A Hard Bargain (12 page)

I lie back obediently and lift my knees, letting my legs fall open obligingly. Nicholas kneels on the floor, placing his hands on my hips to position me at the edge of the bed. Unresisting, I allow him to maneuver me into position, and I wait.

“Now you present your clit to me. Do you know how to do that?”

Again I shake my head, and I wait for my instructions.

“You use the index and middle fingers of each of your hands to part the lips, exposing your clitoris and making sure it’s totally accessible for me. You spread the lips wide and hold them open, even if it feels uncomfortable. And as before, you hold perfectly still, whatever I do to you. Is that clear?”

I nod briefly, but it’s enough.

“No questions?”

I shake my head this time.

“Fine. Do it then, please.”

I reach down, carefully placing the fingers of each hand as he described, and pull the lips surrounding my clitoris apart. I’m slippery, slick with my own juices, and it’s not easy to grip. And I have a distinct suspicion it won’t be getting any easier any time soon.

“Mmm, looking good, Miss Stone. You have a very pretty little cunt there. And your clit is positively throbbing. Are you rather excited, perhaps, Freya?”

I close my eyes, my head tilted back. Christ, I just want him to touch me. I need to come so much, so badly now. Or better still maybe we could skip all this foreplay palaver and he could just fuck me again. Please. What’s with all the chat?

“Answer me. A simple nod will do. Are you a little bit excited, Miss Stone? Aroused, perhaps? Or are you just wishing I’d get on with it and fuck you again?”

Christ, that bloody telepathy. I nod, but keep my eyes tightly closed. I feel so exposed, lying in front of him like this. My clitoris and pussy are blatantly laid open for him to study and to comment on, even if he is complimentary, appreciative and terribly polite. I’m totally vulnerable, and closing my eyes seems to offer me some illusion of privacy.

But it is an illusion, and a dangerous one. I jerk violently as the cool mayonnaise connects with my hot, throbbing clit, smoothed and spread there by his gentle fingers.

“Keep still, Miss Stone. I’ll let that little wriggle go because this stuff’s cold and you weren’t expecting it, but you do not move again. Is that clear? And if you don’t want to be taken by surprise, I suggest you open your eyes.”

I manage to prize my eyelids apart, and glance up at him. His slate-colored eyes are gleaming, his own arousal obvious as he lowers his gaze to once more examine my sensitive clit, now generously daubed with aromatic salad dressing. He dips his head, slowly nibbling his way along my inner right thigh and across my straining fingers to touch the tip of his tongue delicately into the mayonnaise on the inner lips. Only by extreme force of will do I manage to remain still.

“Good girl, you’re learning. Now let’s try that again.”

This time he trails his tongue the length of my left thigh, and again I manage to anchor myself to the bed as he dips his tongue into the mayonnaise coating the very edge of my clit. There’s nothing at all I can do, though, to stem the flow of my juices, and I just know my clit is swelling even before his eyes. He slants a storm-gray glance back up at me, smiling softly. “This isn’t going to take long, is it, my beautiful little slut? You’re going to come as soon as my tongue touches your clit. You’ll be going off like a little firecracker, won’t you? And I’m going to watch, and enjoy the show. And, Freya, you need to concentrate because I want you to hold that position, until I’ve removed every last bit of mayonnaise and I tell you you can move. Okay?”

He expects an answer, and I nod, desperate by then for this to be over. I find myself wondering if it’s possible to actually die of pleasure? Or of terrible anticipation? I only have a few brief moments to ponder these great questions before he drops his head again, this time fastening his lips around my engorged clit and sucking hard. And he’s absolutely right, I do go off like a firecracker. The rush of orgasm is instantaneous, engulfing me, hitting me like a tsunami. I’m drowning in it, shuddering and trembling under the onslaught, but somehow I manage to obey his instructions. I hold the position, maintaining my death grip on my slick folds, holding my body exposed and accessible as he licks, sucks, nibbles my quivering clit and I shake helplessly underneath him. My breath is catching, hitching in my throat, the only sound to betray the depth of my surrender to this sensual attack. Nothing so far has compared to this. This is total and absolute surrender, and he completely owns my response.

He takes his time, drawing out the ecstasy as the electrifying buzz of my release washes over and through me, every nerve ending tingling, focused entirely on that little bud of sizzling, throbbing flesh gripped so mercilessly between Nicholas Hardisty’s lips.

At last, at long last, the shocks and after-shocks subside and my body drifts unsteadily back into the here and now. As I regain some semblance of consciousness of my surroundings I realize I’m still holding the position. Incredibly, the force of his will is stronger than even the most powerful orgasm. I obey him, despite everything.

“Good girl. Let me take over now.” He peels my rigid fingers away, placing my hands by my sides on the bed. Then he replaces my fingers with his own, stroking, exploring, testing.

He slides three fingers inside me, easily, my pussy ready and welcoming, the walls clenching and grasping him. I want, need, him to fill me. Now. If I had a voice I’d beg, but as it is I can only hope he’ll get the message.

He does. Of course he does. That bloody telepathy for once on my side. “God, you’re lovely when you’re so aroused. You want me inside you, don’t you? Tell me what you want, Freya. Can you remember the signal?”

I think for a moment then squeeze my inner muscles hard, the signal that says ‘I like this, I want more’.

“Turn over. I’m fucking you from behind this time. You did say that was your favorite, and you’ve been so good that I’m taking requests.” He stands, flips me over onto my stomach, and quickly positions me with my knees bent and my bum in the air.

He shoves my knees apart as far as they’ll go and kneels behind me. There’s a tear of the condom foil pack opening, and I wait a couple of seconds for him to unroll the latex. Then his hands are on me. This time he uses his thumbs to gently part the lips of my pussy as he carefully positions the head of his cock in my entrance. He waits for a moment, steadying me, before plunging deep, filling me completely.

I’m ready, totally ready and expecting it, but still I gasp. He just takes my breath away, every time. He starts to thrust, long and sure and firm, with each stroke burying himself to the hilt inside my unresisting body. It’s wonderful, each thrust of his cock perfectly positioned to connect with that oh-so-sensitive spot inside me, with unerring precision, a direct hit every time. And he also leans in, reaching under me to place the pad of his finger on my clit, stroking lightly, in time with his rhythmic momentum. And it’s that gesture of unselfish sensuality, done for no other reason than to heighten my pleasure, that tips me once more into the boiling turmoil of orgasm. Suddenly I’m spinning, swirling—my senses again scrambling as my body clenches in desperate release, grabbing and gripping him, the feeling of fullness heightened as my pussy convulses around him. He uses his finger on my clit to increase the pressure, circling and rubbing as I claw at the bedding beneath me, my hands curling into fists as I crest yet another glorious wave.

Nicholas Hardisty’s own muffled curse of pleasure tells me that he has come too. I suspect I’ve had the best of this bargain, to be fair. In fact, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve come this evening, but he’s doing all right too. And that realization fills me with a sense of pure female satisfaction. It’s been a wonderful learning curve for me, even the not so nice bits at the beginning, but I’ve managed to give Nicholas Hardisty a good time too. Who would have thought it?

It’s over. This most wonderful, sensual, unexpected turn of events is coming to a close. This most perfect evening is almost at an end. He has to go. Real life can always be relied on to upturn even the sturdiest of apple carts, and this evening is no exception.

“I have to make a trip tomorrow. Today in fact. I need to be checking in at Manchester in four hours so I’m going to have to go soon. I have to pick up my passport and some other stuff.” He does look genuinely regretful as he hands me a warm, wet flannel to wipe off any remaining bits of stickiness from my breasts and watches my progress carefully as I apply it. Then, “How are you getting home, Freya?”

I pass the flannel back to him and mimic driving, using my hands to grip and turn a pretend steering wheel, and he nods. “Where are you parked? In the car park around the back?”

Now it’s my turn to nod.

“Good. Get dressed and I’ll see you to your car. You
are
okay to drive, aren’t you?”

Who would have thought it, I am. I actually am. After everything, I’m perfectly happy to hop into my car and drive myself home. Summer was fretting over nothing.

Oh shit! Oh, God! Summer!
It’s been hours since I left her in the bar downstairs, and I’ve not given her another thought until now. Christ, she’ll be frantic. I’ll be lucky if she hasn’t called the police, declared me dead, or missing, or at the very least dangerously deranged. I leap to my feet, grab my skirt from the floor over by the door, start to drag it on.

“Whoah, what’s the rush? I’m the one with a plane to catch.”

Nicholas has just zipped up his jeans and he’s working on turning his shirt the right way out as I launch into my headless chicken impression. I rush back to the bed, rummaging frantically around in the tangled sheets for his phone. Finding it, I fumble for the on switch, only to have him gently, calmly, take it from me, turn it on and hand it back with the notepad app fired up.

My friend. I came with a friend. She’s downstairs, been waiting for me all this time.

I shove the phone back at him, and continue to wrestle with my top.

“No, she left hours ago. Dan put her in a taxi.” His quiet response stuns me into immobility.

What?
I gape at him, incredulous.
Dan? Daniel? That other Dom, the one Summer, delusional as she is, thought was the better looking of the two? A taxi? What the hell? Why?

So much for coherent thinking.

“They spent a couple of hours together, he managed to convince her that you’d come to no lasting harm, and that she could safely leave you with me.” All my confusion must be plastered all over my face, so Nicholas kindly helps out with a bit more explanation. “And he put her in a taxi at around one o’clock. She’ll be tucked up in bed by now.”

I continue to stare at him, and he gently takes the phone back from my fingers. He taps the screen to bring up his text messages, and shows me the one from his friend Dan Praed, received just before midnight, asking if I was still with him. He scrolls down, showing me his response, that I was with him and we’d be a while yet. Dan’s response to that was that Summer was ready to leave and he’d sort out a taxi for her. And he asked Nicholas to let me know she’d left.

“Sorry, I got the text while we were still down in the dungeon. You were—preoccupied—and I completely forgot about it until now.”

I shake my head, totally bemused. Summer and that, that—individual—spent a couple of hours together! Doing what for Christ’s sake? I dread to think. Innocent, upstanding, prim and perfectly proper Summer spent ‘a couple of hours’ in a fetish club with a Dom. My God, what did he do to her? Surely he wouldn’t…

Nicholas Hardisty catches my startled face between his palms, leaning in close. “Don’t look so stricken. If she spent the evening with Dan, you can be sure she enjoyed herself. You can ask her tomorrow. Today. Whatever. Anyway, are you ready? Did you bring a coat? A bag?”

I nod, still reeling from the revelations about Summer, not able to think quite straight. No matter, Nicholas Hardisty is in charge as usual. “Right, cloakroom first, and then I’ll walk you to your car.” He strolls to the door, holding out his hand.

I take it, and follow him out into the corridor.

My head’s still churning with bizarre images of Summer embroiled in Christ knows what, with God only knows who, and I can’t believe it. She usually gives men a wide berth. Even nice, sedate, safe men. She is definitely not drawn to dangerous Dominant men with whips and canes and a startling penchant for bondage. He must have forced her or…something. But he seemed so nice, so polite. Who’d have thought he could…? I need to talk to her. Soon. Make sure she’s all right. And it strikes me how odd this is, it’s usually the other way around, Summer checking up on me and helping to sort out my little and not so little dramas.

I keep my anxieties over Summer to myself—I somehow doubt Nicholas Hardisty will share my concern. No words are exchanged as we stroll along the now deserted corridors and down the main stairs toward the front door. The cloakroom is a small kiosk just inside the front entrance, and my long raincoat is the only garment left in there. Although the club is in theory open twenty-four hours a day, in practice most business is done between ten p.m. and two a.m. It’s now three thirty a.m. and pretty much everyone else has drifted off. The night attendant passes me my bag and my coat, and I’m a little surprised to see Nicholas take possession of a black motor cycle crash helmet and padded black leather jacket. A biker then, I never knew that. I slip my coat on over my skimpy costume. It’s not especially cold outside, or raining, but a long cover up style raincoat just helps to avoid any awkwardness at traffic lights if another motorist happens to catch sight of me. I’m quite sedately dressed this evening, but I often do a nice line in leather and crimson satin and that would raise a few eyebrows if I found myself changing a tire by the roadside or needing to stop for petrol.

I dig in my bag for my phone, check for texts. Sure enough, there’s one from Summer. I open it fast.

Sorry I missed u. Going away for a bit. C u soon.