Thursday, 28 April 2016

Harlem Dae - SEXY AS HELL

Post by Lily Harlem

Hello and welcome to The Brit Babes Blog! I hope you're feeling comfortable and in the mood for some sexy BDSM fun because we have a treat for you, something to really get your teeth into. Shut the door, set your phone to silent and settle down with a cuppa to enjoy the first three chapters of The Novice which is the first book in the Sexy as Hell trilogy by Harlem Dae - bargain price of only $3.99 for the entire trilogy (that's three full length novels plus three spin-off stories). Check out the amazing reviews here.

Chapter One

“Lick my cunt,” I said.
I wondered what Victor saw, standing there fully dressed as he was against my bedroom wall. A woman sprawled out on the bed, naked, her fingers spreading her slit apart, or me, Zara Watson, the girl he’d picked up in a coffee shop after work? Or so he’d like to think. I’d picked him up, but I wasn’t about to let him in on how. It had been easy, making him believe he had the gift of the gab, what it took to successfully snare a woman, but in reality I’d orchestrated every move. I doubted his ego could take the truth.
“What?” he asked, dark eyebrows going up, eyes widening.
So he wasn’t as sophisticated as he’d made out. In my experience, they were all the same. Confident and all-knowing until someone like me threw them. Came out with a simple statement that had them reeling. No idea how to claw back their self-assured air without a pause to take in what had been said. The shock of it was usually too much. Hang on, lady, you’re not meant to be saying things like that to me. It should be the other way around. I ought to be shocking you.
“You heard me,” I said, holding back a smirk. “So?”
He remained where he stood, more was the pity, and smiled, a tactic I’d seen so many times before. I‘d bet his mind was swirling, him trying to think what he could say that would get him back on top. I only wished he would get on top, or at least do something that would live up to the promise of his sexy words in the coffee shop. I sighed. All mouth and no trousers, that one. Shame he still had his trousers on. Black ones that matched his shirt. A grey silk tie that could be taken two ways—he was either a stuffy prig or had no choice but to wear it for his profession. And he’d told me all about that. An architect, don’t you know, well paid and with a flashy car that he’d wasted no time in describing to me. As though a hunk of metal was of interest. The only hunk I was interested in was him, and the way things were going, I wouldn’t be getting my mitts on him as quickly as I’d envisaged. Shame, because he was a great-looking guy and I wouldn’t be surprised if his body matched the aesthetic appeal of his face.
“A bit forward, aren’t you?” he said, rubbing the cute, vertical dink he had in his chin.
“Is that a problem?” I leant back, bracing myself on my hands. My breasts didn’t move. Pert things, they’d brought many a man to his knees. A pity this one wasn’t on them between my legs now, supping the cunt I’d so graciously offered.
“Well…” He frowned, seemingly at a loss on what to say.
“Well what?” I smiled inwardly. Talk about getting to him. I could almost see him trying to hold in a squirm.
“You…you didn’t seem this type when we met.” He lifted one hand, running his fingers through his floppy brown hair. Sprinkles of silver weaved through his sideburns and the wispy, longer hairs at his temple.
“And what type is that?” I was enjoying myself. Playing with men had always proved so satisfying. Though if I wasn’t careful I’d lose this one. He may still be dangling on my hook, but with enough flapping about he could get himself loose and swim away. I wasn’t sure I wanted that to happen. There was something about him that piqued my interest more than the others had.
He gestured with his opposite hand. “Look at you. Naked. You stripped before I had the chance to…”
“To what? Undress me? Seduce me? Make me in awe of your sexual prowess? Make me melt, my slit all wet, me ready to take what you wanted to give? And what would that be, I wonder? A shag, all on your terms?”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but…” He sighed. It had sounded ragged, as though he’d had quite enough of me already. 
Out of his depth, I thought. Many blokes were like that. Fine up until the point they had the reins snatched away. He looked down at the cream carpet, head going left to right, a very clichéd deer in the headlights, preparing to dart. He was feeling cornered, that much was evident, and I rather liked that. Was he warring with whether to tuck tail and run or stay with me? Either option might be a big old bruise on his pride. One I would enjoy prodding every so often if he took the latter choice.
“But? Haven’t you ever met anyone like me? And just what is my type? A woman who knows what she wants and asks for it? Have you always had to do all the work?” I smiled then licked my lips. “Is it difficult to do as you’re told, is that it?”
“No, I just…” He stopped messing with his hair and put both hands behind his back. “It’s just that… Jesus, you make me nervous.”
“Ah, Jesus won’t help you, and therein lies the rub. Although I wish you would rub.”
He widened his eyes again. “It’s you saying things like that. It isn’t right.”
“Oh, really? Says who?” I was tired of men thinking I had to be the little woman, the one who did as she was told. I was more than that, so much more, and I could dole it out much better than I could take it.
“Me,” he said, puffing out his chest. “A woman shouldn’t be so…so bloody brazen.”
I stood, hands on hips, fingers loose, red nail tips just about touching my skin. “I see. Do you want to start again, or have I frightened you for life?”
“Start again?” He tipped his head to one side. His tie swayed.
“You know, me getting dressed so you can undress me. You directing how this is meant to be—how you’d planned for it to go.” I wasn’t really in the mood to pander to his needs. I wanted sating. I wanted the urges inside me sorting out. I wanted a brutally hard fuck that left me wrung out, dripping wet, and unable to take any more. Not only that, I wanted to be in control of that fuck.
“I don’t know. I mean, you’ve kind of killed the mood now.” He had the grace to blush.
It was my turn to widen my eyes. “A woman on a bed in front of you, naked, asking you to lick her cunt, has killed the mood? I would have thought it’d have the opposite effect. Got you raring to go. Do you always have to be in control?”
“I’ve never thought about it, but it seems so, doesn’t it?” He blushed harder.
I took a step towards him. The ends of my black hair tickled the top of my arse, and I imagined him wrapping it around his fist, giving it a good yank, under my instruction, of course. “No plans to switch, then? To flip the coin and see what the other side looks like? What it feels like to be told what to do?”
“I don’t know if I could. I’m used to calling the shots in the bedroom, that’s all. All the women I’ve been with have needed coaxing. They haven’t exactly been the sexual kind, if you know what I mean. Oh, they’ve enjoyed it, but none of them were like you.”
I moved forward another step. “Don’t you feel like giving it a try? There’s so much to discover. I could teach you.” 
I realised suddenly that I wanted to. Lately I’d taken to trawling coffee shops for random men, one-time shags that satisfied my urges yet left me unattached. No strings, no baggage. But Victor… Hmm, I fancied being his mentor. With winter well on the way, I could do with a project to keep me occupied. It was harder to collect men in the colder months. People tended to want to stay indoors, and damn he was a cute one. The stereotype tall, dark and handsome but with a dishevelled vulnerability about him, and his eyes, they were a piercing blue, quite startling peering through coal-black lashes.
He laughed, an unsteady chuckle. “I don’t need teaching.”
He’d sounded indignant, as if I’d had a cheek to suggest such a thing, but just from his answers, his reaction to my initial command, he had far too much to learn. He just thought he knew it all. I silently prayed he’d take me up on my offer. A little pet would be fun.
“Okay, so what about us having a bet?” I said. “I say you do need teaching, you say you don’t. I say you have a lot to learn, you say you don’t. I’ll bet that within five minutes you’ll lose. Do you like a challenge?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And do you agree that if you find you do learn something new, you’ll spend the next month exclusive to me—unless I say otherwise—and I’ll show you as much as I can during that time?”
Victor laughed again. The poor bloke really was uncomfortable. “I suppose, but I’m telling you, I know all I need to know. I haven’t had any complaints in the past.”
“But that was before you met me. I have a list of complaints regarding you already. Awkward. Novice. Unable to take a dominant woman.”
He bristled. “That’s charming, that is.”
“Isn’t it just?” I moved forward again. I could smell him now. His cologne was delicate yet expensive and settled like silk in my nostrils. “So, what do you say, Victor Partridge? Are you up for learning new things? For losing a bet?”
“I won’t lose.” He huffed as if the possibility were ridiculous.
“Was that a yes?”
He nodded. “Yes. Absolutely.”
“Good. I’m going to enjoy this. The bet starts…now!” Stooping, and giving him an eyeful of my arse as I did so, I untangled my scarlet G-string and slipped back into it—he was watching my every move. I then walked to my wardrobe and pulled out a skin-tight black PVC dress. “Help me into this, will you?”
He frowned again. “What?”
“I don’t think you’re deaf or stupid, Victor.” I stepped into the dress and began pulling it up. “I need you to do the zip.” I piled my hair on top of my head, out of his way.
Pushing himself off the wall, he came towards me, a tad reticent, I felt.
“It wasn’t that you asked me to help you with the dress,” he said, drawing the zip up, his breath hot on the nape of my neck.
A delightful shiver snaked down my back. “What was it, then?” I wanted to turn, to press myself against him, to make him hard. To prove I was a winner. That I could reignite the mood.
“Well, it’s the dress itself. I mean, who wears this kind of get-up?” 
Again, I wondered what he was seeing when he looked at me. Some slut?
“I do. And…” Releasing my hair, I swivelled to face him, ensuring there was adequate space between us. “I do believe you’ve lost already.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Pardon?”
“You said you know everything, yes?”
“Yet you don’t know who wears this kind of get-up.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. His long lashes almost rested on his cheeks. “Damn.”
He sighed and opened his eyes. “A month, you said?” This time it had sounded like an admittance of defeat. He’d be waving the white flag any minute.
Surrender tasted so good.
“One month where I’d teach you and show you as much as I can,” I said. “Agreed?”
He chewed the inside of his cheek, shrugged and said, “Agreed.”
“Oh goody. Then I think we should begin now, don’t you?”
“Bring it on.” He folded his arms over his chest, tilted his chin.
I slid my feet into a pair of shiny black stilettos then strode to the door. “Come on then! We have somewhere we need to be.”
Flouncing from the room, I headed for the front door, swaying my backside with exaggerated movements. By the time I reached the hallway my dress had ridden up. I turned to give him a view I hoped would get his mind and libido going. A triangle of fabric was on show, my knickers, red and damp, and I waited for his gaze to stray. It did, him homing in on that scarlet patch, shaking his head as though he couldn’t get over how I was. Yes, I’d been a good girl in the coffee shop, saying all the right things, making him think I’d be grateful for his attention once I’d got him home. And now? I was a wicked temptress, intent on getting him to him lick my cunt on command if it was the last thing I did.
“Christ,” he said. “You need to pull that dress down a bit, love.”
“Do I? Do I really?” I winked and grabbed my handbag off the shoe cabinet. “I don’t think so. If I want to go out with my gusset on show, I will. Now, stop bleating about what I look like and get a move on.”
Once outside, I stepped onto the little path that led to the pavement. My sky-blue Mini Cooper was parked right beside it, and I clicked the key fob to unlock the doors.
“Jump in,” I said as I got into the driver’s seat and flicked the heater to full blast. “We need to move it if we’re going to make the first show. It starts at nine.”
He climbed in beside me and buckled up. “Where are we going, the cinema?”
I could have been cruel and wet myself with laughter but refrained. “We’re going to watch something, yes, but it isn’t the latest James Bond or anything remotely like it.”
“Right.” He stared ahead. “So do I have to do everything you say? Go everywhere you want to go? Don’t I get a say in any of this?”
“Look,” I said, starting the engine then easing out of my parking spot. “I’m not going to force you to do anything. I’m not even going to have sex with you. I’m going to show you things, broaden your horizons, and when I think you’re ready, when you’ve proved you can enjoy yourself while not in control, then I might consider letting you fuck me. How about that?”
“You’re very self-confident. Maybe I don’t want to have sex with you.”
“Hmm,” I said, belting down the road and drawing to a screeching stop at the junction. “Oh, I think you do, otherwise, why did you come home with me? You wanted to have sex with me but on your terms. I turned the tables, that’s all. Isn’t it exciting?” I zoomed left and headed towards the seedier side of town.
“Exciting? I wouldn’t say that. More like unsettling.” He rubbed his palms over his thighs. His long legs were a bit short on space in my small car.
“Oh, for God’s sake. Let go of that prissy attitude, Victor. You certainly didn’t have that at the coffee shop. You were all confidence and look-at-me-I’m-gorgeous. Sexy as hell, I think you said at one point.”
“Neither of us are who we thought we were, then.” He stilled his hands.
If I wasn’t mistaken, he’d sounded grumpy, petulant. Oh, I’d soon have him eating out of my hand. Or from between my legs.
“Just relax, okay?” I said, turning right down King Street.
“What are we doing here?” He slumped down in his seat, barely managing to see out of the windshield. “Isn’t this where…?”
“Yes, but not all the working girls sell themselves on the corners, pretty boy. Some of them work indoors. Like me.”
Chapter Two

“What the bloody hell is this place?” Victor asked. “And what did you mean by what you just said?”
We stood in an alleyway, the flat, square cobbles wet from the recent rain and glistening from the orange glow of a streetlight out on the road. A row of buildings flanked the alley, all dark red brick with even darker red doors and small windows on the first and second levels. The buildings were like something out of the nineteen-twenties, maybe originally an old mill or something. I knocked on a door with the number six proudly displayed in brass and waited for Emma to open it.
“I meant exactly what you thought I meant, and this place is where I work,” I said.
He stared down for a moment, seeming to have trouble processing the change in our location. “So you’re a prostitute?”
“Some would say so, but I don’t sell sex.” I shrugged. “You’ll see.”
The door opened, and Emma, resplendent in knee-high white socks, a short, pleated grey skirt, and a white blouse, beamed her usual smile. Her blonde pigtails swung to a stop. “Oh, are you on tonight, Zara?”
“No,” I said, taking Victor’s hand and dragging him inside towards the pine reception desk. “I’ve brought a friend to have a looksee.” I nodded at Victor.
Emma shut then locked the door. “A virgin?” she asked, walking behind her desk and plonking herself onto a chair.
Victor inflated his chest—something I suspected he did a lot of when his masculinity was called into question. “I’m not a virgin!”
“Not that kind of virgin,” I said, swatting him lightly on his arse, then looked at Emma. “Yes, a virgin, so we’ll just be watching tonight.”
“Room four’s free,” she said, twirling one of her pigtails around her finger, her gaze slipping down Victor’s tall, lean frame. 
I couldn’t blame her, he was quite a catch.
“Who’s on display?” I asked.
“Julie.” Emma smiled again and swept her tongue over her top lip.
“Oh, Lord.” I studied Victor. “Are you sure you know everything?”
“Stop it,” he said. “We’ve already established I don’t.” He stared at Emma, jerking his head sideways at me. “Is she always this bossy?”
“If you think this is bossy, wait until she really gets going,” Emma said, leaning back in her chair to plonk her black flatties on the desk.
Victor swiped a hand across his brow.
“Come on,” I said. “This way!”
I pulled him to a door to the right of the desk and led him down a hallway that could have belonged in a hospital. White walls, glaring strip lights, and seven white-painted doors evenly spaced. Reaching door number four, I stopped and waited for Victor. Once he stood in front of me, I planted my hands on his shoulders.
“Now then,” I said. “Julie might open your eyes a little bit, all right? But it’s fine to be shocked and I won’t think any less of you.”
“I’m beginning to wish I’d never met you,” he said, eyeing the ceiling. “All I wanted was a bloody decaff coffee after work, and there you were, all smiles and enticing tits, and look where it got me.” He lowered his gaze and stared at me. “I should be at home, eating my dinner. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
“But you’re not, so get over it,” I said, patting his shoulders. “And just think, when you got up this morning, you had no idea what you’d be doing now. Isn’t this at least giving you a little thrill?”
“If I tell you the truth, you’ll laugh at me.”
Playing around with him was all well and good, but I felt a bit sorry for him then. Only a bit, mind. “I won’t. Promise.”
“I’m uncomfortable. This…this place. You. Emma out there. I’m in a sex den, aren’t I? My clients would probably freak if they found out.”
“You are and they won’t.” I paused. “Do you want to leave? We can, you know. I’m not into forcing people.” I gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Listen, this is just watching, okay? You don’t have to do anything but observe, and if you don’t like it, we’ll leave. Go and have something to eat, dinner. My treat. Deal?”
His eyes softened a bit, and a sense of accomplishment washed over me. I’d managed to get a positive response from him. That was a good sign.
“Deal,” he said, managing a smile.
“Right, come on then.”
I opened the door and let it swing wide. The contrast in lighting was stark. Out here was bright, in there wasn’t. Only a low-watt bulb glowed inside a half moon glass shade on the wall to our right, making the red paint look dusky pink. Victor cleared his throat and stepped in. I followed, shutting the door and letting my eyes adjust to the gloom. Soon, light would spill through a rectangle of glass from the room opposite, and Julie would perform in all her glory. 
Two black leather bucket chairs were in front of us, and I tapped Victor’s arm.
“Sit down there,” I said, pointing, then taking the seat beside his. “The show won’t be long in starting. Glad we made it in time. Nothing worse than coming in halfway through.”
“What’s she going to do?” he asked, getting himself comfortable.
“Oh, this and that.” I didn’t want to scare him before she’d even started. 
Julie’s performances always left me in awe of her. She’d said recently that no one hurt her exactly as she liked and when she entered the performance room she lost herself, went into another world. I knew what she meant. After all, I did the same thing myself, except what I gave the voyeurs was totally different from what she gave. All tastes were catered for here. All except vanilla. I smiled to myself and wondered how Victor would cope. I’d been somewhat cruel, bringing him to Julie’s spectacle for his first time, but it was a test of sorts. If he could cope with her, he’d be set up for seeing Lovisa and Halsten, a Swedish pair who enjoyed a bit of bloody violence more often than not.
“This and that sounds ominous,” he said.
I waved my hand, even though he probably couldn’t see it. “Stop fretting. She won’t be doing anything she doesn’t want to do.”
Light suddenly blazed through the window as the automatic curtains pulled back. I blinked, turning to look at Victor to see his reaction to the room ahead. He darted forward in his seat, peering as though unable to believe his eyes. I knew what he was looking at, knew the layout like the back of my hand. Black walls, black floor, a somewhat out-of-place chandelier sparkling from the ceiling. Row upon row of toys hanging from hooks on the wall opposite, the metal of some twinkling. And Julie standing in the centre, naked except for a pair of shiny red thigh-high boots, her back to us. She was Barbie doll perfection, long, wavy blonde hair, and slender legs.
Victor blinked.
I looked through the window. Julie reached up and gathered her abundant mane in one hand, securing it into a knot with a scrunchie. 
Victor gasped. “Her skin…”
“Pretty, isn’t it?” I looked at him.
“No, no it isn’t. Where the hell did she get those scars?”
“You’ll see. But if you meet her, never tell her you think those scars are ugly. To her they’re beautiful. A part of her. A very important part. There’s a lot you won’t understand this month, a lot you’ll think is wrong, Victor, but you must always bear in mind it isn’t wrong to those who are doing it.”
“But she’s been hurt!”
“Yes, she has.” I didn’t offer any more information. Sometimes it took seeing something before you could believe things weren’t as bad as they seemed. That what you saw wasn’t the first impression you’d got. I was going to open this man’s eyes so wide he’d think his pretty eyeballs were going to pop.
Julie stepped forward and took a whip from one of the hooks. She moved a few feet in reverse so she was once again in the centre of the room. With a flick of her wrist she tested the whip against her booted leg, the sound of it hitting the leather filtering through the slim slats built into the top of the window. 
In my peripheral, I caught sight of Victor jumping, balling his hands into fists in his lap. I imagined his heart rate speeding, him not knowing what she was about to do, rolling information around in his mind with regards to her scars. They criss-crossed her back, some creamy and raised, old, others light pink, and others still red from a more recent whipping. She wore them as her armour, a badge displayed proudly, for they represented who she was, who she was finally allowed to be. Herself. I didn’t expect Victor to understand. Not many people did, I’d found.
Julie drew the whip up in front of her, and its tail sliced across her shoulders. Victor let out an “Oh, shit!” but didn’t look away. Julie whipped on, one lash following the other with incredible speed, no long gaps in between strikes, no chance for a breather. This was how she liked it, hard and fast, and, like she’d said, if no one had the bottle to strike her in the way she liked it done, she’d do it to herself.
“Oh, God,” Victor breathed. “What is she doing?”
“Pleasuring herself,” I said, shifting slightly so I could look at him. Tonight his expression fascinated me more than Julie’s show.
“That isn’t normal,” he said. “Sorry, but it isn’t.”
“Not normal to you, maybe, but very normal to her. She loves it. You wait. She’ll come like a train in a minute.”
“How can you come from that?” he asked, moving his head as though to turn to me but failing to pull his gaze from her. “How can that be nice, make you feel nice?”
“Have you ever tried it?” I asked, knowing full well he hadn’t. If he’d had to ask me such a thing, he didn’t understand.
“No, and I don’t bloody intend to either.” He rested into the chair then crossed his arms over his chest. 
Defence mechanism. A way to distance himself from what he was seeing.
Julie groaned, whipping on, frenzied in her attack. She turned then, continuing to whip, and stared directly at our window. Clips adorned her nipples, joined by a silver chain. She lifted it and draped it behind her bottom teeth, then closed her mouth.
“What the hell?” Victor said quietly.
Eyes closing, Julie flagellated with one hand and cupped her sex with the other. Moaning, she used her thumb and pinky to spread her wet slit wide, then dipped her middle three fingers into her hole. She fucked herself, body jolting from each strike and more than a little pleasure she was unleashing down there. Legs widening, she withdrew her fingers and circled her clit, vigorous movements that had her hips lifting and her back arching. Her change in position meant the chain raised her breasts, each nipple distended, elongated. She trembled from the force of her whip.
I glanced across at Victor. He was breathing heavily, and sweat had broken out at his temples. He still had his hands fisted, and I noted a severe blush on his cheeks. And I noticed something else too.
“Quite a bulge you have going on there,” I said. 
For all his bluster on this being wrong, he was turned on. Some part of his brain recognised that Julie was getting off on the pain.
“I can’t…can’t help it,” he whispered. “She’s just so violent, so…into what she’s doing. Look at her nipples. She’s tugging them so hard. Christ…”
“She won’t last long now,” I said, still watching Victor. I knew Julie’s performance off by heart. Once she turned, once she put that chain in her mouth, she was almost there.
Julie wailed out the beginning of her release. The long, drawn-out yell combined with the crack of the whip was undeniably arousing. I was wet and I needed to touch. I reached across and deftly pulled down Victor’s zip. Freed him and enclosed my hand around his hardness. I pumped his fat length, manoeuvring onto my knees so I could lean over the arms of our chairs. He didn’t protest, but lifted his hips as though silently offering his cock to find a home in my mouth. I sucked him in, and with three suctioned pulls I had him coming. Wet heat flooded my mouth, and I swallowed just in time for the next shot. He gripped my hair, grabbed the chair arm with his other hand, and gave a hoarse cry.
Victor, the man who might have thought he knew it all, was only just seeing the tip of the iceberg.
Chapter Three

How the bloody hell did I end up being sucked off by the crazy woman from the damn coffee shop? No, it was more than sucked off, she was gulping and guzzling me deep into her sublimely hot throat. It wasn’t your regular blowjob—those I had some modicum of self-control over. No, this, delivered by a wanton, trickster of a creature, had me consumed, completely possessed. Three wickedly rich slurps connecting her palate to my cock and it was all over. I’d never come to the boil so fast or hit the finish line with such devastating speed. I wasn’t proud of either fact. To tell you the truth, I was fucking embarrassed.
I’d clenched my fists at some point and now the strands of her hair, woven through the softer skin at the seams of my fingers, were nylon-sharp with tension.
But she didn’t complain at my firm grip. Her head kept bobbing, her tongue slipping and sliding and hugging me like a silken, moist blanket.
I wanted her to keep going, I needed her to stop. As my climax dissipated, sensations washed through me in an avalanche of release. It was both exquisite and agony and it scared the shit out of me.
“Please.” I shifted on the chair. “Please, no more.” I was panting and breathless, my vision foggy, and I had a tingling in my fingertips.
I dragged in a deep breath, willing the oxygen to circulate. My heart was thudding so hard I could feel the flow of the cardiac contractions, top to base, rippling within the inner walls of my chest.
Keep going, you onerous bugger.
Pulling harder at her hair, I shut my eyes. I didn’t need to see Julie writhing in the afterglow of her orgasm. I’d had as much as I could take. The bombardment of pleasure, extreme pleasure, in one short, sharp blast was the same as getting a slap around the face or a kick up the backside. I needed to re-align my senses and let my body calm down.
I opened my eyes as Zara raised her head. She kept her hand coiled around my cock. There was a drip of cum sitting right in the centre of her bottom lip.
She must have sensed the droplet there, or seen me staring, because she made a show of scooping up the cum, balancing it on the pointy pink end of her tongue and then drawing it into that sinful mouth of hers.
My cock twitched against her palm; my heart continued to thud.
Dirty bitch.
“So, Victor,” she said with a smug smile, “did you know watching a woman flagellating herself to orgasm would turn you on so much?” She tilted her head and tumbles of her now messy, tangled hair slipped over her shoulders.
I fingered my damp brow, worrying that I was clammy. No, just sweaty. Sweat I could handle. Sweat could be wiped away and forgotten on the sleeve of my shirt.
“Is that a rhetorical question?” I pressed my arm over my forehead then gripped the arms of the chair again.
She laughed, not with humour, just with the mirth of being right. “You’re so sweet.”
“I’m not sweet.” I frowned. 
She bloody annoyed me. She was so damn cocky and sure of herself and now she thought I was sweet of all things. I perhaps had some issues, limitations, and I wasn’t as clued up on the seedier aspects of the city as she was, but I wasn’t fucking sweet. I was a successful businessman—no, more than successful, I had my career by the balls and was dragging it exactly where I wanted it to go and making a tidy fortune along the way. Had been for several years now.
“Ah, you prefer to be considered manly, don’t you?” She stroked my face, temple, cheek, chin and then up the other side in a caressing, sweeping gesture.
It didn’t feel caring. It felt like she was mocking me. I hated to be mocked and she’d done more than her fair share of it tonight. Hell, I couldn’t remember when anyone had last dared mock me. Yet here she was…
The redness of anger that grabbed me sent sharp fingers of heat over my skin. My temper could reach Richter scale proportions, it was true, but it hadn’t for so long. Not for years now. I couldn’t afford for it to. But Zara, she was taking me to the edge of that cliff.
No, I wouldn’t tip over the ledge. She wasn’t worth it. This wasn’t worth it. And certainly it wouldn’t be ideal considering the already rampant rate of my heart. I sucked in a great pull of air, held my breath and tried to force the air out, feeling the pressure increase in my lungs. My heart clattered all the harder, almost rocking my whole body to its tempo. I should be willing it to slow down but all I could think about was getting up, tucking my cock away and leaving.
All this crap about hanging around with her for a month while she showed me new things was bullshit. I’d said yes out of curiosity. Out of not wanting to go back on my word or look a coward.
“You can be manly and sweet,” she whispered onto my lips.
I slowly blew out my breath, felt a modicum of normality return.
She leaned in, closer still, as though trying to breathe in my air. When she spoke her lips brushed mine as her mouth moved around the syllables. “Right now what I’m holding is all man.” She gave my dick a stroke and the traitorous blighter twitched despite the fact it was softening. “But your blue eyes, they’re sweet as sugar.”
“Stop saying sweet.” I’d spoken through gritted teeth.
“Okay, how about delightful, does that sound better?”
“Marginally.” I frowned.
“So what do you think? You want to stay and see the next show? See if we can wake Sid Vicious up again?” She squeezed my cock. “Or shall we go somewhere else?”
“Please, do not start naming my dick. We’re not nearly familiar enough for that kind of crap.” Talk about taking liberties. Even Helen, after four years together, hadn’t baptised my prick.
“Oh, but I beg to differ. You’ve just come down my throat, doesn’t that give me some kind of naming rights?”
I shifted, pushing her off my lap and dislodging her hold on my cock. “No, it doesn’t. I didn’t exactly have much say in the matter, did I?”
“But you didn’t complain.” She licked her lips. “And it didn’t take long, did it?”
I stood, stuffed my cock away and turned from the window, blocking out the view of Julie, shining with sweat and red with lashmarks as she bowed and smiled at her audience. “I’m out of here.”
“Where are we going?” She stood, placed one hand on her hip and straightened out her hair with the other.
“Yes, we.’
“We’re not going anywhere. I’m going home.” I needed to chill out, lay the hell down, take one of my pills. It was about due.
She pouted. “But, Victor, I thought we were together now, for the month.”
“What, twenty-four-seven?” She couldn’t be serious. She’d bloody suffocate me. Not to mention I had a shedload of work to be getting on with.
“Well, no, not twenty-four-seven, but at night at least. You know, right up until the witching hour.”
You’re a fucking witch. The words were on my tongue, but I didn’t let them escape, even though they were slippery suckers and desperate to get out. “Witching hour?”
“Yeah, until at least midnight, every night.”
“Every night.” I shook my head and gave a derisive snort. She was off her head. I had a multi-million-pound business to run.
She frowned and narrowed her eyes. “I thought we’d agreed that you, the great Victor…” She drew a circle in the air, as though reeling my surname from my mouth.
“Partridge.” I offered my surname, for the third time, a little grudgingly.
“That you, Victor Partridge, need a teacher?”
“Well, you seemed to decide that I need one and that you were qualified for the job.” I walked to the door and reached for the handle.
Suddenly she was behind me, pushing insistently and moving me forward. Before I could react, I was pressed to the door, pinned in place by her connecting her body with as much of mine as possible. My breath blew out and the tips of my shoes kicked the base with a sharp thud.
“Hey,” I said, shocked at the violent way she’d cornered me and was keeping me prisoner.
The tense peaks of her breasts were slotted against my back, her mound on my right buttock and her knees jutting into mine. If she bent her legs sharply I’d crumble.
A wave of irritation crested then broke through me. The surface of the door was super-cool on my hot cheek. “Hey.” 
I went to turn, but she flattened her mouth to my ear, stroked her tongue along the outer crease and then inside the hole. Her breaths were as loud as a storm, and a moist heat filtered down my neck. For a moment the sensation was disorientating and I reached for the doorframe, needing something to hold on to.
“Shh,” she said. “Just give it up, will you? I thought we’d agreed you’d have a go at switching and not always having your finger on the pulse.”
Great analogy.
“Victor, just surrender to me, for the smallest pocket of time. Be mine, be under my command.” Her voice was like that of a siren, all hypnotic and floaty and the only thing my brain could register. “Relax, breathe deep. You have no responsibility but to give up responsibility. I will care for you. I will take all that weight off your shoulders and carry it for you, nothing can hurt you here.”
She rested her hands over mine, interlocking our fingers as she wriggled them and then leaned even closer into me.
I wondered if people in the main room could see us like this. What they’d think of Zara hemming me in. Preventing me from leaving and me letting her have her way. Oh, I knew I was stronger than her, my brawn no match for her petite stature, and I could escape with one lunge if I threw my full body weight into it. No doubt send her sprawling in the process. But I didn’t want that. Because, pressed against the door, bending to her will, I noticed that the fluttering in my chest was easing.
“Good boy,” she said, her lips tracing the shell of my ear, her teeth just grazing the fleshy lobe. “That’s it, relax. I’ve got you. There’s nothing to worry about, you’re safe with me.”
I closed my eyes. It was as though she was melting into me, becoming part of me. Taking over all my senses with her touch and the wind of her breaths. I let myself drift. Tension wept from my body, seemingly soaking backwards, into hers.
Suddenly she stepped away. “You may go.” Her voice was harsh, the sing-song quality gone as quickly as it had arrived.
I balled my fists, and a whoosh of air plundered my lungs. “Yes.” I managed. My back, though previously hot and tacky, felt cold and naked without her, and my fingers were stiff and empty.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Nine p.m. You know where I live. Pick me up in that fancy car of yours you told me about.”
“Tomorrow, I don’t know if…” I hesitated and stared at a knot in the wood of the door that had been painted over but was still faintly visible. Tomorrow was a full day of catching up on some tax returns I’d been putting off for weeks, and there was the Morton project that still needed work. I’d been anticipating a sixteen-hour day at least. “Okay, I’ll see you at nine.”
I opened the door, stepped through it and into the hall. Damn, I’d have to work the weekend now.
“Victor,” she called.
I stopped but didn’t look back. She wanted me to, so I didn’t. She’d caught me in her web, but I didn’t have to do everything she said. Which meant I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of facing her now as well as everything else.
“You’ve made great progress for a first night,” she said with a chuckle in her tone. “I might be able to knock that sweetness out of you after all.”

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