Faith (8 page)

“Okay?” His voice is soft, gentle against my ear. “Hard enough for you so far?”

“Ewan, I… oh!”

Any further conversation is stifled as he withdraws, almost pulling out of me before plunging deep again, hard and fast. I lift my legs, hooking my ankles together behind his back and just hang on. Ewan sets up a rapid pace, short, sharp thrusts that set my body tingling, then deepening the motion to fill and stretch me with every stroke. He angles his entry to somehow hit that inner spot where something wonderful happens, where the sensation is most acute, most intense.

It’s tight, but still I clench around him, my pussy starting to convulse as my arousal builds. I know I’m going to come again, and soon.

“Ewan, I… please, faster. Harder. I need you, I want…”

My words are stopped by his mouth angling across mine, swallowing any further sound. His tongue plunges inside, mimicking the action of his cock. I’m overwhelmed, entirely overpowered, carried away on a wave of carnal sensuality. My body shivers and arches as my second climax hits me, hard, wrenching, utterly sublime. My lips are parted to accept his tongue, my pussy spread wide to welcome his cock. He is all I need, consuming me, filling me. Thrusting life and hope and belief for the future back into me.

My orgasm subsides, as Ewan’s own release builds. His body is hard, his muscles tense and poised as he drives his cock harder, deeper. He stills, holding position, his erection nudging my cervix as his semen spurts, pumping to fill the condom. He releases my mouth to let out a low groan before dropping a light kiss against my earlobe.

We both lie still, caught in the moment, panting. My heart rate slows down to something resembling normal. I manage to find the strength to unclasp my ankles and straighten one leg. The other remains hooked around Ewan’s hips. He rolls to the opposite side, dragging me with him so I find myself draped across his body. He makes no attempt to disengage from me. I’m conscious of his cock only slightly softening inside my cunt.

“You alright, Faith?” His tone is low, gravelly. His breathing is still laboured, which pleases me. His seduction was not entirely effortless.

“Mmm, I think so.”

He lifts my hair, tilting my chin up so he can see my face. “You think?”

“I can’t be sure, not until we’ve done that a couple more times.”

His anxious expression dissolves into a grin. “Brat. You’ll be staying the night then?”

I did stay the night, and most of the following morning. Ewan is inventive, demanding, an exciting, attentive, generous lover. In the weeks since we have spent every night together, usually at his house, sometimes at mine. His bed is bigger, so we prefer that. My kitchen is better stocked, so we usually come round here to eat although Ewan does most of the cooking.

Although he’s not travelling at the moment, that doesn’t mean he isn’t working. His dining room has been converted to provide an efficient home office—another reason for eating at my house. Ewan tends to spend his days in there, working on the various projects he’s involved in, keeping up with correspondence, tendering for new jobs though I gather that most of his clients approach him.

I’m working out my notice at Em See Squared. My attic studio is ready. The loft has been converted into a superb workspace, even better than I imagined. I’ve invested in a powerful desktop computer with a huge, flat screen, loaded with the latest in design software. I’m ready to go. All I need now are some orders.

I have enough cash in reserve to be able to support myself for six months, though I’m confident that in that time I’ll be able to bring in at least some business. Ewan will be my first client. He wants me to overhaul his company website, so between that, and designing my own marketing materials, I’ll be busy for the first few weeks.

Life is exhilarating, the future bright. I’m bursting with optimism. Enthusiasm drips from me. For the first time I can remember, I’m consciously happy. Fulfilled.

* * *

Ewan is leaving today. He’ll be in Paris for the next three weeks, then on to Oslo for some preliminary discussions about a new velodrome. He invited me to go with him, at least for some of the trip, and I suppose I could have. Paris and Oslo are not actually that far away. But my own fledgling business needs my attention. If I’m serious about making a success of this venture, I need to apply myself, I need to make it my priority. Good sex is a bonus, and there’ll be plenty more of that when Ewan returns.

I’ve been beavering away in my attic for three weeks now. Ewan’s website is looking sleek, modern, uncluttered. I’ve placed adverts in various trade press publications, and I’m starting to develop my social media presence.

I call my business just simply
Faith
. It makes sense to me.

Most important, I’ve hooked my first clients as an independent supplier. A local nursery want a logo and signage, and the motorcycle spares shop that Ed used to frequent most weekends heard that I’d set up alone and offered me the job of designing their latest sales promotion leaflets. They expected mates’ rates, but we managed to do a deal. I’m making ends meet.

The first Friday that Ewan is out of the country I consider making a return visit to Sheffield. It’s been a few weeks since my last spanking, and I long to feel the sharp sting of a paddle against my buttocks. Who would have imagined that? It’s true though, but still I don’t go.

Ewan wouldn’t like it. I haven’t mentioned it to him, of course I haven’t, but I know what he would think. To go there behind his back is out of the question. It would be disloyal to him, deceitful.

With Ewan, I have something special, something powerful and every bit as passionate, every bit as hot as I imagined it would be. I was right about the emotional involvement a relationship with him would entail. I’m in love with him, I know this without a shadow of doubt. I have a suspicion he might love me too. He hasn’t said so exactly, but it seems to me to be there in his ready, dimpled smile, his dry humour, his gentle, slow touch and his lovemaking that sets my pussy alight. It could be wishful thinking, but I hope not. All I know is he makes me clench and cream with just a look. One quirk of his lip, one flash of those dimples, and I melt.

It’s more than mere physical attraction, more than just sex. He’s nice, he’s funny, he’s good company. He makes me laugh, he makes me scream. I enjoy him, in bed and out of it.

And I miss him. Terribly.

I’m not sure exactly why I haven’t talked to him about my explorations into my submissive nature. It’s not as though he wouldn’t understand. But my trips to Sheffield seem like another life, a different existence. They are outside of my relationship with Ewan, and are destined to remain so.

My sudden and intense reaction when Ewan made his semi-joking reference to tying me up came out of nowhere. It surprised me, not least as I did actually find my previous limited forays into bondage arousing. When we first got together Ewan mentioned the ghost of Ed hovering beside us, but it was Caroline’s spectre that rose up in that moment, over-shadowing the pleasure of Ewan’s touch and twisting my perspective.

In my head I know that Caroline had no real hold on Ewan. He regrets her loss but doesn’t pine for her as I might have feared. As I once did for Ed, though not any longer. But she was an experienced submissive, trained, responsive to his needs, attuned to her own sexuality. I’m a bumbling amateur in comparison, clumsy, unsophisticated. From my visits to Fairlawns I know enough now about dominance and submission to appreciate the depth of my ignorance, the extent of my naïveté.

Ewan could teach me, I have no doubt of it. He would be a good mentor, caring, patient, demanding, challenging. My friendly dom with the warm smile and fine touch with a paddle might satisfy my immediate need for a spanking but no more. Never any more than that. With Ewan there would be so much to be discovered. He would be thorough, unhurried, peeling back the layers, exposing depths I never thought to reveal to anyone before.

I might welcome the intimacy, but wouldn’t that ultimately be to step into Caroline’s shoes? To become a convenient body, a playmate, a woman who meant little to him beyond the moment.

I won’t do that. Can’t be that. I need him too much.

Ewan’s due back today. I’m not sure exactly what time, but I’ve been on line to monitor the arrivals at Manchester airport so I know his plane landed two hours ago. He’d have to reclaim his baggage, clear customs, then get a taxi back to where he parks his car. Maybe an hour and a half’s drive back here. I think I can expect him within an hour or so. I hug my stomach, excited, aroused, verging on the desperate. I wasn’t sure if I should cook, he probably ate on the plane, but I did anyway. Not to Ewan’s culinary standards, but a decent offering of braised steak with onions, jacket potatoes, some steamed vegetables. We’ll eat, we’ll exchange news, we’ll go to bed. Not necessarily in that order.

I pace my studio, watch the darkening sky through my roof windows. I glance at the clock. Five minutes since I last checked. I pace some more. Maybe I should go down to the kitchen to check my braised steak.

My head is buried in my oven when I hear the car. I stand and slam the door shut, rush to the window to check, though I know there’s no mistake. I recognise the distinctive purr of his Nissan, and I pull my curtain aside in time to see it turning into the driveway next door.

Ewan gets out of the car, casually dressed for travel in jeans and an untucked black T shirt. He looks sexy enough to eat. Sod the braising steak. He glances over the hedge at me, our eyes meet. He smiles and I swear I can see the dimples from here. He lifts his hand in greeting.

I wave back before dropping the curtain and heading for the door. I rush outside and charge down my path to meet him at the gate as he heads my way. I launch myself
Dirty Dancing
style into his arms, no doubt causing all sort of talk and conjecture among our other neighbours. I don’t care. Neither does Ewan, it seems. He picks me up, swings me around before planting me back on my feet and kissing me.

I respond, plunging my tongue into his mouth as I twist my fingers through his thick hair. I’ve yearned for him so much despite our daily telephone conversations and near constant texting. Now he’s here, in the flesh. I come up for air.

“I cooked you a meal.”

“Will it keep?”

“Yes.”

He grabs my hand and heads towards my front door, still swinging on its hinges from my headlong rush. “My heating’s not been turned on for weeks. We’ll use your bed.”

In fact I let myself in next door and turned his central heating back on yesterday in anticipation of his return, but I see no point in debating the plan. My bed is nearer so that sounds good to me. He tows me through my door, pausing just long enough to allow me to shut it behind us and drop the latch before he continues up to my bedroom. He back heels that door shut as I start to unbutton my loose-fitting shirt.

“No. Let me.”

I remain standing, quite motionless as he steps up behind me. He lifts the hair from my neck and kisses my nape, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. He reaches around me to loosen each of my buttons before spreading the shirt open to reveal my breasts. I bought new underwear, a delicate cream-coloured confection of lace and satin, and chose to wear it today in honour of his homecoming. Ewan admires my lingerie over my shoulder.

“Mmm, sweet. Is this for me?”

“Of course. Do you like it?”

“Love it.” He peels the shirt over my shoulders and down my arms, dropping it on the floor. “So sexy, seductive. You’re a beautiful woman, Faith. Have I mentioned that?”

“Maybe. Not recently though. Tell me again.”

“I’ll tell you, and show you. Christ, baby, I missed you.” He cups my breasts in his hands, buries his face in the hollow between my neck and my shoulder. He marks a trail across my shoulder, nibbling, nuzzling, kissing. He moulds my breasts with his hands, lifting them and pressing them together to create a cleavage I can never quite manage to achieve, even with the aid of expensive sexy lingerie.

“Gorgeous, sexy, so soft, so responsive.” He demonstrates that last with a sweep of his thumbs across my nipples. They swell and harden, scraping against the lace of my bra. Ewan knows, rubs harder as I moan and writhe against him. I need him inside me. Now.

He lowers one hand to undo the button on my jeans, but continues to torment my nipples with the other. Alternating between them, he slides his hand inside the cups to twist and squeeze, bringing me almost to the point of pain before he releases the distended nubs. He massages each of my swelling mounds in his palm as he slides his other hand down inside my open jeans to cup me. I’m desperate to shove my jeans down, get rid of the remaining barrier, the denim now hindering my movements as I try to open for him.

“No, be still. I’ll undress you when I’m ready.” His voice is gentle, but firm. He expects me to do as I’m told, and it never occurs to me there may be any other choice. I let my hands drop to my sides and lean back against him as he stretches his arm further to insert two fingers into my drenched pussy.

“Ah, such a welcome home. I’m guessing you might have missed me too, sweet Faith.” He withdraws, just to plunge his fingers in again. The sounds of my arousal seem to echo around the room, silent apart from our breathing and my own wetness.

“Please, it’s been a long time. I need you…”

“You will have me, love. And I’ll have you.” His other hand is on my waistband. At last he shoves the denim down over my hips. I wriggle a little and the jeans drop around my ankles. “Step out.”

I obey, standing before him now in just my new sexy underwear—my bra and the matching thong. I watch his reflection in the mirror on my wardrobe as Ewan stands back to admire my ensemble. He circles me slowly, his slow, steady perusal disconcerting in its thoroughness. He examines every detail, wordless as he concentrates on my body now exposed and displayed for him.

“You take my breath away, sweetheart.”

I shake my head. One of us may be breath-taking, but sexy lingerie or not, it isn’t me.