Never A Choice (The Choices Trilogy (Book 1)) (11 page)

“You’re so wet and I’m so fucking hard.” He growls into my neck as he flicks the door locked. “No interruptions, I want you to come for me.” Like I could stop. “Now!” He demands through gritted teeth.

“Oh God, Sir, what? . . . Oh God!” The most amazing climax rips through me the instant he said that word; pulling wave after wave of intense pulsing heat through my body, contracting my innermost muscles around his fingers. The tightness and the slow rhythm of his fingers seem to keep this heighten state of arousal at its peak, forever. Minutes, maybe hours later, still trembling, I finally give into my weakened knees and slide down the door sinking to the floor. He gives me a few minutes to regulate my breathing and he gently lifts me from the floor and begins to carefully tuck my clothes back neatly and do the button up on my jeans.

“You’re so fucking responsive Bethany?” He slowly sucks on his fingers and I can see the raw desire still in his eyes. That maybe the most erotic thing I’ve seen and certainly the most erotic act I’ve ever experienced but even so, I realise I am seriously out of my depth with this man. He returns to the desk picks up the details of the drinks reception and hands me the information. He is unaffected and I’m a wreck.

“Until Friday then?” His casual dismissal has me gawping like an idiot.

“Its Saturday, the reception, Mr Wilson said Saturday?” I can’t even construct full sentences; I’m in so much trouble. I turn to leave.

“Yes . . . Saturday too.” I close the door and I swear I can hear him laugh. Well, I am glad he has something to laugh about. I don’t know whether to scream with frustration or sigh with satisfaction but I definitely don’t find it remotely funny.

That evening I manage to pick the saucepan from my single ring hob just before the milk boils over and I stink the apartment out with the smell of burnt milk. I make myself a decaf milky coffee; I like the flavour but don’t need the buzz from the caffeine this late. I wriggle to get comfy, not an easy task on a futon but it helps that I have a ridiculous number of throw pillows. I place Mags’s phone next to my coffee sit back and wait, it’s literally a second after 1a.m when I get my first call. I pick it up instantly.

“You kept me waiting.” A low stern voice informs me.The call has a slight echo and I strain to hear through the muffled connection. This is new; I get a strange prickle over my body like an instant chill but I’m toasty warm in my fluffy pj’s. I reach down to pull the covers up to my neck.

“I’m sorry Sir.” I reply with a deep exhale of breath. “It won’t happen again.”

“No it wont!” His curt reply makes my breath hitch and core clench. “Tell me what you are wearing?” He practically growls.

“Yes Sir.” I pause as my mouth feels suddenly dry. Maybe this is just a follow on reaction to events this afternoon. I’m probably just hyper sensitive right now. “I’m wearing tiny black lace panties and I’m wearing my six inch black leather thigh high boots . . . and nothing else.” My response is slow, not to extend the length of the call I’m just having a little more trouble breathing tonight.

“You are lying.” He replies, his voice is deep without inflection.

“I-” I try to speak but he interrupts.

“It doesn’t require a response, you are lying and I will allow it tonight but next time there will be no lying, understand Lola?” His stern command brooks no opposition.

“Yes Sir.” Why do I suddenly feel guilty for lying?

“Now, what are you doing?” He continues smoothly.

I shift a little. “Sir, I am kneeling with my head lowered waiting for your instruction, Sir.” My hand is tugging at my hair at the nape.

“Mmmm.” He grumbles. “You are a dreadfully poor liar, should I allow that Lola?” I sigh, Christ what am I supposed to do if he is just going to call me a liar every time I open my mouth.

“Sorry, am I boring you?” His tone is angrier now.

“No Sir, Sorry Sir, I didn’t mean . . .” I am really struggling and feel flushed, maybe I should hang up. I wonder if Mags gives refunds.

“Lola.” His firm tone interrupts my panic.

“Yes Sir.” My response is quiet and utterly submissive.

“I want you to do exactly what I say, do you understand?”

“Yes Sir.” His tone is captivating.

“You’ve lied to me? “ He waits for a response, the silence is excruciating.

“Yes Sir.” I am tentative and expectant. I can feel the heat building in my body.

“Do you think that is appropriate?”

“No Sir.” I respond immediately.

“Do you think it is acceptable?”

“No Sir.”

“Do you think you should be punished?” I’m sure he heard my intake of breath and I push the covers back away from my body as a heat surges through me from my core.

“Yes Sir.” I suck in my bottom lip to prevent any involuntary sounds escaping.

“Good girl.” A pool of molten liquid burns between my legs and I start to wiggle to get some relief.

“Did I say you can move?” I freeze. “Good, now Lola, you don’t know what I look like but for this I think you might need some help, you have a picture, perhaps? Something that you can look at while I am instructing you?” His voice is seductive and encouraging and I know exactly the picture I would like to use.

“Yes Sir, I do.”

“Good girl, now I want you to stand up and remove whatever it is you are wearing.” My mind is racing, does he expect me to actually do what he says, how will he know? He can’t possibly know. I make a snap decision and stand.

“Good girl.” His deep voice rumbles through me. “Put me on speaker so you can move freely.”

“Yes Sir.” I start to remove my P.J’s when I stop. “Sir, would you like me to remove my clothes slowly?” I can’t believe I am actually doing this but I might as well go all out. He laughs

“Really Lola, there is nothing seductive about pealing layers of pyjamas. I just want you naked so we can begin.” I don’t know whether to laugh or be creeped out at this point so I remain silent, my heart pumping with the speed of a frightened rabbit. I finish stripping.

“I’m naked sir.” I exhale trying to push the mounting nerves out through my breath.

“Good girl, isn’t it better when you don’t lie? When you do as you are told?” I am not going to analyse this now but I do feel better. “Now I want you to lie down.” He waits as I crawl onto the bed. I am guessing he can hear the creak of the wooden slats because when I am still he continues. “Now I want you to tie your hands tight above your head and tie your legs wide apart so you are completely open for me . . . but as I am going to need your hands you are going to have to pretend for me. Can you do that Lola?” I can hear the gruffness in his voice now and I wonder if this is having the same effect on him as it is on me.

I make to swallow and take a steadying breath. “Is that not like lying?” I venture.

“Lola.” He rumbles his angry response.

“Sorry Sir, yes of course Sir.” Jeeze it’s hard to gauge him, he should add ‘frowny face’ to his commands so I can respond appropriately.

“Your hands are my hands yes? Picture me, picture my hands.” He instructs with such clarity my hands no longer feel like my own.

“Mmmm,” I am right with him now. “Yes Sir.”

“I am holding your face lightly and I’m going to kiss you just below your ear, can you feel that Lola? My hand is tracing the edge of your jaw, down your throat along your collar bone.” He croons and I mirror his description with the tip of my finger, its sends shivers and racing heat all over my body. I want to press between my legs to relieve the ache that’s building. If I’m honest I’m seriously turned on and confused, shouldn’t I be the one talking?

“I’m kissing along your collarbone, my hot tongue rough and wet, my teeth nipping at your flesh. I move down your delicious body, your skin feels like silk, warm and fevered.” He is right about that. “I squeeze your heavy breasts, they ache for my touch, your nipples hard and taught begging for my mouth.” He pauses. “My hands are your hands Lola, yes?”

“Yes.” I can’t help but let out a heated moan as I squeeze my breasts I go to pinch my hard aching nipples.

“No! Don’t pinch, I want to suck. I want to run my tongue all around that tight peak and place my hot wet mouth over and suck; pulling the hard nub into my mouth and scraping the sensitive flesh with my teeth. I want to make you moan.” His voice is so deep with desire I think he could be reciting a grocery list and I would still melt to hear his voice but the words he is saying has me on fire, has me wanton, has me helpless.

“Arghhh.” I can feel his warm mouth around me sucking, pulling, grazing my puckered nipple. My back arches from the bed and I squeeze and pinch to get some relief. I let out an agonising moan.

“My hand is holding your hips steady and I’m putting slight pressure on the indents above the bone, do you feel that?”

I jump a little. “Yes Sir.” I manage to reply, frankly I’m surprised I can respond at all I’m so hot. The throb between my legs is unbearable.

“Your legs are wide, you are open wide for me, you’re so responsive, you’re so fucking wet.” I hear him moan but I jolt at this a sharp reminder of this afternoon, the exact words Daniel used but maybe I’m over sensitive, pretty standard words in this type of situation I’m sure.

“Lola?” I’m back with him. “Take my fingers, run them down between your breasts and I want you to take your index finger and sweep it down between your velvet folds. I want you to see how wet you are; how wet you are just for me.” I hear him moan and his breathing is more laboured. It makes me smile but then I gasp as my finger trails through my slick sex. Fuck I’m going to come.

“Hold it Lola! You don’t get to come until I say you can come.” His demanding tone leaves no room for discussion.

What? Really? Luckily my outrage at this new information was only in my head, I don’t want to voice this, I don’t want him to stop.

“My fingers are stroking the depths of you, I want you to sink two fingers inside yourself, can you feel how tight you are? How you grip and squeeze? You’re so greedy.” An audible moan softly escapes my mouth.

I do what he asks, the build-up in me is intense, I start to tremble and my breathing is rapid and shallow. I can’t help but release a deep needful moan. I am panting, waiting for my next instruction, desperate to hear him tell me what to do to take me over the edge.

Nothing, my heart beat is hammering, I have sweat gathered in droplets on my forehead. I crawl up from the sprawled position I had found myself in and grab the phone. I check to see if I still have a connection, looking at the screen I can see the seconds continue to tick and the call that has lasted an excruciatingly delicious thirty minutes continues in silence.

“Sir?” I am more than a little breathless but my imminent climax has retreated.

“Lola?” His steady reply is followed by silence. I am instantly cooled. “Did you come Lola?”

“No Sir.” I can’t hide the frustration in my voice.

“Good.” He laughs lightly. “Be sure you don’t. I want you to remain frustrated. Consider it your punishment.”

“What the . . .” I snap my mouth shut before he interrupts.

“-Something you want to say?” His voice is seductive again as he interrupts me from crying out what would’ve been something more than impolite. I’m fuming but petulantly reply.

“No Sir.”

“Good girl, until tomorrow night.” The line goes dead.

I repeat ‘What the Fuck!’ to myself, safe in the knowledge I won’t be punished this time. I am hot, frustrated and exhausted but even so I can’t bring myself to finish the deed.I am thankful for the small mercy that I receive no more calIs for the remainder of my thirty minutes on duty. Once my time is up, I slump angrily into my plethora of pillows and settle down to a restless night,