They were in his sitting room. He had lit the fire and the atmosphere was wonderfully intimate and cozy. Anna was hoping Adam wouldn’t want to rush things. In the past she’s always enjoyed being in his home.
“So,” he handed her a flute of her favourite Champagne and eased onto the sofa next to her, “here we are again.”
She lifted a handful of hair from the nape of her neck and gazed around admiringly.
“I love this room,” she said. The sofas were oversized, the cushions plump and inviting. A gorgeous duck-egg blue rug butted against the pale stone of the heath. It was a room to relax in and enjoy. The real focal point, however, was behind the full-length drapes. Three pairs of French doors leading out onto a stone terrace and the view of the garden and estuary beyond. “Didn’t you miss all this while you were away?”
Adam too looked around.
“I suppose so. The apartment in Paris is far smaller. It also has a totally different feel to it. More transient.”
“I envy you. Different houses in different parts of the world.”
“Didn’t you say you’d bought an apartment?”
“Yes, but it’s an investment. Not somewhere I’d want to live.”
Adam nodded. “So what will you do next? Grow your portfolio or find a place for yourself?”
“Grow the portfolio. Get at least one more rental property.”
“And how much of your time does the day-to-day running take up?”
“None at all.”
Knowing her limitations she’d employed a specialist management team. It was their job to look after the place and respond to any issues. Not that there should be any.
She’d also had little involvement in the process of finding tenants. Mark, the property manager, had persuaded her to leave it all to him. He had vetted the applicants and passed the details of the more suitable ones to her for final approval.
She hadn’t taken to him in particular and preferred dealing with him by phone rather than face-to-face. In his mid-twenties, he was heavily into grooming products and obviously believed shaving the facial hair along his jaw into a pencil thin line was a good look. But it wasn’t only that. He was full of feigned enthusiasm, and worse, affected the condescending attitude of one who thought regular nine-to-five employment existed only for the talentless.
Adam laughed as she told him.
“So in other words, he doesn’t turn you on.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
She’d probably had a little too much to drink already. Pulling her legs up under her, she leaned back into the cushions and said, “Too young. Too arrogant. Too irritating. He even tried to invite me out.”
“Really?”
“Yes. To some place in the city he and his friends go on Friday evenings.”
“And?”
“I turned him down. Politely but firmly.”
Adam was quiet.
“What are you thinking about?” Anna asked, after a moment.
“You.”
“Should I be flattered?”
She reached over and ran a finger along his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was incredibly smooth, as if it had been starched.
“Probably not.” He was smiling.
Gently easing her aside, Adam stood up and placed more logs on the already blazing fire.
She knew something was wrong. His back was towards her, but there was something about the way he was methodically selecting and placing the wood.
“Why?” he said, not looking around.
“Why what?”
“Why did you turn him down?”
The question threw her. She frowned, wondering how to phrase a reply.
“I think you led him on.” He continued without waiting for her reply. “I think you flirted with him, knowing he would see it as an invitation to come on to you.”
“No.” She was shocked. “That wasn’t how it was.”
“Really?” He was leaning in a nonchalant pose against the limestone mantelpiece. “Are you telling me you don’t like it when men grovel at your feet? Think carefully before replying, Anna. I would hate to think you’d lie to me.”
It was ridiculous. The last thing she would do was encourage someone like Mark. He was so far from being her type it was funny.
“I did not flirt with him.”
She dropped her feet to the floor and tried to sound convincing.
“Did you tell him you were pleased with the way he was conducting your business? Relieving you of the burden of your investment?”
“Of course, but—”
“Did you smile? Show your appreciation?”
“Yes, but—”
“And then you put him in his place.”
“No. It wasn’t like that.” She was finding it hard to breathe.
“Really?”
“No.”
She swallowed a mouthful of Champagne, wondering what on earth was happening to their lovely evening.
“It never is like that, is it Anna?” he said, softly.
“I’m not a tease,” she insisted.
“I think you are.” He returned to the sofa, and reaching for a strand of her hair, wound it gently around his finger. “I think you found rejecting him, knowing he had no idea what you did for a living, highly amusing.”
She managed to shake her head. “You’re wrong.”
“Then prove it.”
“How?”
“I think you already know.”
A horrible thought was taking shape in her mind. Surely he wasn’t going to suggest she do that?
“You want me to fuck him?” She pulled back incredulously, only to be stopped by the sharp tug of her hair.
Adam released his fingers, allowing the strand to slip free. “I think you at least owe him that,” he said.
“No. I won’t.”
“That’s a pity.”
“I don’t care. I won’t do it.”
“No?”
She was staring at him and had edged back into the corner of the sofa.
“What makes him so different from those who pay for the privilege of using your body?” he continued, almost absently.
She leapt onto his words. “That’s the whole point. It’s business. Anything else is personal.”
“And that doesn’t work for you?”
“Not in this case. No.”
She refused to lower her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s too much.”
“Would it really be so hard?”
“Yes, it would.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Adam leaned forward, and tilting up her chin, placed his lips on hers. “Now I’m going to fuck you. It’s been a long time, and I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
She felt as if she were drowning.
She wanted him so much. But she’d changed. She was a different woman now. The need for humiliation and shame had been relegated to her past, and the door well and truly shut.
So she couldn’t do as he asked. Just couldn’t. Not anymore.
His mouth was hard against hers, his tongue invasive. Her nipples were instantly on fire and demanding attention. She twisted her arms around his neck to hold him against her and struggled to spread herself beneath him.
He was forcing down her bra, and the strap was digging painfully into her shoulder. Then he was squeezing and manipulating her breast.
Intense pleasure shot through her.
“Oh yes,” she hissed between clenched teeth.
“I know you like this.” He lowered his head and grazed her nipple. When he gently bit down on it, she groaned.
She was losing it. Begging.
He lifted off her, and she sucked in much needed lungfuls of air.
“Do you still remember the rules?” he asked quietly, undoing the remaining buttons on his shirt.
She blinked. Her heart was racing, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. She couldn’t recall when she’d been more desperate for relief.
“I remember.”
As he lowered over her once more, she reached up and placed her hands on his chest. It was as broad and strong as she’d remembered. “Only you can cum,” she whispered.
“Regardless of how difficult that may be?”
“Yes.”
“I will make sure it is exquisitely agonizing for you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
He smiled appreciatively, and then placed his mouth on hers again.
His cock was inside her, stretching her, pounding at the opening of her womb until she felt she could take no more. She had been shaking with delirium, arching her back and forcing his hand onto her breast in silent prayer. One rough touch, one pinch of her nipple, and she would tip over.
Reminding her of her vow of obedience, he cruelly did just that and she cried aloud in despair.
And then it happened. That wonderful feeling of floating, of being so very much alive. She reached the plateau, and raising her arms above her head, gave a long, contented sigh.
That was when he stopped thrusting and lay still. Her skin was so sensitive that every touch, every movement brought intense pleasure. His lips were feather-light, a whisper on hers, and then he shifted. Only a fraction—just enough to create a new pressure on her mons. She was inside her head, drunk on an overload of sensation. Every nerve ending was on fire, every touch amplified.
They lay that way for what seemed hours, caught up in a state of thrilling euphoria. His hand stayed on her breast, stroking and caressing. He was sucking on her nipple. Her hands were on his head, a silent plea that he would never stop doing this to her. He lifted from her to press the head of his cock hard against her cervix. And she moaned.
She heard the sound. It was inside her, deep within her belly. It was guttural, carnal. Raising her hips, she grasped his buttocks to encourage him further, as if hoping he would also breach and violate her womb—that most intimate and fertile part of her being.
“Cum for me,” she murmured, deliberately tightening the muscles of her cunt around his shaft.
And he had. His balls tightened, and hot seed rushed up his shaft to spew into her. Then he groaned, almost in despair, but held still, as if knowing her own orgasm was imminent. The fluttering in the pit of her belly grew and then centered on her cunt. Her need was electric, alive. Her fingers were digging into the flesh of his arse, forcing the base of his thick cock against her engorged clit, and she was trembling and making small mewling sounds. Her mind was empty of everything except the intensity of the sensations, growing, expanding, filling her.
And then, just when it was almost too much, the powerful shockwave hit. Her back arched, and blood rushed to her nipples and her clit, making both unbearably sensitive. She was euphoric—crying, and laughing, and gasping for breath as wave after wave overwhelmed her.
She was riding the crest of incredible pleasure.
* * *
His arms stayed around her as the sensations subsided. Held her until even the smallest aftershocks were no more.
He was telling her something.
“What?” She shook her head, needing to hear the words again.
His mouth was against her ear, as if he were sharing a secret with her. “As much as I enjoy all this, after tonight I will not see you until you tell me you have done it.”
She knew what he meant. “No! You can’t do that!”
“Yes I can.”
Staggered at the unfairness of it, she tried to protest.
After all they had just done—the fabulous sex, the intimacy, the closeness afterwards …. Didn’t it mean anything to him? Hadn’t they moved forward to reach a new understanding?
Obviously not.