The Contract (Nightlong #1) (7 page)

“Why is it that in Paris we can be free, but not here?”

“Just because,” he said.

“Okay,” I agreed, “so you still want Cohésion? Do we still have to–”

“Yes,” he said, nodding.

“How will we–”

“The usual. You brought all of the things, yes?”

“Yes,” I said, falling right back into my role as facilitator of his wishes.

I’d spent a lot of that day trying to find closet space for all of my clothes and shoes, stuff he’d bought for me over the years. He’d told me to leave nothing behind at the Knightsbridge place because I was going to live with him permanently. I’d packed all of our BDSM stuff separately and as far as I knew, it remained in the boot of the Phantom. Perhaps Sexton had dealt with all of that, or knew a safe place to hide it. I felt sure Dante’s cleaners would get a shock if they happened to open a drawer to find either a pocket pussy or a strap-on I’d often made Dante suck.

“Will we travel together this time?” I asked as I watched him start to dress.

“Yes.”

“Why now?”

He turned to smile at me. “Because now… because…”

I knew he was concocting a lie. I’d known him for six years… how did he think I didn’t see his tells? I knew him better than he thought I did.

“Because you were sleeping with Gillian all along?” I made a stupid guess.

“NO!” he yelled. “How can you say that when I’ve loved you since the moment I set eyes on you?”

“For six years, it didn’t feel much like love.” I felt vicious and probably sounded it.

“I’m sorry and believe me, I never usually apologise for what I am.”

I pointed a finger at him. “You’re so full of contradictions, it’s insane. I mean for feck sake, you let me shower everyday under a pathetic drip while you’ve lorded it up here with your five suites, all with their own baths and rainfall showers, your two pools, a feckin’ steam room and… need I go on?”

“Okay,” he breathed, sitting down again, the bed dipping and making me readjust my towelling robe as he did. “If we’re seen travelling together, if it gets out that we’re really together… I mean…”

“Yeah, spit it out.”

“Nobody cares who I am in Paris, but in London, it’s different. When people see me boarding my jet with a woman in tow, they’ll know she’s more than just a fuck. I don’t ordinarily make these sorts of gestures, remember? The PR machine has engineered a whole relationship off of idle gossip and if Gillian is pushed aside, I fear she’s going to be a problem. She likes this so-called arrangement we have going on. You’ll undoubtedly push her right out of the water the minute they see you.”

“Why?” I laughed.

He reached for my hand and murmured, “You’re the most desirable thing I’ve ever known… and I have good taste. Why would anyone assume I’d keep such a beauty with me for any purpose other than pleasure? You scream passion. Look at you!”

I threw a hand in front of my eyes. “That is so cheesy!”

“Get dressed for dinner, something casual. I’ll ask Sexton to schedule the plane for tomorrow morning.”

I spread my fingers open a little so I could peer at him. “You’re a ridiculous man. A private plane, too?”

“Yeah, I know.” He picked up the phone and dialled Sexton. “Can you call Elstree and ask if we can fly for Paris in the morning? If not first thing, lunchtime.”

Sexton said a few things on the other end of the line.

“Yes, yes, I know… but she’s been whiny and you know I hate a whiner but at the same time, I can’t resist that face.”

The call ended and I couldn’t have been made to feel like more of an inconvenience than I already did.

“It’s very lucky that I love you,” he said, winking over his shoulder as he pulled his trousers on and gave me a grand view of his heavy sac between his legs, nestled neatly in those gorgeous crisp-white boxers of his.

Yummy.

That evening he made an effort to compromise by allowing us to eat in the living room in front of the TV, instead of at his intimidating dining table. He even let me tell the chef what I wanted for dinner and much to his dismay, I told Ayda to make burger and chips with a salad.

I fell asleep while watching a film with him so he carried me upstairs and slid me into his bed. In the night, I heard him finally join me in the wee hours and when he did, I wrapped myself around his body and fell right back into my dreams.

***

“CIARA, we have to get up to catch our flight,” he whispered in my ear, rousing me from sleep.

“No, don’t make me. It’s the lord’s day and he rested, so I’m gonna rest.” He laid behind me with his arms clutched around my body, one hand holding a breast tight while his other hand stroked my tummy.

The room held a sort of ethereal quality so early in the morning, the day outside so young that only a few trickles of light made it through the slight gaps in the blinds to show us it was actually daybreak.

“I want to sleep forever.”

“You can sleep on the plane, darling.”

I tossed myself over quickly, juggling myself out of his arms at the same time as throwing myself on top of him.

Breath caught in my throat when I saw him bedraggled and also as half-asleep as I was. Here was this beautiful man, holding my body close to his.

My chest felt heavy as I breathed deeply. “I’m falling completely in love with you.”

He stared intently. “You don’t even know me yet.”

“Yes I do.”

“You don’t.”

“Do you like the taste of my pussy?”

He barked a laugh. “WHAT? It’s barely six in the morning, sweetheart.”

“Answer my legitimate question.”

“It’s not a question worth me answering because you know I do.”

“HA! You answered. So he does like the taste then…”

His eyes flared. “What are you thinking, Ciara? What?”

I dug my fingers in between his and lifted his hands above his head, pinning him down with a wicked grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know what goes on in my head. Hmm?”

“Ciara, stop it,” he begged when I bit his ear, “we really haven’t got time.”

“In the bath last night…” I licked around his earlobe, “…I shaved her completely bald.”

“Your pussy?” he asked, strain in his tone.

“Umm-hmm. Completely. I only asked if you like the taste because now you’ll be able to eat every piece of my flesh with your tongue… your mouth… your lips, my juice on your chin… your ministrations making me quiver… your French kiss down there making me come.”

“Ciara, we’ll be late. I’m never late.”

I lifted my face to show him my lips. “Kiss me, beautiful man.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I quickly got up and sat myself over his face and his groans of anguish vibrated through my belly as he buried himself inside me, and around me, around and around, tonguing me everywhere. Over and over.

He pulled back for a breath. “You better fucking come quick!”

“Oh god, yes!”

He took another breath…

“How could you do this to me? You wicked–”

I sank myself on his face and he grunted and slipped some fingers into me. The act made me wildly free and I fucked his tongue and fingers back, rocking over him.

Pressure built inside me and it was seconds later I felt him holding up my quivering thighs in his hands lest I suffocated him, my legs too weak to stop myself squashing his face completely.

“Ah, Ciara.”

He rolled me over quickly and pushed straight inside my shaking body. I wrapped my arms around him and accepted his loving kisses, his embrace as he held me close to him, pulling me into his love.

“I do taste good,” I murmured, and he kissed me harder.

I raked fingers through his hair and enjoyed every moment he allowed me to enjoy vanilla, to enjoy him, to just be with him. I held his buttock and felt the power and drive in his body as he buried himself, lapping my breasts at the same time.

His teeth engaged with my bottom lip, he laughed a throaty cry and stared down into my eyes, challenging me to fight back. I pushed him and we rolled together so I was on top. I laughed, feeling triumphant, and shuffled my thighs up along the sides of his body.

Biting his lip, I asked, “Now who’s in charge?”

He spanked my butt and his eyes flashed. Laughing, he squeezed my bottom in his hands.

“You make it so I’m always winning, Ciara.”

Moving slowly up and down his length, I whispered, “How does that feel?”

I’d never been on top before.

“It feels like hot chocolate sauce coating my cock and a tight, strong fist wrapped around me. Do you have any idea what your quivering muscles do to me?”

“Oh… you mean this?” I asked, squeezing my pelvic floor around him.

He hissed and his head fell back, exposing his throat. My fingers through his, I lifted his hands above his head and pinned him down, kissing his stubbly throat, his pronounced Adam’s apple and his ear. Feeling in complete control, I lost myself in making love to him. My nipples dangling against his chest, I was in heaven.

“You smell like apple pie,” he told me, “your skin. It’s always smelt of apple pie.”

Kissing the inside of his bicep, my hips rolling back and forth with ease, I asked, “I never gave you chance to smell me before.”

“Yes you did.”

I looked down into his eyes. “When?”

Sweat beaded on his brow, and I smelt the saltiness on his skin as he replied, “Oh… even above the leather and latex, I smelt you. I couldn’t un-smell you.”

Laughing, I kissed his mouth gently before the kiss became a full-on battle between our tongues. Rolling me over onto my back again, he mumbled, “When I found your apple wash in the bathroom, I bought a bottle of the same thing. I always smell it before I go to bed at night.”

Gnawing his shoulder, I moaned, “Mine… my sir.”

He threw my legs over his shoulders and pounded me. My cervix impacted time and time again, I felt an unusually strong orgasm draw my belly inwards.

“Oh god,” I begged, my whole body shaking, my thighs trembling against his shoulders.

He kept eye contact and looked as pained as I felt. “Fuck, Ciara.”

After kissing my ankle, he then bit my big toe and I yelled, “I’m coming!”

He came too and poured himself into me with a cry, holding himself deep inside me, one of his hands clutched around mine. The sensation of having him pour into me made me come again but gently this time, my body bowing to his, daring him to pull out.

I stroked his arms and a tear sprang free from my eye when he leaned up and looked down into my soul, surprised at his own wild abandon.

“You can wake me up anytime for this,” I said with a smile.

A momentary flicker of sadness crossed his face before he lowered and rested his cheek on my breast. I held him to me, stroking fingers through his hair, over his neck and down his arms.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, Ciara.”

“What do you mean?” I raised his hand to my lips and covered his downy knuckles with my kisses. He had large veins in his hands and thin, pianist’s fingers that knew exactly how to play me. Just the tip of his finger could tip me over the edge.

“Us.”

“I know, baby.” I flung my leg over his back and he sank deeper into my boobs, his little noises of elated peace making me a little more tearful.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes,” I sighed, “more than anything.”

“Good.”

“Are we still going to Paris?”

“PARIS!” He leapt from the bed and began running round, scatterbrained.

I sat on my knees and held my hands up. “STOP!”

“What?” he asked, landing worried eyes on mine.

“Why are you blue arsing it? You own the plane!”

“I’m never late Ciara, I said we’d be there for eight.”

I looked at the clock. “It’s 6.45 on Sunday. How long does it take to drive there?”

“Ten minutes.”

“How long for breakfast?”

“Half an hour.”

“Wrong. We’ll eat on the run.” He looked at me, horrified. “First thing’s first, shower time. I’ll scrub you, you scrub me, it’ll be really quick that way.”

He struggled to hold back a smile. “Okay.”

He set the shower running and we stepped right in, foaming each other up. I left my hair out of the equation because we didn’t have time to wash and dry all of that.

Dressing together afterwards, I said, “Okay. We packed last night, it’s fine. Just… what about the gear?”

“Ah, the gear. It’s in the boot of the car.”

“We don’t need it all.”

“Which is why I went through some things last night, separated them out and decided which bits and bobs we would be bringing.”

“Okay. See, there are no worries are there?”

“Guess not.”