Chapter Ten

One night after the Cat’s Meow, Gillian was at the theatre on the arm of an attentive Mike Bellamy.

She almost canceled the date. Considering the wealth of her lust, her attraction for her newest client, and the stringent rule of law she’d just agreed to obey, it seemed like a dangerous gamble to think she could keep a vow of “chastity”—especially this one night.

Her mind ran in circles, her lust chasing it about with a thousand explanations why she shouldn’t just let nature takes its course … the club would never know … just one night and nothing more … they could hardly expect perfection … wasn’t almost enough to suit them? She knew the answer to all her explanations, but seeing Mike Bellamy it was easy to forget.

He arrived at her door, looking breathlessly handsome in a finely cut black suit. His tie was a splashy hand-painted silk in purple and green, and the cufflinks at his wrists gleamed, the gold shining brightly. Despite the spit and polish, his devilish free spirit lured her as much as anything. His hair was delightfully disheveled and his smile radiant. She loved his hands-on style—she loved his hands—how his fingers absently traced their way down her back along bare skin. He gave her a mirthful wink seeing the bodice of her dress present him with two ebullient breasts pushed into a cleavage that bounced saucily as she walked.

“You’re tempting me, Ms. Brahms.”

“Call me, Gillian,” she retorted with a sparkle in her eye. “You think this is bad for business?”

“I don’t care much about business when I have a woman as lovely as you on my arm.”

“You are a charmer; your reputation is certainly earned. But then, I never thought it hurt to gain a healthy rapport with my clients,” she purred sweetly. “Mind you, I don’t do this with all of them.”

“I hope not. I wouldn’t like to think I hired a slut.”

“And what if I were?”

“I probably wouldn’t mind that either. What you do with your body is of casual concern to me. What you do with your mind, well that’s another thing altogether.”

“Oh, so what I do with my body doesn’t matter? Except when you enjoy looking and feeling your way around?” He had his hand on her ass, a rather forward move, but it nonetheless delighted her.

“I think, perhaps, we’re cut from the same cloth, don’t you? Two charmers with a penchant for putting ourselves in precarious situations only to see how we’re going to weasel out of them.” He winked at her.

She gave him a laughing smirk. If he only knew. So much tension the night before, that night like a dream that she dreamt ten years ago. She could hardly remember it now—except the feeling of being reckless, and then captured, and then tortured by the sound of a man’s stern words—almost like he was reprimanding her. Now, she felt even more reckless, sparring dangerously, erotically with a man she lusted after. Could clubs and vows and surrender really be her fondest desire? She had only a moment to think that thought and she had her answer. She could surrender to Mike Bellamy, or any man like him, in an instant. She was made for that, just needed a little coaching and the opportunity.

She thought of tonight as a lark, and nothing more—just a few hours away from work and the serious business of being the initiate of a secret sex club. In her mind, there was nothing in the world that would change that.

The play was an exhilarating three hours of music and dancing that delighted them both. Mike held her hand through the entire performance, doing small things with his fingers that connected with her body hot spots for instants of unabashed pleasure. Her cunt was moist and throbbing by the end of the first act, and all the professional resolve and purpose, all the vows she gave so freely the night before seemed more threatened than ever.

“I know a bar nearby that’s great this time of night,” Mike said as the show ended and they were on their way from the first balcony to the lobby. “How about it? You don’t have to work tomorrow?”

“I always have to work, but maybe one drink wouldn’t hurt.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder wondering exactly what she was going to do with her affections for the man. It wasn’t just the club she had to consider. There was always a feeling of concern getting too entangled with a client, and even though they joked about it, the concern was nonetheless real.

The bar was an intimate, beer-drinking Irish pub with dozens of laughing faces, and games of darts and cards, and quiet ear-to-mouth conversations happening in every corner. Gillian drank a raspberry beer, finding three pints going down so easily she hardly realized what she’d done until her head began to float in the clouds, and her words seemed slurred even to her ears.

“I never should have done this,” she told her date.

“And why not? A woman like you needs a chance to let down, don’t you think?”

He’d matched her drink for drink, but the beer didn’t seem to have the same effect on him. Being the steady type, he’d pass out before he’d look the least bit smashed. His hand was on her ass, squeezing it as he had all night.

“You’re going to take advantage of me?” she wondered.

“Only if you ask,” he replied. He kissed her, wee ones on her lips, and then a trail of kisses along her cheek that finally ended with this lips burrowing ticklishly into the crook of her neck.

“Ooo, my,” she shivered erotically, “you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Oh, but I never take advantage of a drunken women,” he said.

“But you would screw one?”

“Perhaps, but only if she asked. Are you asking?”

She shook her head, no. “You do remember what I told you? No fucking on the first date?”

“Then we’ll have to try it on the second.” His hand was in her hair, his touch like little sparks against her scalp—ones that showered down to her toes and stopped in the middle igniting the embers glowing warmly there.

“I make no promises,” she managed to say.

He kissed her, this time on her mouth. “I’m not looking for promises, just for good times with a beautiful woman.”

“Well, then, you’d better take this beautiful woman home, because she’s withering fast.”

“Fast, perhaps, but you are an artistic drunk.”

She smiled, thinking she would be missing the most startling lovemaking of her life if she declined him at her door.

Mike Bellamy didn’t lay but a single hand on her the entire drive to her apartment. He hardly touched her on the way to her door, and when they stood at the threshold between saying good-bye and going to bed, he gave her no more encouragement except what was in his eyes.

“Why don’t you see me inside?” she finally suggested.

“And why would I want to do that?” he asked.

Any resolve she had was vanishing fast. She couldn’t let this much lust go. Her body was hot, her cunt waiting expectantly for his cock. Didn’t all first dates that went so well end in bed? Even if he was a client, even if she was on orders from that glorious club, even if it was just this once?

“Because I’d like you to sleep with me.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Or maybe you don’t sleep with drunks?” she ventured.

“I thought you had other vows to keep?” he asked.

“Right now, they don’t mean much,” she said. “It almost feels as though this is predestined, and I think it’s stupid to fight it. Maybe we need to do it for our business relationship, not in spite of it.”

She felt his hand again as they moved inside the apartment. In the dark, there was just the feel of his skin against hers, the two throbbing together with the same desiring heat. So gentle, and so tender. His lips worked about her face, and hers followed. When he placed his hand over one breast, her hips moved into his. As he lowered the thin straps of her dress she felt it float to her feet. Every move stung sweetly between her bare thighs—the way he brushed his crotch against her pubis, the way it pressed back—the way his hand took the longer journey down her back, beyond the crack of her ass, to cup the soft fold of flesh at the base of her bottom—his favorite place to fondle. Writhing against him, she longed for his hands to probe between her legs, for him to find her clit, and pinch her labia and let his fingers slither inside her hole.

“How about the bedroom?” she whispered, almost afraid he would suddenly tell her no.

“How about the couch, or maybe a chair,” he answered back as they moved kissing toward the living room. Mike pushed her into the seat of an overstuffed chair and looked down on her beautiful nakedness. “Part your legs for me and lean back,” he told her. The wicked thought of the exhibition made her comply without a protest, and she could tell he enjoyed her lewd repose seeing a gentle smirk over-powering his handsome features. There was something in that smirk to fear, Gillian thought as she gazed upwards.

Mike removed his jacket, his tie and shirt. Dropping his pants, he uncovered his penis boldly framed by the blondish curls of his pubic hair. His body glistened from a soft layer of sweat. When he dropped to his knees in front of her, she felt his hand where she wanted it most, massaging her clit. Then bending down his mouth probed her jerking pussy. He dove right in, raising her hips in his hands, pulling her half off the chair while she clung to the sides with her fingernails driving into the arms as though she was holding on for dear life.

“Ah, ah yes,” she panted in short steamy breaths. “Yes, yes, yes,” hissing like an angry cat, she tried without success to lift herself against him, into his arms. By then, he was finished with foreplay, his cock hammering rudely on the door of her cunt. “Oh, my, yes, Mike, now!” she moaned while her hips thrashed back and forth so it was almost impossible for him to get his dick inside her.

When he did, he thrust straight to her womb, and while he grabbed her hips and drove hard, she hammered him back, letting screams of delight rise unedited into the late night air. “Fuck me hard! Fuck me, fuck me, yesssssss!”

He growled himself, that deep sonorous kind of manly growl.

They screwed together, locked tightly in a pounding rhythm for nearly ten minutes—until he shot hard at the back of her pussy. She whipped against him wildly until her orgasm made every nerve in her tighten and release and then tighten again.

When he pulled out of her, she was glad to lick the remains of his cum with her lips.

They had a bittersweet bargain with lust for just this night, and she’d do anything to make it last longer. Was this like Mardi Gras? The last fuck before her enforced abstinence? A reasonable random thought, perhaps, it came and went, putting a neat name on this spirited fuck that could never happen again. Of course, Mike Bellamy wouldn’t know that, and Gillian had no idea how she was going to tell him. He held her for a time as she rested her aching head against his chest.

“I hope there won’t be any bad blood between us because I made you break your vow,” he said as he pulled away from her. He sat for a time on the couch sipping a glass of water, seeing how lovely she looked curled up and exhausted in her chair.

“Vow? What vow?” she answered back.

“I also hope you have more resolve as a lawyer not to get caught this easily in court.”

She smiled, her mind beginning to sober, even with her headache. “I’m much better in court than in my love life,” she finally admitted. “And since this won’t be happening again …”

Again he was raising his eyebrows like he didn’t believe her and he smiled like the devil was living in his back pocket.

“That vow’s got to stick,” she assured him. “I have a hell of a problem to solve for you, and I’m not going to have you distracting me, as much as I want you, Mike Bellamy. Maybe afterwards.”

“Then what was the point of tonight, Ms. Brahms?” Mike asked, sounding as if he was offended.

“Lust. There was too much lust. Until you and I fucked I’m not sure if we could have worked together.”

“Ah, that’s how you explain all this?”

It sounded good to her, and rather inspired to boot. “How would you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe something genuine.”

She shook her head. “I may not know you well, Mr. Bellamy,” she added a little sarcasm in her tone, “but you and I aren’t the kind that will ever find love. Good fucks. Great fucks. That’s the most we can expect.”

“You’re sure of that?” he asked.

“Without a doubt sure,” she replied.

Off of the chair, she darted for the bathroom and pulled a robe from the hook on the wall. By the time she returned, he was half-dressed, looking almost better than before he arrived. He wore the causal, maverick, disheveled look very well. It might have been fun to sleep the whole night with him, but any spell of desire that marked this night was now broken. The only right thing to do was let the mood take them exactly where it needed to—back to business.

“I’ll be preparing a brief tomorrow. We’ll discuss it Monday morning, if you can make it to my office?”

“That should be fine. Call my secretary first thing for my schedule and make an appointment; she should be in the office by 7:30.”

For just a moment she wondered what it would be like to really love a man like this one. But it was only a lonely, end-of-the-day kind of thought, when having a man to curl beside might soothe away a few new lines about her eyes and take away some of her perpetual weariness. The thought drifted away as soon as Mike started toward her front door and she realized that he was really leaving. He never had any intention of sleeping with her, just having sex.

“I am glad we got the preliminaries out of the way,” he said as he turned back. “It really helps to have the basics handled. We won’t have to worry about it in the future.”

“Exactly,” she agreed—though she had the feeling that this night—in this particular case, with this particular man—might have made her job a whole lot harder. Mike Bellamy wasn’t just another man, and she had the ominous feeling there was more behind his words he wasn’t saying.

By the time he left, Gillian was stone cold sober.