Chapter 30
Jude
I open the door in my suit trousers and shirt.
Sleeves rolled up, forearms on full view.
No socks or shoes. For some unknown reason, the sight of my naked feet and forearms seem to send Emma Lincoln into a full-blown swoon.
Those turquoise eyes darken to a beautiful teal colour, her pupils getting larger by the second.
We’ve been at this for weeks, and my craving for her is getting stronger not weaker, which is the total opposite of what normally happens.
“Lincoln. Glad you could make it.” I pointedly look at the watch on my wrist, my eyebrows going up towards my hair line, a sinister grin on my face. I deliberately use my CEO face and voice. It makes grown men cry in the boardroom on a regular basis.
“I’m not late,” she warbles out, trying to look at her own watch.
“Two minutes, by my incredibly accurate watch.” I’m shaking my head at her. “Oh dear, what shall we do with you?” My grin gets wider as I reach out and pull her in.
“I saw this and thought it would look lovely on the dining table.” She shyly hands over a beautiful blue vase. She’s been to my home a few times now, and I know she loves the place. And I like that she likes it here. Because I like her here. She fits.
I smile and accept her gift. Obviously I, and this house, was on her mind whilst out shopping. I love it, and my heart warms even more knowing she’s thinking of me in the day, even when I’m not with her.
“Yes, that fits perfectly with all my goodies.” I place the vase down in the center of the table, where I’ve already placed a few sandwiches she likes.
I love to cook, or just prepare food in general, so I have found the perfect sandwich for her.
Mozzarella, Palma ham, sundried tomatoes, and pesto.
On sourdough bread. Her eyes dilate at the sandwich.
I know I’m onto a winner. I haven’t told her I make all the bread myself. I’m not sure why. I mentally shrug.
Maybe because it doesn’t do to give all your secrets up too early, good or bad.
Two wine glasses with some crisp white wine await us. But off to the side, I have my dessert buffet. I’ve even added a table nameplate stating “Desserts” and placed a small black riding crop with a wide leather end and a paddle on a silver platter.
Her eyes land on this and her mouth pops open. Oh My God, I could spend my life putting that expression on her face.
She can’t decide which to look at first. The sandwiches or the dessert. My grin is pure devilry.
“Please sit. Your lunch awaits.” I point to the sandwiches and wine, adding soda water and ice to the wine. “Can’t have you drunk at work this afternoon. Not on wine anyway.” My smirk is pure theatre.
She gulps as she slips off her coat. And now it’s my turn to still.
Her dress is fitted, zipping up in the back.
Capped sleeves showcase her toned arms, but the square cut of the top enhances those tits.
And they are fucking magnificent. I could wake every morning to them.
Large, way more than a handful, firm. Nipples that stand out, darker brown highlighting my way on her creamy skin. I can’t take my eyes off her.
She smirks, sitting and crossing her legs, her ankles so slim. She drops her shoe off one foot and points her toes. I’m like a rabbit in the headlights. My eyes trace from her toes up her legs. I can see the stocking tops, the garter belt I know is hiding from my sight. But not for fucking long.
“Well, Lincoln, better eat up. You might need your strength for this afternoon's activities.”
I keep my face blank. I know she is trying to rile me up. And she is managing it. But I need to stop showing her everything, keep her guessing.
Her face clouds over at my bland tone, at my poker face. And I’m laughing on the inside. She needs to listen to my podcast more often. Rule number five—keep ‘em guessing.
I busy myself with sorting her food out. “So tell me about your day.” Lavishing small caresses here and there, she stills every time I touch her. I notice her breathing has picked up, too.
Her eyes keep flicking to the crop and paddle, waiting banally on the table top. I’ve not mentioned them yet. Made no disclosures as to why they are there, other than my text to get her to come over. I’ve totally ignored them.
I top her wine up as she finishes up her sandwiches. I’d already eaten, and told her so. Described my day. Listened and laughed about hers. She looks at her watch. It’s 1:25, and nothing has been said about anything else.
“I need to get back. Could you call the car? I’ve got a meeting back at the office.” She stands and starts to twist and turn to pick up her coat.
I reach out and stop her. “I’ve seen your diary. I know what time you’re due back. We’ve matters to discuss first.” I stand and trap her against the table. Her eyes are wide on my deadpan face.
“Is there something wrong, Jude?” She’s trying to gauge my look. She won’t be successful.
“Not if you agree that you have been very naughty by being late. And deserve to be punished for it.” I might as well be asking her if she wants a drink of tea. Matter of fact. Calm. Absolutely zero outward appearance of the excitement I’m reining in over what I have planned for her.
Her laugh turns into a cough as I pick up the paddle, slapping it against my palm. It’s a hard material, but has a leather cover, and it makes a great noise. Her eyes are starting to bulge in panic, but I blatantly check out her tits. Yep. Those nipples know how to party.
“I was only a minute.” She’s trying to sound scared, but she can hardly get the words out for panting.
“Minute schminute.” I pick up the crop in my other hand. Slapping it onto her decolletage. Tapping at her lower and lower. Flicking at one protruding nipple then the other.
“Lose the dress.” My voice has hardened, along with my cock. It’s pushing at the zipper of my suit trousers.
She glances down, and, oh yeah, her eyes go black.
She spins around so I can undo the zipper…
and my fucking heart stops beating as the black satin corset comes into view.
It hardly contains her tits. The suspenders hang from it, with the skimpiest of knickers I have ever seen.
Lace-top stockings complete the outfit. The woman is a goddess.
The corset cinches her waist in, accentuating every delectable curve of her figure.
I can’t wait. I pull at the top and release her glorious tits. Fuck. I need to keep it together, otherwise I am going to come before I get near her.
Tapping at her tits with the crop, she’s panting and moaning. Top, side, nipple, flicking one then the other. “Shall I make you come from this alone?” She groans out, the sound radiating from the bottom of her soul. “Lose the knickers,” I rasp.
She wriggles out of them, handing them over, and I bring them to my nose and inhale. I watch her convulse in pleasure. Oh yeah, every time something new for her to be shocked at.
“Widen.” I tap at her thighs with the crop, moving it nearer her pussy. I can really see the panic now. I’ve only ever spanked her, and just with my palm. This is moving up a level for her.
Bringing the crop back, I get into a rhythm—tapping, flicking, sucking and nipping at her. She’s completely engrossed in what I’m doing, and when I swing the paddle gently underneath her pussy, she squawks.
“Jude!” She’s all breathy, and if it was supposed to be a warning, it sounds the total opposite. It’s her body calling mine.
I stroke at her with my fingers. She is soaking. Squirming around, trying to get even closer.
“Shh. Lay back on the table. I had my lunch, but not my dessert. You, baby, are it. You are fucking delicious. I intend to be full until at least dinner time.”
I support her as she leans back and lays on the table.
Propping her legs on chairs, I stand between her thighs.
“I’m using this on your pussy.” I hold up the paddle.
“And I’m using this”—I hold up the crop—“on your tits.” Her breathing is off the charts.
It’s as if she’s sprinted here from South Wharf.
“Then I am going to lick you until you are begging me for mercy. And promise not to be late again.” I grin at her.
She knows she wasn’t late. I don’t care. She’s here for it now.
The mixture of sound and taste, combined with the mingling aromas of wine and her essence, has my senses on overload. She comes on my tongue, screaming, hanging onto the table edge as if it’s about to set off to the moon.
Dropping my trousers, I growl out, “No condoms, as agreed.”
It’s a statement, not a question. We discussed it a few weeks ago.
All the tests have been done. We’re exclusive, and she’s on birth control.
I want to be inside her with no barriers.
I think she thought our first time would be in a bed, but not a fucking chance.
All her previous experiences with Nigel had been dull and boring, every bit of sex had been in a bed.
He’d made her think she was not very exciting, that the sex was not very exciting.
But he was an idiot. Everything about her is pure sex.
She’s off the charts hot, and I want to show her how scorching she truly is.
“Yes, no condoms,” she breathes out.
And with her agreement, I can hardly contain myself. I thrust in, firmly but gently. Going slow, feeling every incredible tremble and shudder, fondling her tits as she comes down from her orgasm.
But that only lasts so long, as I start to move and build her back up quickly.
Her clit has all my attention. My cock hitting her deep inside, she’s back to screaming and hanging onto the table as I drop all the facades and fuck her like it’s my life’s purpose.
Sweat is dripping from me as I’m battering into her.
She’s pushing and thrusting at me just as intensely.
“Fuck, Lincoln. Yes. Come for me, Emma. I can feel your pussy wants this.”
Her cry is a siren’s song, and I am lost. She comes and I follow. The explosion from my balls feels unearthly as I pump myself into her again and again.
Gathering her up. I pull her to my chest. Her hair is sweaty as I lift it from the back of her neck. “Fuck, yes,” I croon at her. “I love this, here with you. It’s fucking amazing. So beautiful, my beautiful Emma.”
She starts to sob. “Ohhh, no. Don’t cry. Are they good tears?” To be honest, I’m not sure. She gets very emotional after sex, and I have to be careful about what I say.
“Yesss,” she gulps out. “I love you, Jude Greystone.”
My breath stutters in my chest. My name on her lips is enough to trap the air. For her to say she loves me… Well, I can hardly speak.
I hold her. Not saying anything. Just hold her harder as she sobs into my chest. What the fuck? Am I ready to say that? Do I love her?
I smile and hold her away from me as she tries to hide in her hair.
“Hey, look at me, Emma Lincoln.” She turns those beautiful turquoise eyes on me.
And I melt. “Are you hiding because you love me?” She shakes her head, but looks down.
“Are you embarrassed about loving me?” I gentle my smile at her, keeping my voice low and slow.
“I hope you’re not, because I love you. I want you to be with me.
I fucking love you, woman. I love your kids.
I love your family.” Her head is lifting higher and higher, her eyes wider and wider.
“I’m glad you love me. Because I love you, baby. ”