“And so do you.”
“Exactly. And you, X, I know you can deliver. Youareperfect, or very nearly, at least.” A smile now, blazing and brilliant and blinding, excruciatingly beautiful, meant to soothe. A finger touches my lips and then traces favorite locations on my anatomy: lips, throat, breasts, hips. “Roll over.”
I move to my stomach.
“On your knees.”
I draw my knees beneath my stomach.
“Give me your hands.”
I reach back with both hands, and my wrists are pinioned in one large, brutally powerful hand. My shoulder blades touch each other as my arms are drawn together, and my face is pressed into the mattress. I swallow hard, brace, breathe.
Oh, the ache, the fierce throb as I’m penetrated. I’m rocked forward and my shoulders twinge and the grip on my wrists holds me in place.
I have no choice but to feel the burgeoning blaze, no choice but let it push through me and make me breathless, and I want to cry, want to cry, want to cry.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
I let myself go when I’m told to do so: “Come for me, X.”
And then it’s over, and I’m turned to lie on my back, gasping, and whispers bathe over me. “So good, X. So beautiful.” A finger to my chin, lifting my gaze. “Did you enjoy that?”
“Yes.” It’s not a lie. Not entirely, at least.
Physically, I am rocked to trembling. Physically, aftershocks still seize me and touch makes me shiver and I am breathless. Physically, yes, I enjoyed it. I cannot help but enjoy it.
Yet... there is a space within me, a deep, deep, deep well where truths I do not even dare think live hidden and always buried. Down there, where those truths reside, I know I crave... absolution, freedom, a breath taken in privacy, a word spoken without ulterior motive.
But I cannot let those thoughts bubble up. Cannot, and do not. I am a master of self-control, after all. I could hold off orgasm indefinitely. I could go without breathing until told to breathe or pass out. I could remain sitting motionless for hours, until told to move. I know I can do these things, because I have. I learned total control in the harshest of schools.
And so it is child’s play to let my body drape loosely in the guise of intimacy on a hard, taut, muscular body until a chime from discarded slacks demands attention.
“I have to take this.” A pause, a breath, a tap of finger on a cell phone screen. “This is Caleb. Yes. Yes. Sure, give me twenty minutes. Of course. No, don’t let him in until I get there.”
A kiss to my temple, a finger tracing my body from shoulder to hip to foot. “I have to go.”
“All right.” I don’t ask when to expect a return, because I don’t want to know, and because I wouldn’t get an answer.
“Will you miss me?”
“Of course.” This is a lie, and we both know it.
“Good. Your next client is in two hours, so you have time to shower, dress, and prepare. His name is William Colin Drake, and he’s the heir to a technology development company worth fifty billion. Usual terms and conditions apply. The file on William will arrive in the usual manner.”
“Should I expect as much trouble with William as with Jonathan?”
A quirk of a smile, amusement. “No, I should think not. William is a much different animal, from what I’ve observed.” A pause, and a speculative glance at me. “But, X?”
“Yes, Caleb?”
“Watch yourself with William. He’s got a mean streak.”
“Thank you for the warning.”
“He needs to learn to control it, so you’ll have to draw it out of him and make him aware of it. But be careful.”
