues to work me up into a storm inside, he begins to trail a finger across my stomach, setting off a whole new wealth of sensations.

  ‘White,’ he murmurs. ‘Mine’s white.’

  I lift my head again, let it drop back against the pillow, wondering why the hell he’s staring at me now as if the colour white has some sort of massive significance.

  ‘Why are you …’ This time, I’m incapable of getting to the end of my sentence. Instead, I decide to tug pointlessly at my bindings. I’m close now. So bloody close.

  Removing the fingers, he places a hand to either side of my body, arching himself above me, and for a few precious seconds I get to ogle the perfect torso. Good God, why did I ever contemplate turning my back on this? In one easy movement, he’s inside me.

  ‘And now we know each other inside out,’ he whispers, sliding further, ‘you can agree to move in.’

  And so, in the blink of an eye, the small talk thing has transformed into a big talk thing. I’d give him a damn good glare, but my eyes seem to have lost the ability to focus. A shimmering heat is rippling through my muscles and I strain at the cuffs.

  ‘No,’ I groan.

  He fills me completely, staying buried deep inside for a few seconds before he draws out again, right to the tip.

  ‘Why ever not?’ he demands, pushing inwards, quickly now.

  ‘Because …’ My lungs contract and I gasp. ‘Because you’ve got to say the words.’

  ‘I’ve already said them.’ He pulls out. ‘Move in with me.’

  ‘Not those words.’ I do my best to stare resolutely into his eyes. It’s not easy. My vagina is twitching, quivering. ‘The other words.’

  Three words, to be exact, my brain complains, and you know exactly which words I’m referring to, you bastard. With a wry smile, he adjusts his angle and pounds back into me, as far as he can go, with all his might. A free kick to lust and pleasure. My brain spins off into the distance and I’m nudged away from reason, dragged into a glorious wonderland of mindless fucking. His lips cover mine, delivering a kiss that seems to go on forever. It’s demanding, raw, possessive. And all the time he plunges into me, driving me to the edge of insanity. Tightening his grip on my body, he ratchets up the tempo, thrusting hard and ramming me further up the bed while the pressure builds inside, reaching almost unbearable levels. I’m about to implode when he slows once more, releasing my mouth.

  ‘Say yes.’

  Gulping for breath, I shake my head. ‘You said you wouldn’t …’

  ‘Torture you?’ He grins. ‘I lied.’ He begins to move again.

  ‘You won’t last,’ I cry out. ‘You’re shit at tantric sex.’

  ‘This isn’t tantric sex.’ He withdraws to the hilt. ‘This is me controlling you.’ He takes a breath, pushing into me again. ‘This is me withholding your orgasm. Come on, Maya. It’s inevitable. You know it.’ Another lunge. ‘I’ll keep this going until I get my answer.’

  Manoeuvring a hand under my buttocks, he urges me up against him and slips into a steady rhythm. And I see nothing but pure determination in his eyes. I don’t doubt him at all. He’s trapped me and tormented me with ecstasy, and right now I’ll say anything to get what I need.

  ‘Okay, okay, okay,’ I practically shout. ‘I’ll do it. Now finish me off.’

  ‘Good decision.’

  He picks up the pace again, keeping it going this time, and while my muscles tense around him, I watch as his pupils dilate and his lips part. Finally, his breathing begins to unravel. His grip tightens against my buttocks and I can barely hold it any longer. As his thrusts reach their peak, he empties himself inside me, and a pin prick of heat at my core explodes. My vagina contracts, clenching at his cock as he pumps into me. I’m shaking now, crying out incoherently while he slows the movement, shuddering his way down from his orgasm. Quaking in his grasp, I’m silenced with a kiss. When I’m finally released, I struggle to control my lungs.

  ‘You’re a devious pig,’ I gasp.

  Saying nothing, he bites back a grin as he pulls out of me.

  And I’m in a stupor. Closing my eyes, I melt into the sheet, thoroughly contented and utterly exhausted. He’s reaching over me now and I already know what he’s doing, and I just don’t care. I hear the beeps as he calls up a contact on his mobile.

  ‘Carla, I need you to do something for me.’ He’s silent for a few seconds, listening to the voice at the other end of the line. ‘Never mind about that. I want everything of Maya’s moved to my apartment … as soon as possible. Arrange for a removal company. Invoice it to me personally. Call Clive for her friend’s number and liaise.’

  He ends the call and I open my eyes, watching as he slides the phone back onto the bedside table.

  ‘Done.’

  He leans across me, unfastens the cuffs and lies back, opening his arms in a silent invitation. Loving the smell of his sweat, the warmth of his body wrapped around mine, I shuffle into his embrace. I’m in heaven, and it may well be perfect, but I’ve still got a point to make.

  ‘I’m not having total strangers going through my stuff,’ I grumble.

  ‘Lucy’s going through your stuff. She’s not a total stranger.’

  ‘I want to go home and sort it out. And I need clean knickers.’

  He lands another gentle kiss on my nose.

  ‘Take the ones you’ve got, turn them inside out and wear them for another day.’

  ‘God.’

  ‘Besides, you don’t need knickers at the minute.’ He grins mischievously and slides a hand underneath the sheet. ‘See how easy it is living with me?’

  The smell of something mouth-watering wafts through the apartment, snaking its way up into the bedroom. I can barely concentrate on trying to tug a brush through my hair, I’m so hungry. Half an h
our ago he left me with orders to shower and dress appropriately for breakfast. And now, with those orders duly followed, I’ve donned yet another of his white shirts and I’m ravenous. Finally satisfied that my hair’s in some sort of order, I make my way downstairs. Passing through the living area, I cast a quick look at the chess set, recalling the shadows of last night, thankful that they’ve been pushed aside by the morning’s shenanigans. And then I come to a halt, stopped in my tracks by the sight of Dan. Dressed in grey joggers and a T-shirt, he’s busy at the hob. I take a moment to admire his backside before sidling over to him and slipping an arm around his waist.

  ‘Smells good.’

  On tip-toes, I peck him on the cheek. He’s not shaved yet and there’s a smattering of stubble on his chin. Suddenly, I’m not quite so hungry. In fact, suddenly, thanks to the rough and ready look, I’m feeling quite horny.

  ‘Stop staring.’ He turns off the gas. ‘You’re making me all self-conscious.’

  ‘I can’t help it. My boyfriend’s a fucking gorgeous sex god.’

  ‘Just for the record, I’m not your boyfriend, I’m the man you live with.’

  ‘Yada, yada, yada.’

  ‘Go and sit down.’

  Releasing him, I take my place on a stool and push his mobile to one side. Almost as soon as I move it, it begins to vibrate. Norman’s name appears on the front screen.

  ‘He’s ringing you again. Norman. Is he always this persistent?’

  ‘Just lately, yes.’ He brings the frying pan over to the breakfast bar. ‘The closure at Tyneside. Don’t get me wrong, I admire the man, but bloody hell he can flap.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he just text?’

  Dan shakes his head. ‘I’ve showed him how to do it more than once. It’s like trying to teach a fish to tap dance.’

  With a giggle, I think of Norman: a kindly man, nothing more or less than a colossal teddy bear. He doesn’t deserve to be ignored.

  ‘You should call him back.’

  ‘I’m on holiday.’ He points a spatula at the phone. ‘And he knows that.’

  ‘Then it must be important.’

  ‘I’ll call him later.’

  Tipping a pancake onto each of the plates, he nods at the bottle of maple syrup. I pick up a fork and glance at the window, noticing that it’s open. Outside, it’s begun to rain again.