Sexy as Hell Box Set (37 page)

“I’m saying it’s over. Amanda.”

“Amanda.” She nodded and stepped away. Tilted her chin and shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “So now you use your safe word. After all we’ve been through.”

“Yes, isn’t that what it’s for? To call a halt to things when they become too much, or they hurt, or boundaries are pushed too far?”

“Yes, you’re right, but I thought you’d have the decency to explain, the way I was going to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I came here to finish it between us. Oh, I know you won’t believe me now, not least because you’ve gone and thrown Amanda at me, but it’s the truth. And I would have done so with more than just one word.”

I stared at her. Her skin was pale today; she had mauve rings beneath her eyes. She was tired. Had she been up all night worrying about me?

“But I was going to tell you last night,” she was saying. “Right before you collapsed. I knew this had to end, it couldn’t go on. We’d both gained what we could from our time together. Stretching it out would be have been futile and in all honestly a waste of efforts and energy.”

She’d been going to tell me last night. I hadn’t heard much past those words. How I’d felt last night was so different to how I felt now, the emotions were poles apart. Last night I’d wanted her, every piece of her. The passing days had made me more and more besotted with all that Zara represented. Crazy, sexy, new beginnings, dark and mysterious, yes, but daring and exciting too. She’d been teaching me so much about myself, my sexuality, what I wanted. What I couldn’t live without.

And then stop. It had all come to an end when my world had gone black and I’d collapsed. It was like having the blinkers removed, sobering up, coming back down to earth.

Today I knew I needed her gone and it seemed she felt the same way.

Perfect.

“So I guess this is it then,” I said, pushing my hand through my hair. “Goodbye.”

“Yep.” Her mouth was drawn into a taut little pucker, her eyes narrowed. “This is it. I have nothing else to offer you.”

“Nor I you.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t a nice sound, it was a cackle, cruel and hard. “Like you ever taught me anything, Victor.”

“I know damn well I did.”

She laughed harder. The noise made the hairs on the back of my neck spike, irritation washing over me.

“Think what you like,” she said, “but really, you were putty in my hands every step of the way. You only did what I allowed you to do, what I wanted, coerced you into doing.”

“So how about when I tipped you over my knee and spanked your arse until you glowed scarlet and were begging to be fucked in both holes? I didn’t see you grabbing that vibrator and shoving it up your own arse. Didn’t see you wielding a paddle or complaining about having my initials splattered over you buttocks.”

“Ha, that’s so funny. You seriously believed me when I said I hadn’t done that kind of thing before? Come on. I perform sex shows for a living. What are the chances of me never having been spanked? Even bloody
Fifi has had her palms raining down on my arse.”

That stung. Those words, the image she created. I
had
thought I was the first to bend her over and paddle her bum then fuck her stupid. “What about when I made love to you, then. That was a first, you told me it was.”

“Making love, a fancy word for vanilla, which equals boring. People just call it making love so they don’t have to feel guilty about being so uninventive when it comes to their sex life. So if they do it late at night, missionary beneath the duvet, they don’t have to wish for something more. We were”—she paused and curled the first two fingers of each hand in the air—“making love. It was beautiful. Huh, read the word boring there.”

“So millions of people around the world are wrong but you’re right?” I said, shaking my head.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. People need to open their eyes to their sexuality. It’s a gift, something to be proud of, explore, nurture.”

“And you’ve explored and nurtured mine?”

She tightened her coat, pulled up her collar. “Yes, that was the deal and one day you’ll thank me for it.”

God, she was so cocky, always had been. How come I’d managed to live with it for so many days? “I think I’ll be thankful once you’ve gone, Zara.”

“Why, so you can get on with your dull life? Go find a dull girl to date, make love to and have a boring rest-of-your-life with?”

“Perhaps boring works for me.”

She shook her head, half rolled her eyes then walked towards the door. Her heels were loud and jarring, echoing around the high ceilings. Today they didn’t sound sexy, just annoying. “I very much doubt vanilla will ever work for you again, Victor.”

“Normal is what’s always worked in the past for me, that’s what you’re forgetting.”

She reached the hallway door, put her hand on the frame and turned. An overhead light shone down, making her hair gleam as if it were made of satin. “But you’re not normal, not anymore, which means you’ll never be able to make it sit comfortably for you.”

“I am.” I put my hands on my hips. “And I
will
make it work.”

“No you won’t, you have a darkness in you, a dark desire to submit to a strong woman and also to be in charge and have a sex-slave kneeling at your feet. You know how to inflict sensual pain and receive it. You’ve got the taste for back-door fucking, and let me tell you, that will never go away, not now it’s there.” She tapped the side of her head with her index finger. “Never.”

I stared at her self-righteous expression.

“The thing is, Victor, you just didn’t know it about yourself before me. Before I took you under my wing and showed you what was beneath the layers.”

“That darkness is nowhere near as strong as my light. It was just you who encouraged it out. I’ll put it straight back where it’s always been. I’ll never let it surface again.”

“Oh, Victor.” She shook her head, furrowed her brow. “I wish I was going to be around to watch you try and do that. You’ll fail, you know.”

“Whenever I decide to do something I always succeed.” I gestured around the apartment. “Or hadn’t you noticed that little detail about me?”

“Building apartments and hospitals and fancy barns is a very different game to trying to deny your soul’s desires.” She stepped further into the hallway. “I hope you find what it is your heart is crying out for, Victor, because clearly it’s crying out for something.” She paused, then almost to herself said, “And thank fuck it’s not me.”

The door slammed shut. The sound echoed around my empty penthouse and vibrated through my chest.

Good, she’d gone.

That was the end of all that nonsense.

Sexy as Hell

The Player - Book #2

By Harlem Dae

Book Two in the Sexy as Hell Trilogy

Tuscany – New lovers, new lessons and an eruption of uncontrollable lust.

The real world was working for me, its pastel shades and straight-and-narrow route a familiar path to tread. It suited me, this normality; it was good for me too. Or so I thought, because the new light in my life, Catherine, was not quite fulfilling my needs. Her lack of colour, the weak whispers of her kisses were not touching my soul the way I’d become accustomed to. I needed more.

More of everything in my darkly addictive rainbow; the wicked wantonness of sin, the depraved pleasure of seedy seduction and the prism of delight I took in being struck…and of doing the striking. I missed the fireworks, the brilliant displays of Technicolor ecstasy that strung me out and bared me to my bones. I wanted to go there again, and take Catherine, too, see if I could have that pyrotechnic display with her. Did she have a riot of vibrant shades beneath her skin or was she magnolia to the core?

My teacher, Zara, told me I could discover her palette. That all I needed to do was show Catherine my world, my new world, the one I’d never inhabited alone. Zara couldn’t come with me this time, she had a new student now. I was on my own, it was down to me. Or was it?

It seemed my teacher had other ideas after all, and when she sashayed back into my life with her rules and murmurs of encouragement, I had no choice but to listen to her, take her advice, follow her lead, even though I knew nothing ever ended well with her. But resistance was futile, my protests fell on deaf ears. But that suited my plans, didn’t it?

Dedicated to V P, who inspired us with his strong sense of character, mastery of kindness, lust for adventure and soul-baring honesty. You made us keep on writing and writing and writing, and for that, Sir, you’ll be forever in our hearts.

Suck my cock.

The dirty demand screamed through my mind, galloped down to my mouth and sat heavily on my tongue, trying to eke its way to the tip, to my lips, where it could take control, form, spill into the air and shock the shit out of Catherine Jane
MacKenna.

Sweet, pretty, wholesome Catherine; public school education, successful interior designer, and niece of my faithful, long-serving secretary Mary.

Just the sort of girl I needed. No slutty job, no kinks that involved stuffing things up my arse, and no beefy slave who followed her around hoping for the chance to lick her boots or receive a beating. And was Catherine likely to turn up at my office, crawl under my desk and suck my dick for breakfast? My bets were on that being a very unlikely situation—at least until the sun rose in the west and set in the east.

Yes, Catherine was perfect for me, and this, our fourth date, had proven that she was exactly what the doctor ordered. I felt great. My heart had been beating regularly and my
ectopics minimal—so the consultant told me at my check-up yesterday. The twenty-four-hour heart monitor had given me the all clear.

I intended for it to stay that way.

And it would. Because with Catherine in my life, casting a predictable, ordered, sensible essence into my world, there would be no forgetting my tablets, no roller coaster ride of desire and lust that had my head spinning and reality fading. No, Catherine was as safe as safe could be.

I swallowed those sinful, filthy, cock-sucking words with a wedge of
foie gras
on a sun-dried tomato cracker. They would have to stay unspoken, remain in my head for as long as I lived. That was how it should be. Men shouldn’t go around demanding their cocks to be sucked, no more than ladies should request their cunts to be licked.

Catherine was chatting about a Tuscan villa she’d stayed in the year before. It belonged to a friend apparently. Beautifully appointed with antiques and decorated in hues of orange and chocolate. She was always especially careful to describe décor, down to the most minute of details.

She paused to take a swig of a 1994 Malbec, and I studied her mouth. Would she be any good at sucking cock? Would she be the sort who tolerated it for a minute or so and then switched to something else, or would she relish the fucking of her mouth? Get into the moment, open wide, let me sink deep, suck and ripple her tongue around my dick, and then swallow. God, I hoped she was a swallower, wasn’t sure if I could live without that now. I’d been spoilt.

I held in a huff. Spoilt. I guess that was one word for being blinded by lust, infatuated with a sexual deviant and my world leaving the rails without me even noticing.

Catherine a swallower? Mmm. She sure could swallow wine, she’d drained that glass already. I hadn’t taken more than two sips of mine.

I topped her up and she thanked me. Continued to describe the Tuscan way of designing kitchens to be modern but look rustic.

Catherine and I had yet to enjoy more than a quick kiss at the end of our dates. Perhaps that was why my mind was wandering down the cock-sucking route. I was getting ready for some deep-throat action. It had been three weeks since I’d seen ‘her’ with all her rampant exploits and going down on me whenever she had the chance. Jesus. She had in here, The Savoy, right at that table over there, the one in the corner.

I shifted on my seat, my cock stiffening at the memory. It made me angry that it did that, my dick—blighter had a bloody mind of his own. I pulled my attention away from the elderly couple who now sat at that table, staring blankly around. Had a lifetime together used up all of their conversation? Had everything been said? Nothing new to discuss?

I couldn’t imagine my previous girlfriend—who was I kidding, that was not the word to describe Zara, my former bed partner. Nope, there hadn’t been much action in the bed. She preferred sex dens and cold summerhouses, the cleaner’s cupboard, here, at The Savoy… Anyway, I couldn’t imagine her ever running out of things to say. Or via text or email for that matter. She’d always had some demand, some obscene instruction waiting to be said, be it with words or letters.

“So maybe, Victor, we could have a weekend there, in the spring.”

“What? Sorry, Catherine.” I fumbled, trying to recall the chain of our conversation. “Oh, Tuscany. Yes, sounds lovely. I’ve never been to that part of Italy before.”