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Authors: Isobel Rey

Substitute

BOOK: Substitute
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SUBSTITUTE

An erotic novel

Isobel Rey

Published by Xcite Books Ltd – 2013

ISBN 9781909520752

Copyright © Isobel Rey 2013

The right of Isobel Rey to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

Prologue

Finding yourself in the en suite bathroom that adjoins the company boardroom may not be all that unusual. Finding yourself hiding in there while two people are about to fuck on the boardroom table – well, that definitely doesn’t happen every day. Certainly not to Alexia.

She eased herself as far back into the bathroom as she could, hoping to stay hidden. How the hell did she get here? Two days into a new job and she was hiding in a bathroom? She had run away from her old life, a life that had cornered and trapped her. And yet here she was, cornered again, praying hard she wouldn’t be discovered, and holding her breath. But then, it felt as if she had spent years holding her breath …

One month earlier

She didn’t look back at the house, not until she’d gone through the gates that led out on to the street. She pulled her car into the road to drive away, desperate to slam her foot to the floor and get as far away as possible, as fast as possible. But she found herself pulling the car over to the side of the road, and taking a last look back at the front door.

It was an impressive house, large and double-fronted, surrounded by trees, with a pretty cherry tree swaying in the front garden, soft pink and fluttering, so inviting. She remembered the first time she’d seen it, at the end of a whirlwind first date. She had trotted behind Carter as he strode up the drive and the taxi that had delivered them retreated into the night. He’d proudly opened the door to his mansion for his new girlfriend.

She shivered. How could she have been so stupid? It was obvious throughout that first evening that he was controlling. He ordered the wine without asking her what she liked. He’d insisted on a certain table without checking if she was happy. She’d missed her train home and he insisted she stay at his house. He’d made it a
fait accompli
before she’d had time to object. Then he’d insisted she share his bed when she asked for the spare room. It was their first date, and Alexia wasn’t the type to jump into bed so soon. But he made it impossible to say no. He managed to make her sound petulant and unreasonable for daring to object.

She had moved in with him two weeks later, just as a temporary measure. Her flatmate had sold the apartment she’d been in living in since leaving college. Alexia was now homeless and jobless.

‘Of course you should come here,’ Carter had said as he brushed her objections aside. He was tall, powerfully built, with a strong voice, and a stronger grip. He was a human bulldozer, physically and emotionally.

She wasn’t sure quite when he had gained control over her; it seemed to happen slowly, incrementally, like water dripping on a stone. He played on her lack of experience with men, and bit by bit she became passive, complying. She dared to argue, but less and less, as it always ended with him shouting her down until she acquiesced.

She was in his house, and he made sure she felt beholden to him. By day, he was mercurial; one minute charming and loving, the next petulant, controlling, bullying and difficult. By night, he was worse. That first evening she should have known. The sex had been demanding and hurried. She hadn’t enjoyed it, but then she thought, I’ve had a few drinks and so has he; it’ll get better, he’ll get softer. But it didn’t get better, and he didn’t soften.

He didn’t believe in making love. He would grab her hair to make her look at him as he pounded her, his jaw tight and his eyes hard and staring. Or force her face down as he took her from behind without ever testing whether she was ready. He liked her before she got too wet. He told her it felt better, but deep down she knew it was because it gave him a sense of control.

He owned her and didn’t care what she did or didn’t want. She had sex like an automaton. She’d never really enjoyed sex that much before Carter, no one had ever lit a fire inside her, making it easier for her to avoid it or blank out each encounter. He wasn’t often demanding of her, and she suspected he got his bedroom kicks elsewhere. Instead of feeling betrayed, she was relieved he would leave her alone.

Alexia sat in the car, the engine still running. She took a last, long look at that huge oak door, the one she’d run out of so many times. With nowhere else to go she had always gone back, hearing it shut behind her. The noise of the slamming door reminded her each time of her failure. Not this time. This was the last time.

Carter had gone to some business meeting, leaving her alone in the house. The overwhelming feeling of incarceration had suffocated her, tightening around her stomach, her ribs. She’d paced through the house, tearing at her own clothes. This feeling had been getting tighter and tighter around her until she could barely breathe. He had screamed at her again that morning, another of his flashes of temper that erupted from nowhere over nothing at all. This one had been a bad one. He’d left her shaking on the bathroom floor.

As she paced the hallway she cried out like a wounded animal. She had to go, she had to get out, but where? Anywhere was better than this. She was leaving. Now.

Alexia ran upstairs and started throwing all her things in bags, stuffing them blindly. She ran out of the house, filling the back of her small car. When she was done she turned around and ran to the door. Her keys were inside the house; if she pulled the door now, she couldn’t get back in. She froze, contemplating what closing the door would mean. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribs; her breathing was ragged. Then, with one big heave, she pulled the door. The final slam. She had heard it shut so many times, but this time the sound echoed like someone had struck a giant bell. She fled backwards to her car and leapt in, thrusting the keys into the ignition and speeding out of the drive, gravel flying out from under the wheels. But then she stopped the car on the far side of the road. She was across the street, looking back.

‘This is the last time I look at this house. This is the last time, the last time.’ Saying it out loud made it more real. She was the mistress of her destiny, not him.

She slammed the car into first gear and roared away down the street. 

Chapter One

Running into Romy had been unexpected. The kookiest girl in school, Alexia always knew she’d end up doing something crazy or glamorous. It turned out to be both. Gone was the pink hair, punky jewellery, and drop dead attitude; here was her old friend smartly dressed, working as a PA at a sports agency. Not just any agency, but the hottest one in London. Fallon Sports Agency had the biggest and sexiest client list. A-listers of track and field, footballers and tennis stars were represented by Nathan Fallon and his team of agents. Romy had landed on her feet all right, in her brand new red-soled Louboutins. What happened to the Doc Martens? Alexia thought. If the old Romy could see the new one, she’d laugh herself hoarse.

Over a coffee and then too many glasses of wine, Alexia had poured out all her troubles to the new-look Romy. It was a night that was to change her life for ever. Romy’s flatmate and former work colleague had just upped and left for Australia, leaving an empty room at the flat, and an empty chair in the office at Fallon’s. In less than a week, Alexia had moved in and started work as a temp at the agency. She had found a friend’s sofa after her flit from Carter’s house, but she couldn’t stay there much longer. So this was perfect, and it came with the prospect of a lasting job.

‘If I make a good impression maybe they’ll keep me,’ she told Romy.

‘Yeah, just one thing though, Alex; they’re quite a fast lot. You know, work hard, play hard. And you’re – well –not really used to that, are you?’

Romy was concerned her shy, beautiful blonde friend would be eaten alive at the agency. Alexia was petite and unassuming, completely unaware of her attractiveness. She had a cool air about her that made men think she wasn’t interested. But she was just a little shy and very naïve.

‘Seriously, Alex, it’s great I’ve got you a job, but it’s not an ordinary office!’

But Alexia was determined. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Romy, what’s the worst that can happen?’

That was a week ago. Now, as she pressed herself against the tiles in the tiny bathroom off the boardroom, Alexia remembered the conversation all too clearly.

She pushed herself further into the darkness in the cramped room as she tried to stay hidden from the couple who very definitely thought they were alone.

She’d crept upstairs at the company offices to use the boardroom en suite as the downstairs loo was full of people intent on snorting cocaine. It was a party after the first press event for a huge new client. Romy was right. Romy told her they worked hard and played hard, but Alexia really hadn’t been prepared for this.

Alexia peered out through the crack between the door and the frame. She’d seen the couple before, the two people who were now in the boardroom; she’d seen them in the office, but had never met either of them.

Phillipa Greenwood was walking backwards towards the board table. She was the commercial director, a very confident and attractive 40-something bottle blonde with a taste for tight silk blouses, fuck-me heels, and younger men. In her hand was a tie, still attached to the young man she was pulling into the room with her. Tony was the kind of man every girl noticed. In his mid-20s, he was a young would-be agent, with rock-hard abs and tousled dirty blond hair. Alexia watched his face. She didn’t recognise the expression in it. He was young, but he looked very calm and in control, despite the fact that he was being led like a dog on a leash.

Phillipa tugged Tony’s tie and pulled him to her. He was only a few inches taller than her as she stood in her towering heels. He eyed her coolly.

‘Ever fucked a cougar, Tony?’

He lifted one eyebrow and a small, crooked smile curled his lip. His fingers found their way to her breasts, hitched up by a very tight Wonderbra. She always wore her blouses with one button straining to stay shut, so every man she dealt with would be distracted enough to give her what she wanted. And she always got what she wanted. Tony was going to be no exception.

He walked forward purposefully but slowly, forcing Phillipa to move backwards. They were face to face, chest to chest, groin to groin, stepping slowly across the room. It was like watching a tango, a very slow, deliberate, sexy tango.

As Phillipa’s backside hit the edge of the board table they stopped. They stood staring at each other for a moment, as if each was waiting for the other to make the first move. The air was heavy with electricity and Alexia was terrified they would hear her breathing.

Then suddenly Tony jammed Phillipa against the table. Alexia felt a jolt in her groin. She clutched her hand to her stomach. The couple’s faces were centimetres apart, like two fighters eyeing each other in the ring before a fight. They didn’t kiss but their mouths hovered close together, breathing each other in, daring each other not to kiss.

Alexia’s heart hammered in her chest; she was terrified she’d be discovered. But then, they were in a far more compromising situation than her. Perhaps she wasn’t scared, perhaps she was something else. Excited?

She realised she was squirming slightly, watching as Tony ran his hands down Phillipa’s arched body. She felt a tugging lurch in her panties as he reached down and grabbed the bottom of Phillipa’s pencil skirt, hiking it up so the pink flesh above her stocking tops was exposed.

Alexia bit her lip to stifle a moan. She noticed his hands; long, elegant fingers, with silver Celtic rings that betrayed him as a surfer masquerading as a suit.

‘Well, well, it seems like young Tony is more of a tiger than I thought,’ Phillipa teased, twisting her exposed hips against his groin.

But Tony was still dancing, and he was going to make sure she knew he was still leading. He lifted Phillipa up and sat her on the edge of the table. Alexia felt a squirt of dampness hit her panties. She had to force herself to stop squirming. They’d hear her!

But Phillipa wasn’t about to relinquish control. She grabbed Tony’s belt, and pulled it hard to let the little metal pin unhook itself. The leather strap started to slide through the buckle, as if she was slowly unbridling a horse. He put his hands on her knees and held her there for a moment, looking into her eyes, eyeing her like a fighter again. His strong fingers curled around her knees, locking her to the table. The air between them was heavy with desire and power play. They stayed there, breathing hard, looking into each other’s eyes. No words. No fucking. Just watching … Waiting.

Alexia wanted to moan again; she’d entirely forgotten her fear of discovery. All she could think about was how she didn’t want them to stop.

Slowly, achingly slowly, Tony inched Phillipa’s knees further apart, never taking his eyes off hers, daring her to stop him. Holding his gaze, Phillipa reached out for his fly and slowly unzipped him, rolling his trousers over his hips. It wasn’t easy, his bulging erection made it difficult, but she was clearly practised.

Alexia could see his cock, so hard and stiff it looked almost painful. As he breathed heavily it bobbed slightly, moving gently up and down as he breathed in and out. The small muscles in his flank and buttocks were taut and twitching. He reminded Alexia of a racehorse, standing straining in the stalls, waiting for the race to begin, waiting for the chance to explode forward.

Phillipa curled her long, scarlet-tipped fingers around his cock, wrapping her hand around it one finger at a time. She was looking deep into his eyes, looking for the smallest sign that he was losing his grip on his self-control. This was a battle, to see who would yield to their passion first. Tony stayed impassive. As Phillipa worked her fingers around his length, their eyes stayed locked together.

Alexia realised her own hand had crept to her crotch. She was holding herself in her palm and pressing down. The tension between the couple was almost unbearable for her to watch. The tension of the last months seemed to have been building in her, and now, it seemed it would be contained no longer. The tension had a will of its own and it wanted attention, it wanted passion, it wanted …

Without warning, Tony let go of Phillipa’s knees and grabbed her arse, a strong hand covering each butt cheek as he yanked her towards him. She slid the few inches across the desk towards him in an instant; her pussy, covered only by a thin sliver of damp, blood-red satin, slammed against his naked, hot erection.

Alexia’s gasp was masked by Phillipa’s own. She wanted to feel him, the way Phillipa was. She rubbed the hard heel of her hand against her clit. She was not in control. And neither was Phillipa.

Victory was Tony’s; she’d lost control first. It might only have been a small gasp and a widening of the eyes, but he knew it and he felt her increasing wetness as her pussy pressed up against the underside of his cock.

She needed to get her composure back.

‘Well, this is a party, I hope you brought a party hat,’ Phillipa purred.

He looked at her intently.

‘Oh well, a good girl guide is always prepared.’ She reached into one of the cups of her overflowing bra and pulled out a purple foil packet.

She slowly and very deliberately put the corner of the packet between her beautiful, straight white teeth and started to slowly tear it open, millimetre by millimetre, watching the anticipation on Tony’s face.

The foil opened achingly slowly, and Alexia found she had to move her hand inside her panties to feel skin on skin, and stifle the ache. She was soaking. Her middle finger slid through her wetness to find what she was looking for. As she rubbed the engorged nub, her knees started to weaken with the delicious feeling.

The foil was off and Phillipa was expertly covering Tony’s erection with the condom. Alexia marvelled that anyone could do that so quickly. But she didn’t have time to dwell on Phillipa’s hidden talents as Tony grabbed his partner’s hands and pinned them to the table.

His cock was aimed at Phillipa’s pussy, like a missile. It looked even bigger in the condom, like the rubber was straining against his size.

There was a moment, a hiatus when nothing happened. The two stared at each other again. Who was going to start?

Alexia was rubbing now, desperate to feed the starving need in her groin. She could hear her own wetness as her fingers moved and curled around her pussy. But she was past caring if anyone heard her. She leant against the wall with her other hand, steadying herself as she rocked. There was music floating up from downstairs; she could only hear the beat, and it chimed with her heartbeat and the throb inside her.

‘Come on, come on, please,’ she silently urged Tony. She needed him to start; she needed to watch the last, explosive movements of this dance, so she could find her own release.

Tony pushed Phillipa down and aimed his cock right at the crack of her pussy. With one hand he tugged her panties to one side and exposed the yawning, raw wetness that waited to accept him. Then he expertly manoeuvred himself to thrust into her. He waited, teasing the tip of his cock against her. Phillipa panted. He plunged. Phillipa and Alexia both gasped at once. Alexia was pressing her clit so hard now, desperate to feel what Phillipa was feeling. Phillipa’s legs hung open, dangling from the edge of the table as Tony pumped into her. He was really driving; Alexia could see his cock, glistening and hard, as he pulled back and plunged again, over and over.

Alexia watched as every muscle on his flanks and his hard arse compressed and relaxed with each thrust, all working together like a piston engine. Compressing then relaxing, compressing then relaxing, thrusting over and over, he rammed into her as he gripped her hips to keep her on the edge … On the edge of the table and on the edge of coming.

At the end of each thrust he pressed against her clit, in up to the hilt. But each time Phillipa’s moans sounded as if she was close to coming, he would lean his body back away from her, leaving that quivering nub of flesh exposed and needy. She clawed at him to make him come closer and press against her. But then he would stop. He would stand there motionless, his long, muscular legs taut with the tension of staying still as he watched her exquisite agony. She was desperate, desperate for him to keep thrusting, to keep hammering her clit into submission and explosion. But he was in control and he would decide when she came.

Each time he stopped, Alexia thought her heart would leap into her mouth as she had to stop too. She was so wet, her entire hand was smeared with her own juices; she was wetter than she had ever been in her life, and she could hear her juices squelching as she rubbed.

Then Tony would start again, slamming into Phillipa. She’d given up her fight for supremacy and was now arching back, getting the ride of her life. Tony’s cock must have been hitting all the right spots as her lower legs were hanging limply like a rag doll over the table, and she moaned with every burning thrust of Tony’s hips. Harder and harder, until she threw her head back.

As Phillipa came, Alexia pressed and rubbed herself with furious pressure, desperate, desperate to come and end this excruciating torture. Tony kept thrusting, his eyes now fixed on Phillipa but glazed and unseeing as he climbed and climbed to finally hit the target.

Alexia leant on the wall with her elbow, stuffing her fist in her mouth to disguise her stifled moan as she came with him. She came so hard she thought her legs would buckle. A sudden warmth she’d not felt before rushed from her groin to her stomach and down her legs to her toes. This was not an orgasm like she had ever known before. She had very little experience of sex; one pale and earnest college boyfriend, and then Carter.

She breathed heavily and watched the couple on the table. Phillipa was lying back, her eyes closed, her mouth open, her lungs clutching for air. Tony stood over her, his cock still deep inside her, as if he was leaning against her and into her, to steady his legs.

Alexia straightened up and slowly pulled her hand from her panties. She realised it was soaking wet, and looked round desperately for something to wipe her juices away. There was a towel on a rail. Silently, she wiped her hand and tried to smooth down her clothing.

When she looked through the crack in the door again, Tony was zipping himself up, and Phillipa was trying to compose herself. The sassy, in control woman Alexia had seen in the office was gone. She saw Phillipa flushed and breathing hard. She did up her clothing and smoothed her hair. Slowly the calm and powerful professional returned, on the outside at least. But there was no mistaking that she looked like she’d been fucked, hard.

BOOK: Substitute
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