THE AIR IN the hotel lift seems to pulse with pheromones, every beat jolting my body. I ache between my legs, so turned on by the promise in his sexy voice and the slightly tortured look on his face when he said the words, I like to watch.
The thrill of victory buzzes through my nervous system, but now it’s clear that this won’t be the straightforward and frenzied coupling I’ve fantasised about.
Still, good things come to those who wait...
The questions in my head deafen me to the thundering of my own heart. Why does he like to watch? Will he touch me? Is his kink a cause or an effect of that control he needs?
I shudder out a sigh. I’m out of my depth but also sick with longing. In a public life where I make all the decisions and calculate all the risks, I welcome that rush of freedom I felt earlier with Nick. There’s something so liberating about conceding a little control in this one area of my life—sex. An area sorely neglected thanks to the betrayal and humiliation I felt after Dave and the sex scandal, which killed my last hopes that I could have any sort of normal dating life. I hadn’t even known he’d taken the nudes of me he’d sold along with his tawdry little kiss-and-tell exposé. My legal team were on it in a heartbeat, but the pictures are still out there. Nothing is ever gone forever on the Internet.
For a solid month my home had been besieged by media. Pictures of my serious, conservative father––who’d been considering a controversial and well-publicised bill in the House––had filled the front pages next to my blurred-out nudes. My mother had just finished a critically acclaimed West End play and had been about to start her breast cancer chemotherapy, but people had only wanted to cover my juicy gossip.
Prickles of dread race over me like acupuncture needles. What if I’m wrong about Nick? I’ve been wrong before. Shamed, attacked and professionally renounced, thanks to the intimate photos Dave made public. Not only had I had to face my friends and family, I’d lost lucrative and prestigious endorsement deals, despite my publicity team’s best efforts to quash the scandal. My mistake had cost me my trust and dignity, and had damaged my brand.
Growing up, I’d watched my parents have no private life. I’ve had caution, discretion and secrecy drummed into me until it’s the first thing I consider before any action or decision—public or private. Mum in particular cites her own mistakes—trusting the wrong agents, being too candid in interviews, her initial naivety with regard to nudity—as examples of how not to do it. And I respect her advice. She’s my role model to emulate, both as a parent and a professional.
My parents understand the impact of fame and notoriety and have always tried to protect me and my sister from the worst elements.
That’s why the shock of Dave’s betrayal hit me so hard.
I let myself down, but I let my parents down harder.
Panic sinks in its claws. I turn to Nick, urgency in my voice. ‘You won’t photograph me, will you? I don’t want that.’ I flush at not having already asked this vital question. I trust him, but I need to be certain. I’m not free to take those kinds of risks when it affects my loved ones.
Nick’s jaw clenches, the fiery flicker of anger in his dark stare. ‘No. I’d never do that. What kind of man do you think I am?’
His frown is formidable. I’ve never seen him upset. Mildly irritated, perhaps, as he’d been at the pool.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’ve just experienced that kind of man, sadly. It’s made me cautious.’ His outrage and confusion tells me that, unlike the rest of the world, he probably didn’t see the love-rat sex scandal that dominated the headlines for a while.
He steps closer so I’m forced to crane my head back to keep his blistering eye contact. ‘I’m sorry that you’ve been betrayed. But I’d never do anything without your consent. Understand?’
I nod, overwhelmed by his powerful, competent and sincere bearing. He’s the calmest, straightest man I’ve ever met. What you see is exactly what you get with Nick.
My doubts evaporate.
‘Thank you.’ The private part of me that I protect, the part I hide whenever I’m in the public eye, craves freedom from constantly projecting BrookeMadden.com. Feeling liberated by ceding control of our chemistry to this man should be paradoxical. But I believe that Nick is focussed on my pleasure. He’s already proved that with his seriously impressive restraint. Not many men I know could walk away from a sexual scenario unfulfilled as he had earlier.
The lift doors slide open, ending what felt like the longest assent in the history of lift journeys. I practically glide to my room, my head full of the possible scenarios. I’m desperate to feel his mouth on mine—those generous lips, usually pulled into a straight line, the scrape of his dark facial hair, perhaps his strong hands holding my face or speared through my hair...
I’m working myself up into a sexual frenzy. Perhaps that’s Nick’s clever plan––to build anticipation so much that I’ll expire if he doesn’t touch me soon.
At my door, I fumble with my key card, strung out on adrenaline. On the third attempt, I succeed. I pause with the door barely ajar.
Nick’s body heat warms my back. His breath tickles the nape of my neck.
‘Good night, Lady Madden.’ His tone is neutral, as always, but now I can’t hear his voice without thinking of sex. ‘Remember to lock the doors, including the one adjoining your suite and mine.’
I shudder at the hidden meaning of his instructions. The adjoining door between our rooms hasn’t once been unlocked. There’s only one reason he’d remind me to lock it and that’s if he’s suggesting I do the opposite.
‘Call me Brooke,’ I say for the umpteenth time, my stomach tumbling. I look up. He’s cast in shadow from the dim corridor lighting, his expression unreadable on the surface. But challenge and the hint of promise glow in his dark eyes, kicking up my pulse and the flutters in my pelvis. I can’t wait to get inside. I can’t wait to do his bidding and earn my reward.
Him.
‘Goodnight, Nick.’
Without another word, we enter our separate rooms.
The closing click of my door jars me into action. I flick on the lights, slip off my shoes and dump my bag. Blood rushes so fast through my head, I feel dizzy with longing and excitement. I pour myself a glass of Scotch from the crystal decanter on the bar to steady my nerves then pad into the bedroom.
Now that it means so much, the innocuous-looking adjoining door looms from the corner of the room. I barely noticed it before. I press my ear against the wood, my heart trying to break free of my chest. There’s nothing but stillness and the thud of my pulse.
Is he there, silently waiting on the other side?
I turn the lock and rest my hand on the brass door knob while my core tightens with need. I crank open the door a notch and peek through the gap. Another closed door, the one on Nick’s side.
I leave my door ajar and toss back the rest of my Scotch.
Anticipation laces my blood with wild energising endorphins. I’m high waiting for him to accept my invitation and just walk through that open door. High at the thought of him watching me. High on the promise of his kiss.
I shed my clothes, leaving a trial on the floor for him to follow as I head for the bathroom. I turn on the shower and with a gasp step under the hot spray. My skin is so sensitive, my nipples already hard peaks under the force of the water. It’s my third shower of the evening, but I feel as if I’ll turn to ash if I don’t somehow quench this fire Nick has lit inside me.
I wash myself all over, the glide of my own hands enough of an aphrodisiac. Nick’s little game of show-and-tell has me so riled up, I’m teetering on the edge of bliss.
I know from the outline of his burly body that he’s one hundred per cent ripped, hard male. His cock at my back earlier felt long and thick. And this little role-play thing we have going on... Just the memory of his gruff voice transformed by desire is enough to clamp the walls of my sex in delicious waves.
I open eyes I hadn’t realised I’d closed and peer through the fogged-up glass in search of him as I turn off the water. But I’m in no way disheartened to discover that I’m alone. Perhaps he watched me shower. Perhaps he’s there now, witnessing the glide of cotton as I towel-dry every part of my turned-on body.
Time to prolong the show. If he likes to watch, what better way to nudge at his restraint than with some good old-fashioned temptation?
I stride into the bedroom naked. The adjoining door is just the way I left it—open an inch or two, no more, no less. My stomach drops a fraction, nerves and uncertainty getting the better of me. There’s no noise beyond the whoosh of my own pulse. No sound of his breathing or tell-tale scrape of his zip.
But what if he is there? What if he’s watching as he promised?
I turn back the sheets and dim the lights. I retrieve my trusty, indispensable dildo from my bag and settle against the cool, white bed linens, my back to a mountain of feather pillows and my legs spread.
He likes to watch...he wanted a show... Well, he’ll get one.
I slide my hand down and stroke myself. I gasp at the first delicious touch, quickly spreading my thighs and locating my clit.
I hear a creak of old floorboards, or I might have imagined it, because he doesn’t appear, nor do I see any movement in the crack of the door.
But the thought of him watching spurs me on. I slide the dildo inside, finding a rhythm that soon has me panting and writhing against my own hand, my stare boldly fixed on the doorway. A challenge and a seduction.
I want him to appear. To join me, put his mouth on my taut nipples and my hungry clit. But also I don’t. I want him frozen, transfixed, helpless. I want him frustrated enough to touch himself while he watches.
This is the hottest sexual experience of my life and he’s not even in the room. For all I know he could be asleep or engrossed in some dubbed Italian movie. Or he might be there right now, watching me get myself off for the second time tonight.
I close my eyes and lose myself in this fantasy, this role, my body aflame. It doesn’t matter where he is; I made something happen. He knows that I want him and that I’ll take him on his terms.
He has all the power and it’s a heady feeling.
My orgasm builds. I hold my trembling legs open as I plunge the toy inside myself, imagining I’m filled with Nick’s cock, his body braced above me, driving into me and driving me insane. As the climax crests, sucking the air from my lungs, I open my eyes and stare at the door, cries of ecstasy ripping from my throat.
When I’m spent, I toss the toy aside and collapse back onto the bed while air barrels into my chest. Wow... That was one powerful orgasm.
But...
Hollowness quickly replaces the elation. Quite literally, anti-climax grips me. I want to see him. To touch him, taste him and test the control of the man occupying all my thoughts and fuelling my shocking fantasies.
Was it all for nothing?
I close my burning eyes, swamped by the familiar loneliness I’ve battled since Dave taught me how foolish it was to trust a lover.
I’d hoped for something brief, intense and safe with Nick. I can be myself with him, not the puppet created for public acceptance. I see fire and shadow and dangerous passion caged in him and I want to burn in the darkness until I feel reborn. But has he leashed all those things inside the voyeur in him for reasons I don’t yet understand?
Then I hear a sound and freeze. Keep my closed eyelids still for fear I’ll spook him or discover the noise was just a figment of my wishful thinking.
I lie paralysed for endless breathless seconds. My limbs twitch with the pressure of inertia. My mind screams in the darkness behind my eyes at not knowing if he’s really out there, at arm’s reach.
Irrational fear spikes. It could be anyone there beyond my closed eyelids. But I catch his scent—manly musk, pure Nick. I feel warm breath on my parted lips, my own chest bursting for release.
Euphoria washes over me anew.
Then his kiss lands. Feather-soft at first. It’s barely a swipe of his mouth against mine. I curl my desperate fingers into the sheets, instinctively knowing the minute I open my eyes, the minute I acknowledge his presence beyond responding to his kiss, he’ll withdraw behind his control and distance himself.
This is his fantasy. He’s in charge. And, now I’m finally getting what I want, I’ll do anything to comply. Including nothing.
His lips glide over mine, demanding, building in pressure. I catch the quietest of grunts from his throat. I smile. That small noise brings a surge of triumph. I’m now certain that he was there. He did watch, and that grunt tells me he was as affected by my display as I was performing for him.
So he likes to hold back, delaying gratification. But our chemistry, our attraction, can’t be denied for ever, as this incredible kiss proves. I melt into the mattress as his tongue pushes into my mouth, seeking entrance. His hand curls around the back of my neck, raising my head from the pillow. I open up for him, meeting his tongue with mine thrust for thrust. I moan under his kiss, which is every bit as dominant and decadent as I imagined. And somehow more so for the anticipation he’s just put my weakened body through.
Then it stops. Cool air bathes my lips. His hand leaves my neck.
My eyes flutter open in protest.
Nick is fully clothed, braced above me on locked arms. I catch a brief look of tortured confusion in his dark, smouldering eyes. He can’t control the windows to his innermost feelings the way he controls the rest of his body.
A tiny frown forms between his thick brows, before his neutral mask slips back into place. ‘Good night, Brooke.’ His voice struggles for his beloved control but cracks as, at last, he speaks just my name.
The small triumph pounds my heart. But before I can reply he spins on his heel and withdraws back to his room. The quiet but final click of the adjoining door jabs at my euphoria like a pin popping a balloon.