Indecent...Desires (6 page)

But not here, not now when I'm so filled with fear and frustration that it is all I can do not to yell at him like some sort of thirty-something harridan with an attitude problem. ‘I got your note,' I snap.

‘Oh,' he says. ‘Should I not have sent it? Should I have phoned you instead?'

‘No, you should not!' I push past him before I even realise what I'm doing, and then I'm inside his flat, which is comfortably untidy and smells of him. I move into the middle of the living room, take in the faded sofa and the coffee table with the pile of well-thumbed Stephen King novels on top of it. The windowsill is dusty and the curtains are old and don't match the carpet, yet there's a sense of comfortableness in here that doesn't exist in my own flat. I turn, find him standing in the doorway, watching me, and something inside me breaks. Something that had started to shatter back in the darkness of the stationery cupboard at work, when he told me I wasn't disgusting and I touched myself in front of him.

For the first time in a long time, I feel in control of my life. Of what happens to me. ‘Show me your bedroom,' I say finally.

‘It's through here,' he says, his voice catching in his throat.

I know what he's thinking, because I'm thinking it too. I follow him through into that private space, a space I know he would never normally share. I haven't shared the bedroom in my flat with anyone. I haven't even shared it with Lucas because I always sat in the dark, refusing to let him see in.

But he shared his space with me and he's sharing it now, as he stands aside to let me in. It's small, dominated by a king-sized bed with a rumpled duvet and a huge chest of drawers. A yellow plastic hanger is hooked on the back of the door, with a shirt draped over it.

I look at the bed. Lucas looks at me, and then he looks at the bed.

‘I would like to fuck you,' he says. ‘I know it's wrong of me to say that. But I would really like to fuck you.'

I turn my head, let my gaze travel over him, let those words work their way through me. He doesn't want to have sex with me, to have a missionary position quickie that will satisfy him but not me. He wants to
fuck
me. ‘I'm not very good at this,' I say.

‘At what?'

‘At this.' I gesture to the room, to the bed, to him.

‘Just be yourself,' he says.

‘That's easy for you to say. Look at yourself.' I take in his broad shoulders inside his shirt and tank top, the unfastened collar, the messy hair. I take in the tailored trousers, the mismatched socks, the long legs and the glorious bulge at his crotch. The air all but crackles with a sudden spark of tension. ‘Are you ever
not
hard?'

He scratches his head, then gives me a little glimpse of those dimples. ‘Sometimes,' he admits. ‘But I am not very good at controlling it.'

Be yourself.
It sounds so simple, so easy. And maybe it is.
Bossy Meredith.
‘Then it's about time you learned,' I say. I gesture to his clothing. ‘Get undressed.'

‘Completely?'

I nod. ‘Yes. You are going to get undressed and then I am going to give you a lesson in self-control. Because clearly the one I gave you earlier hasn't sunk in.'

His eyes go wide with excitement, and I can see he's trying not to smile, though he's not doing a very good job of it. The fluttering in my stomach gets stronger as he pulls off his tank top then tugs off his shirt without even bothering to unfasten it. He lets them both drop to the floor and then starts on his trousers, his hands shaking as he rushes to get them off. And then he's stood in front of me, completely naked and fiercely erect. I haven't even taken my shoes off.

That dark gaze settles on me, and for a moment, he lets me see the wickedness in it. And then he wraps a hand around his cock and slides his fingers slowly to the tip. He glides them over the end, which is already glossy with his arousal. And then he lifts his fingers to his mouth and tastes himself.

A twinge of jealousy grips me. I straighten up and move up close, close enough for the end of his cock to touch the fabric of my suit trousers. He shudders in a breath as he senses the contact, and I glance down to see the wet, shiny patch that he's left on me. ‘Look what you did,' I say. ‘This, Mr Brady, is completely unacceptable. Do you understand that?'

‘Yes,' he says. And then he twists his hips, leaving another glossy smear on my trousers.

Something inside me pulls tight and then snaps. I'd say it was the last of my resistance, if I felt like labelling it. ‘Turn around.'

His eyes go wide and he gives me a flash of those dimples, then he does as I've asked. He turns slowly, then bends slightly forward. The jerk of his shoulder tells me that he's stroking himself, and I can't have that. ‘Did I say you could touch yourself?' He shakes his head as I move in close enough to see where the hair lies softly on the nape of his neck. I blow on that sensitive skin, watch him shiver in response. ‘Both hands up where I can see them.'

He stiffens, then slowly lifts both hands to the top of the chest of drawers and grips it, as if he's preparing himself for what we both know I am going to do next. I lower my gaze to his exposed backside, which is tight and firm and peachy, just as I knew it would be. There's a soft patch of hair at the base of his spine, and when I let my fingers linger there, it's beautifully warm.

I run my hand over the indents at either side of his buttocks, loving the way the hard swell of muscle feels under my hand. Then I slide my hand between his legs and grip the heavy weight of his balls. I've never handled a man this way before, and it sends a thrill surging through me, especially when I tighten my grip and Lucas makes a low, throaty sound. I can feel the hard rise of his cock against the tips of my fingers, and when I stroke back across his balls, letting my nails tease the skin, I discover an even more sensitive spot behind them. I take a moment to explore it, a moment in which he grips the chest of drawers even tighter and trembles.

‘Naughty boy,' I whisper, pushing up onto my tiptoes so I can plant the words softly in his ear.

‘I'm sorry,' he says. ‘I try so hard not to do bad things, but sometimes I can't stop myself. I don't know what's wrong with me.'

I move my hand back round to his buttocks. I know what he wants. I think I've teased him enough, and I am desperate to explore this, to know what it will be like. I raise my hand and bring it back down against his arse. There is a sound like a sharp crack. Lucas jolts forward, and I stare in aroused horror at the bright pink flush that my hand has created.

‘Again,' he whispers. ‘Do it again.'

‘Say please.' There's a thread of steel in my voice, a layer of bossiness that shocks even me.

‘Please, Ms French.' He squares his shoulders, moves his feet a little further apart. I place one hand on his shoulder, feeling the hard curve of bone and muscle beneath my palm, and the other hand on the bare flesh of his backside, which is warm and trembling.

I'm trembling too, with nerves and excitement. I bite down on my bottom lip, and then deliver three fast, sharp spanks to his exposed arse.

‘Fuck,' he says hoarsely, his head tipping back.

The way he says it excites me, and I spank him again, harder, faster, my fingers digging into his shoulder as I watch his skin grow pinker and hotter under my hand. I can feel the same hot rush of arousal between my legs. I don't think I've ever been so turned on in my life. I want to push him to the floor and ride him, but I can't do that. I shouldn't be doing this either, but I want to see him finish. I want to see it so much. He denied me last night. I won't let him deny me this time.

I rub my hand over the curve of his backside, then back between his legs again, lingering on that sensitive spot before travelling over his balls to find his cock. He groans when I touch it. I didn't think it was possible for a man to get that hard. I pull him away from the drawers, turn him to face me. His eyes are half closed, and he's watching me warily, as if he's wondering what I'm going to do next. There's no denying the flush of excitement in his cheeks, or the hoarse sound of his breathing.

I did this to him, I think to myself. I made him this hot, this hard. I reach out, touch the tip of his cock. It jerks at the contact, an involuntary spasm. The tip is practically dripping with clear, glossy pre-come, and I don't ever think I've made a man wet before either. I grab hold of him tightly, pump my fist along his slick length once, twice.

‘Please, Ms French,' he says. ‘Please let me come.'

Somehow I know exactly what he wants me to say in response. ‘No. You may not.' I stroke him some more, each pump of my hand over his rapidly thickening cock exciting me even more. He shudders and moans, and I love the way he's fighting simply because I told him to. I wonder what else he will do simply because I tell him to. Perhaps, just once, I will take the opportunity to find out. This can never go anywhere, never be anything, whatever this is between us, but just once, I want to know what it is like to bring a man to his knees.

I set a hand to his shoulder, push him down to the floor. He obeys without question and looks up at me, waiting, wanting. A strange sense of calm steals over me. It is as if I can breathe, all of a sudden. As if I have never really breathed before. The air tastes cool and sweet, and I feel my body relax and soften.

‘What would you like me to do?' he asks. ‘Would you like me to use my fingers? Or can I use my tongue?'

Something about the way he says
can I use my tongue
, as if that's what he most wants to do, makes my insides flip and spin. I crave that, I realise. I want it. The warm, soft slide of a hot tongue over my aching clit. It has been so long since the last time I experienced it, and to be honest I never experienced it all that often. My ex was never that keen. Oh, he would, if I nagged him enough. And then he'd say I was a nag, and I would hate myself for pushing it on him and wonder what was wrong with me. But Lucas doesn't sound reluctant. The exact opposite, in fact.

‘Use your tongue,' I say.

I watch as he finds the fastening of my trousers and undoes them, then lowers them carefully to the floor, holding my hand as I step free. There's something almost caring in the way he takes my fingers and holds me steady, as if he knows that I'm nervous. He smoothes his palms over my legs, then eases down my knickers.

It is all so slow, so controlled, until he plants his face firmly between my legs and licks into me like a man who is starving for pussy. Like he wants this as much as I do, like he needs to taste my slick juices as much as I need to feel his tongue, which is hot and skilled. He finds my clit and sucks down on it, setting a pulsing rhythm that has my knees weakening in a heartbeat. I reach back, fumbling blindly until I find the hard curves of the drawer handles and cling to them. His hands meet the outside of my thighs and hold me steady, and that will never do.

He is the one who should be unsteady. Not me. I dig my fingers into his hair, move his head away. He gazes up at me, his eyes almost black with desire, his breath coming in short fast pants. I can see the gloss of me on his mouth, the hard jut of his cock between his legs as he waits so patiently for his next instruction.

‘Get on the bed,' I say. He scrambles to his feet and mounts the bed, then watches me with quiet intensity. I walk over to it, placing my feet carefully, never taking my gaze off him, totally in control, ruling this situation, owning it. ‘Do you want to touch yourself?'

‘Yes.'

‘Do you want to touch me?'

He licks his lips, and I see his throat work as he swallows. ‘Yes.'

Another question hesitates on the tip of my tongue and I am almost too afraid to ask it, but I want to know. I
have
to know. ‘Did you like the way my pussy tasted?'

‘Fuck, yes,' he says. ‘I've never tasted one as sweet as yours. I nearly came just from having you on my tongue.'

I have to close my eyes for a moment, just to find my balance. Then I move close enough for him to touch, and unbutton my cardigan. I pull it off slowly, and then I remove my blouse. His hungry gaze searches me, his hands digging into the sheets, but he makes no move to touch me, and I don't encourage it.

Neither of us speaks. It is as if one word would shatter what is between us, would make this real and not just a fantasy, and it is too precious to me. I can't let this be broken. I won't. I move in, set my hands to his shoulders and push him back. He falls onto the bed, arms laid out above his head. The dark fur beneath his arms sends a jolt of arousal through me, reminding me of his masculinity, of the difference between us. I know as I kneel at either side of his hips and set the wet heat of my pussy to the hard length of his cock that he is only in this position because he is choosing to be. I know as I reach for the headboard and grasp it, then slowly move my hips forward until my bottom is resting on his chest and my knees on the pillow either side of his head, that he could stop me if he wanted to.

I know, as he opens his mouth and laps at my aching slit, that I will never forget this. I lean forward, until his tongue is buried inside my pussy and I'm almost certain he can't breathe, and then I let him have his way with me.

I grip the headboard as he pleasures me, my fingers twisting round the curved metalwork, my knees digging into the bed as he takes my weight and takes it easily. I have never had a man in this position before, never demanded my own pleasure so shamelessly, and god, I like it.

I feel the heat start to build inside me, the tingling becoming a hot, undeniable rush, and old guilt prickles at me, telling me that I shouldn't do this, that I shouldn't be so selfish, that I should be attending to Lucas's needs and not my own.

The guilt becomes so loud, so overwhelming that I try to pull back, try to move, but strong hands take my hips and hold me in place, forcing me to hold him down and take what I need from him. And then I am coming, coming, hard and loud, my back arching and my eyes going blind as Lucas Brady licks me through an orgasm the likes of which I have only dreamed of before, in hot, frustrating flashes that were gone almost as quickly as they appeared.