Chapter 38
Cal
“Him the Almighty Power hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky, with hideous ruin and combustion, down to bottomless perdition, there to dwell in adamantine chains and penal fire."
—Milton, Paradise Lost
Ihaul myself up her body, dragging my fabric-covered face, my arousal-covered lips, over silk. She looks and smells and tastes expensive, which makes the satisfaction of defiling her and tearing her apart all the sweeter.
I’m oblivious to the people fucking around us, because a single thought is burning through my brain and ringing in my ears.
I.
Need.
To.
Get.
Her.
On.
A.
Fucking.
Bed.
I’m shaking with the need to shoot my load. Inside her. All over her. I don’t fucking care at this point. I’m an animal, my fancy education and usually polished social skills shot to hell in the face of one woman’s exquisite cunt.
She still looks far too together for someone who just came as hard on my tongue as she did, beautiful mask and immaculate hair and perfect, scarlet lipstick still intact.
We’ll have to do something about that.
Won’t we?
As soon as I’m fully standing, I kiss her hard, my tongue still ravenous for more of her holes. I want her to taste herself on me. I thrust my dick against the silk that’s covering her up again. It’s both a threat and a promise.
She wraps one hand around the back of my neck, her other clawing at my back as she lets me invade her, explore her with my tongue.
‘We need to find our room,’ I tell her, barely able to hear my own voice above this insane music. There’s just enough blood flow left in my brain to recognise that what we just did is a step far enough towards exhibitionism for now. She’ll need privacy for the next part.
Besides. I don’t want to be an exhibitionist for once. I need a bed and some cuffs and Aida all to myself. I’m the only lucky fucker who gets to see her laid out and begging for it tonight.
I tug her into my arms and turn her around, my hands roaming over her hips, her arse, as I direct her towards the corridor bearing the private rooms as gently as I’m capable of.
Our room is ready, and I utter a quick prayer of thanks to a god I almost certainly don’t believe in.
And then we’re in.
I’m turning the lock.
I’m pulling down the blind on the window that lets voyeurs see what people are getting up to if all parties are up for it.
No fucking way.
I lean back against the door, my head hitting the wood with a dull thud, and survey her.
She’s standing in the middle of the room, right in front of the foot of the bed, surveying her surroundings.
It must look a bit different from when she was at Alchemy for her massage.
She’s a lobster in a pot who’s realised too late she’s fucking boiling.
I take her in. Silk—blood red in this perfectly dim light—pouring over her curves.
The slender lines of her arms and throat illuminated in gold.
The gleam of her dark hair. The slash of crimson at her mouth.
When she moves, her reflection glitters and shimmers above us in the darkened mirror that dominates the ceiling.
The ache I have for her is so extreme that I’m not far off being a danger to her and to myself. This need is burning every last binding that tethers the beast within, and I can practically smell the acrid smoke as they blaze.
‘Aida,’ I say in as normal a voice as I can muster. ‘You don’t have to—you can get out of here right now.’
She smiles at that and comes towards me. She doesn’t hesitate, though she should. Her hands go to my shoulders and she glances down at my torso. I’m too far gone to even remember to contract my abs like I usually would if a woman was checking me out.
‘No fucking way,’ she says. That glorious music is playing through the speakers, but at a much lower volume, and it’s fucking with my head. It’s classy and decadent and sophisticated and insidious and sensual and dangerous.
Just like her.
‘Safe word,’ I say weakly, because there’s no way a safe word is an adequate substitute for her running for the hills.
‘Parliament,’ she says, before running her tongue over her lower lip in her trademark style. Her perfume tonight is rich and musky and floral and I can’t. I just can’t anymore.
‘Remember it,’ I bark. ‘If you’re in pain. If anything hurts. If you don’t like any of it.’ Then: ‘Mask off.’
She reaches up and tugs it off, and there she is. Beautiful, but a shade more vulnerable without her mask, if I’m not mistaken. A shade less certain.
Good.
‘Turn around,’ I grit out. I’m unzipping the back of her dress before she’s fully turned, yanking the zip down her back as urgently as I can, until it’s falling in a pool of luxurious silk at her feet. I grab both cheeks and squeeze as I bend and put my lips against her ear.
‘I’m going to keep my mask on, and I’m going to cuff you and fuck you harder than you could ever imagine being fucked when you were married to that pathetic piece of shit,’ I say. ‘And the only way you’re getting out of those cuffs is your safe word.’
She moans and rubs her arse against my cock. ‘God, yes please.’
I release her cheeks. ‘Bend over and take your shoes off.’
She bends over like the obedient girl she is. Mmm. I run a few possessive fingers over her cunt as she fiddles with her buckles, enjoying her wetness and anticipating the moment I’ll be balls deep in her.
But first:
‘Get on the bed,’ I say as I pull her back upright. I suck my fingers into my mouth. Fucking delicious.
She walks over to the bed and I follow her, because the sooner I get her restrained, the sooner I can shoot my load.
When she’s lying back on the black satin sheets, her head propped on a couple of big pillows, I put a knee on the bed and grab at the nearest cuff.
It’s a standard metal one on a chain that’s affixed to the wall, and I make quick work of snapping it closed around her wrist before doing the same on the other side.
Only then do I allow myself to stand and take her in properly. I’ve seen her naked before, but this is different. The massage was fun, but a massage table isn’t exactly a suitable base for fucking on.
Besides, I was behaving myself then.
Things are very different now.
She’s lying flat on the bed, her arms outstretched, those liquid black eyes of hers watchful. Anticipatory. Her body is beautiful: tanned and taut with those tantalising paler bikini lines on her tits and her arse. I see her taking me in, and I glance up at the mirror on the opposite wall.
Jesus Christ.
For a second, I see myself how she sees me: an anonymous, hooded, ripped thug, muscles flexing and tat on show and dick threatening to tear through the tent in my trousers.
I look fucking terrifying.
And I love it. Because this feels right.
This is who I want to be in this moment.
My reflection is just that. A reflection of how I feel, of the kind of rough sex I want to have tonight.
And if this beautiful, intelligent, spectacular woman is happy for me to cuff her to this bed and unleash my need on her in her like an animal, then fucking bring it on.