CHAPTER NINE
I can feel my pulse pounding in my skull as I make my way to Lucian's front door. Without even seeing him, my hormones are on overdrive. All I can think about is what we did last night, the feeling of having him inside of me. My nerves have never been this on edge from meeting with a client before. He's not just a client to me though. He's something else. And I don't know what that something else is.
When he opens the door, all the air leaves my lungs in a woosh. My clit pulses with desire as I soak him in, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and expensive sneakers with a towel draped over his shoulders. It looks like he just finished running or working out. His muscles are popping, and the fine sheen covering his body makes me focus on how cut he actually is. It also makes the V pointing towards his dick look that much more delicious. I want to run my tongue down it, to taste his skin. It's a sick thought, one I normally wouldn't have. He's just too damn irresistible though.
“Are you going to stare at me all night, or would you like to come in?” He steps aside, giving me a panty melting grin.
It's starting to feel like my jaw is broken. The shock value of everything that's happened lately isn't lost on me, and I can't believe how clearly arrogant he is. I didn't think I was being that obvious, but apparently I was.
“Thanks,” I mumble as I step past him and am instantly assaulted by the smell of something savory coming from the kitchen.
He closes the door behind us. “I'm running a bit behind, trying to get everything done at once, but I managed to whip us up some dinner.”
“Dinner,” the word sounds foreign. “Doctor Reddick,” I turn back to him, “I'm here on business. You wanted to go over some of the furniture selections I made for you.”
He places his hand on the small of my back to urge me towards the dining room. The gentle touch feels electric as my body processes it irrationally. He's touching you. You like this, yes. You want more of it.
“Nothing good comes from working on an empty stomach, and I'm very hungry.” He ignores me, leading me to the table and pulling a chair out for me to sit.
Not knowing what else to do, I take my seat and wait for him to serve me. He picks up the plate in front of me, along with the one at the head of the table, and disappears into the kitchen. I'm left staring down at the worn wooden tabletop, thinking of the dining room table I picked to replace it, wondering if it's too plain. This one looks like it was expensive in its day, with intricate carving along the sides and legs. The one I selected is far more modern, sleek and angular. The only artistic aspect is cracked glass insets. I hope he likes it. Maybe he hates it. There's really no way of knowing until I ask.
He returns shortly with a bowl of salad in one hand and one plate in the other while the second plate is balanced on his forearm as if he's done it a hundred times before.
“Were you a waiter in a past life?” I ask as he sets the salad down before grabbing the plate on his forearm and placing it in front of me.
“I was a waiter in this life, a long time ago.” He rounds the table to sit diagonally from me.
The meal laid before me looks super healthy. Baked salmon with some kind of green sauce on it and spears of asparagus next to it with cherry tomatoes and garlic. No carbohydrates.
“Damn, I forgot plates for the salad.” He starts to get up.
“Don't worry about it. I can make room for it on this plate.”
Lucian smiles at me politely before sitting back down. He nudges the asparagus aside on his plate and grabs the tongs to portion out some salad onto the empty space. Then he offers the salad bowl to me. I take it gingerly, mirroring what he did, not wanting to look like an idiot.
“You didn't have to cook for me,” I say shyly.
“I didn't. I cooked for me. You just happened to be coming over around dinner time, and I didn't want to eat in front of you.”
His blunt reply puts things into perspective, and I have to fight to keep a frown from taking over my face. This isn't a sweet date. He didn't cook for me because he wanted us to share this meal together. He only did it because it would have been rude not to.
I take a bite of the fish, even though my appetite has receded. It's surprisingly good, flaky and buttery-tasting. Then again, I'm not sure why I'm so surprised. His breakfast was amazing, and he does have a gargantuan kitchen, which suggests that he enjoys cooking.
“This is a big house for just you,” I try to make conversation.
“It is,” he replies absentmindedly.
“To be honest, when I came for the initial consultation, I was sure that you'd be married and have kids.”
His gaze is piercing, as if I just struck a nerve. He grunts, and we fall into silence for several seconds while I try to decode the meaning of his reaction. Either he's offended that I suggested he's married, or he really is married, and he just doesn't want to talk about it. Now, I desperately want to know which one it is, but I know better than to press the subject. I need to tread carefully—to keep him happy so that he'll want to continue working with me.
“Derrick wanted to come, but my boss said that you specifically requested to work with me.”
“I did.”
I'm starting to get the feeling that I should just keep my mouth shut and eat, but I can't. The silence will drive me nuts. “So, tell me more about this house. It's absolutely gorgeous.” My eyes float up to the chandelier hanging overhead.
“I think I already told you it was my parents' house.”
“You did.”
“That's all there is to know.” His expression is completely disinterested.
“Did you always live here? I mean, did they give it to you after you graduated from college?”
“I'm not sure if I like the dining room table you picked out. I'd like some more options. Nicer chairs. I'm not fond of the cracked glass insets either. They look...well, broken.”
“Do you at least like the color?” I ask apprehensively. The mood seems to have shifted. Maybe this will be a professional meeting after all.
He nods. “The black looks fine. It's not what I expected you to choose, but I'm okay with it.
“I assume there's certain furniture stores your company shops at. I'd like to look at the furniture with you, help pick it out, physically go to the stores and make sure it's to my liking before we place the order.”
“Certainly.” I scratch my ear. “My boss told me you wanted to be more involved. What made you change your mind?”
He stops eating to stare at me for a moment, his jaw set. The contemplation on his face sends a shiver racing down my spine. “Something piqued my interest.”
He continues eating, and I suddenly feel full. Curiosity and emotion swirl in my stomach from his cryptic words. There was a strange sensuality behind them, yet he didn't sound sensual at all. Perhaps I'm just reading him wrong. Maybe I'm hoping for too much. I want to ask what he meant, but I'm afraid of the answer—afraid that he's not really interested in me. Though that's what I should want, the very thought hurts.
“The food is delicious,” I tell him as I rearrange things on my plate. I'm blushing, and I don't even know why.
“Cooking has always been a passion of mine. I would have been a chef, but it doesn't pay nearly as well as being a surgeon.” His eyes widen for effect.
“I can imagine.” I smirk. “Unless you're Gordon Ramsey, or someone like that.”
“Men like Gordon Ramsey are few and far between.” His lips crack into a smile, and I feel an overwhelming sense of joy that I amused him.
“So are brilliant plastic surgeons.”
I expect him to respond, but he doesn't. He simply continues smiling between bites until the moment passes, and we fall into silence. For some reason, it doesn't bother me as much now. My appetite, though still small, returns enough to help me finish off the meal.
When we're done eating, he takes our plates back to the kitchen, and I pull out my tablet and boot it up to start going over my furniture selections with him. He returns shortly, pulling his chair around to sit beside me. The closeness makes my heart flutter, even though it's completely nonsexual. Just knowing he's half-naked and near me does things to me—things my body isn't used to experiencing from being in close proximity to a man. What I'm feeling is more than physical attraction though. There are too many amazing things about him. His confidence, his tenacity, his kindness, his way with words. Everything about him draws me closer, like a moth to a flame. And even though I know I shouldn't want to get closer, even though I know I'll get burned, some subconscious part of me doesn't care.
We spend the next thirty minutes interacting professionally, which feels completely foreign to me. It turns out that Lucian likes most of the stuff I picked out, but he still wants more options. He doesn't like not being able to touch the furniture and see it in person before committing to a purchase. I can understand that in regard to sofas and beds. In fact, it's a rather common concern. It's just interesting that he wants his hands in all things.
“Having you be physically present to approve every piece of furniture is going to make this process take a lot longer,” I tell him gently.
“It's my money.” His lips pull into a strained grin, and I cower a little.
“I'm just letting you know.”
“I'm well aware.” Now, I'm just annoying him. It's written all over his face.
“Well,” I take a deep breath, “I think that's about it. If you can send me your schedule and let me know when it will be convenient for you to go look at furniture, that would be great. I'll send you a few more selections for each room that I've got so far. You can let me know what you like, and we'll go from there.”
“Sounds good. I did notice, however, that you haven't picked out anything for my bedroom yet.” He watches me shut down my tablet and shove it into my purse.
“I'm waiting for Derrick to put together the digital blueprint of your bedroom.”
“Why is that necessary?”
The question catches me off guard, and I hesitate a little. “I suppose it's not.”
“Good, because I'd really like to work on that room first.” He gives me a serious look, as if doing anything other than what he wants is not optional.
“Alright,” I draw out the word before quickly recovering and reaching into my purse for my camera. “I came prepared.” I hold up the camera like it will magically save the day. “Let's go snap some pictures of your bedroom, and I can get working on it first thing in the morning.”
“Sounds good.” He nods before standing up and leading the way.
My eyes play over the muscles of his back. It's like he's carved out of stone. He's so perfect, all the way down to the dimples just above his ass. Mmm his ass. I just want to grab it.
When we get to his bedroom, I make sure I raise my gaze before he catches me staring. Then my attention immediately shifts to the space, and I start taking pictures. As with the rest of the house, there are too many pieces of furniture and quite a bit of clutter. Aside from the obvious, though, one of the first things I notice is that all the picture frames on his dresser and bedside tables have been placed glass-side-down. Whatever is beneath them, he doesn't want me to see, which only makes me that much more curious. Even though it's a bit unsettling, I decide that some things are better left unknown. If our relationship, in whatever context, ever gets to a point where he wants to share, he will. I have to believe that and not pressure him.
I'm snapping the last few pictures when he walks up behind me and places his hands on my shoulders. It takes me a minute to realize he's pulling off my sweater. Once I'm aware of that, I quickly turn around, moving out of his grasp.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even though I'm already fairly certain of his intentions.
His blue eyes are dark, a telling sign that I'm right. “I was just making you more comfortable.”
“I am comfortable, Doctor Reddick.” I pull the sweater back up.
“Is that so?” He takes a step forward, towering over me, a picture of sexy, intimidating masculinity.
I don't back down. “It is so. I'm almost done here, then I can leave you alone to enjoy the rest of your night.”
“I can think of a few ways to enjoy the rest of my night, and none of them involve you leaving.” He reaches up to caress my cheek, and electric waves zip through me, turning on every nerve that has anything to do with my arousal. The room suddenly feels ten degrees hotter, and I feel oh so weak.
You can't do this. You promised Derrick that you'd keep things professional from here on out. I know you want to give in, but if you do, things will only get worse. You'll be more emotionally screwed up than you already are. Maybe you'll even cry again.
That last thought makes me grab his hand to push it away, but the minute I do, he's sliding his other hand into my hair and drawing me to him for a kiss that steals all of my breath and resolve. Soft lips. Perfect lips.
His tongue seeks entry into my mouth, and I allow it almost reflexively. He holds me against his rock-hard body as we kiss. I close my eyes and enjoy the ride, allowing him to lead. My heart pounds as I realize that I've opened Pandora's box. Backing out now would be offensive. And in truth, I don't want to. I want a do-over from last night—a chance to redeem myself.
Aggressively, he pulls my sweater over my shoulders. This time, I don't resist. I drop my arms to my sides and help him take it off the rest of the way.
His eyes bore into mine, so intense that I feel a tingling of submission inside as he backs me up against the bed. By the time my butt hits it, he's already working to get my shirt over my head. The second that my skin is exposed, his lips are on my collarbone. I crane my neck to the side and moan from the soft feel of his kiss coupled with the roughness of his hands as they wrap around my waist and draw me to him again. My pliable body seems to mold against his wall of muscle. I still feel embarrassed for being so fluffy, but if it bothered him any, we wouldn't be doing the things we are now.
He places a line of kisses around the front of my neck before finding the zipper of my skirt and pulling it down. It amazes me how his hands seemed to hone in on it, as if he's very experienced at taking off every manner of women's clothing. He probably is, I think with a frown. After all, he does work at Flesh on the weekends. Beyond that though, I'm sure that he sleeps with a lot of women. The thought makes my arousal wane, but I quickly try to push it away. Nothing good ever came from over-thinking things like this, especially when my goal is redemption.
As my skirt falls to my ankles, Lucian grabs two fistfuls of my ass and hoists me up onto the bed, then he presses his body between my legs to kiss me again. I dare to touch him, sliding my hands over his shoulders to drape them around his neck. Touching him adds a whole other level to my arousal. I've never been brave enough to do it before, though he's certainly done a lot of touching on me.
His hands curl around my pantyhose, and he begins to remove them slowly. When he moves back to pull them over my hips and down my legs, I catch a glimpse of the tent in his pants. He must not be wearing any underwear, because I can see the outline of his cock perfectly. Shaft, glans, and all. So thick and ready for me.
“Get up further on the bed,” he instructs once my shoes and hose are off.
I scoot back, being mindful of my injured ankle. The last thing I want to do is make it worse.
I expect him to toss my hose onto the floor, as he's done with my other clothes, but instead, he wads them up in his fist and crawls up onto the bed beside me. He moves over me like a predator, his gorgeous eyes looking almost dangerous. It makes me feel oh so horny.
“Give me your wrists,” he demands.
When he sits up beside me and begins straightening out my hose, I know his game. At this point, I'm pretty sure he's the MacGyver of restraints. If I wasn't wearing hose, he probably would have pulled the tie string out of his pants to bind my wrists. It's a bit disturbing that he can't seem to enjoy having sex without tying me up first, but I decide to go with it. He is a Dom, after all, and I'm sure his kinks run deep.
This time, he isn't anywhere near as gentle with restraining me. In fact, it would take great effort for me to wiggle free, which is worrisome. As he loops and knots the hose around my wrists, his eyes occasionally dart to my face, and I can't help but wonder if he's gauging my level of discomfort from being bound so tightly. Even though it makes me a bit nervous, I decide to trust him. He's not really a stranger to me anymore. I don't think he'd actually hurt me.
“Lie down and put your hands over your head.”
I do as I'm told, watching his every move. This time feels different than last night, somehow. It's like we're back at Flesh. I'm completely submissive, putting my pleasure in his hands. Thoughts of work and how this will affect the project are on the back burner as I focus on enjoying my time with him. I feel addicted, and in this moment, nothing else matters other than seeing what he'll do next.
Lucian leans over and pulls open the bedside table drawer. He extracts a blindfold very similar to the one he used on me at Flesh. I wonder if he's drawing on the familiarity to keep me calm. That's probably thinking too far into it though.
So many thoughts are going through my mind as I watch him straighten out the strings on the back of the blindfold. I can distinctly remember feeling the loss of not being able to see his shirtless body the last time I had a blindfold on. Back then, I had never expected to see him again. This is the third time I've seen him shirtless, and while I'd love to keep looking at him—to drool over his perfect muscular torso—it's not as important as it once was.
There's still the issue of trust, though. Being blindfolded and bound, especially to this degree, makes me incredibly vulnerable. He could do anything he wanted, and I wouldn't be able to stop him. But we've been in this position before, and everything turned out alright. It turned out better than alright. In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed myself.
I allow him to slip the blindfold over my head, though I can't help but feel uncomfortable.
“I can trust you, right?” I ask apprehensively.
He pauses before sliding the blindfold over my eyes. “I don't know. Can you?”
A knot tightens in my chest as I pray to God he's joking. That's not something you say to someone before you blindfold them. As a Dom, he should know better. Part of BDSM is about building trust. He's not doing a very good job right now.
The moment my sight is taken from me, my breathing starts becoming ragged and shallow. My other senses go on high alert, and I feel extra sensitive, to everything.
“I'm not going to hurt you, Amy,” he tells me soothingly, and it does help a little. “We're just going to do a bit of sensation play.”
The first thing I feel is his lips on my chest. My body melts into the comforter below as his gentle kiss lulls me into a sense of security. He moves slowly, with purpose, lingering on each spot, swirling his tongue over my skin. I moan softly, enjoying the feel of his lips as they trail down between my breasts and over my stomach, though I find myself sucking in when he gets to my tummy.
“Stop it.” He taps my stomach. “You're beautiful just the way you are.”
His words flood me with warmth. Does he really think that, or is he just saying it to make me feel better? If it's the later of the two, it has worked.
I try to relax and wait for his next move.
His fingertips play over the swell of my breasts, rubbing back and forth, teasing the soft skin there while he kisses my forehead and then my lips. A chaste kiss, leaving me wanting more. That's what this is all about though. The tease.
He pushes his hands beneath me to unclasp my bra. Then he pulls it all the way off and up until it catches on my bound wrists. I blush as my breasts are exposed, even though I know he's seen them before. It always feels a bit strange being at his mercy like this, knowing that he's looking at my imperfect body. I can never quite get used to it.
His palms press into my flesh, grabbing two handfuls of my breasts, his fingers kneading into me as he squeezes gently. My nipples bead beneath the heat of his hands, which causes me to blush more. Just the simplest touch from him makes arousal pool below, perhaps because I know things are only going to get more intense from here.
I concentrate on my breathing and feeling his fingertips move over me. He traces them across my collarbone, around my breasts, over my ribcage. Then he does it again, diverting from the original path to cover more area. Every time his fingers brush against one of my nipples, I feel a wave of pleasure course from my chest to my clit, making it throb.
On the third pass, his hands explore all the way down to my panties. He grabs the waistband and removes them slowly. I hear a soft thud as he tosses them off of the bed. Then my breath hitches as his thumb digs between my folds to make a few teasing circles around my cleft. I groan and wiggle a little, spreading my thighs for him.
“That's a good girl. Spread them wider. I want to see that pretty pink pussy of yours.”
I obey, bowing my legs so that he can crawl between them. I expect him to touch me right away, but instead, his weight shifts on the bed, and I hear the bedside table drawer open again.
My heartbeat speeds up as I wonder what he's doing. It's the first time I've felt a twinge of fear all night.
This isn't like Flesh. There was no list when I walked into his house where I could write down what I'd allow him to do to me. The ball is in his court, at this point. I have absolutely no clue what he's pulling out of the drawer, and that thought is unsettling. It could be anything.
“What are you doing?” I ask, allowing my internal panicking to get the better of me.
“You'll see.” I can hear the grin in his voice. He knows he's frightening me—driving me crazy. It's annoying that he's getting enjoyment out of it.
I hold my breath as his body weight shifts back onto the bed, waiting with a ball of knots in my stomach for what he's going to do to me. The second I feel something touch my chest, I flinch.
“Calm down, it's just my hand.” He flattens his palm against my chest, giving me a moment to adjust to the sensation.
“I don't like not knowing what you're going to do.”
“If you keep talking, I won't do anything.” His hand withdraws from me, and it seems like the rest of his body has followed. I don't feel the closeness from him that was there before. He's disappointed in me, probably sitting back and just staring at me, wondering if this was a bad idea.
For several moments, the room is silent aside from our breathing. Now I'm panicking for a completely different reason. Did I piss him off? Is he losing interest? I certainly don't want that. But at the same time, I'm just so scared. The fact that I don't completely trust him is shining through like the brightest rays of the sun.
“What do you think I'm going to do to you?” he asks.
The question makes me tense up. “I don't know.”
“Something horrible?” There's a hint of anger in his voice.
“I don't know.” I bite my bottom lip.
“I do horrible things to people.”
The hollowness of his words fill me with dread. He sounds alien—not the same man. Genuine fear wells up inside of me, and I think of every horror movie I've ever seen where a gorgeous, charismatic guy ends up being the killer. This would be the part where he stabs me to death. It just falls in line with everything that the media has taught me to believe. I desperately want to squirm out of my restraints, but I know he's watching me, and I know he'll react. No matter how I look at it, I'm screwed.
“But people enjoy the horrible things I do to them,” he continues, his tone softer this time. “I would never do anything to you that I didn't think you'd enjoy.”
I cry out as I feel something soft touch my chest—something that's not his hand. It takes a few seconds for my brain to process the sensation. I'm so busy concentrating on lowering the rapid beating of my heart, that my body is in delayed response mode.
He trails the object between my breasts, then over my nipples. It tickles more than anything else. Feathery. Light. Soft. Feathers! It's a feather tickler. My body relaxes at the realization, and I internally curse myself for being such a baby, for allowing my mind to turn the sensual situation into a horror movie.
“I'm disappointed that you don't trust me,” he says.
“I'm sorry,” is the only thing I can think of to respond. Even though his reprimanding is gentle, it still causes an emotional flood to shift through me and make my eyes water.
Oh no, this is going to be our first time together all over again. It's the countdown until I start sobbing uncontrollably. He's going to think you're a complete baby if you do. Suck it up, Amy. He can't see you now. If you can just get it under control before he pulls the blindfold off.
I hiccup, and he pauses for a moment. A new fear assaults me—the fear of him catching me crying again. Thankfully, though, he continues what he's doing, dragging the tickler slowly over my skin.
His movements are sensual, and when he drags the tickler across my nipples, it does feel good. If anything, it's more soothing than arousing.
I suck in a breath as the toy makes its way lower and lower. Lucian spreads my pussy lips with his fingers and teases the tickler over my clit. It throbs in response, but not from the toy. More from the thought that he's touching me down there. Then he drags it slowly across my inner thigh, which makes me giggle.
“See, nothing painful about this.”
I can hear the smile in his voice, and it makes me relax even more. I'm safe in his care. Why I didn't realize that before, I don't know. Perhaps because we still don't know each other very well.
The bed shifts again, and I hear a small tapping sound, which makes me think he set the tickler down on the bedside table. Then his weight focuses between my legs. His hands press on my inner thighs, rubbing and massaging them. I moan, the tears beneath my eyes quickly drying.
Disaster averted.
The bed moves beneath me as he repositions himself. I'm honestly not sure what he's doing until I feel a warm breath waft over my pussy lips, sending my nerves on high alert. His mouth is close to my sex. He's going to...
My breathing picks up again as I feel him spreading me with his thumbs. The thought that he's looking at me is embarrassing. A thick digit rubs over my clit softly, teasingly. I bite my tongue to keep from moaning again.
“Do you want me to touch you down here?” he asks.
“Mhm.” I nod.
“Do you want me to taste you down here?”
The question is so crude that I don't think I can force myself to answer it. I wrinkle my nose.
“Is that a no?” He presses harder, sliding his thumb all the way down to my hole and then back up again. Every time he touches my clit, I feel my orgasm building. It won't be long.
“Yes,” I squeak.
“Yes you don't want me to taste you, or yes you do?” He leans in and kisses my clit, which makes my hormones go insane.
“Yes, I do, Sir.”
“Sir,” he parrots, chuckling lightly. “That's a good girl.”
The first flick of his tongue across my clit about sends me over the edge. I dig my nails into the pantyhose to ground myself. It's too soon. I can't come yet. Not yet.
His tongue slicks around my cleft before he sucks my clit up into his mouth. I try my best not to squirm as all of my arousal pools to that one tiny bundle of nerves.
As he sucks on me, he pushes two fingers into my pussy, and I quickly clamp around them. He's not gentle. Not caring about being a tease. The fingers begin to move, probing in and out roughly. Meanwhile, his mouth is all licking and sucking and making my climax rocket to the surface.
I try to hold it back, for as long as I can, but it's no use. The combined sensation of his amazing oral skills and his fingers pumping into me drives me over the edge at staggering speeds. Shamelessly, I cry out loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear as my body floods with pleasure.
“Mmm yeah,” he whispers into me, barely missing a beat. He withdraws his fingers and replaces them with his tongue. His arms wrap around my hips, and he pulls me up into him, burying his face between my legs. It's so hot that I worry I might come all over his face a second time.
“Oh my God,” I breathe, consumed with the feeling of his tongue and mouth devouring me. It's the best thing ever.
He sucks a path back up to my clit, but by that time, I'm too sensitive. I let out a small whimper, and he immediately drops me down onto the bed. His weight shifts again, and I hear the rustling of clothing.
The next thing I feel is his cock slapping against my clit. I can't believe how heavy it feels. Maybe it's because I'm blindfolded and my brain is processing things differently, but it seems like his cock weighs a good ten pounds. It's probably just his arousal pressing it down against me though.
“You're going to be a good girl for me this time, won't you?” his voice is full of lust, and it only makes my engines rev again.
“Yes, Sir.”
“When I put it in you this time, I'm not going to stop. Even if you cry and scream and beg, I'm going to fuck you until I get my fill.”
Holy mother of sexy. My pussy clenches from his words. I want this. I want him to be rough, to do things to me that no man ever has.
I brace myself for the intrusion, but no amount of mental pep talks can prepare me for that intense spreading feeling. He bucks into me with one quick thrust, making me cry out. Good God, he's big. It hurts even worse than it did yesterday, because I'm still sore. He hisses in pleasure, pushing himself as far into me as he can fit.
“Mmm your pussy feels so good. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought you were a virgin yesterday. But you didn't bleed.”
I can't believe he's actually talking about this. It makes my face heat up. I'm not sure if he expects me to respond, but I don't.
He wraps his hands around my hips, pulling me against him, repositioning our bodies. Then he slides all the way out of me slowly before ramming himself in again. My breath hitches from the roughness of it. He seems to like the gasping sounds that I make, because he does it a few more times before he leans over me and begins thrusting.
I close my eyes and grit my teeth until the pain passes, until the lubrication of my body makes him slide in and out of me with ease, and the discomfort melts into pleasure. It's euphoric being with him like this, though it would be far better if I could see him. Again, the blindfold becomes my enemy. I want to look into his amazing blue eyes, want to watch his muscles flex as his body moves on top of mine, want to see his monster cock pumping in and out of me. I like being fucked by him. It makes me so stupidly happy, even if he isn't romantic. He's definitely not romantic. He's something else. Something I've never experienced before. Something entirely different.
After a while, he turns me onto my side, straddling one of my legs and holding the other up against his chest before he enters me again. I feel like a doll, positioned for his pleasure. I don't care though. All that matters is that he keeps fucking me, keeps making me feel like this. Fulfilled in a way I haven't felt in a while, though I can't really explain it.
He lets my leg fall back down, then he hooks both of my legs over his hips and goes to pound town. He picks up the pace, hammering into me, causing delicious pulses at my core that signal another climax is on its way. More than anything, I wish I could wrap my arms around his neck and hold him to me, but I know he wouldn't want that. He wants me to lay beneath him obediently. I have to be good, or he might stop completely. And I definitely don't want him to stop.
His breathing is ragged now. His cock feels amazingly hot. I whimper between clenched teeth as the stretching sensation reverts back to pleasure-pain. He's fucking me raw. Being brutal and selfish and amazing. For as much as I loved having sex with David, the soft way that we made love, there's a part of me that likes this a lot more. It always took me so long to orgasm with David. Sometimes, it didn't even happen. With Lucian, I feel like I'm always on the brink. And I'm about to fall over right...
He stills against me, and the overwhelming pleasure I feel from his cock twitching inside of me makes me come all over his dick. The orgasm is intense. Everything around me goes dark, darker than even being blind, and the world seems to stop moving completely. Lucian curses as he bucks into me a few more times, his cock feeling impossibly big as it spurts its load into me. I can't believe he's coming inside of me, but to be honest, it only turns me on that much more. No man has ever come inside of me before. I've never allowed it to happen. But here, where I feel like I have no control, it seems okay. And oddly enough, it just makes me feel more intimately connected to Lucian. It makes my own orgasm that much better, to know that he's filling me up, that what's happening between us could cause an unbreakable connection.
Baby fever in the middle of sex. What in the hell is wrong with me? I don't know this guy. I definitely don't want to be having his kid. I need to snap out of it.
The second my orgasm subsides, my mind goes into overdrive. The pleasure of our simultaneous climax wanes, and I begin to linger on that baby subject. The birth control I'm on has a ninety-seven percent pregnancy prevention rate, but it would be my luck that I'd be in the three percent.
Lucian pulls out of me, and I feel a sticky stream of wetness trail behind which makes me want to clamp my legs together, though that's probably the wrong reaction. I need to take a shower, pronto.
I try to wiggle free from the pantyhose, but it's no use, so instead, I pull off the blindfold. Lucian already has his dick back in his pants and is crawling off of the bed. Once his feet hit the ground, he helps me sit up and starts working on untying my wrists.
“That was...something else,” I say breathlessly.
“It was good.” He doesn't even look at me as he tugs at the hose until it finally loosens around my wrists, and I'm able to pull free. No doubt, this pair is completely ruined. If it doesn't have runs in it, it's stretched beyond wearability.
I smooth the hose out, looking at Lucian shyly while he picks my clothes up off of the floor and sets them on the bed next to me. It doesn't take a genius to realize that he doesn't want to cuddle.
“So,” I drag the word out, wanting to talk, but not knowing what to say.
He avoids my gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. “I appreciate you coming here today, and I'm looking forward to working with you on the project. If you don't mind, I need to start getting dressed. I have somewhere to be in an hour.”
My mouth falls agape at his dismissal, but I quickly recover, shaking my head as if coming out of a dream. “Oh, sure. That's fine. I guess I'll get dressed, then.”
Getting dressed is the last thing I want to do, putting my underwear back on when I'm still so full of his seed. It seems incredibly rude that he's kicking me out now.
“Your bathroom is...” I grab my clothes and point to the door that obviously leads to the master bathroom.
“Yes.” He nods, then turns away from me to rummage through his chest of drawers.
My eyes fixate on his back for a second before I push myself off of the bed and head into the bathroom. His bathroom is absolutely massive with a jacuzzi tub and a walk-in shower that could easily fit about half a dozen people. If I wasn't in such a hurry to get dressed and leave, I probably would have stood and marveled at it for a while. Everything is expensive and done in marble.
Instead of lingering though, I grab some toilet paper to clean myself off as best I can before putting my underwear back on and shimmying into my skirt and blouse. By the time I leave the bathroom, Lucian is already dressed, wearing black from head to toe, perfectly fitted slacks with a dress shirt and tie. The only sign that he was indecent moments prior is his just-fucked hair. I'm not really sure how it got that way since I wasn't able to run my fingers through it. One of the amazing mysteries of sex.
I expect him to say something, but the whole atmosphere between us is nothing but awkward as he leads me towards the front door. It's the walk of shame. The part where I realize that what we did was just sex to him, and I start breaking down emotionally. I can already feel myself beginning to crumble, the tears stalking below the surface, waiting for a crack in my exterior to come gushing through full force.
“Drive safe,” he tells me as he opens the front door to usher me out.
“Thanks,” I respond, my tone as dead as I feel inside.
Then the door closes, and it's over. I clutch my purse tightly as if it will offer some sort of comfort while I make my way to my car. Sleeping with Lucian was a mistake. Yes, I redeemed myself, but to what purpose. The sex was great, but now...I can't remember the last time I felt so horrible about myself.
I slip into the front seat of my car and simply stare out through the front window for a minute. Tears make their way to the surface and cascade down my face slowly. I feel too numb to break into sobs. The rational part of me says that I never should have expected anything more than this. And what in the hell does he have to do this damn late at night? Is it a date? Does he have an appointment at Flesh?
Flesh.
I start my car and blink away my tears. Why do I keep forgetting about that place? It's because I'm so attracted to him. Pathetically, I try to pretend that he's normal. He's not normal though. Not only is he not normal, but he's definitely fucking other people.
The pictures in his bedroom were turned down. Maybe they were of his girlfriend. Perhaps he didn't want me to know. Maybe he's going to fuck her right after he had sex with me.
The possibilities are maddening. Derrick was right. This was beyond a bad idea. Why did I let myself fall for Lucian?
Because you wanted it. You wanted him to make you feel how you've never felt before.
That thought is almost laughable. While we were having sex, I did feel how I've never felt before, aroused to a level that I didn't even think existed. But now, I also feel like I've never felt before—like a complete slut. Selfish. My body was too greedy, and now my heart is paying the price. Hours from now, maybe even minutes from now, he'll be with another woman. I tried to pretend like it didn't bother me so that I could get what I wanted from him. Now, though, it makes me feel like a horrible person, like a worthless human being.
I can't do this anymore. I can't see him again. Not like this. It sucks that I still have to work with him, but that's all it can be from this point on. If I lose him as a client, there will always be other clients. And if I get fired because I lose him, I'm sure I can find another job.
Trying to force myself to believe that he's something he's not isn't working. It's pointless and damaging. I have to stand my ground from now on. Damn the job. I have to put myself first. No more Lucian Reddick.