Sexy as Hell Box Set (44 page)

I leant back in my chair, cradled my glass. I wasn’t any further forward in solving my dilemma with Catherine. Ollie had been right about one thing, though. If I was so intent on having a ‘proper’ wife, then I’d just have to suck it up with regards to the less-than-exciting times in the bedroom.

Unless…

All this talk of Zara had got me thinking.

Would she be prepared to give me a fuck or two every now and then? Be my bit on the side? No strings attached, just as she preferred it?

I didn’t like myself contemplating adultery, if indeed it came to that. But ultimately, there was only one way to find out if my ex-teacher would be interested in a few secret liaisons.

I’d email her.

My office looked like a bomb had hit it. Fifi would be aghast if she came in here now and saw the mess of papers and ledgers on my desk. It wasn’t like me at all. I was usually a neat freak. But I had bills stacked up that I really did need to pay today—for one, the contractor for the meeting room, I couldn’t expect him to wait forever—and I needed to sit down for at least half an hour and sort out next week’s showroom schedule. I’d had some new people apply for jobs—one from a woman who was able to swallow twelve inches of dildo; I’d found her particularly appealing to the eye, knew the customers would too—and some calls were in order to have the shortlist come back for a second interview. That would be them performing in the showroom to myself, Fifi and Carlos, and together we’d decide if they would be taken on.

I sat behind my desk and logged on to my bank, quickly transferring payments to the contractor and various others. That done, I moved on to the schedule, rearranging some then making possible slots for the new shows that would hopefully be in play very soon. My business had taken off so well, better than I’d dreamt it would, and I had nothing to complain about.

Unless I counted the lack of Victor in my life.

I really had to stop thinking about him.

My email alert bleeped, and I frowned as it had come from my personal account, not the business. I rarely got anything in the former except spam—funny enough, for things like vibrators on sale and, quite oddly, penis extension offers—so wasn’t in any hurry to see what had come in. The problem was, my curiosity and a big dose of intuition prompted me to stop what I was doing and click on the email window.

My stomach rolled.

What the hell was
he
doing emailing me?

The subject line read: SORRY TO BARGE INTO YOUR INBOX.

I had to smile. What I wouldn’t give for him to literally be inside my inbox, the one between my legs, pumping in and out and ‘making love’ as he’d put it. I hadn’t thought I’d miss him as much as I did. Well, that was a lie, I’d known I would, but as we’d only been seeing one another for a week—me teaching him—I’d thought the memories of him would fade faster, leaving me to get on with my life as a dungeon mistress, raking in the cash and making a name for myself as something other than a woman who flaunted herself to customers every evening and went out for one-night stands afterwards.

I opened the message.

Dear Woman-I-Can’t-Get-Out-Of-My-Head-Damn-You,

As the subject line says, I am a bit sorry for barging into your inbox, but at the same time, I have to confess that I’m not. How are you? That’s at the forefront of my mind these days. I still worry about you, you know. I realise us being together isn’t good for you or for me, and I understand why you felt we had to part, as I’m sure you understand my reasons for breaking it off too.

However—the same as a “but”, and there’s usually always one of those, isn’t there—much as you’re bad for my health, I can’t seem to stop thinking about you. That, in turn, also isn’t good for my health, but that isn’t your fault. It’s mine and my inability to let go, something that prompted me to write this email.

Ollie has just left, and we’d been talking about you. It made me realise that we hadn’t really finished on friendly terms, had we. A bit of tension went on back there, didn’t it, and I’d just like to say I wished it hadn’t been like that. I would have preferred to call a halt in a better way, but at the time I was feeling…hmmm, worried about my condition, I suppose you could say, which had made me snippy.

I doubt very much you have the same thing going on, you know, missing me or whatever, but I’ll never know unless I ask, will I? You were always one for getting me to push for what I wanted, so here I am. Pushing.

I have a problem, something I don’t think I should be telling you, not really, because it seems awfully rude of me to tell you my personal business, given that we were…that we’ve done things most married couples never have and never will. But at the same time, if I don’t explain, you won’t understand what I’m about to ask you and why you might actually agree to it. You see, I know you don’t do relationships. Possibly can’t. And that’s where both of our dilemmas can be solved. I can only hope you’ll agree, and if you don’t, then I can walk away with egg on my face and we’ll say no more about it.

This is the hard part, why I’ve been waffling thus far.

Okay, deep breath.

I’ve been seeing Mary’s niece. A lovely woman, very kind and generous, but… Oh, God, I feel awful even just typing this. She isn’t for me. Not…not in the bedroom, anyway. We mesh very well otherwise, but you’ve…well, you woke up my beast, didn’t you, and now he won’t be tamed. Won’t go back into his cage. Catherine—she’s the woman I’m seeing—doesn’t seem the receptive type, if you know what I mean. She hasn’t got an inner beast inside. She’s just…her. Basic. Normal.

I’m afraid I don’t do normal any longer, thanks to you.

What I propose is this. Would you agree to my coming to visit you at your new club? A business arrangement, private one-to-one time, where you see to my needs—needs that Catherine can’t or won’t see to—and I walk away, happy that I can let my beast out. It would only have to be once a month—more, if you would allow it—and I swear I won’t bother you at any other time. I just need…

I just need you.

Kind regards,

Man-Who-Still-Has-A-Crush-On-His-Former-Mistress-So-Huge-That-He’s-Suffocating-From-It

I couldn’t see the screen for tears. My face hurt from smiling, my throat from the lump swelling in it. I pushed back from my desk, the castors on my chair spinning so fast I was propelled to the window. I stared out, and instead of seeing the backstreet view, I saw one in my head much like the one from Victor’s penthouse. Searing hot memories from our time together trampled through my mind in heavy, rough-soled boots.

The tears were from a mixture of things. He missed me, needed me, and even though I was bad for his health he wanted to see me again, albeit as only a business arrangement. Yet he was seeing someone else, and yes, I could admit that the heat of my tears, the utterly agonising burn of them, was due to that. And as for it being Mary’s niece… That old biddy hadn’t lost any time in fixing him up with someone else, had she? Had probably been biding her days until Victor had come to his senses about me, then went in with the offer of her sweet niece on a platter. If this Catherine was anything like her aunt, though, I pitied Victor. He didn’t deserve a sour-faced prune of a woman in his life. He deserved someone like…

I sighed. I’d known someone else would snap him up, knew I’d hear about it at some point, but to actually have it in black and white, so to speak…

And Ollie hadn’t said a bloody word.

Bastard.

I’d make him pay for that.

I continued to stare out at the leaden sky filled with ugly black clouds that heralded a wicked downpour. Mulled over Victor’s request. It wouldn’t be a good idea. He’d become attached again, and really, we’d only be swapping one thing for another, our month-long agreement for what, a lifetime of once-a-month meetings under the guise of him just getting some sexual relief?

That’s all it would be. Nothing more.

And then it hit me. Despite him saying he missed me, needed me, he was obviously preparing to make a go of it with this Catherine. She was in his life enough, in his heart enough that he wanted to be in a relationship with her, regardless of the fact she clearly didn’t press his sexual buttons. Who was she, a Mother Teresa type, so kind and thoughtful that she filled all his day-to-day needs, making her someone who was, if I was honest, totally right for him?

I imagined her to be the type Americans called The Girl Next Door, all rosy-cheeked, conservatively dressed and not a hair out of place. A woman who was ideal on his arm as a wife but who perhaps didn’t have it in her to allow herself to get sweaty and have her perfect locks mussed in bed. Victor was no longer the type of man who could stand for that, I’d made sure of it, so what the hell was he playing at?

It hurt that he had feelings for someone other than me, when really, it shouldn’t, but I’d gone and got myself deeply involved, emotionally, with him. And he hadn’t had a clue. I’d kept it to myself, because, damn it, I’d known that the moment I said the words, that I might be willing to give this relationship lark a try, he’d never have let me go.

I hadn’t been prepared to give myself to him like that, not after the Geoffrey debacle, and Victor had had to go. Out of my life, tossed aside like unwanted refuse. It hadn’t been as upsetting as it could have been, though. He’d been ready to end our arrangement too—him collapsing from his dodgy heart had seen to that—and all that was well had ended well.

Or so I’d thought.

I steered my chair back to my desk and read the email again.

No, I couldn’t let him back into my life. Much as I longed for him to walk in here and get under the desk and treat me to oral sex the same way I’d treated him a while back, it wasn’t going to work.

I ached for him. Shit.

Dear Mr What-The-Hell-Do-You-Think-You’re-Playing-At?

Well, this was most certainly a surprise, a blast from the past, so they say, something I hadn’t expected. Especially because you’re seeing someone else. What do you think you’re doing, emailing me like this, when you have a woman hanging off your arm? Didn’t I teach you anything? Or, which is more the case, didn’t you learn anything? It’s your job to teach your woman what you want, how you want things to be. Am I to take it, from the line in your email where you said “needs that Catherine can’t or won’t see to” that you’ve already tried and failed?

I won’t agree to meet you, not in a million years—that side of us is well and truly over and we’ve both moved on—but I don’t mind emailing every so often to help you out. After all, what kind of teacher would I be if I turned my back on you when you’re still so eager to learn?

So answer me this: What have you done to show her what you want and need?

From,

An-Ex-Mistress-Who-Intends-To-Stay-That-Way-Thankyouverymuch

I hit SEND and hoped my response had been terse yet friendly enough that he’d get the picture. I didn’t know why I’d said I’d email with him, it would only keep the fires of missing him burning, make it harder to let go when he’d finally got his act together with Catherine.

Shit. Again.

He replied:
I shot my load down her throat. Think it was her first blowjob. She wasn’t ready. I was too far gone. Help!

What kind of woman didn’t give blowjobs? I didn’t know of any, but then I didn’t run in the same circles as the rest of the female race in London. I could imagine some women might find it distasteful, and even though I shouldn’t smile at the thought of this poor woman choking on cum, I did. Serves herself right for having my man’s dick in her mouth.

I replied:
Bloody hell, Victor! Did you not think to check, to ask her whether she’d done it before, whether she was a swallower? Obviously you didn’t—silly of me to have asked. I don’t dare to ask what her reaction was or how things stand with the pair of you now. What I will ask is: Have you had the sex conversation with her yet? You know, the one where you both go a little deeper, pardon the pun, into what you want?

He answered:
Well, that blowjob was off the back of one such conversation. I kind of let her know I wanted more in the bedroom, and her response was to suck my cock. But that wasn’t what I’d meant. I want…I need…what you gave me. I’m telling you, she hasn’t got it in her to do anything remotely like what you did. I can sense she hasn’t got that beast, you know? If I brought out my paddle, she’d shit herself.

The VP paddle. I sighed. Had that horrible surge of jealousy go through me at the thought of him using it on her. It was ours. No one’s but ours.

I wasn’t sure what to say. If she couldn’t be brought out of herself, then there was no hope for him. If he stayed with her, he’d be destined for a life of
lackluster bedroom antics, leaving him unsatisfied and very open to straying. I just had to make sure he didn’t stray to me. I was too busy for a relationship now anyway, even if I
did
change my mind and decide I quite fancied one, which I wouldn’t, ever. And besides, I had Ollie to teach, and that was a challenge in itself. Not forgetting my baby, my business… No, I wouldn’t allow myself to give Victor a session once a month, but I
would
allow myself to get him off with words. That was all I was willing to offer, and he should be grateful, I was damn good at that.