"That was one of the most erotically satisfying moments of my life. She
gave this startled yelp, and the cloth split, and I saw everything. The
full round breasts, the hard, little nipples, and her shocked
expression as she tried to cover herself.
"It was great.
I felt powerful and damned uncomfortable.
Now I'd seen
it all, I wanted to have it all.
We ended up on the carpet, rolling
around together."
He laughed softly.
"Right up to the end, I honestly thought she was trying to fight me
off.
I thought she was afraid because things had gone too far, got out
of hand.
Because I was in control now, and she knew she'd have to play
the kind of games I chose.
"I managed to get one of her nipples in my mouth, and my hand up
between her legs.
I pulled her panties down to her knees, and then to
her ankles.
And then there she was, just like I'd always imagined,
lying there naked, and making futile little protest noises, with her
legs wide apart.
And I was on top of her, with the best hard-on I'd
ever had in my life."
"You didn't feel sorry for her?"
Jacey asked.
He laughed.
"I was fifteen.
I just wanted it, and at that time I only knew one way
of getting it."
He shrugged.
"And it was good.
Probably one of the best orgasms I've had. Certainly
the one I remember most clearly."
"You raped her," Jacey said.
"And I suppose you got away with it?"
He looked at her for a moment, then burst out laughing.
"I didn't rape her.
I told you, she was asking for it."
"She was teasing you.
It was pretty irresponsible of her.
But that
didn't give you the right to force yourself on her."
Nicolas stopped laughing.
"You just don't understand, do you?
Perhaps I should have said, she
was getting paid for it."
He leant back comfortably in his chair.
"She was a whore.
My father paid her to make a man out of me.
Or to see whether I was capable of behaving like one.
After I'd proved
myself, he let me j go to all the whorehouses in town.
He wanted me to
learn what women were like."
"And did you?"
"I learnt that women will give you what you want if you pay them," he
said.
"And they always have their own agenda."
"Is that supposed to include me?"
"Of course."
His voice was suddenly cold.
"Very much so.
Why else did you break with Peter Draven, and give
yourself to me?"
For one horrible moment Jacey thought that Nicolas knew exactly why she
had come to Guachtal.
And exactly how she was planning to use him
during their relationship.
But her apprehension did not show in her
face.
"I wanted to find out if you were as good a stud as everyone said you
were," she said coolly.
"You knew I would be," he said.
"Powerful men turn you on.
For all your intelligence, and your smart
job, you like to behave like a whore.
You like to be treated like a
whore."
He smiled coldly.
"Peter Draven would have bored you in a week.
So you willingly dropped
him for me.
I'm exactly the right kind of man for you.
Tell me I'm
wrong, Dr.
Muldaire."
"Would you believe me if I did?"
she asked.
"No," he said.
"I wouldn't.
I know you better than you know yourself.
Now, take off that dress."
She smiled.
"You've been longing to say that all evening, haven't you?"
"I've been looking forward to seeing you do it all evening," he
agreed.
"I didn't get a chance to inspect you properly when we had our little
tete a tete at the party.
Now there's no hurry.
Take the dress
off."
Jacey put her wine glass down, reached behind her back and tugged at
her zip.
She did it slowly, turning until her back was to Nicolas. The
dress slipped off her shoulders, over her breasts to her waist. She
turned again, slid her hands under the heavy, green silk of the skirt,
and tugged it downwards, bending forward so that her breasts swung
tantalisingly.
The skirt rustled as it reached her knees, and then her
ankles.
Pleased that the hold-ups were still in position, she stepped
out of the dress, lifted it and placed it over the back of a chair.
"No suspenders?"
He sounded regretful.
"How do those things stay up?"
"Elastic," she said.
She walked forward, stopped in front of him, and
straddled his outstretched legs.
Slowly and deliberately she lifted
one foot and put it on the seat of the armchair.
She ran a finger
round the top of her hold-up, delicately easing the grey garter band
away from her thigh.
"See?"
"Ingenious," he said.
But he was not looking at the stocking top.
His
eyes were on the cleft between her legs, where the damp, green silk
clung to her inner lips as mute evidence of her own arousal.
He put
his fingertips on her stomach and pushed her backwards.
"Get them off," he ordered, abruptly.
"The stockings?"
she asked, deliberately misunderstanding.
He stood up and grasped her silky French knickers in both hands.
"Not the stockings."
One violent tug and the knickers were round her
ankles.
"You can keep them on."
He stepped back and sat down again.
"They won't get in the way."
"In the way of what, exactly?"
she asked sweetly.
"They won't get in the way when I tongue you," he said.
"Which is exactly what you're asking for right now, isn't it?"
He put his hands on her waist and pulled her towards him, so that she
was forced to straddle his legs again.
Then his hands slipped round to
cup her bottom and pull her closer still.
His lips touched her
stomach, and she felt his tongue circling her navel, slowly, before
descending to the red bush between her thighs.
"Open your legs wider," he demanded.
She felt the warmth of his
breath, and tried to obey him, but her feet began to slip.
"I can't," she said.
Tm sliding ... falling" He pushed her back
suddenly, and swiftly slid down to lie on the floor.
"Kneel over me," he instructed.
She obeyed, her knees on either side of his shoulders.
"Your nice suit will get dirty."
To hell with my suit."
He grinned.
"Let's see how well you dance, Dr.
Muldaire."
His hands reached for
her waist again, and he pulled her down until she faced him, her thighs
spread above his face.
"Lower," he said.
"I want to taste you."
She leant forward over his head, and bent her legs until he could reach
her, until she felt the insistent probing of his tongue.
He lifted his
arms and reached for her breasts, finding her semi-erect nipples,
inciting them into harder peaks with rough fingers.
"Move," he ordered.
"All the best whores know this dance."
She expected him to just lie there and let her do all the work, but his
tongue encouraged her, circling the tip of her clitoris, then
tantalised her by sliding away and forcing her to gyrate her hips in
erotic, choreographed movements, in order to bring him back to the spot
that gave her the most pleasure.
As she lifted her hips above him,
briefly, she heard him say something, but she was barely conscious of
anything except her need for release.
She felt him grasp her wrists and flip her suddenly over on to her
back.
He unzipped his trousers with one hand, and then she felt his
knees between her legs, forcing them apart.
His mouth nuzzled her neck
and breasts, now with a lack of control.
An animal noise came from the
back of his throat; it was clear that his mind was on his own needs
rather than hers.
But she was so wet and aroused that his first thrust
pushed into her deeply, filling her, exciting her with new
sensations.
Her own ragged breathing began to match his rhythm, but he seemed
selfishly determined to postpone his own climax for as long as
possible, without any thought for her.
And then, suddenly, he
withdrew.
She moaned in frustration, her body limp.
He turned her
over, on to her hands and knees, his erection as strong as ever, and
spread the cheeks of her bottom.
One hand slid under her, finding a
nipple, while the other sought her clitoris.
She felt the sensations
that had been slowly dissipating gather together in strength once more,
building up to new peaks of pleasure.
When he entered her, pushing
between her buttocks, she heard herself gasping in tandem to each of
his thrusts.
"Do you like it, Jacey?"
His mouth nuzzled the back of her neck, his
voice muffled by her tangled hair.