Chapter 10

Heidi

Everything had led up to this. As my gaze took in what was in store for me tonight, I licked my lips.

The fear that had been simmering beneath my skin this whole time had converted into apprehension, and now excitement. Although there was still a little nervous twinge in there too. I’d never done anything like this before.

But there was no time for thought now.

“Here,” Charles said, his low voice emanating from between his pouty lips. “Let me help you with that.”

Before I knew what was happening, his fingers clasped my zipper. When I tried swallowing, it was no use. Even my saliva knew what was happening next and was slick with desire.

Charles walked me a few paces closer to the bed, his hand pressed against my chest. Leaning in, he tugged the zipper all the way down. It snagged a little at the base.

Then the two halves of my dress parted and dropped to the floor easily.

An approving rumble came out of Charles.

“And here I thought you had disobeyed me,” he said, one fingertip tracing the dappled edge of my red bralette. Stopping on the strap, he slipped it down.

As the strap fell down my shoulder, my desire ratcheted up. But when my lips dipped to his, he stopped them with the flat of his hand.

“I told you,” he said, his eyes glittering. “Not yet.”

Down came the other bra strap. Waves of desire were crashing in the banks of Charles’s blue irises. I was clutched by the bizarre desire to kiss them, to drink them, to swathe them with my own desire.

But now my bralette was being ripped right off. The fabric actually tore!

My protest curdled in my throat as he shoved me onto the bed. Truthfully, I wanted to do this. Didn’t I?

Ever since he’d walked through that metal door and into our photo shoot, before anyone else had seen who he was, I had seen. I had known. And with every fiber of my being, I had wanted him, wanted this. I’d dreamed of it, touched myself to it, and now as his hands swooped to their next victim, my panties, I was getting exactly what I had asked for.

My matching red lace G-string fared better than my bralette. It was snapped off and away in one impatient grab. I didn’t know where it ended up, but I did know where I ended up: belly down on the bed, ass up. One of Charles’s hands caressed my tits while the other one enjoyed my ass cheeks.

“You want it,” he murmured into the back of my neck, “don’t you?”

Before I could even think about what he meant, the snap against my ass made his question clear. The smack of the leather pained pleasure through me, from my ass to the mound between my legs that was swelling with every passing second.

“Don’t you?” his cruel voice asked again, repeating the gesture.

This slammed my unwilling answer out of my lips: “No. Yes.”

One of the words was a lie, but Charles knew that already. Chuckling darkly, he slipped his fingers through my hair and pulled my head back.

With his other hand, he dipped a finger into my now-sopping pussy and asked, “Which one is it?”

His skillful finger didn’t wait for my reply. It pumped and pumped and pumped me, sending thrills of pleasure throttling every which way. Oh fuck.

Once he got me writhing, Charles stopped with no warning. He went from being everywhere to nowhere. I was alone on the bed, alone with a pussy burning for more touch, for the release it so desperately needed.

I twisted my head back to protest, but the light snapped off. Then Charles was once again on top of me, pinning me down, his hand on my neck and his warm, merciless growl in my ear. “Which one is it?”

He pinched one nipple and then the other. He bobbed his finger in my pussy, just once. And then came the riding crop. He danced it over my back lightly in ticklish flicks. When he inserted it between my ass cheeks, I shoved up my ass with my answer: “More.”

Half a second later, the black leather snapped down on my lower ass cheek victoriously.

Thwup!

As my body trembled with joy, Charles slunk his hand over my head.

“I knew you’d like it, you filthy slut.”

As his fingers played with my pussy lips, his other hand dragged the crop from cheek to cheek, teasing me until I said the magic word, the word I could barely remember now that everything was pure sensation: “More.”

It was choked out, desperate, half whine and half plea.

And yet, Charles understood.

Thwup!

At the same time, he shoved a vibrator against my clit. The trembling riddled my very core. Oh. My. God.

The vibrator drilling my pleasure into me deeper combined with the aftershocks of the riding crop had me practically panting.

Not to mention that as he pressed and rolled the vibrator around the nub of my clit, Charles danced his fingers into me. One and then two. And then three. All stroking, all intensifying the nerve-frying pleasure that had me stapled to the bed, spread-eagled, gargling like some inhuman wretch.

I wasn’t on the edge; my whole body was dangling off it, one finger holding on for dear life. Part of me was afraid of letting this release fully take hold, but I hoisted my pussy forward onto the vibrator, onto his fingers. The nonsensical syllables spilling out of me fused into one note of wailing request.

Just when I was one finger pump away from coming, Charles took it all away: the vibrator, his fingers. My release died as quickly as it had been set upon me.

“No,” was all my grieving body could think to bleat.

Again that painstaking head pat.

“You’ll come when I want you to.”

The next second, he was inside me, piercing me from behind, ramming my face into the pillows and jamming my pussy was such vigor, I didn’t think I could take it. Sensation this big, thrusts this pitiless, seemed like they could only break me.

My moans were shadows of their former selves, almost mechanical, because my body was practically all fucked out. It was flooded with pleasure, swollen with longing. Thoughts were a thing long of the past. All that had been left by Charles’s merciless stoking of my edge was this, this one overarching, all-consuming need.

“More,” I croaked, more out of memory than anything.

Charles twisted himself out of me, flung me around, and grabbed both my legs. He lifted my pelvis to him so my feet were on his shoulders, my legs resting against his taut chest. He drilled me with everything he had, so fast and hard that my head slammed into the wooden backboard of the bed. The dull ache it produced registered only as a minor annoyance.

Everything was sensation now, rhythm, on and on, deep and deeper. We swirled our hips together, adjusting the angle every few slaps. Our bodies were smeared all over each other. Groans oozed out of my mouth. The odd pleased grunt came out of Charles’s.

One of my eyes peeked open. In the almost pitch darkness, I could still make out the trace of his jubilant smile, the absolute fervor in his sapphire eyes.

And then my body shut down. My eyes closed. My breath left me. And as Charles pumped me with his joyous river, I came.

Orgasm was too weak a word for it. Release was an absolute laugh. This was nothing short of life-altering, expectation-shattering, heaven on earth if there ever was one.

Everything suddenly made sense to me. Dreaming about Charles for so many years, then finally running into him in London. All of it was for me, here, now, this. This perfection of an orgasm incarnate.

We fell apart. I might’ve been crying. I might’ve been doing a lot of things. All I knew was that he was cradling me in his arms and whispering things to me I would be able to hear eventually.

The first that made its way through the pleasure screen was: “How did I find you?”

“At the popsicle shoot, of course,” I answered vaguely.

I wasn’t sure why he chuckled at that, but he did.

Gradually, our kisses and words died down. It occurred to me that it was past time to go. When I extricated myself from his arms and got off the bed, Charles took a long, relishing look at me before he asked, “Going so soon?”

“You know we both have places to be,” I reminded him.

His full lower lip quirked into a half smile as he rose.

“Right you are. We can leave separately as we did last time.”

I nodded, picking up my dress.

“But first, one thing,” he said as he caught me by the wrist.

Over my shoulder, his smile was actually electrifying.

“I have to see you again.”

The demand riddled in his words set up a trail of goose bumps snaking down my arm.

I replied with the tamest words my lips could form: “I’d like that.”