Disgrace (16 page)

“Ah, Jason, did I break your blowjob cherry?” I twirl a long strand of my hair around my finger, and he chuckles, a deep, hearty sound.

“Cute…It fucking felt like it. Everything about you feels like the first time.” He threads his hand around the back of my neck and tilts my head back to meet his intense stare. His words were said with humour and affection, but his gaze is laden with something more serious, something I find disconcerting for someone like me. “And now there is officially nothing to eat in your flat.” He shakes his head with amusement. “Right, shower, then my place.” He bends down and, with sudden force, pushes his shoulder into my waist, effectively doubling me over and scoops me onto his broad shoulder. I squeal and grab his arse for support. I might start to massage as well when he strides from the room in search of my shower. It is a mighty fine arse.

The journey to Jason’s apartment takes less than fifteen minutes. I thought for a moment he was going to take me to the club. I know he has a flat on the top floor of the building, but we drove past that, turned, and headed towards London Bridge. His house is nothing like I’d imagined. It’s a house for a start. I assumed he would have some swanky penthouse fuck pad with sleek chrome, glass and leather furniture and fittings, stylishly minimalist and clinically cold. His home is a narrow, four-story, mid terrace, Georgian town house, set one street back from the river. But even from the first floor it has an amazing view of the South Bank. He swipes his finger to unlock the front door. The building may be over two hundred years old, but the facilities are very much twenty-first century. He carries both our bags over his shoulder and continues to hold my hand. He really hasn’t let go for a moment.

At my apartment, from the kitchen, he’d carried me into the shower and washed every inch of my body. No, that’s not right; he cherished every inch of my body. His touch had been constant with intermittent squeezes and random strokes of his thumb on the back of my hand, my palm, my cheek. He was very good at making me feel…
unsettled
.

The entrance hall is light with white and black tiled floor and an archway leading to the rear of the house, possibly the kitchen. The walls are duck egg blue, and there is a large gilt mirror dominating the half-landing, adding much light to the space. The cream stair runner is held in place by beautiful golden claws on each tread. I smile to myself but the bitter edges barely curl my lips.

“Sam, is something wrong?” Jason breaks my unpleasant daydream with his equally unsettling insightfulness.

“Sorry. It’s nothing…just the carpet. My mother would approve.” His brow furrows, and his features darken at the mention of my mother. The thought that we have that in common warms me, and I swallow the unpleasant taste her memory invokes. “She thought you could tell a lot about a person’s breeding by their home. You have a posh person’s carpet on your stairs, very thick, top quality, and doesn’t reach the edges. See?” He glances over his shoulder, and his face registers the stairs as if seeing them for the first time. “If she hadn’t already pimped me out, that would probably have earned you a date.” I sniff derisively. Honestly, I barely think of her, but sometimes the ridiculousness of her life lessons hits me hard. Jason steps in front, towering over me, his face is etched with concern.

“I paid an interior designer, Sam, and you know your mother was fucking insane, right?” His voice is so serious, I snort out a laugh.

“Yes, Jason, besides,” I drop my voice a little lower, and he leans down to catch my words, “it’s not about the quality; it’s about the length.” I laugh and scream when he lunges to grab me as I dart around him and make a break for the very stairs. I take them two at a time, but my speed is no match for his long gait and powerful stride. He catches me two from the top, breathless, panting, and in a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“You’re so funny, Sam. Tell me again, because I am pretty sure you just insulted my manhood’s quality.”

“No…no, stop!” I squeal and wriggle uselessly against his relentless tickling fingers and his dead weight pinning me beneath him. I gasp and struggle to get my words out between the panic and laughter. “The stairs…I meant the stairs!” I cry out.

He pulls back, his finger hovering at my side. “What’s wrong with my stairs?” His face softens, and his lips turn downward with a sad little expression.

I lean up and cover his adorable pout with my eager lips. He takes a moment to engage, only a moment, before his tongue is pushing and demanding entrance. I catch my breath and grin. “There is nothing wrong with your stairs. They are very long, beautifully crafted, very, very big, top quality stairs. I think they are perfect.” He runs his tongue sensually along his bottom lip, and I mirror his action. His eyes widen, and the heat between our bodies has gone from scorching to inferno in a blink of his lust-filled eyes.

“Good.” He growls and captures my mouth and my breath in one determined move. Hours pass, it maybe minutes but it feels never ending. I love that feeling. Kisses with him, I never want to end. He pulls back and a wicked grin spreads slowly across his flawless face. “Just so we’re clear, you meant my cock right?” I collapse with the most unladylike snort-laugh. “Just checking. I don’t know you that well. Who knows, you might be really into interior design. That might be your kink?” His smile widens, flashing straight, white teeth, and he lets out a deep laugh. The sound is relaxed and sexy, curling my toes and warming my heart. He sweeps loose hair away from my eyes and holds my gaze. Intense scrutiny with a mix of lust and fire but also happy. He looks really happy, and I think my eyes must look exactly the same.

I let out as deep a breath as I can manage, given his full weight is still on me. “I definitely meant your cock. Besides, I told you my kink.” I push his chest lightly, and he pulls himself upright, lifting me straight into his arms. I wrap my legs tight around his narrow waist and grip harder than is necessary. The apex of my legs melds against his tummy. He should be able to feel the heat, I wonder if he can feel the wetness. He lets out a deep groan and fists the cheeks of my arse, grinding me tighter to his body. That will be a yes.

“Your kink?” His voice is strained and hoarse.

“Double penetration with the threesome sex I’m never going to have.” I sigh and mockingly fan myself.

“Oh, fuck, Sam. Can you feel how fucking hard I am now?” He drops me a little lower so I am nudging his hard-on with my own heat.

“I can now.” I giggle.

“You said that
was
a fantasy. You’ve never done DP?” He clears his throat with a deep cough and proceeds to climb the stairs only stopping at the very top. His breath is a little ragged, but I think it’s due to this conversation rather than the exertion of the climb and my extra weight.

“I guess it’s not a kink because it is just a fantasy. And yes, of course, I have done double penetration but only with toys…not how I’d like to in my
kinky
fantasy.” I smile sweetly but my innocence is lost when I grind my core over the tip of his rock-hard cock. Not that there is much innocence to loose.

He kicks the door to his bedroom wide open.

The room is dark with the curtains drawn. The only light filters in from the hallway behind. He strides in and unceremoniously dumps me in the middle of his bed. I gasp and no longer feel like laughing. The room isn’t the only darkness in here. I swallow the dry lump and bite down on my bottom lip. He towers and I tremble.

“I consider it my job to fulfil all your fantasies,
beautiful
.” The words rumble with delicious intent, drifting over my body like liquid lust and purest desire. I drop my head back and moan. “Your desire is my pleasure, your pleasure is my goal. I only want to make you happy…That’s not entirely true, I want to make you scream. I live to make you tremble, and I need to make you fall so fucking hard that I
own
every part of you.” His eyes pierce right through me.

“I’m already trembling, and I think you’re just about to make me scream, so two out of three isn’t bad going for a first date.” I point out.

“Maybe I need to work on that fantasy then, too, if I am to make you fall. If I find another guy I can trust to fuck you with me, Sam, would you like that?” His gravelly voice has my skin tingling. His words are scorching a trail straight to my core.

“Two guys fucking me? Why Jason, you say the sweetest things.” I let out a puff of air and smile, my attempt to lighten the searing intensity of what he is suggesting. His assertion is causing a riot of emotions in my head and combustible heat between my legs. He grabs me behind my knees, roughly pulling me to the edge of the bed. He holds my knees together, his large hands poised to prise them apart. His face is in shadow, but the desire is palpable and radiates between us like a physical entity. Inky black eyes penetrate me.

“Tell me Sam, when I’m buried deep in your arse with someone else in front, fucking you raw…when I fulfil your fantasy, will you fall? Will you be mine? Will I own you then?” He groans.

My head is dizzy. I can’t breathe.
Don’t say it, Sam. Don’t you fucking say it!
I draw in a desperate breath. I feel the fateful words dance on the very tip of my tongue as my unsettled mind loses its battle with my eager heart and declares that it might be too damn late for that. I think I may have fallen…he already ow—

Oh, thank God! Hard, urgent lips silence me, and I couldn’t be more grateful. This is too damn close. I can’t let myself be this way, vulnerable, naïve, stupid. I may be a lot of things but I don’t repeat my mistakes…I learn from them.

Sam aged eighteen

Despite my mother’s desperate attempt to lure Richard back into my life, her efforts were entirely wasted. Six months after
that
day, his family emigrated to the States, and although my life didn’t really change for the better, I felt happier for his departure. I would no longer fear running into him in the village or…well, I only ever left the house to go to school or the store, but in my mind, there was always that chance. I kept my head down, took my exams and waited for day I turned eighteen. My suitcase was packed and I had placed it just inside the front door. She sat at the table with a small flat present neatly wrapped with a pale blue ribbon. She grimaced when I entered, her attempt at a smile but she still wouldn’t meet my eyes. I don’t care. I hate her with every fibre of my being. Why would I want to look into those soulless, hate filled eyes?

“This is yours now, Grace. You are to date Gordon St John-Smythe. Your first date is this evening, and he will make an excellent husband. I have told him you are sullied, but he was kind enough to overlook all that when I showed him this.” She places her pallid hand on the parcel and pushes it toward me. My blood boils, and my stomach burns with acid. I clench my jaw, swallowing back the venom for a few moments longer. I unwrap the gift, knowing what it is but needing to make sure it is actually mine.

“This is mine now? Really mine?” I whisper running my finger along the string of natural pearls, looped and nestled in the silk folds of the Cartier box. It is a beautiful piece but I doubted it was genuine. My mother was delusional and all too desperate to believe the romantic ramblings of my grandfather. Regardless, it was important to her, more so than I ever was and now it is mine.

“Yes, it is. Your grandfather was explicit in his will. This belongs to you now.” She goes to place her hand over mine, but I snap the lid shut and pull it out of her reach. Her eyes widen with shock then narrow with the all too familiar hatred.

“Good.” I stand so abruptly the kitchen chair topples over, the loud crash makes her jump. I turn. I don’t rush but stride purposefully toward the front door, pausing to grab the suitcase on the way, clutching the necklace with a vise-like grip in my other hand. I drop the case, open the dark oak door for the last time, and step outside, inhaling a deep lungful of air like it’s my first breath. Her bony hand grabs a fistful of my hair and spins me round. I lose my grip on my case, and it drops by my feet. Her face is thunderous, her eyes cruel, lifeless beads, piercing me but not penetrating. I twist out of her grip and straighten my shoulders, returning her glare.