Never A Choice (The Choices Trilogy (Book 1)) (10 page)

“Shall we try this again? Where to Miss Thorne?” His tone is calm and commanding.

“The restaurant, I live above the restaurant.” I reply quietly.

“There that wasn’t so hard was it?” I know he must feel it but he doesn’t have to sound so fucking smug.

“No.” I mumble my reply with irritation and petulance.

“No?” His voice deep, coaxing and laden with promise and I shiver when I suddenly understand his intent.

“No Sir.” He smiles.

Less than five minutes he is pulling up outside the rear of the restaurant. “I don’t think it is very polite to lie. We are going to need to work on those secrets aren’t we Miss Thorne?” He is tapping his steering wheel, I’m still in shock from his earlier declaration and he thinks I’m being rude.

“I didn’t ask for a lift home. If I’m being rude it’s a result of your behaviour and not a reflection of mine.”

“Well, my behaviour just saved you a three mile walk in the dark and I don’t think it would be too much to ask for some gratitude.” He leans closer and my senses are filled with his rich exotic smell.

“What?” I’m almost speechless. “I wouldn’t, I didn’t even need . . . you . . . you . . .” I can’t construct a full sentence because I am utterly astonished at his arrogance.

“Me? Yes what about me?” He is holding my gaze with searing intensity and his mouth curls in a deeply sensual smile. So despite his arrogance I need to get out before I grab his face, claw my fingers tight into his hair and consume those soft full lips. I lick my lips at the very thought of the their taste. The small movement is enough to draw his eyes to my mouth. His jaw twitches.

“Thank you for the lift . . . Sir!” I slam the car door and without looking back make my way into the darkened restaurant, locking the bolts behind me. If I wasn’t so exhausted I think I would be taking one of those cold showers right about now.

I HAVE DECIDED to give Late Night Calls a go and I informed a delighted Mags that I would take my first call on Monday. Although I am apprehensive I like the flexibility and the money is really good. You would have to be an alien to not be aware of the recent interest in erotic literature but I was a little vague on the specific nature of submission and given my chosen medium I felt I was going to need specifics. So I spent a flushed and fevered Sunday researching all things D/s. My misunderstanding and subsequent offence at Mags’ assessment of me, was a result of my perception of weakness in relation to submission. As with many things there’s a spectrum and although I’m not sure how I would handle a call with a guy set on, demeaning, humiliating or ordering me around like a pet, the notion of consensual ‘total power exchange’ frankly I found, hot.

I had been offended when Mags first declared that I was a ‘natural submissive’ but it did go a long way in explaining my reaction to Daniel. He is definitely a Dominant and I react strongly to him. On paper—simple, ‘in the flesh’ a different story altogether. It’s not that I am not surrounded by strong male characters all day, every day, but he just presses some seriously erotic buttons that have me trembling with pent up desire.

So with a play on my name ’Bets’ and gambling, all things Vegas and showgirls, I decide that for one hour each night I will become Lola, not hugely original but it works. Mags is thrilled and extremely enthusiastic. I don’t share her optimism. We discuss the obvious limitations and safety awareness; like I’d be giving anyone my personal details. But Mags was very clear that my identity would be entirely safe. Monday night I was set to take my first call. I found myself closing my eyes and all too quickly Daniels face fills my imagination. It is his face I see, his eyes on me as I mentally step into Lola’s world.

“My hands are tied together, the thin soft black leather strip is bound and wound in an intricate bond. Looped between the silk soft skin on my wrists. You can see the blood pumping through the veins in my wrists and the straps tighten as you pull my arms above my head and secure them high on a hook. My smooth skin is flushing.” Everything I describe is slow and breathy and I pause to moan. I take some encouragement from the callers’ mirrored moan. “You are holding a black riding crop, it has a hard chrome handle and is woven with fibres in a criss-cross pattern down its length to the end where there is an elongated loop of soft black leather. You hold the loop up to my cheek and gently trace a pattern along my jaw and over the swell of my bottom lip, my tongue reaches for a taste . . . Mmmm.” I sigh and pause. “You are going to take the tip of that crop and trace it down the curve of my breast and pull back slightly to catch the tip against my tight peaked nipple, Arhh . . . I ache for some release, Sir.” I draw in a deep satisfying breath. “Taking the crop loop down, down, taking long leisurely strokes across my stomach, catching the top of my panties.” I’m in no hurry, the threat of punishment implicit. “You push the tip further into my panties and you can feel the rush of heat flash across my body and see the sheen of perspiration that covers my pale skin, you are going to have to slide you fingers between my legs to see if I am really as wet as you think I am and I am desperate for that touch Sir. I am desperate for the relief you can give me Sir.”

“Thank you.” A hushed breathless voice breaks my flow, followed by a click and the line goes dead.

I open my eyes and look at my phone only to be faced with the screen save of the picture I got caught taking a few weeks ago. I fall back into my bed and throw my hand over my eyes, trying to slow my own breathing. That was fun, I feel a little flustered and if I’m honest wasn’t expecting it to last that long, but I got a ‘thank you!’ That was my only call on the first night and I wasn’t surprised, I think perhaps my lack of experience will make my calls a little tame. However, the following night was a full hour, much of the same but with one guy wanted a full description of my oral skills, part of me did want to say that there’s not going to be much of a description if your dick’s in my throat but I refrained. By Thursday, I have fallen into a comfortable routine, PJ’s, warm milk and some D/s before lights out.

Mr Wilson had sent an email requesting I hand my work in directly to him as he wanted to check my progress personally and after my rocky start courtesy of Mr Stone I have welcomed his support and encouragement. I am back to my normal confident if somewhat quiet self. I knock and wait outside his office.

“Come in!” The identity of the voice is masked by the acoustics of the closed door.

“Oh!” I stop on the threshold, not who I was expecting. “Sorry Sir, I have an appointment with Mr Wilson, I’ll just wait outside.” The vision of a darkly intense Mr Stone sat behind Mr Wilson’s desk has me frozen to the spot.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Mr Stone grins at the flush to my face. I have got to stop wearing every reaction on my face. “Please come in make yourself comfortable.” He smoothly invites me in.

“Not sure that’s even possible.” I mutter under my breath.

“There are pigeon holes for that you know?” He stands and moves silently around the desk continuing to step my way. I swallow loudly. Thinking he is some sort of mind reader I glance down at my boldly titled course work pressed against my chest as a shield.

“Yes I do but Mr Wilson wanted to see me.” He is standing so close I have to tilt my head to look into his eyes, which are smouldering and his mouth is curved into a knowing grin.

“Mmm. Well I can’t blame him for that?” He hums, “Tell me Miss Thorne why are you trying to study a part-time degree in record time?” I take a sharp breath at this. He is leaning so the last words are whispered breaths against my ear. I am hoping the full body shiver I feel isn’t visible.

“I, umm.” I let out a short puff of air. “You are mistaken, my timetable is part-time . . . Plus your lecture of course.” I am a terrible liar and my hand reaches for the hairs on my neck to tug indicating as much, blatant as if my nose had started to grow.

“I thought we talked about lying. I know you are lying but I want to know why?” He touches my chin with the tip of his finger and I can feel the intensity of the heat from that tiny connection like a branding iron.

“How?” Its all I can manage and his lips curl in to a sinful grin.

“I know you Miss Thorne. I know you better than you know yourself.” He pushes my jacket open and I gulp for the air that won’t stay in my mouth. His strong hands hold my waist, his thumbs tracing circles over my hip and his fingers hook over the waist band of my jeans and follow the band to the middle. “ I know what you need.” He slowly pops the buttons and I let out a small moan, his eyes darken from brilliant blue to almost black. I jump at the sound of the door handle, it’s unlocked.

“Don’t move.” I barely hear his low growl as he takes one step to my side but remains flush against my body his fingers gently stroking the top of my panties.

“Ah Daniel.” I recognise Mr Wilson’s cheerful voice.

“Jack, if you don’t mind I just need a moment with Miss Thorne.” His voice is soft but commanding and with that he sinks his hand down the front of my panties and begins to leisurely move his index finger up and down my soft folds. I try to suppress a full on erotic cry at the intimate intrusion and all that escapes is a strained squeak from the back of my throat. I begin to tremble; my legs are feeling weak and my blood is rushing, deciding whether to flee to my head or my crotch.

“Yes of course, Bethany I hope you are well, you have my assignment completed yes? Are you enjoying the course?” Oh crap I’ve got to answer, Daniel looks like he is asking for directions. I dread to think what my face looks like as perspiration forms a sheen across my skin and I struggle to breathe.

“Yes and yes I am, thank you Mr Wilson.” I manage to speak in a level but strained tone.

“How much?” Daniel says under his breath and sinks a finger further into me. I clench around him and squeeze my legs together. My hips want to grind but I’m guessing that movement wouldn’t go undetected.

“Oh actually Bethany, you’ve saved me an email.” I whimper, the pressure building is more than a distraction. “We have a drinks reception, selected few blah blah but as a representative mature student on my course I would be grateful if you would come.” His offer is kind but barely registering with me as Daniel continues his deep rhythmical movement, slowly in and out, in and out.

“She’ll come, I’m sure of it.” Daniel answers on my behalf but not for my benefit. I look at him with heated, pleading eyes. He grins but continues to look at Mr Wilson, his glance the picture of calm whilst sinking a second finger deep inside me.

“Oh good, the details are on my desk, I’ll just . . .” I hear him step further into the room. I freeze. Daniel interrupts him.

“I’ll make sure she gets them but if you wouldn’t mind I need to finish with Miss Thorne.” He barely whispers the word
with
but the deep timbre of the rest of his commanding dismissal weakens not just my resolve but my knees too. Mr Wilson closes the door. My eyes are so wide and my body quakes as I am stepped forcefully back towards the door.

“I can’t believe, -arhhhh” Daniel strokes a sweet spot inside me and I feel my knees give way. He holds me up with his frame and continues to move his finger deep inside. His thumb puts light pressure in tiny circles on my clit. My hips move of their own volition grinding against his hand, riding him, needing release.