THE STRICT BRITISH BARRISTER: ACT ONE (4 page)

Instinctively she raised her hands, wrapping her fingers around him, and parting her lips she began to take him in her mouth, but to her shock he grabbed her hair and pulled her back.

“I didn’t instruct you to do that, did I?” he asked, softly. “Tsk tsk, Brittany. You only do that which I tell you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Brittany’s pussy twitched. He was controlling her, dominating her, his genteel British accent making her pulse quicken every time he spoke; every part of her was sparking, and she’d never felt so alive in her life. She was aching to take him between her lips, yearning to suck him, to slide her mouth up and down his shaft and feel him swell with lustful pleasure.

“Beg me,” he said.

“Please Sir,” she pleaded, “please let me suck you. I’m not just saying that because you told me to,” she added fervently. “I really mean it.”

“All right, you naughty girl,” he purred, stroking her face lightly with his fingertips. “You may pleasure me.”

Lowering her head she gently enveloped him. He was large, just as she had imagined he would be, and his girth filled her mouth. She began to slither up and down with gusto, wanting to excite him as much as he was exciting her, and when his hand wrapped itself in her hair she relinquished her movements to his guidance.

He was groaning softly, and his grip tightened, holding her still as he pumped her mouth as he wished. She could feel him swell, and tiny drops of pre-come were touching her tongue; she was sure he was about to burst down her throat, but abruptly he stopped, pulling himself from her wet, hot mouth.

“Open your eyes and stand up slowly,” he ordered, his voice quietly demanding, “and take your panties all the way off.”

She blinked, then unsteadily rose to her feet; he was doing it to her again, overwhelming her, controlling her. Pulling her panties from around her knees she kicked them off, feeling an awkward embarrassment as she stood naked before him. She wanted to shift her weight, scratch her arm, or lower her hand to cover her full, fuzzy bush, but she was paralyzed, afraid to move under his scrutinizing gaze.

After an interminable amount of time he rose from the couch, and with a swift graceful movement he swept her up, carried her to the bed and gently lowered her down. Leaning over he feathered his fingers lightly across her breasts and down her torso, and closing her eyes she surrendered to his tantalizing touch. It was heavenly, so incredibly heavenly, she was drifting under the soft, hypnotizing caress…

a sharp sound jolted her…

- her eyes flew open and she gasped, blinking…

- she was sitting in the chair, the door cracked open…

- she had fallen asleep while waiting.

Dropping her head in her hands she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her realized fantasy hadn’t been real at all. It had been nothing but a lucid dream.

B
rittany’s decision to take the cruise had been based on the fanciful thought that she would meet a handsome stranger, and have a wild, no strings, shipboard romance. Sitting in the chair, shocked at what she’d just imagined, she sighed heavily and shook her head.

Wow. I’ve had fantasies before, but nothing like that. I’ve never been crazy about performing oral sex, that was totally weird.

Standing up she stumbled her way to the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water, then staring up at her reflection she smiled.

One step at a time. Maybe something will happen, maybe it won’t, but you definitely need to get out of this cabin for a while.

Patting her face dry she took several deep breaths and calmed her racing heart, then returning to her bedroom she chose a pair of white jeans, an aqua T-shirt, and some high-heeled sandals.

Leaving her stateroom she walked slowly down the hallway, noticing the housekeeping trolly still parked outside Duncan’s cabin, and as she passed she glanced inside. The room was empty, and on an impulse, the dream fresh in her mind, Brittany sidled closer, risking a closer peek.

Look, the armoire, it’s there. You can go in. You can make that dream real.

No, absolutely not. I’m leaving, right now!

Hurrying down the hallway she stepped into the elevator, hitting the button that would take her to the deck that offered the lounge with the twenty-four hour buffet.

Entering the elegant eatery she walked to the food-laden table, studying the variety of available delicacies. There was a chef waiting for on the spot orders, a variety of salads, some wasabi chicken, and a selection of sushi. Deciding on a spicy wok vegetable dish, she placed her order, poured herself some coffee, and carried it to a table against a window.

The room was surprisingly empty, and her thoughts remained with the handsome Brit, wondering where he might be. If he wasn’t in his cabin he had to be somewhere on the ship, but it was a big ship.

He could be anywhere, doing anything. I wonder if I’ll run into him again, or that one meeting and my crazy dream will be my only memories of him.

It was when she looked up to reach for the creamer that she saw him. Wearing olive green shorts and a soft cream shirt, he sauntered in carrying a leather satchel. Shocked that he’d appeared she took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.

I can’t believe it. He’s here, in the flesh. Please, let him notice me, please, please.

She watched him furtively as he wandered over to a nearby table and placed his bag on a seat, then moved across to the buffet. A waiter arrived carrying her wok-fried vegetables, but she barely eyed the steaming plate as it was placed in front of her.

Duncan Rhys-Davies was even more attractive than she remembered, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He carried himself tall and straight, almost a military bearing, and as she watched him eye the various selections she could easily imagine his arms around her, her head curled up in the nook of his shoulder.

Sighing, she was about to shift her gaze when to her delight he turned and stared directly at her. Smiling nervously she nodded her head, hoping against hope he would feel her invitation from across the room and join her.

He had filled a plate with salad, and continuing to hold her stare, he began walking slowly towards her.

Oh, my gosh. He’s coming over. Stay calm, just stay calm.

“Care for some company?” he asked, reaching her table.

“Sure,” she replied, hoping her voice did not reveal the quivering butterflies in her stomach.

He sat his plate on the table, then quickly retrieved his satchel and settled in across from her.

“I don’t think we officially met,” he said, “Duncan Rhys-Davies.”

“Hello, Brittany Carter. Pleased to officially meet you,” she smiled.

“Enjoying the cruise?” he asked, attempting to pierce his fork into a piece of escaping lettuce.

“It’s great. Very relaxing. I feel so far away from everything out here.”

“Yes, that’s the whole point for me, getting away,” he remarked.

Her food was still sitting in front of her, uneaten; the butterflies had departed, but had given way to some strange flipping thing.

“Oh? You need to decompress?” she asked.

“Sort of, I’m a writer,” he replied. “It’s peaceful out here. No phones interrupting, it’s quiet and I don’t have to cook.”

“Wow!” she exclaimed, her dream flashing through her mind. “A writer. What do you write?”

A wry grin crossed his face and he tilted his head to one side.

“Naughty novels,” he answered not looking up.

The flipping thing in her stomach took on tornado-like proportions, and the imagery of being across his lap having her bottom soundly spanked was far too fresh in her mind; she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he apologized, glancing up.

“You didn’t,” she said hastily, “honestly. I was just wondering if I’ve ever read any of your books.”
Why did you say that, you idiot? Now you’ve just told him you read naughty novels.

“Really? You read erotica?”

Aaarrgh… how do I answer that?

Just be honest… this is great.

“Sometimes,” she managed.

He smiled at her again, but it was a warm, comforting smile.

“It’s nice to meet a woman who actually admits it,” he remarked. “Most women get flustered and make an excuse to leave when I tell them, or they look at me as if I should be shot,”
not that I tell many women, hardly any in fact. Why am I sharing this with you so quickly?

“Oh, not me,” she lied, thinking she’d never felt so flustered in her life. “I think it’s great. I’m excited to meet a real live author.”

“I have something for you,” he offered, opening his satchel. “I carry copies of my work. I read them if I get stumped. I find turning pages helps me more than staring at a computer screen.”

Convinced the book he was about to pull from his bag would be the one from her dream, Brittany watched, mesmerized, as the paperback was lifted from its safe haven. When his large, manicured hand placed it in front of her, she stared at it for a moment, then burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

“Are you all right?” he asked, a look of bewildered bemusement crossing his face. “I’ve seen a few reactions to my books, but hysterical laughter…that’s a first.”

“I am so sorry,” Brittany giggled, attempting to control the uninvited bout of hilarity. “It’s not your book, it’s…it’s…well, it’s something I can’t exactly explain.”

The title of the book was,
Emily’s Education
, and the cover showed a coquettish young woman dressed in a low cut dress, looking over her shoulder at the camera; a man’s fingers wrapped around a riding crop was hovering menacingly nearby.

“It’s a very provocative cover,” she remarked, still fighting the giggles.

“You really must tell me what it is you find so amusing,” he insisted.

“I will,” she promised, managing to compose herself, “but not right now. A. S. Cane, your alias, I presume?” she remarked.

“Yes, my alias,” he nodded. “Does it ring a bell?”

“I think so, a vague one,” she replied honestly.

She lifted her eyes from the book and stared across the table at the warm brown eyes and the strong jaw. The image of her quaint house and quiet life flashed before her eyes. Whether it was fate, or her own intense need to change her life she knew not, but a shiver rattled through her, and she had an odd feeling the fork in the road of her life was in front of her.

D
uncan Rhys-Davies watched the attractive young woman walk across the room and exit through the frosted glass double doors. Reaching for his scotch he took a large swallow and frowned. Meeting her the day before had caught him off-guard; the soft southern lilt of her voice had been like sweet rainbow sprinkles dancing around him. All she had said was, ‘thank you,’ when they’d left the elevator, and she’d been wandering around the corridors of his mind ever since.

Being a disciplined soul he’d been able to stay focused on his work, and had resisted the temptation to leave his cabin for both dinner and breakfast, but the few times he had left to take a quick break for five minutes, he’d hoped to bump into her. That he hadn’t had begun to annoy him, and when he’d seen her sitting at the table next to the window he wasn’t just pleased their paths had finally crossed, he felt a sense of relief.

By all accounts it had been a pleasant conversation, but he’d been so enchanted her by southern belle persona it had been difficult to listen to what it was she was saying. He remembered something about a small town outside Charleston, but her sparkling eyes had made it difficult to focus, and though her personality was demure, he sensed she was spunkier than she appeared.

When she’d burst out laughing at the sight of his book he was truly taken aback; he couldn’t recall the last time a woman had made him feel awkward, but she had, without even trying. Now that she’d left he was catching his breath, and questioning what had possessed him to share his closely held secret.

I’ve just given myself away to a woman I know nothing about. She may be a captivating beauty, but that isn’t like me, not like me at all.

The dinner hour was nearing, people were beginning to wander in, and Duncan hastily picked up his satchel to head out. He had no tolerance for idle chitchat with those he didn’t know, and what he’d told Brittany had been true; he was on the cruise to write, not make new friends.

What he didn’t tell her was that he was also a successful London barrister.

Not knowing how his esteemed colleagues would view his extracurricular activities, Duncan kept private life private, and his wicked BDSM novels completely covert, though he didn’t have a private life to protect, not since losing a woman about whom he had cared deeply. It was his fault; he’d allowed his foolish pride to rule him, and it had cost him a great love, and worse, he knew he’d hurt her very badly.

The breakup had scarred him, and though time had marched on he’d never regained his interest in dating, concentrating his efforts on his professional life, but he did find some gratification at his private BDSM club, The Bowler Hat. It had been formed in the Victorian era, when the Queen’s heavy frown had thrown a cloud of morality over the country. With such an innocuous name, and the founding members’ careful screening of potential members, the club had survived while many such secret societies had not.

Being a busy barrister, Duncan had little time to pen his torrid tales of discipline and debauchery, usually snatching time late at night after a stressful day in court. He’d be too wired to sleep, and writing about his dark fantasies was a welcome respite.

It was usually at the end of a grueling trial that he would book a cruise and finish a book. He would to fly to another part of the world and board the ship at a foreign port. Being away from the English accents that surrounded his daily life gave him a greater sense of being away, and though he would hibernate in his stateroom, when he was around others their voices were refreshingly different.

On a cruise from Hawaii to Tahiti, he had never imagined a real life Scarlet Ohara with a maple syrup voice would grab his attention the very first moment on board.