Chapter 61
Anton
Ilove having Gen in my home. Obviously, France was incredible—it’s my special place. But these four walls form the basis of my daily life. I feel closer to her here.
We’ve already made good headway on stripping each other bare. I’ve been an open book with her since the beginning; she just didn’t understand what I was showing her.
She saw game-playing.
Gimmicks.
All I showed her was intent.
France was where she finally took me at my word, and this is the next step.
The reason it’s so fucking good with Gen is that there’s an edge and an intimacy. They’re so complementary. The edge makes me crazy, and the intimacy makes me happy.
I’ve had intimacy with every woman I’ve had a serious relationship with. Obviously I have. But I haven’t given myself over to them completely, because I know they don’t get it. They don’t share my predilections, and that’s meant there’s a side of me I’ve always had to tamp down in my relationships.
The second I saw Gen, the very second I laid eyes on her, I had her number.
And one of the reasons I’ve been so intent on drawing that darker side out of her is because I know that the moment a person allows another human to see their whole self, that’s when they start to see themselves as a fully rounded human whose every side deserves to be celebrated. Tended to.
I knew what she needed before she did.
Another reason is that I knew she was the person who could draw that out of me, too. She was the woman who I could unleash my own dark side on. Because I knew she could take it.
We’ve both been fragmenting ourselves. Keeping our true needs veiled while we show a version of ourselves to the world in different ways. In many ways I’ve been more transparent than she has, but I’ve still tried and failed to succeed in three marriages where I’ve subjugated my own needs.
That’s decades of my life.
Gen’s told me she’s struggled too on lovely dates with charming men who leave her cold in bed. She and I have both found channels—Alchemy, Athena—to scratch our itches. But what could be more glorious, more fully human, than to find a mate who embraces and feeds and loves all our facets?
Nothing.
That’s what.
That’s the allure of being with her. I’ve spent the evening in my kitchen, enjoying a wonderful, thought-provoking, entertaining conversation that’s filled my soul with joy.
And now, instead of taking her to bed and making polite, perfunctory love to her, I get to do whatever the fuck I like to her in the knowledge that not only can she take it, but she wants it.
She fucking craves it.
She needs me to tear her apart in that precise way, just as I need her to let me.
And that is what makes her different from any other woman I’ve let into my sanctuary.
‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ I say, rising from my place on the sofa in our living area and kissing her on the cheek.
She smiles up at me. She’s beautiful. Golden.
Relaxed. She has no clue she’s about to be ambushed, but one thing I’ve learnt about my lovely Genevieve is that she adores her Anton Ambushes even more than she adores pretending to be outraged by them.
I run up to my room and stuff my pockets with the treats I’ll need, all of which I’ve stocked up on especially for her.
She’s lounging on the sofa when I get back, the picture of laid-back elegance, one arm still slung over the back of the sofa from where it rested while she was tousling my hair just now. She won’t be laid back in a few minutes. She’ll be screaming my name. Begging me for release.
I stand in front of her, and she looks up at me. I lick my lips. ‘Safe word.’
‘Camellia,’ she says slowly. ‘But…’
‘Stand. And strip.’
Her eyebrows shoot up and her eyes widen. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard me.’ I jerk my head in a get up motion. ‘Do it.’
She looks around the room.
‘No one’s here,’ I tell her. ‘Just us. I’ve put Hades to bed. I’m running out of patience.’
There’s no smile on my face, because that’s all part of the game. The game where I tell her what the fuck to do and she does it because it’s as much of a turn-on for her as it is for me.
I see the very instant she decides to play ball, because that gorgeous face of hers changes. It’s so much more expressive since she’s let me in. A flicker of understanding, of need, crosses it, and I think good girl. Right decision.
She stands slowly. Gracefully. Fully aware of my eyes watching her every move.
She licks her lips. ‘Here?’ she asks.
‘Over by the island,’ I say with studied dismissiveness.
Her only visible response is a little purse of her lips. She turns and leads the way over to the marble behemoth in the centre of my kitchen, and I admire the way her arse moves under the lightweight dress she’s wearing.
Then she’s turning to face me again, and I put my hands in my pockets as I watch the world’s most beautiful woman reach behind and unzip herself.
Her dress falls softly to the floor, and fuck me, her body is lush.
Tits full and heavy, begging for my hands to take their weight.
Nipples standing to attention. We’re both trying not to show our cards, and we’re both doing a terrible job of it.
I step forward and cup her tits reverently, my thumbs strumming over her nipples.
But my eyes are on her face as she tugs her lower lip between her teeth.
‘If you please me, I’ll make you come so hard,’ I whisper. ‘Got it?’
She nods, and her breathy yes goes straight to my dick.
‘Thong off,’ I tell her, and she hooks her thumbs through it and pulls it down so she’s standing completely naked in the middle of my dimly lit kitchen.
‘I’m going to blindfold you.’ I finger the silk tie in my pocket as I await any pushback from her.
‘Okay,’ she says, and looks me straight in the eye. Her expression is one of relief. As if she finds solace in knowing that I’m always a step ahead of her in anticipating her needs. I tie the blue tie around her head and step back to admire my handiwork, my nostrils flaring at the sight of her.
She’s not the sophisticated, assured businesswoman whose conversation I find so stimulating.
For the next hour or so, she’s my whore, to do with as I please.
To use, and push, and delight in.
‘You are everything,’ I tell her. ‘Now, get on your knees and suck it.’