MasterStroke (25 page)

“There’s only place it’s going. I’ve been waiting all night,” he said, walking behind her, out of sight. She waited.

He stroked her shoulder blades then the soft mounds of her bottom.

“Ready?”

“I’ve been ready all day.”

Sandrine didn’t realise how saturated she was until Jack suddenly speared into her, filling her to capacity in one delightfully urgent lunge, possessing her, demonstrating his need to consummate their carnal union. The restraints held her body immobile. With his hands solidly grasping her hips, he started pounding her, hard and fast.

It overwhelmed her, pushing the breath out of her, thrusting so violently it threatened to push the bench across the floor. She couldn’t think, couldn’t articulate anything beyond primal grunts and low animal moans. This was brutal, unapologetic fucking and she was propelled into an emotionally raw place, sensations exploding in her head, her body convulsing with release as she climaxed immediately and continued to do so, building, building, pushing higher as Jack hammered into her increasingly tender pussy.

She lost any sense of time or place. She had no idea of where she was nor did she care. All that mattered, all she could focus on was the sensation of her body being invaded by the steely determination of his cock growing longer and wider and building, as she was, to the precipice.

There was no let-up, no holding back. Sandrine felt that Jack was far beyond any logical thought, only the need to achieve orgasm. Every nerve ending, inside and outside her body, was screaming, battling, fighting, hurtling with no hesitation towards a final release.

She screamed his name over and over and, just as she started to flag, there came the familiar contractions within his cock and Jack, with a cry of his own, flooded her with a scalding heated gush, over and over, never seeming to end, until he collapsed onto her and she could feel his heart threatening to leap from his chest.

They lay that way for what seemed like forever, their bodies cooling, then he walked to the front of the bench and kissed her deeply.

“Darling, that was amazing, so wonderful,” he said, his melliferous voice cracking slightly from the strain. He stood tall, his penis dangling before her face, beautifully glazed with both their juices. Sandrine opened her mouth to receive him. It was, she thought, such an amazing, wonderful taste.
This is us, our juices together. It’s heaven
.

She didn’t let it go, savouring the sweetness of their union, until Jack started to go limp.

Chapter Thirty

As usual after their marathon sessions, Sandrine was exhausted and slipped easily into a deep sleep even before Jack had unshackled her wrists and ankles from the padded bench.

She came awake slowly and found herself in Jack’s warm embrace. They were nose-to-nose. As she stretched and yawned, Jack opened his eyes and they crinkled in pleasure. He looked alert and not the least sleepy, as if he’d been patiently waiting for her.

The heat they generated was cosy rather than erotic, wrapped in the black satin sheets on the big bed, a sense of closeness and belonging that melted Sandrine’s heart and brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them back awkwardly, unable to move, pinned by Jack’s strong arms and not really wanting to break the magic mood.

In one hand, she held his cock. It was flaccid but remained thick and strong and she squeezed it once, twice, and felt it responding, lengthening, growing harder.
So wonderful
, she thought languidly,
it has a life all its own. It really is the most remarkable thing.

His lips brushed her forehead and he smoothed her hair down, caressing her with a gentleness that belied the wild thumping of his heart.
He has this amazing power over me, makes me cum so effortlessly. All I can think about is having him inside me but I have the same power over him.

“You’ve a very wicked girl.” Jack’s eyes were darkening with a carnal intent.

“You make me this way. Only you.” Her voice was deepening and she eased herself out of his grasp. As she sat up, the sheet fell away and she was pleased that his eyes were now riveted on her body. In his company, her self-confidence had increased enormously and she was happy to be naked around him. It seemed entirely natural, like she existed solely to have no clothes or inhibitions when she was with him. “I want you again.”

A laugh exploded out of him, catching her completely off-guard.

“Again?” he spluttered. “You’ll be so sore, you won’t be able to walk straight.”

“Not likely,” She shook her head. “You make me so wet. Besides, there’s so much of you inside me……”

“There’s only so many times you can drain me in one night before I collapse in a heap,” he countered playfully. “Besides, it’s getting late. I’m sure Marcella would like to get home.”

Marcella! Damn!
Jack had a point but Sandrine was distracted by another, entirely more mesmerising point, the one that hung so ferociously between Jack’s legs. She moved her face close and engulfed the sensitive head into her mouth. The guttural, animalistic moan that resulted told her that Jack barely believed his own argument.

“Not a good idea. This could take up the rest of the evening.”

She ignored him for the moment, concentrating on working her mouth on him, alternating between gentle, shallow strokes and increasingly urgent, frantically deep thrusts. At the point where she felt his fingers in her hair and his hips convulsively jerking, she stopped and looked up into his eyes.

“You’ve become quite a tease but we really should take a rain-check. As a favour to Marcella as much as me.”

“Oh, all right,” she huffed almost petulantly. She relaxed back into his embrace but kept her fingers wrapped around his massive rod, stroking it, playfully intent on depriving it of torpidity. As much as Jack was inclined towards curtailing their playtime, he was making no attempt to break away. His responses suggested just the opposite.

“Wicked, wicked girl,” he said evenly. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“I’m not holding you back.”

“You are. And in the nicest possible way.”

“It feels too good to stop.”

A brief silence while Jack wrestled with his own demons then he pushed her roughly back onto the mattress and moved between her legs.

“That’s a good enough reason for me.” The brutish bass notes of his voice sent a cold thrill through her. In one fluid move, he thrust into her.

She had no way of knowing the range of emotions that crossed her face when she made love. The raw passion, unconcealed, sharpened by lust, sparking the intensity of feelings as Jack moved inside her, gently and shallowly or spearing with an urgent intensity, the journey of building, reaching closer to that exhausting completion yet occasionally diverting to that familiar clenching of muscles that signalled an intense climax that washed over her with intense pleasure before placing her back on track for an orgasm that she sweated and strained to reach while Jack continued his ceaseless pounding, her face flushed and charting an uninhibited portrayal of everything she was feeling.

She couldn’t hide this amazing procession of naked emotion even if she knew she was showing them, laying bare feelings she was so intent on disguising in every other phase of her life. She swooned at Jack’s deep piercing gaze as he watched her so intently, the green flecking of his eyes almost magically sparkling, his body reacting to her signals, like dance partners totally in synch with each other, slowing and teasing if she seemed to be peaking too quickly or thrusting more violently to propel her forward, never losing control while her nerve endings threatened to disintegrate under the onslaught.

It was his eyes that she locked her attention on as her muscles involuntarily locked around his cock and she sped towards the point of no return, her mind turning to jelly, all conscious thought obliterated by overwhelming sensations, Jack’s subtle shifting of his hips continually changing angle and approach, controlling her body, orchestrating her responses, letting her know he was in control and her body was powerless to resist.

Sandrine’s body temperature was soaring, the hot flush spread across her body, her face twisted with agonised excitement, a grimace of concentration, reaching higher, closer, watching Jack’s expression as his own control began to crumble and a gruff, harsh voice replaced his usual measured tone.

“It’s my body now, darling. You’ll do exactly what I want, when I want it.” His growl carried deeper inside her than even his long, thick penis could reach. “Are you ready?”

It was the final push she needed and she spun wildly into the abyss.

“Yes, yes, now, Jack. Do it now,” she gasped finally, after too long, suddenly realising she’d forgotten to breathe as the most shattering orgasm so far swept over her and carried her far away.

Sandrine was aware she remained pinned under Jack but had no memory of having her legs tossed over his shoulders to maximise penetration, exposing her completely, his body still and hard as a marble statue, every muscle in his shoulders, arms and chest tensed, his eyes dancing with joy and relief, and a sheen of sweat dimpling his brow, his massive hardness buried inside her, pulsing as the last remnants of his own orgasm gradually subsided.

“Wow,” was all he could say.

“Wow, indeed” she replied eventually, after what seemed like an eternity.

“It just gets better, doesn’t it?”

Sandrine could only nod, totally exhausted. The French call the orgasm the “little death” but, for her, each time Jack brought her to completion, it felt like something far more final, a point where her whole being, body as well as mind, shut down and was unable to function. She thought it a miracle that she could ever find her way back again. But she did and although thoroughly sated, there remained the quiet hum of her libido eager to start all over again.

He gently moved out of her, kissing down her body until his head rested gently on her thigh, his face close to her, breathing in the intoxicating aroma of heat and sweat and sex. Kissing her lightly on the pubis, he rolled away too quickly for her to pull him closer.

Jack looked far too sexy standing there, just out of reach, his chest heaving with exertion, muscles sculpted like an ancient god, glowing with a fine layer of perspiration.

“You’re too impossibly sexy. Get dressed before I think better of it.”

“OK, Jack, just this once. Next time I won’t let you go so easily.”

He walked out of the room naked.
You talk about sexy, you gorgeous man! You have the finest ass on the planet. I don’t know which part of you I prefer most.

The thought had popped into her head so quickly, she almost gasped. It was followed by the realisation that the Sandrine the world thought of as quiet and shy had come a very long way in a very short time.

Chapter Thirty One

Within the hour, Sandrine was back in the smelly puffer coat, grey wig and over-sized hat and shuffling, head down, along the pavement and into her apartment block. Marcella was laid out on the sofa reading a leather-bound volume of Gibbon’s
Decline And Fall Of The Roman Empire
, a crystal tumbler of whiskey within easy reach.

“Did you have a pleasant evening, Sandrine dear?” she asked solicitiously.

“Very much so, thanks.”

“Good. Glad to help out.” She quickly slipped into the bag lady outfit, kissed Sandrine on both cheeks and left. It was close to midnight and she had no energy left. Hurriedly undressing, she slid naked between the sheets and was asleep almost immediately. Not surprisingly, she dreamt of Jack.

Chapter Thirty Two

It was to be a day of surprises and it started when Sandrine, laden with coffee, cherry Danish, and newspapers, opened up the store. It took a few moments, after she’d dropped her bag on the counter and started the computer, before she realised there was classical music playing.

It was Vaughan Williams, the fifth symphony from the sound of it, which Sandrine had heard numerous times in the store. She had always found it a bit too English and certainly far too pastoral for her tastes although she tempered that criticism by admitting she had a weakness for some variations of that theme, such as Brahms’ Symphony No. 2.

It could only mean one thing. She hurried to the back, past the bookcases and found the storeroom door ajar. Striding through, she saw Marcus Buckingham sitting at his desk. The corner office was small by any standard but, with Marcus, who stood more than six feet tall, the room seemed even more cluttered. He looked the same as always; with his gaunt, stern features, he appeared like a cross between a scarecrow and the writer Dominick Dunne.

The desktop was habitually buried under papers, handwritten notes, usually to remind him to do certain tasks which he immediately forgot about by the end of the day, brochures, magazines and books, mounds slipping over time into the next, edging ever higher until it appeared they would eventually cascade to the floor. An impossibly ornate Meissen teapot perched haphazardly on the rolling hillside of detritus, with a matching cup and saucer close by.

“Ah, Sandrine. How delightful to see you,” Marcus said a little distractedly, thick wire-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his nose. “Marcella mentioned you’ve been having some problems.”

There was no room for another chair so Sandrine remained standing and spent the next ten minutes giving Marcus her version of the story, leaving out a few things that pertained to her relationship with Jack that she didn’t feel was pertinent. Marcus expressed concern that the artwork was now in Jack’s care.

“How well do you know him?” he asked, gazing up at her with concern.

“It’s true I haven’t known him long. He turned up at just the right time to protect me during all this. I don’t know how I would have coped without him. But I believe he’s entirely genuine and I trust him implicitly.”

Marcus’ attention was riveted on her with a quizzical and slightly bemused expression that flustered her. In defending Jack, however, she was steadfast in her beliefs.
Jack has done more for me than I can ever possibly tell. He’s placed himself in great personal danger to protect me.